#she's always very gloomy though as she mourns her lost love

[moonfromearth]

The Spider Queen of Forgotten Hollow...

Henley Arania

- Legends have long surrounded the elusive Spider Queen of Forgotten Hollow. Said to have escaped into the forest after the unfortunate death of her one true love, she became a recluse, preferring the company of spiders and chasing away the many who have since tried to hunt her down. The legends don't mention, however, that if you ask nicely (and approach without pitchforks), she might invite you in for tea. It does get awfully quiet in the woods, after all, and the spiders don't know much sim gossip.

Henley is a remake of the first sim I made and posted on Tumblr that I recently made over! You can also see some before and after photos here 😉

[transcript under cut]

Henley: *shrieks* Oh..? You come in peace? Well... I guess that's alright, then. Would you like some tea?

[its-deputy-caleb]

I saw your post of the Lords reacting to there s /o getting killed by mother Miranda but wat if they puld a uno reverse and kill her 🤔

okay so slight warning on this one it’s a little graphic for violence as miranda dies and also for the sake of this HC miranda can be killed much easier bc i didn’t want to write too much for it! I’m not super happy with how it turned out since it’s kinda rushed so i apologise that it’s not my best but enjoy nonetheless. also if you want to know the context go and read the first HC for these, it’ll make more sense!

Alcina Dimitrescu

The event of your death had crushed the Lady Dimitrescu as she never quite returned to her normal self.

The quiet grieving was getting to her, eating at her heart as she missed you every single day.

She missed holding you in her arms, playing with you hair, going to dinner together and all the things that now make her feel nothing but sourness and empty on the inside.

One day she’s called to a meeting with Mother Miranda, an odd request ever since she remained in the castle walls.

However, Alcina accepts to meet Mother Miranda, having felt numb for a number of months now. The first thing she notices is that she’s alone, none of the other siblings are amongst the pews of the Church.

Something in her breaks and her long nails extend as she sees red in her vision. All the grief and pain she’s felt from losing you gets channeled as she picks up Miranda by the throat and cuts her with her razor sharp nails, watching the look of surprise on her face.

Alcina has a grin on her face as she watches Miranda’s eyes slowly get heavy, her gaze intense as she wants miranda to see all the pain she’s caused her.

When she finally lets go of Miranda she’s breathing heavily, flattening out her dress which is now stained in blood.

Killing Miranda didn’t make her pain go away though and mascara stains her pale face as she realises that you’re not coming back to her.

She crumbles to her knees and finally lets herself mourn for you outside of the Castle walls.

The pain of losing you never leaves her and no matter how many times she replays the death of Miranda in her head, no matter how many times she convinces herself that she avenged you her heart breaks further.

And so she returns to the confines of her castle where she continues to mourn for you, the one she loved dearly and will miss for eternity.

Donna Beneviento

Following Mother Miranda after witnessing your death i’d liked torture for Donna.

Each day her chest rings with an unbearable amount of pain and grief as she sits silently behind the woman that took you away.

When they’re at family meetings she’s zoned out, her head drifting back to the happy times with you and remembering how you used to hold her and take her on picnics with Angie.

Her thoughts are always broken when she realises that tears have welled in her eyes and she mustn’t cry in front of Mother Miranda.

One day she’s sitting on her balcony, holding a warm cup of tea in her hand as she watches the waterfall. It was one of your favourite things to do together, especially on early mornings like this one where the mist catches the light beautifully.

The warms of the cup and the business of the water make Donna feel like you’re still here, as if you’re keeping her hands warm instead of the porcelain cup. She finally allows her mind to rest for five minutes as she listens to the roll of water, oh how it mimicked your soothing voice.

In a cloud of black dust, Mother Miranda appears at her front gates and she instantly starts rambling about some new experiment.

Donna isn’t listening however, and she’s upset that Miranda- the woman that took away the only good thing in her gloomy world disturbed her only peaceful moment since your death.

Donna uses her Cadou to make Mother Miranda hallucinate all the pain and suffering she’s feeling, watching as Miranda clutches her head in pain, completely disoriented.

In an instant she summons Angie and through the doll she attacks Miranda in her weakened state.

It’s over in an instant, but it left her form shaking slightly as she longs for you to hold her like you used to.

On shaky legs, she slowly walks over to the little wooden bench she was sitting on and picks up the cup once more, this time Angie sitting next to her.

The cup is cold in her hands and tears roll down her face silently, still in complete shock as she feels the cold wind settle on her cheeks.

The atmosphere feels sour now and she no longer feels your presence or your warmth, the sun hidden behind clouds as the loneliness settles over her once more.

Salvatore Moreau

For his whole life, Salvatore has begged for the attentional and appraisal of Mother Miranda.

But now he doesn’t know what to think, apart of him is so betrayed and angry at her for taking you away but the other half of him, the part holding him back is so devoted to her that he’s never known life without unquestionable loyalty to Miranda.

These days he tears himself apart with it, never knowing what to do or where to think as he jumps between the two mindsets.

When you were with him, you slowly showed him a life beyond Mother Miranda, one that you could both have together if only he’d let you show him.

Now that dream is crushed, but it’s your voice that plays in his head. Your confident but soft voice guiding him to push Miranda away. And so he does.

He waits until everyone has left another one of the countless family meetings until it’s only him and Miranda.

He morphs into his monstrous state, using all the grief he feels from losing you to help him get through what is no doubt a difficult task to go through with.

It’s really the acid that he releases that causes the end of Miranda as he returns to his normal form, watching as she falls to the ground.

“I’m sorry…”

Salvatore is shocked that he even had to power to betray Miranda, knowing that apart of him was still very much devoted to her and her praise.

But nothing, no amount of false love or indoctrination could make Salvatore love anybody more than he loved you and now he’s lost both.

Still he mourns for you each day and each night, never quite knowing what to do with himself but he tries to stay strong for you and tells himself that even though you’re gone he still loves you.

Karl Heisenberg

Since the death of his beloved, Karl has worked non stop to get his army ready.

He’s neglected to take care of himself, barely sleeping or taking a break from building his army as he works tirelessly to kill the woman he’s hated his whole life.

He can’t see the point in taking care of himself, he never really did it to begin. Even more so now as he remembers how you used to take his hand and drag him away from work where you took care of him with home cooked meals and warm showers.

He knows, in some way that you’d be upset to see him like this and his own self depreciation makes him curl in on himself as he can’t do anything without you.

Finally after months of gruelling hard work, his army is finally ready all that he’s ever wanted to do and achieve is fuelled that much more since he lost you.

When Karl finally standing before Mother Miranda, hammer in hand, his body moves on autopilot. He doesn’t even register what he’s done until he pulls his hammer back and Miranda’s lifeless body falls to the floor.

As the adrenaline wears away an emptiness washes over him. That freedom that he wanted for so long always included you in it and now you’re gone.

You were both going to move away together, start a new life with each other and be free of the wrath of Miranda.

When he returns to the factory he packs up the very few belongings he owns, feeling the exhaustion kick in after days of no sleep and fighting.

He places all the photos you took together on a polaroid camera Karl restored for your birthday, wishing he could see your smile just one last time.

He throws in a few other things of yours and his clothes before he walks out of the factory gates, turning to look one last time.

He’d leave and find that new life that you both wanted, it would never feel quite the same without you in there but now there was nothing left in his factory but death and mourning.

[pvrpleblccd]

Promise.

pairing : shuntaro chishiya x f reader

tw : angst, unresolved grief, death, mentions of death, blood, violence (beating up someone), chishiya being violent

a/n : this is my first post- cndovn- but i am currently having a massive crush on this man right here <3 ALSO CHISHIYA GIVES ME MASSIVE KENMA VIBES (im sorry for the typos, i wrote this at 4 am-)

-

There he was again, sitting at the edge of the rooftop of the Beach, hoods on and hands in his white Nike zip up sweater, well, it was given to him. He looked down to see all of the horny animals dancing and living their life as if it was their last day. Chishiya sighed, ‘Everyone looks like their all about to die, as always.’

It was a beautiful day in this cruel country. But it’s just like any other day, people will die tonight, either because their visa will expire or die during a game. Dying in a game, probably the worst death here. Chishiya sighed again and took a deep breath, trying to erase all negativity going through his head. Though, there’s one thing that he can’t get out of his head.

“Hey, Chishiya.”

Chihsiya whipped his head to where he heard the voice. He was about to call her name, but he only saw Kuina at the door of the rooftop entrance, looking at Chishiya with a confused look. ‘Ah... I’m still hearing her voice, I must be crazy.’

“An told me you guys had a meeting, I’m just here to rely the message to you.”

The blonde male nodded and stood up, making his way to where Kuina was. No words were exchanged between the both of them, though Kuina noticed the slight mood change the male had every now and then. There are times where he’s cocky, would always slide comment when he had the chance, had his guard up, and times where he just became more reserved than ever and was cold and gloomy.

Kuina noticed, but never dared prying on it, not wanting to get on the intelligent man bad side.

Chishiya on the other side, he zipped up the white hoodie he loved very much. He entered the meeting room and sat at his place, like always, though he kept a pokerface while hugging the hoodie he was wearing. He felt several pair of eyes on him, not on him, but the zip up he was wearing. No one dared to say anything, though Niragi wasn’t having it.

“Chishiya. Were you really obligated to wear that zip up when we’re in a meeting?!”

Niragi shouted from his place, gripping hard the rifle he had in his hand. No one budge or said anything, even Hatter looked at Chishiya, both with envy and anger in his eyes.

“It was given to me. Why whouldn’t I wear it? If you’re thinking that we should share it, you, out of everyone in this room, that I don’t share what I own. And plus, if we shared it, you’d only get blood on it and dirty it, y/n managed to keep it white and as clean as possible. I won’t let your stupidity ruin it.”

“You wouldn’t know what y/n would have wanted!” Niragi stood up and pointed his rifle at the blonde male.

“I knew y/n longer than you.”

“We were still close!”

“To someone like you? I don’t think so, you’re a complete psycho, Niragi.”

“Give it a break! We’re all mourning Chishiya, espicially An! So what the hell do you mean, y/n-”

“Y/n is dead.” Last Boss said while looking at the arguing males.

The room was even more quiet than it ever was, not only with the statement, but for the bald tattooed male to speak up and empathized the dead made them slightly uncomfortable. With no one saying a thing for a minute or two, Mira stood up and talked about the card they were able to collect and that they haven’t gotten news ones for a while. An talked about the medical supplies and that she was running out from it, Hatter asked Aguni and his Militants to accompany An for a short run to grab all supplies they can gather.

She was the first one to leave, the meeting room which was understandable. When no one said anything, Hatter talked about adding a new rule. Rule number three, death to traitors.

Soon after, the meeting was done.

The blonde male made his way to his room, opening the door he saw a familiar figure sitting on his bed, when he blinked the figure was gone. Chishiya closed his room door and laid on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He never felt so confused and empty in his entire life. He never wanted to deal with anyone’s emotions or feelings, let alone his. But upon on thinking and thinking, he came to a conclusion he now only realized.

How much he loved y/n.

“Damn it. This hurts... This sucks.”

Too tired and exhausted to think, Chishiya closed his eyes and embraced the darkness that surrounded him.

“Chishiya?” A voice called out.

The blonde male turned his head, seeing a petite figure looking at him as if he was a ghost. He looked at her from head to toe and his eyes grew wide, he instantly got up and hugged the petite figure.

“Y/n?” He said in a weak voice.

The petite figure sighed in relief and hugged the male back, while letting out a small sob. They were currently in an abandonned mall, gathering food and necessities to get through the night. Y/n came back with a ton of canned food and water, while Chishiya came back with the others things they needed, such as flashlights and batteries and other things.

The both of them were catching up upon missed times and Chishiya kept eyeing on how she was dressed, grey sweatpants with a nike zip up and what looked like a swimsuit top, and the pink locker bracelet around y/n wrist. The numbers 009 was on the bracelet and the girl knew he was looking at it.

“What’s the most recent game you completed?” The petite girl asked.

“Six of diamonds, how about you?” Chishiya said, eating the canned peach. He didn’t noticed the slight spark in y/n’s eyes, but she smiled.

“Nine of hearts.” Y/n said and took a bite of her food.

A comfortable and peaceful silence was set between the two until the girl broke it.

“I want to take you somewhere.”

~

“Hatter, I want him to be part of the executives.”

Y/n said right after they all welcomed her back. All of them looked at her with confused and looked at Chishiya then back at y/n. The girl only smiled and put all of cards she collected on the table. Chishiya couldn’t believe the amount of cards she had in her possession, there was 14 cards in total.

“Chishiya cleared a diamonds game and is the lone survivor, I highly believe that his skills can be very useful to us. Also, I have known him before entering the Borderland. He is like a precious gem, full of hidden talents!”

She said while putting her hands in her grey sweatpants.

The blonde male was taken aback by the sudden praise, but dind’t show it. The others turned their attention to Chishiya, hearing the praise from y/n made them have a base opinion on Chishiya, he was smart and must not be harmed. Hatter started to explain the two rules to Chishiya and handed him a blue locker bracelet with the number 011 on it.

“Enjoy the Beach!”

~

After Chishiya settled in the Beach for a couple of weeks, he and y/n grew closer than they ever were before. The two of them became inseparable.

During one night, Chishiya and y/n were hanging out in the lobby, they were part of the first teams that finished early. Chishiya lost his other hoodie, blood was splattered on it, due to a player clung onto him begging him to help him and his collar went off.

In short words, he was currently shirtless. Y/n trying her best not to look, couldn’t help, but take a peek, thought the blonde male caught her.

“Like what you see?”

He said with a grin plastered on his face. Out of embarrassment, she took off her white Nike zip up and handed it to Chishiya, who watched her with an amused expression.

“H-here...! It’s yours now..!” She said and sprinted to elsewhere.

Chishiya sat there smiling at himself and decied to put the zip up on. He got up from his place and went off to find y/n. A part of him starting to worry, since it’s been an hour and he hasn’t found the petite girl yet. He passed the lobby at least three or four times, that’s when he started asking around.

With no one knowing where the girl was, he even asked Niragi, he too was worried so they both went on their sides to find her. Chishiya went outside and started to walk around the perimeter until he heard an oh so familiar voice coming form the sketchy alleyway.

“Were you hiding the cards from Hatter?”

“So what if I was?! I had to watch my friends die in front of me to be able to get this card! I’m not giving it to some cult leader or whatever he is!”

Chishiya rushed to the voices and saw one of the new militants holding three cards in his left hands and a gun in this right. Y/n tried to reason with the boy, but it only seemed to boil his blood even more, to the point he raised his gun. Chishiya ran to y/n side and hid her behind him, y/n on the other side was surprised.

“Put the gun down... You’re pointing it at the most important person apart from Hatter.” Chishiya tried calm the boy down, but didn’t work.

“Y/n... You remember Kirika? She was close to you right? Did you know that she gave her life up so that I can survive the game? Her last words were, ‘Tell y/n, thank you... I love you Aki-kun.’ She gave her life for me because she loved me!”

Aki broke down crying, falling on his knees and letting out pained screams. Y/n came forward tears falling down her cheek and approached Aki and gave him a hug. She careful put the gun down and caressed the top of Aki’s head.

“Kirika was a wonderful person, Aki, she was-“

Y/n sentence was cut abruptly and Chishiya took a step wondering why y/n suddenly stopped talking, he took another stop forward, his eyes widening seeing Aki’s hands was covered in blood and held a knife. He dropped the knife and moved his hand to grab the gun next to him.

“You’re all Hatter’s soldier. We have to end this, I have to end it.”

Aki grabbed the gun and slowly got up, hair covering his eyes. While Chishiya looked at how y/n’s body fell to the side and seeing a dark substance staining her grey sweatpants. A small pool of her own blood was starting to form underneath her.

Chishiya looked at Aki who was still mumbling things, but he saw red. The blonde grabbed the closest thing to him, which was a metal pipe, and ran towards Aki, hitting him with it, unable to stop himself.

Chishiya’s blood was boiling, he never felt so angered in his entire life. He kept on swining the pipe, hitting a part of Aki’s body every time. His vision was red, he couldn’t even hear the screams of his victim. What brought him back was Aguni taking off the metal pipe off of his hands. Chishiya’s face was unrecognizable, it was full of hatred, sadness, anger and disgust. Aguni never saw such expression on the male’s face before, he always looked so calm and preserved.

Something caught Chishiya off guard when he looked at Aguni. His eyes were red, as if he was holding himself back not to cry, that’s when he remembered y/n. He turned around to see An trying to stop the bleeding from y/n’s wound, but the blood was coming out and went through all of the amount of cloth that was put on it.

The blonde male rushed towards y/n’s side caressed her face while shaking his head. Tears fell on the girl’s cheek while Chishiya was telling y/n to stay with him. He soon looked at An and she was trying everything she could, all of the sudden, a small and tired voice caught his attention.

“S...shuntaro...? Ri-chan..?”

The blonde male whipped his head to look at y/n. She was smiling. Why was she smiling? She was dying, but she was still smiling. Chishiya tried to understand her, but couldn’t.

“S-spending my... last moments.. with the ones I love.. Shun... taro... I’m sorry... but pro..mise me... you’ll live, okay?”

“W..why are you saying sorry.. No. We both survive okay? Look... An... An will take care of you okay?”

Y/n turned weakly looked over the forsenic, who was doing her best to keep the petite girl alive. They made an eye contact, y/n let out a pained sigh while An shook her head. Y/n was trying to stay strong until the very end.

“Ri..chan... Thank you for everything... Take care... Big sis...”

At this point, An was crying too and shouted for other people to come help them. Y/n placed her bloodied hand on Chishiya’s cheek, wiping his tears away, he held her hand as she caressed him. She was so warm, he never knew she was this warm before. He didn’t wanted her to leave.

Just not yet.

“No.. No, you can’t leave.. Hang on okay y/n..? Help is... help is on the way.”

Y/n shook her head and let all of her tears fall, managing to give Chishiya one final smile.

“Shuntaro... I love you.”

At her words, y/n’s eyes closed and her hand went limp, landing on her body. When the other arrived, all of the executives looked at the scene before them. They were too late. An was crying, still holding on her little sister dead body, telling her to wake up and not to leave her. Chishiya sat there unable to move or say anything.

A pang of guilt hit two executives in particular and they slightly looked at each other and sighed, tears slowly coming in their vision. Aguni was behind them and his fist turned white, knowing y/n was the most important person in the Beach. She was the only one who kept Hatter in the sane side.

Niragi pushed the people aside and dropped his rifle, analyzing the dead girl’s feature. Y/n died with a smile on her face.

“She looks so peaceful.”

Chishiya woke up at the sound of the bell, indicating to gather in the lobby and group up, since the games were about to start. He felt something wet on his side and he looked at his pillow, it was wet. He touched his face and he shook his head, laying on his bed once again.

He cried. He was crying.

He looked at the ceiling and smiled sadly, clutching on his chest at the amount of pain he felt. The memory of her smiling to him was engraved in his mind and he wasn’t going to let it go.

“I never had the chance to tell you that I loved you too... I’m sorry.. I only now realized it..”

He stood up, wiping the tears off of his face, putting his shoes on and went to the lobby. He put his hood on and tucked his hands in the pockets, he analyzed everyone and he nodded to himself.

‘I will keep my promise.’

[everlarkficexchange]

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up  

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death. 

  “Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago. 

  The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

  A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod. 

  That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face. 

  “Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

  I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother. 

  Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

  Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain. 

  It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister. 

  I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life. 

  I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning,  watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children. 

  I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate. 

  We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying. 

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

  “We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag. 

  Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

  I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully. 

  I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles. 

  We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor. 

  My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up. 

  “No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

  I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man. 

  He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me. 

  “My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

  I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names. 

  “Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

  “Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

  Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

  As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

  Marvel nods, grimly. 

  “We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes. 

  “Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

  I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps. 

  “Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

  After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

  I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly. 

  Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?  

  Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

  These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

  “Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk. 

  “Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

  I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow. 

  I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile. 

  “I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly. 

  My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head. 

  Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,” 

  My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers. 

  “Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?” 

  My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

  “Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?” 

  I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

  “Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”  

  I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12. 

  I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be. 

  I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things. 

  Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night. 

  ————————-

  Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings. 

  We talk about baseball:

  “You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?” 

  I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

  “Wow, beautiful and smart!”

  We talk about cars:

  “I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

  “The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?” 

  No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

  We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child. 

  Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly. 

  I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up. 

  “Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

  We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight,  alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden! 

  I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting! 

  Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches. 

  “Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

  “Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

  His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

  “You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!” 

  It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed. 

  A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here. 

  “I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants. 

  I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us. 

  “You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

  “You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

  “My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

  I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

  Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

  I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise. 

  “That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!” 

  We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house. 

  He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound. 

  But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried. 

  ————————-

  Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down. 

  Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

  I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

  I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

  But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something! 

  I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth. 

  I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure. 

  I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes. 

  My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare. 

  At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

  One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

  “Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs. 

  I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

  “I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.” 

  ————————-

  Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face. 

  I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

  “I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,” 

  “Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

  “The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

  “I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…” 

  I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence. 

  My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

  ——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news. 

  I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way. 

  The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters. 

  “It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says. 

  At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long. 

  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. 

  I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad. 

  Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

  “Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack. 

  I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary. 

  My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!” 

  “Katniss, what’s going on?” 

  I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

  I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

  “At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

  I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care. 

  “That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically. 

  I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t. 

  I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now. 

  “I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

  “Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

  She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath. 

  I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

  ———————-

  My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough. 

  I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold. 

  In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day. 

  There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption. 

  “Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper. 

  “Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

  Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father. 

  I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly. 

  She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation. 

  “Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly. 

  I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?” 

  “It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

  “This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?” 

  My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

  —————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

  “Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

  I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth. 

  “Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

  “Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command. 

  I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,” 

  I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade! 

  Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason! 

  I shudder at the thought. 

  But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

  My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name. 

  Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

  I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible. 

  “Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment. 

  I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

  He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here. 

  “Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

  “Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.” 

  Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

[b0rista]

— ❝︎ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍! 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐔. ·˚ ༘

♡︎ : the atmosphere i'm going for is frustratingly difficult to describe djjfjg the word "somber" doesn't really do it for me, but it's pretty much these emojis 🌑🌨🎞💸🚬⛓🔭

lowkey just wanted to put this trio & y/n (aka the loml) in a really dark, gloomy, modern metropolis type of place full of cold weather, inner monologues, and cigarettes JFKGK

ALSO my insp was the reiner + annie fanart in the center of the divider i made!! i really wish i knew the artist, but i couldn't find them :(( definitely NOT taking credit, it isn't my art whatsoever. but LOOK AT THEM UGH THE AESTHETIC

to balance things out, i wrote the reader as female! && characters are aged up to their early twenties.

the bunch of you met through your college courses— of course, the three of them had known one another since childhood, but you managed to weasel your way into their close-knit friend group. ever since then, you all share the melancholy city life.

during your guys' campus days, reiner worked for his master's in kinesiology. it isn't that big of a shocker that he aimed for something that pertained to his bulkier build,, mans grows up to be an absolute unit, lmao. wanting to maintain an above average salary, he used his education to earn himself a place in the certified training department. currently, he's a personal trainer of many clients, all of which he does his best to maintain.

bertholdt majored in philosophy, and worked toward his master's degree. with his intelligence, he got it. while all three of you (reiner especially), urged him to pursue non-profit professionalism, praising his skill and all around ability to do so, he lacked the confidence to push for it, and ended up going down another path. currently, he's sticking to the safe road, aiming to become a professor in the very course he excelled in. he's yet to get there, though— right now, he's a professor's assistant. it's less tiring, at least. still, he was capable of becoming something better.

as for annie, she majored in political science. unlike the other two, she worked to obtain a bachelor's degree. with that being said, she attended college for a little longer. eventually, she got her degree, and while she was a little lost after graduation, she made her way into the policy analyst game. she had the writing skills, sOmewhat of the drive, and while she's the youngest worker in her office, she's also the brightest. they're all also terrified of her, she speaks .6 words a day.

of course, what you did is entirely up to you! if you took two or three years to get your degree, you likely graduated alongside the boys. if it took longer, no worries, annie's degree took quite a bit.

now, the four of you are living in the same city, and you're all experiencing that said city's constant mournful, dingy atmosphere. the aesthetic is calming, actually; the weather is never nice, it's a rarity that you ever get an actual glimpse of the sun. no matter the season, so long as it isn't summertime, layers are a must. rainfall is a weekly occurrence, as well as the occasional thunderstorm. the merged stench of coffee grounds and burnt oil linger within the streets of the city, simply adding to the melancholy. basically, the general scenery is dark, cold, wet, and quiet. it's a gloomy place,, definitely comparable to forks, washington, but more of a metropolis than a town.

even with all of that being said, you and your friends have a good time. honestly, if you didn't all have eachother, you'd all probably go mental.

while reiner and bertholdt have their own seperate apartments, you and annie share a place. the rent was cheap, especially once split between two homeowners. two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a single kitchen & living area. it was too good of a deal to pass up. fortunately, you and her are compatible roomates.

with that being said, of course, it's often that the four lounge around at your guys' apartment. bertholdt always makes sure to check in before visiting, while reiner has the sour habit of showing up unannounced. you've both had to deny him a key, despite his pleading. you love him, but not that much.

sometimes, the two of them crash in your living room. typically, it's reiner on the couch while bertholdt takes up the floor, waking up the next morning in whatever flamboyant position he'd folded himself into during the night. every now and then, you and annie forget to head back to your rooms, and you crash right there with them. before you all fall asleep, you're typically all huddled up near the glass doored balcony, allowing the rainfall to serenade the four of you into a deep slumber whilst sitting within the crisp remnants of cigarette smoke and freshly opened liquor.

in a way, it's funny, because you all have a tendency to do that on a work night. just the four of you, sitting in your living room, drinking your alcohol, coating your furniture in the brisk stench of pure, solicited nicotine, watching your very own city drown within the darkening sky's tears as little to zero words are even spoken. when it comes to you and your friends, that's something that can never be contradicted; the quiet. these were how you spent your evenings together, especially after a rough day— silence, smoking, and the most peaceful sorrow imaginable.

of course, when you aren't wallowing in your own self pity, you're known to get drinks together. there's this certain booth in a local pub, it had burnt burgundy seats made out of leather. it's your guys' booth, and whenever you go out for a drink or two, that's where you sit. it's way back in the corner, where none of you can be bothered. one time, a couple of rascals had stolen it, and they refused to move. without a second thought, annie slammed one of those motherfucker's faces into the table. in suite, reiner took care of the other one, yanking him from the collar and kicking him to the floor. you and bertholdt only watched,, you were laughing, poor bert simply dragGed his palm down his face.

hey, at least you got your seats back! absentmindedly, you etched your initials into the bottom of the table with your pen. without a thought, the other three did the same, marking the corner as their own. don't fuck with that table, you'll be slaughtered.

when winter hits, it hits mercilessly. it's insanely aesthetic, seeing your group standing on the side of the busy street, all absolutely layered up in buttoned up winter coats and thickly knitted scarves. because they're both unnecessarily large, you depend on them for warmth every now and then. the amount of times you've buried your face within reiner's side while sitting on the subway during the midst of wintertime is stupid. as for bertholdt, he occasionally takes off his very own coat, draping it over you or annie's shoulders whenever either of you are seen shivering. he doesn't mind getting a cold, so long as you're warm.

speaking of the subway, your city has one. it's a pretty average way to travel, and due to none of you actually owning your own vehicles, it's where you go whenever walking or taking the bus isn't an option. the only one who isn't allowed to ride the subway alone is you. there was instance where on your way home from work, you had a run-in with an unpleasant bystander with the means to hurt you. ever since then, a code has been set where if you want to travel underground, you do it with one of them.

^ one time, you didn't listen, and you went by yourself anyway— unfortunately for you, reiner was boarding the exact same stop as you, and gave you quite the scolding. however, it's only because you're special to him. to all of them.

you and annie are actually closer than you'd imagine. being one of the only female friends she's ever been able to keep, you've grown to be an important figure in her life. of course, she'd never admit that to you, but you know. some nights, the two of you lean against one another on the sofa while black & white reruns play on the television, ultimately sending you both to sleep.

once a week, you have lunch with bertholdt at the university he assists at. you know just how glum the work makes him, and fortunately, you showing up every single sunday with coffee and sandwiches never fails to brighten his day. sometimes, you're the only one that can get him through the week.

bert's crush on annie is still very much a thing, even in this universe. of course, he's older, and for the most part, he's grown out of it. still, he stares. not as much as he once did, but he does. you and reiner only watch from afar, quietly sullen that he'd never quite gotten the guts to act on it.

bertholdt is also the group's umbrella holder. it's constantly raining, and due to his height, he's the one holding the bigass umbrella over the four of your guys' heads. when there isn't an umbrella, you just sort of seek refuse underneath his arms, which he gladly gives you. reiner and annie don't really mind, they get wet. it is a thing where you're all rushing to get out of the rain, the two men shielding the women's hair from the storm with their jackets as they run for shelter.

you all smoke. well, actually, whether or not you smoke cigarettes in this scenario is entirely up to you. if you'd like, ignore this part. anyway, cigarette sharing is a given. while reiner's preferred brand of darts is far more lucrative and more likely to kill him (he's dead inside, it fits), he won't hesitate to snatch a cigarette from in between the tips of your lips, bringing them to his own. it's something all of you do, even bertholdt. sharing is caring, you all say. you tend to do the same thing with wine glasses, or beer bottles.

it's practically gotham city, you're all dead inside grownups, god isn't real.

irllydidn'tlikehowthisturnedout-

[kayzume]

Pairing: Android!Tendou Satori x SicklyF!Reader

Genre: Angst-ish

TW: Character Death (non gore)

WC: 1.7k

Note: Rushed...very. This is my contribution to Haikyuu HQ server collab and my very first time joining one, so I’m uh nervous af. I hope this was sufficient enough:)). Lots of talented writers and artists are participating so make sure to check the masterlist right here

Also: Mama @prismaroyal thank you so much (T^T)..what would I do without you🥺!! @shinrurie and @yacoka thanks for hyping me😳😭

Back to Masterlist

"Is X00 ready?" your father spoke in a low voice.

He looked at you and smiled "just a little bit more my angel, dad is gonna give you the companion of a lifetime" he told you gently. 

"If I even have a lifetime dad," you told him weakly and he gave you this mourning look "y/n don't say such words!" he said to you while shaking his head. He crouched down to your level and caressed your face "I'm gonna make sure that this droid will help you recover, it's not over yet please have more faith in yourself, you'll be fine, you'll get better and-" he sighs then grasps your hands lightly "and we'll be together for a long long time."

You knew that your father was grasping on his false hopes of you getting better. If somebody looks at you in your current state they would surely figure out that your gravely ill, your skin has lost its regular healthy appearance, your eyes were sunken.Your father is a scientist, he's done a lot to help you recover. He tried inventing various ways, medicines, and such to help your gravely ill body to become healthy, but to this day, nothing. None of your father's hard work barely made an impact on you. It always ends up on him getting upset that none of them is helping until today that is.

"He's X00, he will be your companion from now on, he's modeled after caretakers and nurses I'm sure he will be a good factor for your health" your father exclaimed while smiling widely. You shift your sights from your dad to 'X00' he was tall and kind of lanky, with wild red hair and mysterious red eyes, for an android, his eyes seemed so full of life, a clear contrast from yours, which appeared lifeless even for a young girl such as yourself? he was staring at you and you felt weird, like his gaze pierced into your soul itself. Shaking the thought, you stared back at him and he blinked. Wait did he just blink? "He can- h-he blinked, at me!" you told your father incredulously, but he only laughed at your surprised reaction.

"Well of course he can, he was built to act completely human, how else would he be able to sympathize with you if he can't?" your father said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'll leave you to him so you can get to know him" he continued not leaving time for you to say something. You sighed in defeat at the realization that you are now stuck with a mecha humanoid that's just standing there, staring at you silently. Your father must be kidding, how in the world are you supposed to communicate with a metal piece of junk. You were never a fan of technology in the first place, always believing they were a pain and they stole a lot of your father's time. You looked back at 'X00' he doesn't look half bad if you bypass his blood red eyes “You-" you tried starting, but then you started coughing vigorously, it was painful to say the least noticing bits of blood on your hanky, you decided speaking is not the best idea at the moment. He looked clearly worried and you averted your eyes in response, away from his face. You closed your eyes and faced the other side of the lab overlooking the garden, but when you opened your eyes he was there crouched in front of you, staring.

"What the fuck!" you exclaimed startled, a hand to your pounding heart.

Then suddenly you felt a hand to your head making its way to caress your cheek tenderly, it was him. He looked extremely gentle for someone who doesn't have a real heart, you happen to look away only to take notice of your hand now resting on his other hand, something you didn't even notice. You peeked at his face, he was sporting a sweet smile, and you feel the hotness creep all the way from your neck to your face. You lightly try to pull your hand back "Oh uhm give my hand back please" you squeaked. He let go of your hand and proceeded to the back of your wheelchair, slowly pushing your way out of the lab "D-do you have a name? b-besides from X00?" you asked dumbly. Of course, he doesn't, he was only activated today "How about I give you one?" He didn't answer, so you opted to stay quiet as well. How exactly is he supposed to help you when he doesn't even talk?!

Time passes by the two of you and he's slowly acknowledging you. It feels like you're teaching a chick how to speak, rather than him caring for you, it was the other way around. Every time you are to spend time with your mother and father, he would be taken away by your father's attendants, claiming that time with the family was for the family alone, you always missed the forlorn look painted in his eyes. The first time that it happened it took you solid 10 minutes to reassure him that you'd only be apart for a short while. You might not admit it to anyone, but being around him slowly makes you feel at ease and surprisingly you could feel more energy surging through your body. As crazy as it is his presence gave more to you than necessary, and you're loving every bit of it disregarding the fact that being with someone like him is impossible. He understood you and stood by you regardless of what is and whatnot. You were thankful for him being a shoulder to lean on and just for being your friend.

Today, you and X00 will be picking out some flowers. Your mother had said that the air outside mixed with the flowery aroma will help you breathe better and upon hearing such, X00 ushers you both out immediately, you have regained your footing all thanks to X00. Though he barely speaks he always makes your day by humming a specific tune, It was your inspiration to be able to walk again, to be able to dance along with his beautiful music. You knew in the short time that you were together that something changed, you weren't able to pinpoint what it was exactly, but it's definitely there looming over you.

Some things were starting to feel different, the innocent looks turned to something more when it's just the two of you, for you at least. You try to brush off the feelings evidently growing on you as time passes by, you always have to remind yourself "y/n he's a metal junk, he doesn't do feelings" after you're mini realization you fought back the forthcoming tears, but to no avail. You looked up at the sky, asking whoever was up there in heaven, "why me, why us?"

"I" he started, making you look at him "Hmm?" You urged him to continue

"I want...I want a name" he said. The gesture stirred something heart-warming in your chest, but before you could even give him a response, you felt a sudden chill in your back and slowly you feel your world begin growing dark.

Murmurs, murmurs, and more murmurs. You can hear voices but all words seem to be incoherent.

"How is she?" a voice you recognized as your mother's, you can already imagine her pacing around the room by the sound of her concerned voice. She was the type to fret over everything.

"It's not looking good" you presume was your father's, as he gave an exasperated sigh. You thought why was everyone so gloomy? what is happening?

You slowly opened your eyes to the blinding white lights "ugh" you let out in pain. Why does everything hurt? What is with all these tubes and wires stuck on you? You know what was going on. Deep down you knew, but you decidedly keep on rejecting the idea of you passing. You thought if you leave now, how is he gonna keep going, and for what? The thought of him made you snap. 

"WHERE IS HE?!" you screamed startling your parents.

"y/n calm down, sweetie," your mother said while rubbing your back to calm you down "stressing will only make things worse, hmm" as if on cue you felt a sharp pang course through your body "Argh!" you yelped in pain, "hah..hah...hah" you started breathing heavily, the pain is starting to become unbearable, "Mom it hurts...so much" you clung to her as if it will make things any better. Your face is scrunching in pain, tears are starting to sting your eyes. Your mother was cradling you in her arms, you can feel her shaking. She was crying silently and it makes things extra clear for you, This is the end.

You calmed yourself down and pulled away from your mother. You looked her in the eyes and stated "I want to see him, mom, for the last time, please" you pleaded with her. She kissed your forehead and gave you a comforting hug. You both knew that this meant goodbye and it was hard to let go. Your father couldn't stand to look at you so helplessly that he decided to leave without saying goodbye. It was for the best you thought. The door screeched open, he stood before you. He looks forlorn as if something was taken away from him. "Come" you signaled him to come closer, he scooted next to you. You caressed his face, memorizing every inch, "I- I want you to remember that even though it was only a  short period of time that I was with you, I have loved every single aspect there is about you. I remembered you stating that you wanted a name, hmm, your name shall be Tendou because you were heaven's grace to me" you whispered. "You may not be able to feel love, but remember that this heart has only beaten for you." you continued leaning close to put his hands near your heart, with a longing look you placed a loving kiss on his forehead.

You gave him one last smile, "Farewell, Tendou"

Tendou cradled your lifeless body against his, berating himself over not being able to shed a tear. Deep inside him he was praying, “In our next life we’ll be together, I promise” feeling the heaviness in his heart “I loved you too”

[galaxwrites]

That time Kaito (accidentally) seduced a dragon

Yugioh writing, this time.

crossposted on my AO3

A mix of Zexal and Arc-V

Ship: ...what's the ship name for Kaito x Shun? that's the one

Dungeons and Dragons AU!

Please, enjoy~

-------

The very way Yuto Sakaki was sitting on the throne radiated power, but... His face looked sorrowful. Kaito had seen plenty of sorrowful kings, but never one this...gloomy. Almost as if in mourning.

He did find it weird how there was no advisor or queen that sat besides him. The last time the pirate was in front of the king, he had the Kurosaki siblings at his side. But now...He was alone.

Yuma's voice snapped the pirate out of his thoughts, as the paladin spoke to the dark-robed king. "Your majesty, I am Yuma Tsukumo, Paladin of Ellipas. And me and my gang have a proposition for you."

The king raised an eyebrow. "What kind of proposition, and what is in it for my people?"

"Well, you may already know about your brothers and their kingdoms. And...The threat that Yuri's kingdom poses." Yuma stated. "We believe it'd be best to reunite the kingdoms into one. We've got King Yuya of the Kingdom of Flames on board. We want to continue with you."

Yuto rose from his throne, and walked up to the party of four. Kaito noted that his cape was...well, pretty long. "Reuniting the kingdoms would be vital to our survival, but if I am to get on board with this plan...I need something in return." He stopped right in front of Kaito. The pirate gulped. "My advisor and my queen, Kurosaki Shun and Ruri.. They've gone missing and I am assuming it has to do with the two dragons that have shown up at the edge of my territory. I wish for you to find them, and get rid of my little dragon problem."

Ryouga nodded. "Piece of cake."

The king only narrowed his eyes, at Kaito in particular. "You've been in my kingdom before, and caused quite a stir.. I don't trust you, Tenjou."

"I assure you, your highness, I won't cause that sort of trouble again." Kaito replied, having to physically stop himself from shaking by gripping his arm.

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

Yuto had lead the group to a dark forest he called "Raptor's Hollow". It was thick and twisty and Kaito wondered how any creature could live here.

A distant roar, that steadily grew closer as the group pressed forward, was heard. One of the dragons, maybe.

It took about an hour of walking before the group had reached it-a large, dragon-made clearing. Stumps of wood and full trees were scattered around it. Two dragons sat in the middle, one roaring in pain and the other whimpering while trying to help the other.

The roaring one was much bigger than the other. Its scales a dark green, with a lighter teal underbelly and wings. Its gold eyes shimmered with a sort of familiarity.

The other was a deep purple, with hot pink eyes and pastel purple wings. A small ribbon was tied around its tail.

The bigger one lifted its snout, sniffed the air, and roared, heading straight towards the gang. Yuto and Kaito simply jumped out of the way, with Ryouga and Astral simply running.

But like always, Yuma was an idiot and froze up, getting rammed into a tree. He cried out in pain. "OW-"

"YUMA!!" Astral yelled, obviously concerned. The paladin flashed a thumbs up.

"I'm okay! I think I broke a few ribs but I'm okay!"

Kaito sighed. That's gonna be a Cure Wounds later. For now, he had a plan. A risky one, but when were his plans ever risk free?

He took his lute, and strummed a small tune, letting the spell he had prepared be cast on the dragon. The dragon tilted its head and looked at the bard, listening to the tune. Kaito continued to just...play. Not just for his spell, to to calm himself down as well. Playing music always seemed to help.

As his tune ended, the bard put his lute back, and held a hand out to the dragon. "Hello, there." He said. "Are you hurt?"

The dragon nodded, holding up its tail. A rather large bear trap was secured on it, and dark blood still steeped out of it. Kaito winced. The thing looked painful to even look at. But he nodded and walked over to the dragon's tail. He wasn't a formal healer, but he knew a thing or two about traps and how to get unstuck from them.

He barely even touched the trap when the dragon roared. He held out his hand again. "Easy, there." He said, softly. The dragon layed his head down next to Kaito, softly whimpering. Kaito placed his hand on his head. "Try and stay still."

The smaller dragon tilted its head in confusion as Kaito got to work. With all the strength he could muster, he opened up the bear trap. The dragon roared again and raised its tail, only for Kaito to push it back down. "Let me patch you up, first." He reached into his pack and took out two large rolls of gauze, and started wrapping it around the dragon's tail.

Meanwhile, Yuto turned to Ryouga. "Are your party members always like this?"

Ryouga nodded. "Sadly, yes."

"...I am deeply sorry for you."

The siren shrugged. "Eh, I'm used to it. Though Yuma's idiocy can be a bit much."

"I figured." Yuto said.

As that went on, Kaito finished wrapping the dragon's tail. "There. You should be good for now."

The dragon bowed his head in thanks, and made a sort of friendly growl.

"...I can't understand you, you know." Kaito stated, but he got an idea. "Hang on." With a snap of his fingers, he casted a spell; Speak With Animals. "Try now."

Thank you, kind stranger. The dragon said, in its growly voice. Who are you?

"My name is Kaito Tenjo, I'm the captain of the Starry-Eyed serpent." Kaito replied. "Part time bard. And your name?"

Kurosaki Shun. I was cursed to stay in this form until someone breaks the spell placed on me and my Sister.

Kaito raised an eyebrow. "And how do I do that?"

Shun shrugged. I've no idea myself..

The bard thought for a moment. What breaks curses?

....A kiss? That might work!

"...I have an idea, but I have to ask if it's alright for me to kiss you."

In the background, Ryouga mumbled "Of course he's suggesting that." Yuto facepalmed, and Yuma just weakly cheered Kaito on.

Shun tilted his head. ...Why?

"In some of the old fairy tales I've read, the curse is broken with a kiss." Kaito explained. "It might be the case here."

...Just do it then. I can't take this form any longer,

Kaito nodded, and pressed a kiss to Shun's snout. In a flash of dark magic, the dragon-just the one, the other who Kaito guessed was Ruri was just hugging Yuto at this point-seemed to shift into a young man who was just Kaito's type. Dark hair of green and turquoise, yellow eyes, and dressed almost like a classy vampire.

Needless to say, it was pretty much love at first sight.

"Thank you, Kaito." Shun said, with a smile. His voice was smooth and deep.

Kaito took a bow. "You're welcome, Sir Shun."

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

After the incident, Yuto joined the alliance, and Shun joined the group. Turns out having a shapeshifting sorcerer as a teammate is a good idea. As night fell, the Starry-Eyed Serpent set sail once more, towards the Kingdom Of Winds. Kaito stood out on the main deck, the wind blowing in his coat. Most of the crew-minus Droite and Gauche- had gone to sleep. But, Kaito never slept. Not like he needed it, anyways.

As the moon and stars rose, Kaito held a hand up to one of the constellations. Gemini.

"Hang on, Gem." He whispered. "I'll find you.."

"What's all this about?" Shun asked, walking up behind Kaito.

The bard turned around, and smiled. "Shun. You need anything?"

The shapeshifter shrugged. "No, just...Couldn't sleep. Why you up?"

"I don't exactly need to sleep." Kaito stated, pointing at his pointy ears. "Just meditation every once in a while. Comes with being a half elf."

"Ah." Shun said. "...May I ask who Gem is?"

"...Gemini is one of my siblings." The bard stated. "Hart isn't my only one. We have ten others, and Gemini's one of them." Kaito explained. "...They'd be 15, today."

"...Did they die?" Shun asked.

Kaito shook his head. "No. Just...Father mistreated them and Virgo. So all of us ran away from him and...we somehow got separated. I'm still searching for them."

"What were they like?"

"Well, Gem's really bright and fun. They loved it when I sang. And Virgo was just really shy, but she got along well with basically everyone." Kaito said. "I miss them..."

"I know the feeling, dude." Shun said. "One time I lost Ruri, and I almost went insane trying to find her."

Kaito chuckled. "I can see it, I suppose."

"Yeah..." Shun gave a small laugh of his own. "One more question?"

"Yeah?"

"...Your siblings seemed to be named after the zodiacs, but you and Haruto aren't?"

"Oh, that. We chose these names to distance ourselves from our father." Kaito explained. "My real name is Sagittarius."

Shun smiled. "..Kaito fits you a bit better."

"I know, it does. Now I've got two questions of my own." Kaito stated. "One, mind calling me Kite? We're friends, now. You don't need to be so formal."

Shun nodded. "Sure, Kite. ..What's the second?"

Kaito-Kite-smiled. "....Is there anyone out there whom you like?"

The shapeshifter blushed. "..T-there's someone. Not s-sure if he reciprocates."

The pirate raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"...W-well, it's you.." Shun confessed.

Though Kite kept his cool, he was screaming on the inside. This hottie liked him? WHAT THE HELL?

He took a deep breath, and calmed himself. "What if I said I liked you back?"

Shun's face gained a dusting of red. "...Wait, seriously?"

Kite nodded. "Why wouldn't I? You seem like a nice fellow, and it helps that you look positively handsome."

"I.. I m-mean... Oh fuck it." Shun grabbed Kite by the coat, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Kite blushed heavily, but...well, he kissed back. His arms wrapped around Shun's waist and pulled him close.

It wasn't anything big, it was just a kiss, but Kite, in that moment, felt utterly elated.

When the two had to pull away for air, he smiled. "Look at that. I seduced the dragon."

Shun huffed. "Yeah, yeah. Guess you did.."

[atlasfreak]

hell is hot from your mistakes

chapter three; Tumblr edition

The afterlife is a mess of time and space.

Dream got the brunt end of that mess, of time, and bad luck follows Tommy even in death.

Dream is mere seconds too late reviving him.

Tommy wakes up in a familiar, unfamiliar world in a familiar, unfamiliar body that looks so much like an old friend of his, and yet he remembers everything when really, he shouldn't. His brother's voice guides him, the Nether is blistering heat and dust and his hands are hoofed.

ArchiveOfOurOwn Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104/ or THIS

Tommy spends the next day on high alert.

They don't leave the cave, to Wilbur's annoyance; Come on, it'll help things. You- you always took walks when you were upset back before exile, didn't you? His voice floats around distantly - as though he wasn't really back at Tommy's side yet - but Tommy can hear him well enough to be pissed.

"We're not going outside, Wil. We went out fucking yesterday - less than a day ago! And someone fucking died. We stay in here. I wouldn't be allowed to go, anyway."

Fine. Fine. But we should head outside. I have t- I'm rather bored.

"Wilbur, I swear to Philza fuckin' Minecraft-"

Truth is, Tommy did want to go out - he wanted to roam the red fields and forests, counting shroomlights and watching zombified piglins growl at each other. He can't stand it, being cooped up in a cave too empty, space next to him too cold.

But it'll be a long, long while yet before his piglin mother even considers letting him leave the safe sanctuary of the cave.

Speaking of - she's curled in on herself, watching him with a hawk's eye, red from tough Nether tears; tears sapped of all water, tears leaving saline stains along her cheeks. All day she's been torn between getting lost in her awful, awful grief and caring for him, watching over him, protecting him. If not for Tommy, she'd probably sleep the day away in her pain. So Tommy spends the afternoon in the red red cave, trying to entertain his guests and keep his mother from mourning... too heavily. Right now, that means running all around and jumping over her and over the soul soil patch and over the edge of the far side of the cave, where it leads down into a second one.

He's trying, anyway. Wilbur isn't making this any easier. At all.

He sounds in Tommy's left ear. Tommy, if I scout ahead do you- and then he's too quiet for Tommy to hear, -forest? How about that?

"You cut out, Wil," Tommy murmurs, crouching down and bunching his haunches to jump. Mama piglin sprawls out, giving him less of a challenge.

What? You're not just trying to get me to shut up, are you? Wilbur pauses, I'm- I'm cutting out?

"I dunno. You just sound really far away."

I- how long have I sounded far away for?

"A day or so," Tommy mumbles, springing up and landing on all fours on the netherrack behind his mother. She purrs and he feels her tail whip his arm as it wags. Approval. "Ever since you left."

Left?

"To go take brother piglin to the dead zone, right?" Tommy asks. "You know. You went silent. And you were back when I woke up."

Oh! Oh, yes. Yes, I took the piglin to the - how do you call it? The Death Zone, so you could be reunite when you die, Tommy. Lemme tell you, he did not want to leave you guys alone.

"Oh. He's safe then?"

Yes. He's safe - he's with a friend.

The former blonde laughs. "A friend? Yeah, he'll either love or hate Mexican Dream, I think."

Oh, he loved Mexican Dream, Wilbur smiles. Very entertaining fellow, M.D.

Wilbur's voice grows no louder, no closer as they talk; still it sounds far off, distant. Tommy brushes it off and glances to his side. Mama piglin is laying over on her side now, eyes closed.

Tommy rumbles gently at her. Wilbur pauses in what he's saying to stare as Tommy goes to lay beside her -she deserves rest.

Is your mother asleep? Wilbur asks quietly, as if she could hear him.

"Yes," Tommy whispers. "She would've growled back otherwise, even if she's sad."

Good. Come on, let's go.

Tommy glances over, like he'll find Wilbur; like Wilbur will be standing beside him. "What?"

Let's go. Y'know, outside. Come on, Toms, we're going to the forest.

Tommy feels panic flare up in his stomach. "No, nonononono, no. I'm not just leaving her, Wilbur!"

We'll come back, don't worry, Wilbur insists. I'll make sure you don't get jumped. Come on. We need to find- I need to show you something.

Tommy hesitates. He's not.. sure about this. About following Wilbur again. Trust only goes so far when you're TommyInnit, post death.

He voices his hesitation.

Theseus fuckin' Innit, I won't let anything happen to you out there, Wilbur declares. Come on. I'll protect you.

"How're you gonna 'protect me' if you're a fucking voice?"

I'll spec. I'll warn you and scout- it's called ghosting for a reason. It's ok, Toms. I have your back.

"You're sure," Tommy mumbles, casting one last look at his mother. "And nothing- nothing bad will happen?"

Nothing bad will happen. I swear on my life- well. My death.

Tommy swallows and he weighs his options and he makes a decision.

He follows Wilbur's voice out of the cave.

Wilbur does keep his promise, though; whispering Not there, there's a pack of piglins or Watch out to the right, there's a hoglin over there whenever he senses movement. Tommy's head shoots up at every creak or murmur or whistle, jumpier than a chicken on Christmas Eve. Wilbur chuckles.

"Wil, where- where are we going?"

It's somewhere. I don't know exactly.

"Wh- I thought you had a plan!"

I- I kinda do, I don't bloody know!

"Wilbur!" Tommy shouts, "Why'd you lead me out here if you didn't have a plan?"

Keep your voice down. You don't wanna end up like m- mister piglin brother.

"Low ass fuckin' blow," Tommy snarls, but he lowers his volume. "If I die out here, Mama won't even find my body. The hogs will eat it. I don't wanna die again, Wil, I really, really don't."

You won't die, Wilbur says, voice confident as a dying man - take that how you will. If you die, I've failed. You won't die.

"You're so fuckin' weird," Tommy growls as they continue walking - just a little piglin and his disembodied voice of a brother, wandering through the brush. "You're so fuckin' weird today."

Hey, Tommy - look. What's that? Wilbur suddenly asks. His voice is clearer, closer than it's been in hours. Tommy glances over. A little stream of lava falls from the Nether roof and spills across the netherrack floor. Two little red creations bathe in its fiery warmth.

"That's a strider, innit?" Tommy mutters. "You ride 'em cross lava."

Tommy, go up to it, Wilbur whispers. It's friendly.

"How'd'you bloody know that it's friendly?" Tommy grumbles, but he approaches the lava anyway. The nearer strider turns at his footsteps - it sees his hooves one step too close to the heat and it rushes to knock him away at the same time that Wilbur screams Not THAT close!

The strider shivers when it drags itself out of the lava to stand with Tommy - it's young, and Tommy is taller just barely. He moves a hand up to pet it. "Wil, go look for little blue and orange mushrooms. I wanna take the strider home."

I don't see anything, Wilbur says after a moment, but maybe it'll follow anyway.

The purple critter makes a noise akin to a fire crackling and Tommy plays with the frills on the side of its head. "Aw."

Tommy listens to the creak and chattering of his new friend and Wilbur is silent for a moment, then We should keep going.

"We found a strider. We can just head back. No need for all this, it'll keep us entertained for awhile. Little pet strider! I'll name it Shitass."

Wilbur sighs. Awful name. I hate it. What's it gonna speedrun - death? No, and that's not the only reason I lead you out here. There's something else I want you to see.

"Not the only- you wanted me to find a- you're so fuckin' sus today, I swear. Whatever." Tommy rubs his eyes with a groan. "Just tell me what you're looking for. We'll go find it some fuckin- some other day."

Fine.

Tommy blinks.

Then he falls to his knees. His head explodes with hundreds and thousands of voices, all screaming at him, all shrieking at him, all loud, too too loud, too fucking loud-

Wilbur is sus! Aww, Wilbro! Can you name the strider after me? What the fuck is that? Can you say hi to my friend? You missed diamonds. You need blue fungi to lead a strider! Kill it for string. Boat with legs!

Tommy clamps his hands over his ears.

Chat.

"Tommy."

He looks up.

Wilbur is visible.

He's visible! Translucent, yes, but he's there, sitting atop the strider, wearing the dirty old trenchcoat from Pogtopia, hair tangled and eyes gloomy. He points into the distance, across the Nether - the crimson forest ends in a cliff and leads into the wastelands.

"There." he says. His voice is clear as ever - real, not just in Tommy's head. "Over there is a fortress with intact blaze spawners and unlooted chests. It's just over that crest."

"What?" Tommy manages through the mind-wrecking chorus in his ears. He doesn't see anything- no stormy red-black bricks anywhere in sight, just black fuzz creeping into his vision with every new voice, shattering his eardrums. "A- a fortress?"

"You have to learn to fight like this - as a piglin," Wilbur instructs. He tilts his head up. "And you need to get blaze rods. Then- then you can go back."

Woah! DUDUDU! E. Dude just find the smp portal hub, 4head!.Go get them rods, you can take a blaze or two!

Tommy whips around to stare at Wilbur. "I thought you didn't want me to go back."

"I don't," Wilbur sighs. "I really don't. But- but it's not as safe here as I thought it was. I.. you need to get back to the Overworld. Not the DreamSMP specifically, but the Overworld. So.. I'll help you. There's a fortress across the Wastelands, completely untouched. You can get blaze rods and maybe obsidian and gear from it."

Tommy is silent.

Wilbur hops down, but his hand never leaves the strider's head. "That's a long time from now. Prove to me that you can survive it, I'll take you there."

"Why are you so incitement that I can't die?" Tommy demands. "I'll respawn, won't I?"

"Insistent, not incitement," Wilbur corrects with a shake of his head. It's so odd - Tommy still isn't used to seeing him. "You're a mob. You have one life and one life only and Tommy, listen to me. You can't lose it. You can't lose that life. You can't die."

"Wilbur, you're scaring me."

Suddenly, chat is gone. Tommy peaks open his eyes, his head is still aching like a bitch.

Wilbur's gone, too. There's only open space where he had just stood, the strider blinks at him slowly. Must be confused, poor thing. There's no trace that Wilbur had ever been corporeal - just empty air.

Good, Wilbur says; back to a lonely voice, back to being chat. Good.

Tommy swallows.

"Come- come on, Shitass," Tommy whispers after a moment. "Let's.. let's go home."

It's quieter than late nights in the van, quieter than the blanketing silence of L'manburg in chunk-error ruins. Wilbur doesn't speak, but Tommy can hear his breathing. It comforts him; Wilbur hasn't gotten tired of him, hasn't left him behind. The strider follows them without the encouragement of food, and Tommy is grateful. He doesn't want to have to search this place for a single speck of blue just to have a friend that's not a disembodied voice.

"Why don't you do that more often?" Tommy murmurs as they walk. He still isn't heavy enough to leave tracks like his mother, Tommy notes.

Do what?

"Become.. real. Ghostbur."

Other people can hear me, and see me. It's not safe.

"Chat gets really fuckin' loud when you do it," Tommy comments. "It hurts like hell. You're chat, usually, but like... a moving chat. Like you're real, just not visible. When you became see-able, chat came back. Are you blocking them?"

I should be more careful with that first bit, Wilbur hums. But now I want to go ghost less. If it hurts you and there's no point to doing it, why should I?

"Be more careful with w- wait, 'go ghost?'"

It's a reference.

"What to?"

This thing called Da-

Tommy freezes. He feels ice sink through his veins, weighing down his legs. A new sound, a sound neither Wil nor Tommy have ever heard before - it echoes through the Nether, loud and piercing. It hits his ears with the force of a sledgehammer on a bell. The strider pauses and Wilbur shuts his mouth. It's almost like a scream, a cry, a call. A desperate one.

Shit.

"Mama! Mama, it's ok, it's ok!" Tommy can't describe his voice as anything other than frantic, desperate. "Mama, I'm right here, I'm right here, I'm safe!" he shrieks, running through the brush, stumbling over roots and thorns and bushes. The strider follows slowly.

He tries to match her scream, tries to tip her off - I'm right here, I'm right here! - but he doesn't hear her come to him, doesn't see her relieved white eyes. Wilbur is in his ear, whispering warnings and observations and-

"I don't care if there are hoglins, fucking- find her! Find her, you useless fucking ghost!" Tommy screams at Wilbur.

There's just a beat, a single heartbeat of stunned silence. Tommy pants, a mixture of exhaustion and fury trying its hardest to escape him. Wilbur's voice echoes in his mind as he whips around, looking desperately.

If you go forward a bit, there's a cliffside. Below is a very tall tree, far left of the cave. She's standing beneath it.

Tommy runs. He runs faster than he ever had with hooves, maybe faster than he had with feet. His mother glances up as he scrabbles down the cliffside, slipping down jagged rock. He feels hot, wet pain run down his leg but he doesn't slow to check, just tumbles to the ground with a yelp. She shuts her mouth and scruffs him immediately, sniffing his head and checking, reassuring herself, please be alive please be alive please be alive despite the very real squirming and very alive "Mama, please calm down, please, I'm fine."

She collapses when she realises he's safe and fine and alive and she's not childless and she holds him close.

If it were anyone else, Tommy would squeal and try to wiggle out, away, but it's his mother. He lets her hold him, forcing a purr. See? I'm fine.

Wilbur's voice rings out, distant. Tommy, what about the strider?

Tommy doesn't respond. He just lays in his mother's arms, eyes closed.

Nevermind, got it! Tommy turns around to see the strider hit the ground right in front of them with a distressed crackle and an OW THAT MUST'VE HURT out of Wil.

His mother has it dead in seconds.

GOD DAMMIT! Wilbur screeches. I JUST GOT THAT B- I JUST GOT THAT DOWN!

Tommy flattens his ears. His mother snarls as the strider falls apart in a cloud of smoke and dust and string.

Wilbur sighs. Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Can't you just bring one back by yourself? You can- you can 'go ghost', you literally didn't need me."

There's no response.

"Wilbur?"

Not even soft breathing. Tommy's tail falls limp. His mother hugs him closer, as if the lack of wagging meant he was about to drop dead, evaporate like the strider had.

Wil's gone. Tommy can only hope he's going to come back, like he did when his brother died.

Maybe Wilbur just doesn't like death.

Tommy leans into his mother's soft fluff.

"I'm sorry for leaving."

She huffs.

"Please never - fuckin' - please never scream like that again."

Her response is a low snort. You made me afraid. I was afraid. Never run away like that, and I will never scream, Tommy understands.

"Ok, Piglin Mama," Tommy murmurs. "Ok."

Wilbur runs his hands through his hair - real hair. Real, physical, human hair. Living hands, real hair.

He's furious. He won't let it show.

"What's this?" He asks, calm and collected and cool. With a soft smile and curious eyes - he's used to playing a mellow role, an innocent role. "What've you done?"

Dream narrows his eyes. "Why now did it work? Why couldn't I bring you back before, Wilbur?"

Wilbur ignores him, instead digging through his trenchcoat pockets. "Oh, I still have my deck!" he chirps. "Wanna play solitaire?"

"Is it why I can't bring back Tommy?"

"Or are you more of a poker guy? What about war? That's easy enough for you, I think."

"Wilbur," Dream hisses. "Listen to me."

"We could play Uno - queen can be pick up two, king can be pick up four, joker can be skip! Or reverse-"

"WILBUR!"

Wil smiles. "Yes, Dream?"

"Why can't I ressurect Tommy?"

"Do you not like card games? I'm afraid I've only got cards." Dream stands and Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "Aw, do you really have to look up to make eye contact with me?"

"It's because you're wearing tall boots. I'm not wearing shoes," Dream insists. "Sam took them," he adds quietly.

"Sure it's the boots, Dream," Wil snickers. "Sure."

Dream blinks. "Don't distract me."

"I didn't do anything."

"Listen up, Wilbur Soot," Dream snarls.

"Bit formal, what with the whole full name bit, but I'm listening. I'm listening, go ahead, Dream." Wilbur tilts his head, insufferably smug.

"You will tell me how to revive Tommy - you'll tell me what you did, you'll stop tampering - or I will kill you. Do you hear me, Wilbur? Do you understand me? I will kill you."

Wilbur sorts through his deck, counting cards and yawning. Unimpressed.

"I will kill you and bring you back and kill you again. Over and over and over, as long as it takes. Every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year until. You. Spill. Your. Secrets. Now do you want to listen to me, and do it the easy, easy, easiest way, or d-"

"Actually, I'm a bit - little itty bitty bit, tiny bit - tired of of this whole living thing, love," Wilbur interrupts. Dream stutters as Wilbur runs past Dream, spins round to face him and fall back, arms spread like a bird and wearing a shit eating grin. Wilbur Soot throws himself at burning, starving lava with a silly salute and bright eyes.

"BYE, DREAM!"

The freckled man can't do anything but stare as Wilbur's face contorts in awful, horrible pain for just a moment, then gone. Fully, completely gone - nothing but a swirl of smoke. The scent of burnt flesh stains the air and Dream feels like he's going to vomit. A charred sleeve falls to the ground in front of him - embroidered patches display old flags.

Dream picks up the cloth.

Green and white and pink, blue and purple with a white... sun? And-

He clenches his hand around the scrap.

Half a black circle, a fine yellow border and a bold yellow x. A line of blue runs along the top, and red along the bottom, and white cuts through the center with two more crosses.

The flag of a fallen nation.

Dream holds the patch with shaking hands, fury racing through his veins like hot fire, the fire that ravaged fur and ravaged flesh. He lifts the chunk of fabric to the lava, flinching as the fire swallows it eagerly and licks at his skin with a flash of searing, searing pain. Tears prick at his eyes as he holds a scorched, damaged hand to his chest, breathing like sailer too close to the sea and its sirens. Dreams turns and he swipes the water off his face and he throws it to the ground, to the ring of red blood (his own, his own blood, his own horrible horrible red blood) and a single glove, a single fingerless glove taken from his own hands, a glove with just traces, traces, traces of a dead man, miniscule little skin cells, gloves he had borrowed long ago from hands stained gray with gunpowder, and he waits for the blood to lighten and glow and he waits for Wilbur to appear again with the same cold, cold eyes.

Wilbur doesn't respond.

Dream punches the wall. "STOP TAMPERING! STOP TAMPERING!"

He almost hears the mocking laughter.

Then stop trying.

Far, far away, a small piglin opens his eyes. He's tucked against a bigger piglin, a sow who had never let him sleep beside her before.

There's a baby strider sleeping in front of him an a kind voice in his ears.

Good morning, Tommy.

"Oh, Wilbur! Wil, you're back! Wil. Wil. Wil. Wil, where were you?"

Off. Visited an old friend, brought a new one. Sorry about- about yesterday.

"It's ok, I think. And, by the way?"

Hm?

"Thank you, Wilbur."

For the strider?

"For... everything, really. Everything here."

Oh.

Tommy doesn't hear Wilbur's quiet ...Don't thank me yet.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

frENEMIES, pt. 11 {Quarterback AU}

Summary: Sometimes we just need things that can’t be given to us.

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence

Series Masterlist

"I remember the day I approached my almost boyfriend after two weeks of being ghosted for no reason. He looked anxious, glancing all over the hall as if he was checking who might be watching. His apology was quick, his excuses poor and he left before I even said a single thing.

I didn't understand why he felt the need to run, not even the excuses he made, but what I did understand is that he wanted nothing to do with me.

Walking out, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air, I frowned when I noticed the pouring rain. I hated rain. I hated gloomy days, but it felt like nature painted my emotions perfectly that day.

And I was ready to get wet and probably get a pneumonia, more than ready, but the he showed up - my quarterback.

He offered to walk me back to my door with his umbrella. I said no, obviously. I think he expected that because when have I ever made it easy for him?

I stepped into the rain, not expecting the dryness that came with it. Looking up, I found an open umbrella above my head, attached to an arm of a very wet quarterback who winked at me and I of course rolled my eyes at him because when have I ever been capable of accepting his help blindly?

I reminded him I didn't want to walk with him under his umbrella and he reminded me he wasn't under it. It was a useful loophole he used to walk me all the way home, all the way - even when I tried running from him and he was very loudly questioning "Are you seriously running zig-zag right now" while I remained dry and he wet from head to toe. And I felt bad. And I wondered why. We weren't necessarily friends and we weren't necessarily enemies either, yet this cocky, handsome man decided to go out of his way and help me.

I asked him why. I couldn't keep my mouth shut and his reason left me watching him as he walked down the road until he was no longer in sight.

He said:"Because you're worth it."

It was the first time my doubts about my self worth didn't haunt me and even though it still hurt I got ghosted by a guy I truly liked, it hurt just a little less.

P.S. - The Quarterback got a really nasty cold and I was nice enough to make him chicken soup every day, leaving it at his door with a note "Because you're worth it". He never thanked me for it, but five days later and he was back in class - his little nod and a smile told me he knew it was from me and he appreciated the gesture.

What? We weren't always at each other's throats!"

"Mike? Seriously?!" Groaning, Grayson facepalms before shaking his head in disbelief. If there is anyone out there he would never want close to her, it was Mike. Grayson thought of him as a complete douchebag and maybe he was very bias, but the guy was never good enough for Y/N.

"Did he really think what I said stopped when were off campus?!" Fists clenched at his sides, Grayson felt his face burning with rage. He glanced up at Y/N who was oddly quiet only to find her arms crossed as she was inspecting her fresh manicure.

"He is a grade A asshole, why would you ever date him?"

Rolling her eyes at him, Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"He took me to my first date. And second date. And third date. He bought me flowers, always sent me a good morning and good night text, walked me to and from class, carried my freaking pink bag. Mike was...we had a lot in common and we loved the same books and the same Marvel heroes. Back then...I thought he was my soulmate."

"So you two went on a third date, huh? Did you fuck?"

Usually, Grayson would have ignored that. He didn't give a shit about what the guys were doing outside the field and he never involved himself.

"That Y/N chick? Right?" Another player added and Grayson's interest peaked. Glancing at the snickering idiots who looked like they never gave an orgasm to a single girl they tricked into bed, he felt his anger grow.

"Oooh, she looks like she's bendy." A third one spoke up and while Grayson could hardly contain himself, he was maintaining a distance, safer for them than him. He listened to them gradually getting worse and worse with their questions and assumptions, but Mike was quiet. 

Until he wasn't.

"I can tell you one thing. She's a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets."

And Grayson saw red. In moments he had pinned Mike to the lockers and the room went silent.

Using his forearm to apply pressure to Mike's throat, Grayson's jaw clenched as he glared at the man in his hold.

"If you, ANY OF YOU, say one more thing about Y/N, I will personally make sure you find out what it means to have your jaw wired shut. And I might accidentally break a few bones during practice too." Practically growling, he leans in to make himself clear.

"Stay away from her. Got it?" 

"And he fucked up and gave into locker room talk and I was fucking angry and I fucking hated him for it when you told me, but..." Sighing, she paused to find the right words but she could see the crestfallen look on Grayson's face as he approached her too quickly, taking her hands into his rather gently considering how angry he seems.

"You weren't there. You didn't hear what he said. It made my blood boil then and it makes my blood boil today."  His shoulders are slumped and his eyes focused on her with a mournful gaze. His mouth is set in a semi-pout and his hands apply just a little more pressure on hers so she’d know he’s a desperate man. 

"But he's not the same guy he was back then, Grayson. Just like you're not the same guy. And while I'm not happy you responded with violence, I am grateful you tried to protect me, but he's not a bad guy. And we are dating, not in a relationship because I'm being careful this time around." Letting out a shuddered breath, she returned his squeeze and let him feel she’s torn. She’s torn and she can hardly breathe or think when he’s near her and all she can think is THIS ISN’T FAIR. She waited for so long to see him again, to feel him again and the first time she tries to be happy without him, to love again, he comes back.

She used to miss him - not in waves, but tsunamis, but she also decided to let him go and move on and she can’t believe the ghost of her past, the man she had agonized over had returned...But not really. He’s not back. Not like he’s meant to be. This is temporary and so are they. She can’t trust a temporary love.

"Leave him." Grayson wasn't asking, he wasn't stating it either, he was pleading. His desperate plea evident in his murky brown eyes and quivering bottom lip she caught just barely before he gained control, and she could hear it in his voice too. Grayson Dolan never begged anyone for anything in his life, but he stood before her, begging her to do what she found unreasonable.

"I am most myself around you. I've never been so honest with someone, so raw that it hurts. And I do it because I believe you are the one I am meant to spend my life with. Can you see that happening? Because if you can, choose me." And it broke her heart to see his heart is bleeding as much as hers is and it hurt to know she caused it, but no sensible woman would agree to that, would she?

"What choice are you talking about, Grayson? You're here for two days, maybe less, he will be here even after you leave. I can't give that up for a guy who will disappear with the next morning." Setting her lips in a firm line, she exhaled through her nose and her eyebrows furrowed. She tried to remain impassive, to dissuade him from his plea, to simply stop him from uprooting her sanity again.

"And if I stay?" He said it quietly, softly, hopeful that she’d stop pushing him away. And she’s right, he knows that. He’s not there for long and he can’t ask her to uproot her whole life for him, can he? She’d just roll her pretty eyes at him and tell him to shut up, but God, he wished he could. He really wished he could.

"But you won't. You never do. I can't love a ghost for the rest of my life, Gray. And I'm sorry, but I can't do this." She tried to pull her hands out of his hold, to regain some sensibility, some form of independence again because while he had his hands on her, all she wanted was to give in and let nature take its course. She’d end up writhing under him in pleasure for a few days and then she’d be all alone, stuck on the memory of his touch, the sound of his moans and the ever lingering touch of his cologne until it drove her crazy.

"Do what? Tell me. Even when I lay my soul bare you still find reasons not to love me. What would make you stay?"

And when she looked at him, she couldn't help but think what she really wanted to say. There were so many questions in her head but none of them had a satisfying answer. 

What she wanted to say is:"Where were you for the past three years? You could have called, texted, contacted me on any social media.. you could have seen I wrote the book. But you didn't and you were making all your dreams come true so why is it my responsibility to wait for you, to drop everything now that you've realized money and fame aren't enough?"

She really wanted to say that. But she didn't.

"Words you didn't exactly say and things you never really did, and I can't be the one to remind you what they are." She smiled sadly, pulling her hands away from him before turning her back on him, hoping he'd realize exactly what she wanted him to say. But he didn't.

What she wanted him to say was so close to what he thought would be outrageous. She wanted him to tell her he loves her. She wanted him to tell her he couldn’t possibly imagine a life without her. She wanted him to ask her to go with him - because she would. Everyone would think she’s lost her mind, but she’d leave with him without a single bag packed. All he had to do was ask. All he had to do is fight for her. 

But he didn’t.

And while he stayed there, standing in thought of where he had went wrong, Y/N left in tears. They went from a happy reunion to a sad goodbye, but wasn't that their usual way of dealing with each other?

Grayson wasn’t ready to let her go, and she wasn’t ready for him to let her go either. He felt it in his bones, he saw it in her eyes. 

“It’s Grayson. Get the legal team and see if they can make what we talked about happen. And uh...get me an address as soon as possible for Y/N Y/L/N.”

However, both consumed with their overwhelming emotions and conflicting feelings, they failed to notice a paparazzi who had been hiding outside the big glass window of the book shop that offered a marvelous view of the pair - from the moment Grayson walked in, to the moment they both left, half an hour apart.

Tags:  @livexdolan @dreadingdaisies @strangerliaa @mendesficsxbombay @beinscorpio @peacedolantwins @dolandolll @idekxdolan​

PART 12

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

---

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

[themousefromfantasyland]

Orpheus and Eurydice

As told by Ovid in Metamorphoses, translated by Brookes Moore

Veiled in a saffron mantle, through the air unmeasured, after the strange wedding, Hymen departed swiftly for Ciconian land; regardless and not listening to the voice of tuneful Orpheus.

Truly Hymen there was present during the festivities of Orpheus and Eurydice, but gave no happy omen, neither hallowed words nor joyful glances; and the torch he held would only sputter, fill the eyes with smoke, and cause no blaze while waving.

(Hymen, god of marriage ceremonies, inspiring feasts and song. The god of weddings himself looked at Orpheus and Eurydice wedding and saw that something really bad would happen 😂😂😂)

The result of that sad wedding, proved more terrible than such foreboding fates. While through the grass delighted Naiads wandered with the bride, a serpent struck its venomed tooth in her soft ankle—and she died.—

After the bard of Rhodope had mourned, and filled the highs of heaven with the moans of his lament, determined also the dark underworld should recognize the misery of death, he dared descend by the Taenarian gate down to the gloomy Styx.

And there passed through pale-glimmering phantoms, and the ghosts escaped from sepulchres, until he found Persephone and Pluto, master-king of shadow realms below: and then began to strike his tuneful lyre, to which he sang:

"O deities of this dark world beneath the earth! this shadowy underworld, to which all mortals must descend! If it can be called lawful, and if you will suffer speech of strict truth (all the winding ways of Falsity forbidden) I come not down here because of curiosity to see the glooms of Tartarus and have no thought to bind or strangle the three necks of the Medusan Monster, vile with snakes.

But I have come, because my darling wife stepped on a viper that sent through her veins death-poison, cutting off her coming years. If able, I would bear it, I do not deny my effort—but the god of Love has conquered me—a god so kindly known in all the upper world.

We are not sure he can be known so well in this deep world, but have good reason to conjecture he is not unknown here, and if old report almost forgotten, that you stole your wife is not a fiction, Love united you the same as others. By this Place of Fear this huge void and these vast and silent realms, renew the life-thread of Eurydice.

All things are due to you, and though on earth it happens we may tarry a short while, slowly or swiftly we must go to one abode; and it will be our final home. Long and tenaciously you will possess unquestioned mastery of the human race. She also shall be yours to rule, when full of age she shall have lived the days of her allotted years.

So I ask of you possession of her few days as a boon. But if the fates deny to me this prayer for my true wife, my constant mind must hold me always so that I can not return -- and you may triumph in the death of two!”

While he sang all his heart said to the sound of his sweet lyre, the bloodless ghosts themselves were weeping, and the anxious Tantalus stopped clutching at return-flow of the wave, Ixion's twisting wheel stood wonder-bound; and Tityus' liver for a while escaped the vultures, and the listening Belides forgot their sieve-like bowls and even you, O Sisyphus! sat idly on your rock!

Then Fame declared that conquered by the song of Orpheus, for the first and only time the hard cheeks of the fierce Eumenides were wet with tears: nor could the royal queen, nor he who rules the lower world deny the prayer of Orpheus; so they called to them Eurydice, who still was held among the new-arriving shades, and she obeyed the call by walking to them with slow steps, yet halting from her wound.

So Orpheus then received his wife; and Pluto told him he might now ascend from these Avernian vales up to the light, with his Eurydice; but, if he turned his eyes to look at her, the gift of her delivery would be lost.

They picked their way in silence up a steep and gloomy path of darkness. There remained but little more to climb till they would touch earth's surface, when in fear he might again lose her, and anxious for another look at her, he turned his eyes so he could gaze upon her. Instantly she slipped away. He stretched out to her his despairing arms, eager to rescue her, or feel her form, but could hold nothing save the yielding air.

Dying the second time, she could not say a word of censure of her husband's fault; what had she to complain of—his great love? Her last word spoken was, “Farewell!” which he could barely hear, and with no further sound she fell from him again to Hades.—

Struck quite senseless by this double death of his dear wife, he was as fixed from motion as the frightened one who saw the triple necks of Cerberus, that dog whose middle neck was chained.

The sight filled him with terror he had no escape from, until petrified to stone; or like Olenos, changed to stone, because he fastened on himself the guilt of his wife. O unfortunate Lethaea! Too boastful of your beauty, you and he, united once in love, are now two stones upon the mountain Ida, moist with springs.

Orpheus implored in vain the ferryman to help him cross the River Styx again, but was denied the very hope of death. Seven days he sat upon Death's river bank, in squalid misery and without all food—nourished by grief, anxiety, and tears—complaining that the Gods of Erebus were pitiless, at last he wandered back, until he came to lofty Rhodope and Haemus, beaten by the strong north wind.

Three times the Sun completed his full course to watery Pisces, and in all that time, shunning all women, Orpheus still believed his love-pledge was forever. So he kept away from women, though so many grieved, because he took no notice of their love. The only friendship he enjoyed was given to the young men of Thrace.

[sodaparker]

just us |ch.2| g. weasley

2nd May 1998 5:45am

Voldemort and his army marched across the Hogwarts bridge. Rory could see that horrid woman, Bellatrix Lestrange, dancing her way around Hagrid. As they got closer she realized that Hagrid was carrying someone. It was easy to assume who it was, but she could not bring herself to think of it.

The survivors were all making their way out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard to meet the Dark Lord. Rory held onto George's arm in an attempt to feel some sort of comfort and security.

The Death Eaters excited voices easily overpowered the silence and gloomy footsteps of the last defenders of Hogwarts.

"Stop." Voldemort halted his followers. It became clear to everyone who Hagrid was carrying.

"NO!" McGonagall cried, followed by many varying cries of mourning and despair from those closest to Harry and those who only knew him as a beacon of hope and light in these dark times. Rory choked back her sobs as she buried her face into George's back, unable to look at the scene before her.

"SILENCE!" Voldemort's voice boomed over the cries. "It is over. You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you see now deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him."

Rory couldn't help but look back into the Great Hall where, just mere hours ago, two people, who she loved more than anything, laid dead. "Could it truly have been for nothing?" she thought to herself.

She could hardly hear Neville confronting the Dark Lord, proving his own bravery, while she wallowed in the pits of her own despair. George tightly gripped the hand she still had on his arm, bringing her attention to what was happening before them.

Voldemort was torturing Neville, but not for long. Within seconds Voldemort's victory fell apart. All at once, Harry disappeared, Neville managed to break free, pull the sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat and kill Voldemort's snake and destroy the final Horcrux. A sense of joy and relief rushed over Rory, one that she hadn't thought she would ever feel again, but she knew it wasn't over; not yet.

George turned to her with this certain spark in his eyes. She knew that look, but wasn't one that had ever been directed at her. It was a look that was almost exclusively given to Fred when they had some mischievous epiphany or something that they would've deemed "wicked" had happened. He had instinctually turned to look for Fred to share his amazement in the events unfolding before him, but instead he was faced with Fred's almost-widow.

The spark in his eyes disappeared in an instant, but he still gave her a hopeful smile. No words needed to be spoken in that moment. Nor could they as the Death Eaters had begun their second attack; matters of the heart could be resolved later.

The ensuing battle was a blur. Rory assured she did not stray far from George, keeping an even closer eye on him than she had on Fred, she couldn't relive the same incident and be truly alone this time. It was chaos in the Great Hall. House elves, trolls, hippogriffs, young and old wizards alike all fighting for the greater good of their world.

Rory, George and Lee Jordan had just managed to take down Yaxley when Bellatrix Lestrange's voice rang out over all the ruckus.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you? When mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?" she said with a devious smirk.

Rory watched as Mrs. Weasley and Bellatrix dueled, nearly struck frozen by the mere mention of Fred's death. She wanted nothing more than to help the woman who had been like a second mother to her; she felt helpless, but Mrs. Weasley was refusing any assistance.

"You - will - never - touch - my - children - again!" Mrs. Weasley shouted as she sent a curse towards Bellatrix, hitting her in her chest and defeating her once and for all. The crowd around them cheered and Rory was pulled into a crippling hug by Lee as he screamed and jumped. George shook them and pointed towards the center of the Great Hall.

Harry had suddenly reappeared and was challenging Voldemort to a duel; just them, no one else. Once again, they could do nothing but watch as their future hung in the balance. Even the Death Eaters ceased their attacks to watch this duel of fates.

The entire hall was on edge as Harry and Voldemort argued. The air was thick with tension and everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Rory almost didn't notice George inching closer to her until he lightly took hold of her hand. They looked at each other for a moment. Rory silently wondered how selfish it would be to disapparate out of there with him before things turned sour again. Of course, she knew this was impossible, it was cowardly and more selfish than she would ever admit, but she was scared.

A loud bang pulled her out of her inner monologue. Voldemort's wand was in the air and the Dark Lord was falling backwards towards the ground, dead; his killing curse had rebounded. It was over.

There was a breath of silence, then the Great Hall roared with cheers, cries and screams of joy. George picked up Rory and spun her around before pulling her to join the crowd of people hugging Harry.

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

9:13am

Rory laid her head on her mother's shoulder, silently taking in her surroundings and drowning out her parents and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's current conversation. A mixture of joy and loss filled the Great Hall.

Rory fought with herself with the strange mixture of thoughts and feelings clouding her mind. On one hand, she was relieved, happy even. Voldemort was gone, defeated and dead (completely this time). Her friends and family would no longer have to live in fear and peace would be restored to the wizarding world.

And yet, in the process, there had been so much loss. The feeling of dread and despair dared to take over what was supposed to be a happy moment. Then she felt the guilt that had been hiding in the shadows of her mind and heart.

Fred and Eddie were gone forever; lost not even 24 hours before. She felt so selfish. How could she bask in any form of happiness without them there. It should have been them sitting here and she would've given anything to trade places with them.

She felt a pull to look over at George in that moment. How was he handling the mix of emotions everyone was feeling? This was the farthest and longest they had been separated since he had found her wandering the halls. He was gathered around the rest of the Weasley clan, joking with Percy. A sight, Rory knew, would take some getting used to.

George seemed to be handling everything much better than she had, at least in the present moment. She wished she could be as strong as him. She wished even more that she could go over there and joke with them, but she knew she would only put a damper on their moods. Rory was sure they were feeling many of the same things she had over losing Fred and Eddie, only they had the love and support of their other siblings to distract them from their sorrow. On the other hand, Rory for the first time in 19 years, since she was 7 minutes old, she was an only child.

She watched them longingly only for a few minutes more before George met eyes with her. They shared another sad smile between them and went back to their own conversations.

The gathering stayed like that for another hour or so more. Some people had gone home, others had nothing to return to. Rory didn't know how or when, but suddenly there were people walking around with large dinner plates filled with food. McGonagall had maneuvered a couple house tables for everyone to sit at and suddenly the gathering turned into some kind of impromptu feast.

The Orlandis and the Weasleys sat together, as per usual. Rory noticed her had sat near Fleur, they had bonded at her and Bill's wedding over their shared alma mater and were currently speaking very quickly in French. Her mother and Mrs. Weasley were considering the extent of damage Hogwarts had obtained during the battle and the extensive cleaning and repairs that needed to be done to return the school to its former glory ("Veronica, I say after we're all finished eating we should offer Minerva our services." "I was thinking the same thing!"). Mr. Weasley sitting opposite to them, speaking to Hermione about some muggle foods he had heard of while she, Ron and Harry had been gone searching for horcruxes ("Mr. Weasley, I can assure you hot dogs are not made with actual dog meet. I don't actually know why they are called that, it's just a sausage in a bun."). Ron was sitting next to Hermione, shyly holding her hand under the table ("Finally." Rory thought to herself) while he spoke to Charlie about his dragons back in Romania. Next to them were Harry and Ginny across from Percy and Bill, they all seemed immersed in some story Rory couldn't quite hear over all the noise in the hall. She did notice Percy's face becoming so red it nearly matched the colour of his hair (perhaps this was because Ginny had pointed out that Percy's ex Penelope was sitting just behind them at the next table). Then George cleared his throat.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, somewhat nervously.

"Even if it was, I'd still let you take it." Rory said with a smile. George matched it as he sat down and began to fill his plate.

"You looked like you could use some company and as always I am obliged to help a lady in need."

Rory couldn't help but chuckle as she rolled her eyes. "Well, thank you good sir from saving me from my lonesome prison." she said sarcastically, though truth be told she was glad he was there.

"You can always count on me." he said with a wink.

"By any chance, do you know where all this food came from? Surely the house elves didn't have time to make all of this."

" I didn't see who first started bringing food out," George said with a mouth full of chicken. "I did see some of the villagers from Hogsmeade bring up some food from the village and I saw Madam Rosmerta bringing up some shepherd's pies with Hagrid. Hagrid was the one who carried all the barrels of butterbeer up, it seems like he got one all to himself." Rory looked over towards where George had pointed and sure enough Hagrid was sitting at the end of the table laughing along with the rest of the Hogwarts staff and his own personal barrel of butterbeer.

"It just seems like so much food for them to have had just lying around ready for a feast." she said in slight disbelief.

George shrugged. " I don't know. Maybe it was a Hogwarts dinner that the house elves had preprepared and warmed up plus whatever the villagers brought."

"Perhaps." Rory said digging into her own slice of shepherd's pie.

"Whoever it was, I'm grateful for it." George said, once again with his mouth full of food. "I was starving." They both giggled before settling into a comfortable silence.

George was nearly finished with his second helping of pudding when he finally broke the silence.

"Are you planning on going back to the flat tonight?"

The question took Rory by surprise. Despite all of the things that had rushed through her mind since the explosion, the flat her, Eddie, Fred and George had shared these past two years was not one of them. She had completely overlooked where she might be sleeping tonight (if she slept at all).

"I- I don't know. Why?"

"Well- I think I want to go stay at the burrow, with mum and everyone. At least until" he paused for a moment, looking away from her and down at his plate "at least until the funeral. Maybe longer, depending on the state I'm in. When all this starts to feel real." Rory could tell this was becoming difficult for him to talk about, despite how hard he was attempting to hold it all together. "I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you." he said quickly, glancing at her before looking back at his plate.

"George," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder, squeezing and struggling to keep her own tears from falling down her face. "you do whatever you need to do to be okay, you don't have to worry about me."

The look on George's looked as if her suggestion had insulted him and his entire bloodline.

"How could I not worry about you, Rory?" he said, looking at her with watery eyes and sounding slightly exasperated. "You're my best mate, if anyone understands exactly how I feel, it's you, Rory. I can't leave you alone right now."

"George-"

"Would you?"

"Sorry?"

"If I told you not to worry about me, would you do it?"

Rory knew he knew the answer to that question, but she had a feeling he wanted her to say it out loud so she couldn't try to deny it in hopes he'd stop worrying. He knew her too well.

"You know I wouldn't, Georgie."

"Alright, that's settled then." he said turning back to his pudding.

"What exactly is settled?" Rory said, more confused than before.

"You'll come stay with at the burrow with me, with everyone." he said very matter-of-factly.

"George- my parents, shouldn't I stay with them?"

He laughed. "Rory, you really don't listen to our mother's conversations, do you?"

"...No?"

He sighed. "Your parents are staying at the burrow too, YOUR mum is helping MY mum with planning the funeral and in their spare time coming to back here to try and give Professor McGonagall another hand with fixing Hogwarts. Bill and Fleur decided to come stay too, and Charlie, and-"

Rory couldn't help but interrupt him. "There's no way we are all going to fit in that house."

He gave her a look as if she hadn't been listening hard enough. "Dad said he still had one of those tents we used at the Quidditch World Cup couple years ago. I reckon that's where your parents, and Bill, Fleur and Charlie are staying. Percy has his old room, I have mine and Fred's, Ron and Ginny have their own and the rest of you lot will spread out through the rooms." he said with a small smile.

Rory was a bit taken aback. They had this all planned out, she wanted to argue that it was too much, but after all these years, she knew better than argue with a Weasley. Especially, when the whole lot of them have decided to take care of you.

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

you can find all the chapters of this story on my ao3 and wattpad, links in my bio <3

[blueishfood]

Forgiving or forgetting

(Bellarke drabble)

Words: 1,4 K

A/N: So this is a little bellarke drabble I did. The story is set as they were trying to get Luna, after the conversation on the beach if the sea clan had taken a little longer to get to them. The story is about grief, guilt and companionship. It's a little angsty. Enjoy!

Summary:

"If he felt her staring, he made no indication of it.

She let her eyes glide over the edge of his jaw, the slope of his neck and the muscles forming by his shoulder. Bellamy was practically begging to be drawn, but unfortunately, they were short on art supplies on earth.

Short on time as well.

After a few drawn out seconds, he stirred, finally turning to look at her. Clarke didn’t bother looking away.

“Is there forgiveness for people like us, Clarke?”"

The night was clear, dark but not gloomy, cold but not freezing. Clarke closed her eyes where she reclined in the damp grass. Her body felt sore after the long day of travel, and even though she now should be relaxing, working up her strength towards the next day, her body couldn’t seem to let go off the stress.

She inhaled slowly, then held her breath and tried to listen to the breathing of her friends. The relationships had been tense for days, but especially between Bellamy and Octavia. Clarke felt a little awkward, standing in the middle of it all, but mostly she felt sorry for them.

Bellamy had been misled, and the results were fare more terrible than any of them could have imagined. Clarke knew Octavia blamed him. Lincoln was still a burning wound in their midst, a black hole, drawing light out of every being. The space left behind felt cold and empty.

Clarke turned to her side, slipping her hands under her head, and looked at Bellamy. He was sleeping next to her, Octavia on the other side of the fire and Jasper between them. Bellamy didn’t look calm like he usually did when he was sleeping, the lines in his face were strung tight, on guard. That was what made Clarke understand he was awake. Though if he felt her staring, he made no indication of it.

She let her eyes glide over the edge of his jaw, the slope of his neck and the muscles forming by his shoulder. Bellamy was practically begging to be drawn, but unfortunately, they were short on art supplies on earth.

Short on time as well.

After a few drawn out seconds, he stirred, finally turning to look at her. Clarke didn’t bother looking away.

“Is there forgiveness for people like us, Clarke?” She knew he was trying to whisper but his voice rasped anyways, and he sounded wounded, a little lost.

Clarke swallowed.

She knew what she usually would have answered. We do what we have to do, or something along those lines.

But this was Bellamy.

Bellamy who had pulled the lever with her because she needed him, who had killed an army for his people, who had shot the chancellor to save his baby sister. Bellamy who had forgiven her when she deserved nothing of the sort. She could hide nothing from that Bellamy, even though his eyes welled with unshed tears.

So instead she whispered, “I don’t know” and rubbed her itchy nose with the rough leather of her sleeve.

“I feel empty”, he said, not quite looking at her, but not looking away either. “I feel empty and angry as fuck. But nobody deserves it.” He had gathered leaves in a tight fist, now they fluttered to the ground and his hand fell limply by his side.

“I’m losing her, Clarke.” He sounded pained. Like someone was dragging the words out of him, forcing him to admit it. Clarke sighed. She knew he had been thinking it, and the tension was obvious between them, but losing her?

“She’s just hurting, Bellamy.” He shivered a little, maybe from the cold.

“It’s my fault.”

“You didn’t kill Lincoln. His blood is not on your hands.”

“Some of it is.” Clarke didn’t know a good answer to that, so instead she pulled up memories she desperately tried to forget.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep at night, I see their faces.” She drew a heavy breath and heard Bellamy shuffle closer to her in the grass.

“You didn’t stay there for long, but I can still see some of the people I met and talked to in the mountain.” She laughed without humour, lifting a braid to examine it instead of dwelling on the tear making its way down the side of her face. It rested wetly in her hair and she ached to wipe it away but would rather ignore that it was there.

“Yesterday I remembered this woman serving food”, she smiled a little, didn’t look over to see Bellamy’s reaction, “I don’t know her name, but she had blue eyes and long straight brown hair.” Clarke shook her head, wanting to forget what she thought would be burned into her eyelids forever.

She blinked and saw the lever again. An impossible choice that seemed a little too easy to make.

She knew she would do it all again. For her people.

“I remember thinking she looked like the German astronaut in the picture hanging by alpha station, section two.” She paused before explaining; “Right before the hallway down towards mechanics.” A long pause followed.

“We do what we have to do”, she said clearly, flinching when Jasper shifted in his sleep. She would really like to avoid a shouting match between them right now. “but in a world like this”, she continued, “what we have to do could be far from what is right.” Bellamy stayed silent for a while. She saw him pluck at a straw of grass in the corner of her eye before he uttered;

“What is the right thing now?”

Clarke knew the answer to that question.

“What we’re doing is right. I know it is.”

“We can hope.” The answer wasn’t pessimistic. Not demanding or downgrading. Just the truth, the facts, and oh so very Bellamy.

“We’ll make sure of it, it’s not like we’ll stop fighting before life is worth living” Clarke tried to make it sound positive. It was the truth after all.

“How could we? Fighting is all we know”, his voice was on the verge of breaking. She let the words sink into her bones while Bellamy turned away, looked up to the sky. “Not just here, but on the Ark as well.” He said as Clarke examined the stars, wondering if she missed it a bit, then remembered that she didn’t. “The more we’re on earth, the more I see what they were doing, why they were doing it” Bellamy trailed off, she didn’t understand where he was going.

“Who?” Clarke asked, glancing at him. He had a sombre look on his face, his eyes were muted.

“The council”, he paused, “Jaha.” He let out a huffing laughter, as Clarke lifted an eyebrow, then asked; “Could you imagine the chaos it would have caused if everyone knew of the radiation?”

“We’re not like them”, Clarke said. It was a statement, something she forced herself to believe. Because if she were like them, the world would never be better.

Bellamy didn’t answer, she knew he disagreed.

“I could have saved her, you know?” his voice was timid a little while later, like he was afraid of telling someone else than himself. Clarke knew the feeling.

“If I hadn’t trusted Ecco, I could have…” his words trailed off, lost to the wind in a whisper that Clarke didn’t catch. He did not have to tell her who he was talking about, the word love burned through his words, his voice was soaked in it.

“If I had left when Octavia wanted to, Lexa wouldn’t have died.”

His eyes snapped to her, startled, lost in his own pain without realizing she was hurting too.

What she had said about Lexa was a truth she had avoided long enough. She had stayed just a little longer, hoping beyond hope that she could get the best of both worlds. It was of course a lie, as it always had been.

She heard the unspoken words between Bellamy’s lines. They both blamed themselves. It hurt more than it helped.

“You protect, Bellamy. It’s a huge part of you” he turned to her, didn’t quite look like he believed her words. “I didn’t know her, but I’m sure it was part of the reason why she loved you.” Clarke said, a small smile playing at her lips even though she knew she had no right to speak of the dead she had abandoned, “It’s the reason why I learned to.”

The guilt wasn’t gone when they stopped talking. It never would be, Clarke reasoned, as she settled on the moist ground. Maybe that was a good thing. If the guilt left her, like Allie wanted it to, there would be no pain, but neither would the dead be remembered. Lexa would not be honoured, Maya would not be mourned, and Wells would not be missed.

She hated the mountain, she hated Cage, and yet it didn’t seem right to forget it all. Honouring the dead by her guilt was something Clarke had become good at.

What was it Wallace said? He bore the pain, so they didn’t have to… She blinked, trying to chase the drowsiness away, loathing the motto that had become her reality, while Bellamy’s body heat touched her back in a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone.

Their reality, she reminded herself, as the moon dimmed and disappeared.

[glorious-spoon]

Pretty Face and Electric Soul

Title: Pretty Face and Electric Soul (Chapter 1 of 3) Link: On AO3 Fandom: Shadowhunters Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Warnings: Character death Other tags: Immortality, Grief/mourning, Hauntings, Resurrection, Ambiguous/hopeful ending, Future fic Summary: Seventy years isn’t nearly enough, and Magnus will never be ready to lose Alec.

*

It takes three incredibly frustrating days of slogging around parts of Paris that no tourist would ever come within a mile of before they manage to track their rogue warlock to a section of catacombs under the city, and by that point Magnus is so tired and aggravated that he nearly misses the fireball that sweeps around the curve of the tunnel toward his face as they approach. He bats it away at the last minute, and a few steps behind him Madzie curses under her breath in fluent and remarkably filthy French. She’s been acclimating in the decades she’s spent here.

“Well,” Magnus says out loud, belatedly manifesting an defensive aura. Behind him, he can feel the sparking fizz of magic as Madzie does the same. “I do believe we’ve found young Mr. Boudreaux.”

“You think?”

Another ten feet take them out into a large, stone-walled room. It’s lit by flickering torches set into wall sconces, and also by swirling threads of red magic, centered on the dark-haired young warlock in the center of the room. Prowling around the wall, teeth bared, lank gray hair hanging into her face, is the automaton they’ve been tracking since Asher Boudreaux stole her corpse from the morgue last week.

Magnus lets out a sigh, half-turning to meet Madzie’s eyes for an instant, and then they’re moving together as smoothly as if they’ve choreographed it, which in fact they more or less have. Magnus spins a needle-bright flicker of magic at the warlock, yanking him back toward the doorway as the automaton lunges at him, and Madzie steps forward, braids lifting off the back of her neck, a haze of golden power coalescing around her and filling the gloomy room with a light as bright as the dawn. The automaton screams, cracked and inhuman, dry lips peeling back from her teeth as she collapses to the floor, and the young warlock cries out.

“No, please! Don’t hurt her, please!”

Oh, God, Magnus thinks. The poor boy.

“She’s gone,” he says, getting his arms around Asher’s shoulders, pulling him back and freezing his magic inside his skin with a touch before he can retaliate. The boy struggles, but Magnus is older by far, stronger by far, and all his efforts amount to little more than the fluttering of a trapped bird battering itself against the bars of a steel cage. He keeps his grip as gentle as he can, but it’s inevitable that the young warlock will be bruised.

After this, Magnus is pretty sure he won’t even feel it.

“She’s not gone, she’s not, she’s right there, please don’t—”

“That isn’t her. Asher, it isn’t her.” It’s no use, and he knows it. Asher isn’t in a rational frame of mind right now and hasn’t been since his wife’s heart gave out a week and a half ago. Someone should have been staying with him. When this is all over, Magnus will be having a stern conversation with the local High Warlock; Mathilde is old enough to know better. Too late now, though.

“You should understand,” the warlock sobs. “You of all people, Magnus, you should understand. Please, please don’t kill her again. Please.”

“Hush.” Magnus cups his skull in the curve of his palm to prevent him from turning, holding him as carefully as can with his arms and his magic, keeping him still. “Hush, my dear boy. Don’t look.”

On the far side of the room, Madzie stoops over the writhing automaton, which spits black gore as she lifts her hands. Rheumy eyes roll wildly, without any humanity or sense in the pinprick pupils. Whatever came back in this woman’s skin, it wasn’t her. It never is, with this sort of thing.

Not that there’s any telling the sobbing young warlock in his arms that. God. What a fucking nightmare. Magnus holds him still as Madzie gathers golden magic between her palms and pushes it down into the snarling automaton. For a brief moment, the warm glow suffuses it with a light that’s almost heavenly.

Then it winks out, and the automaton collapses limply to the floor, unmoving. One small hand drops on the stone at Madzie’s feet; a beveled gold band gleams on her ring finger.

Asher Boudreaux lets out a ragged moan when Magnus finally releases him. He keeps his magic close to the surface in case the boy tries to fight, but he doesn’t; all of that seems to have drained out of him the moment Madzie cut the strings tying the corpse to a false second life. He rocks on his feet, instead, gasping, then scrambles across the room. Madzie starts to lift her hands, magic sparking from her fingertips, but she stops when Magnus shakes his head.

“Give him a moment,” he says quietly.

She hesitates, then nods, stepping back. Asher falls to his knees on the hard stone and hauls the dead woman into his arms. He strokes her tangled gray hair out of her face, shuts her staring eyes with trembling fingers and then, with a sob, curls around her like he’s been stabbed in the gut, burying his face in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I tried, I swear I did—”

Magnus steps back, giving him as much privacy as he can under the circumstances. Madzie comes to stand beside him, and he can sense her silent question without even looking over.

“She was his wife,” he says, keeping his voice low, although it’s not likely that Asher will overhear him in his current state anyway. “Hannah. I met her once. A lovely woman.”

“Ah,” is all Madzie says, but when he glances down at her, her stern expression has softened. It makes her look younger, less like the sharp-edged warrior and more like the little girl who used to beg Alec for just one more story at bedtime when she stayed with them. They stand there together in silence as Asher’s sobs stutter into silence, and then Magnus makes his way across the room to kneel beside him, to settle a careful hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“I never wanted—” Asher shakes his head, swiping angrily at his wet cheeks even as fresh tears spill from his eyes. “I just wanted her back.”

“I know.”

“I thought you would understand.”

“I do,” Magnus says, and the worst thing is, he does. “I really do. I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck you,” Asher says, but it’s thin and sad, no aggression left in him at all. When Magnus wraps an arm around his shoulders, he collapses against him like something in him has broken, pressing a wet cheek to his shoulder. “You love a mortal, Magnus. How much longer do you think he has left? A few years, if that? What do you think you’ll do when he’s gone?”

Magnus closes his eyes. The twist of grief in the back of his throat is familiar these days, but he swallows it back. He hasn’t lost Alec. Not yet. “Not this.”

“You say that now.”

Magnus sighs. “You’re young,” he says. The first century is always the hardest, or so the wisdom goes. Those first lost mortal loves. Asher isn’t the first warlock to try this particular solution to the problem of mortality, not by a long shot. It’s something Magnus has seen dozens of times and never really understood until recently. “I know it hurts now. It’ll keep hurting for a long time. But believe me, Asher, please believe me: this isn’t the answer. You have to let her go.”

Asher lifts his head to stare at him with eyes that are wet and agonized and burning with something that’s both lost and angry. “And what about you? When Alexander Lightwood dies, will you be able to let him go?”

“I won’t have a choice,” Magnus says, very evenly. It’s a truth he’s been struggling to accept for decades, and saying it out loud feels like cracking his heart open, but it’s the truth all the same. “And neither do you. That’s what it means to love a mortal.”

*

It’s Madzie who eventually manages to get Asher out of the room, wrapped in a conjured blanket and portalled to the loft of some mutual friend in Montpellier. Technically, this kind of spellwork is grounds for being hauled up in front of the local High Warlock and held to account, but Mathilde Clement should have known better to leave him alone in the first place, and at any rate, this particular indiscretion is one that far too many of them have committed. No lasting harm has been done to anything except poor Asher Boudreaux’s heart, which was already broken in any case.

Magnus stands alone in the catacomb, contemplating the body of the late Hannah Boudreaux and trying to settle his thoughts, a task which has never been easy and which has been proving increasingly elusive of late.

The prickle of portal magic winks out of existence, and then there are quick steps on the stone and Madzie slips back into the room, pats him on the arm with one slender hand. Even quescent, her magic is contained in shifting tattoos and coiled around her long braids, a sparking power that’s as much showmanship as function. Magnus likes to think that he can take at least some of the credit for that; Catarina, for all her incredible power, is as stolidly pragmatic as they come.

The penetrating expression on her face when she looks up at him, though, is all her mother. “Hey. How are you doing?”

“Well.” Magnus shrugs eloquently, finds a smile for her. “I can certainly think of more pleasant ways to spend a Saturday evening.”

“Tell me about it.” She shifts, rolling her shoulders like they ache, and flips her braids back out of her face, magic sparking and settling as they move. “I really appreciate you coming all the way out here on such short notice.”

“Of course. Anything for my favorite young protegé.”

Madzie snorts at that. “I’m seventy-six years old, Magnus.”

“You’re a baby,” he says lightly, but he’s looking at Hannah Boudreaux, her tangled gray hair and soft wrinkled face, and there’s a heaviness in his gut that he can’t quite shove away. “Come back and talk to me once you’ve got a century or two under your belt.”

“Uh huh.” Her voice is very dry. “I can deal with the rest of this. You don’t have to stick around for clean-up. Étienne--you know, from the Matabiau Pack?--he’ll help out if I need it. He owes me a few favors anyway.”

“Oh, sweetpea, you don’t need to—”

Madzie gives him a long, calm look that’s so much like Catarina’s that they could be blood relations. “Magnus. Go home. Go see Alec. I’ll handle this.”

Trust Madzie to see right through him. Magnus grimaces, then slides a hand over his face, like the exhaustion and lingering grief is something he can physically scrape away. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Madzie says, and steps close, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. He rests his chin on the top of her head, closes his eyes. He feels ancient, like all the centuries of his long life are carved into his bones where he can feel them even if they can’t be seen. “You really should.”

Magnus huffs a laugh against her hair. “When did you get so grown up, anyway?”

“About fifty years ago,” she says, smiling as she lets him go, “but who’s counting? Go. Give Alec a hug from me. I got this.”

“You always were a bossy child,” Magnus sighs, but he’s smiling too, just a little as he steps back toward the doorway. He lifts his hands and spins magic across his fingertips, calling up the image of his apartment, of Alec, of home.

The last thing he sees as the portal opens up before him is Madzie, crouching down beside the dead woman to wrap her gently in glowing strands of golden magic like a burial shroud.

[clarafell]

“there’s something on your shirt. you – that’s blood!”

Post Traumatic Sentence Starters  :    Accepting!

↳ @thiirdboy

Homura didn’t quite hear Shinji’s PREVIOUS questions. The LAST timeline was still playing on repeat in her head. Just like her and her ENDLESS losses, Shinji has lost a LOVED ONE. Kaworu’s soul gem had been corrupted and a witch was BORN. She can still remember holding the soft white blanket in her arms and lowering it onto the crying magical boy named Shinji. She remembered how he called out her. Just Homura. His broken voice and his loss of words hurt her harder since she’s seen many sides of him in the past. Timelines ago, she knew that she would be too withdrawn in her timidness and crippling insecurities to speak to Shinji. Holding a conversation was once a struggle for both of them. But as she grew to know Shinji and later learning of his contract with Kyubey in different timelines respectively… Homura found many ways to approach Shinji with each new timeline. Since she knew him better such as his likes and hobbies due to the past timelines, she had grown more comfortable with approaching him. Even if he didn’t think remember her at all. Sometimes, it didn’t work out as much as she would have liked. But Homura was getting used to her friends not being her friends. What stung was seeing them as strangers each and every time. How long was she going to be stuck like this? She tried not to think about it. But to see friends turned back into strangers were hard enough, they would be her enemies. She understood how Shinji felt and she knew socializing was hard on both of them. But last timeline, they had gotten close enough and things were looking a little peaceful and— Then disaster hit (right on cue) and Homura coped with it by moving forward. No matter how much she tried and TRIED, Kaworu’s soul gem was beyond repair. He wasn’t alone, though. Maybe a week before Kaworu’s soul gem had gotten corrupted, Homura had another issue herself. This was the issue that she was better prepared with. Mami had found out about the truth of WITCHES the hard way by witnessing it, this had caused Homura to QUICKLY take out Mami. To kill Mami Tomoe before the veteran tried to kill her first like before.

Like before…

Like before…

Like b̖̩̞̠̹͉͔͎̬͓̰̗͚e̟̼͕̱̫͚̺͔͕ͅͅf̩̪͎̰͈̖̤o̜̳̖̝͕̖͓̮r͓͉̮̭̮e̮̙̗̰̝͙̼̞̘̪̱̥̪̦͕͈…

Homura hated that this wasn’t her first time killing people. Mami wasn’t a witch yet. She killed Mami… Not her witch. She shattered her soul gem. Kill or be killed. She hated it. There was no way trying to talk to Mami. Homura tried and it never ended very pretty. There was always some form of pain. She knew that killing witches was easier for her since they looked so grotesque and different. (Even if they were former magical girls and boy, their appearance was so morphed and no longer looked human made it easier to slaughter.) But killing another living person… As much as she hated admitting it, she was getting used to killing other people. She was getting faster and less hesitant and… She would not openly admit it aloud. Especially not to Shinji. Not to Madoka either. But Homura had killed Mami before her golden ribbons dared to bind her and render her helpless. Homura killed Mami this time around and she SHOT the soul gem faster this time. It shattered so prettily. No blood. No witch. Just shattered shards of a soul gem. Either way, Madoka was grieving and Homura had tried to comfort Madoka as much as possible. Homura knew that it was a slow healing process. Next week after that event, something unexpected happened: The soul gem of KAWORU NAGISA was tainted completely with grief.

Should she have gotten to know Kaworu? Why didn’t she restock on more grief seeds? She always tried to have grief seeds in her shield. Especially after what happened with Madoka and that one last grief seed. Madoka saved her of all people. But Homura couldn’t really save Madoka and fulfill her promise. WHEN will she fulfill her promise? She would do ANYTHING to fulfill her promise and… She couldn’t save Madoka. Apparently, she couldn’t save Kaworu no matter how many times she tried to keep him alive. All she could do was put him out of his misery before he turned into a witch. She had been hesitant to do it. But she knew that Shinji would struggle and suffer if he had to fight Kaworu’s witch. Not knowing what to do with the mourning Shinji, Homura had invited him to her home. She didn’t want him to be alone. She could still see him as she offered him any drinks or anything to eat. She knew her home was gloomy (just like herself) and she didn’t make perfect tea or cakes like Mami. But she TRIED to make her home as welcoming as possible. She just wasn’t used to people being in her home. Of course, he didn’t want anything at that moment. He had to witness all of that. He felt like he was useless and unable to help Kaworu or anyone else for that matter. She was sure of this because she FELT the exact same way. With Shinji declining all her offers at the moment, she can still recall leaving the room and bringing him a blanket.

When she was bound inside the hospital all the time for long periods of time, she would often hide underneath her blankets. This was BEFORE she became a magical girl and before she met Madoka or even Shinji. Hiding underneath her blanket, she would just lay there and allow herself to get consumed in her depressing thoughts. Other times, she would just tug and toy with the blankets in her bed. Either way, Homura would often ask Shinji if he needed anything. She had brought tissues and she sat there with him in her dull living room. She had kept her silence and allowed him to mourn. In this safe environment, she still felt so useless. She couldn’t comfort Shinji that well. Her voice betrayed her and so she was determined to help him by allowing him to stay the night. She later tried to make him tea. She could still REMEMBER his shaking hands and his trembling lips. She could still remember Kaworu’s lifeless eyes and his dark soul gem. The color has been consumed by darkness. He was in what looked like so much pain and… She couldn’t do a single thing to save him. She couldn’t even make Shinji smile. She couldn’t stop his tears. She had told him that he should rest for a few days. She told him that she would hunt witches alone and she would share grief seeds. She told him that his RECOVERY in this period of mourning was more important than fighting right now. She told him that he didn’t have to feel sorry. She told him that she wanted to help him. Help him as much as possible because she couldn’t save Kaworu. She had every urge to help him because she felt so guilt— She couldn’t save anyone— She was so useless— WALPURGISNACHT was going to come soon and she wasn’t going to win again— She was so useless— Why was she even alive still? Madoka could have saved HERSELF. Was that even possible for her to do such a thing? Of course not. Madoka saved HER. Why couldn’t they have become WITCHES together? They would wipe out all the suffering TOGETHER as witches and— Walpurgisnacht was going to come soon and THIS timeline was going to end just like that. Homura can’t remember what summer or autumn feels like. She has been stuck in this endless maze of time loops and she still hasn’t been able to ACCOMPLISH anything. She can’t even help Shinji right now. All she did was offer a stupid blanket. As if a stupid blanket or tea could ERASE all his suffering. She was just being one big burden to Shinji. He probaly hated himself for not being able to S̹͉̼̹̞͎͚̰A͓̳͙̙̣̹ͅV͇͇̘̥̗̘̜̝͍͓̣͎̺̖E͍̝͖̠̰̹̬͕̣̤͖̪͇̟̭͚̫͕̣ ͓̺̞̘̭̥̩̬̖K͖͎̪̞͍͎̲͎̗̮̻ͅA͍̭̳̮͕̞̘͉̭͈̻̘̝ͅW̭̳͈̺̝̖͇̥̤̯͚O̟͇͇̺̫̼͍̣̯̻͇̠̪̭̝͇̘̣R̺̲̘̥̜̦U͖̺̼͔̺̞̞̟̭. He probably hated H̪̖̜̼͖̠͖̝͔̞͈̬̠͈̝̬͖͕E͕̠͇̜̺̮͓͉̤̤̖̹̬̜̜ͅṞ̙͔̙͍͙͙̣͉̤͎̜͈̦̹̟̝̬͈ for being such  S̰͙̠̦̗̹̦̤O̠͓̙̺̣̙͓̼̻ ̹̝̭͚̯U̙̼͇͓̞̥̮͈̩͚͎̳͙S̖͈̪̝̯͓̘̰͔̥̖̪̟̦͈̩̪̰E͎͕̜̖̦̖͈͉͙̯̝͉̟̹L͕͕̻̗̖̯̣E̲͉̻̖͈̰͕͖̜͙͇S͎̰̙̦̩͙S̬̤͔̘̭̞̫̬ͅ—

This is a new timeline.

This is a new timeline.

This is a new t̼̹͙̙̮͔̮̬i̥̜̲͙͙͖̱̲̰̞̝͓ṃ͉̠e̱͈̫͕̺͉̜͚̹͔̩̻͓ͅl̟̞̫͈̣̰̦̼͚̲̝̟͚̲̳̩͇ͅi̤̼̟̫̘̙̗̗̜̱̣̳͚n̺̟̗̬̥͇͎̜̠̖̹̣͔͈̰̠ͅe̺̞̹͙͖̺̰͍—

Homura flinches out of her trance as soon as she heard the word BLOOD. Startled and brought back to reality, Homura looks at Shinji with wide eyes. Her lips part as words refuse to spill out. She was speechless for a moment. Homura’s gaze slowly lowers to look down at her uniform. She has blood on it. It wasn’t bloody per say. But there was still enough blood. Owlishly, she blinks her purple eyes and stares at the color. She no longer feels dizzy at the sight of so much blood. But she stares long and hard at the spot of blood. How long has she been staring off into space like this— Shinji must have been so uncomfortable by this. Was she creeping him out? Wait, hold on. Where were they again? The school? No. The cafe right by the school? No. Homura blinks her eyes again as she stares deeply at her stained shirt. Why was there blood on her? Did she drop something? Did she just KILL a witch or someone? What time was it?

Looking around now to regain her surroundings, Homura realized that they were in an abandoned factory on a late afternoon. A single grief seed was on the ground. Judging by Shinji’s expression, something must have happened. Homura had gotten blood on her SCHOOL uniform. How? Why did her head hurt so much? Homura looked at her ring as she stared at the small purple gemstone. It was cloudy instead of a bright brilliant purple. Did she… Did she collapse in the middle of battle? That had to be the answer for her huge headache and aching body. She had gotten hurt. This was HER blood, right? Homura blinks again. Did Shinji save her from the witch then? How long was she out? He must have healed her wounds with his own soul gem then. A standard ability for them once they contracted with Kyubey. Suddenly, Homura realized that he was waiting for her to speak.

“…blood?” She mutters out the word as she was trying to recall what all happened. Did Shinji know that she was a magical girl now? She had hoped to confront him in this timeline and tell him herself. But he must have learned the truth upon treating her injuries. Her injuries weren’t that severe enough, though. The blood on her uniform shirt wasn’t that noticeable and so she assumed that her injuries weren’t too bad. Whether he knew about her being a magical girl or not, Homura had RUTHLESSLY belittled herself in her head. He saved me, he saved me, he saved me… I’m so useless that I collapsed in the middle of a fight. He killed the witch— The thoughts had been stopped when she sensed another presence. A male. A magical boy. Her eyes widened at the sight of a living Kaworu. Words choke out of her mouth, weak and surprised. “You’re…you’re alive…” She trails off as she stares down at her hands. Completely shaken up as she feels the tears start to prick her already poor vision.

Kaworu’s alive.

Shinji and Kaworu must have saved her together.

They saved me.

Homura moves her hands swiftly as she wipes her eyes after moving her glasses a little. She’s trying to regain her composure before she starts being a weak stuttering mess again. She knew how to fight and she knew how to kill. She knew how to make bombs and how to steal her weapons. So then why did she just black out in the middle of a fight? As she dropped her gaze to stare at the ground, she slowly started to realize that they were ALL fighting the witch. All three of them. The three of them must have already met each other in this new timeline. They knew the truth about each other and how each of them contracted with Kyubey. That means that they must be comfortable enough to fight a witch together, right? Looking up slowly, she leans on the nearest wall. Shinji was waiting. They were both waiting apparently. Homura struggled to look Kaworu in the eye. So, she looked at Shinji instead and FORCED on a weak smile for the both of them.

“It is just a little bit of blood, Shinji. I’m alright…” Homura FINALLY answers him as she looked at Shinji straight in the eye. Her hands was shaking a little bit as she clasped her hands together and held them. She felt a little cold and weak. She knew that she was lying. Her soul gem didn’t look too tainted. She didn’t feel that weak. Was all these timelines starting to affect her to the point of blacking out suddenly? Or was it all her mistakes and torments and sins? Homura hesitantly glanced over at Kaworu and speaks up urgently. “Please… Use that grief seed on yourself—” Homura pauses and looks away. “…and on Shinji. You two need it more than me.” Homura tells them both in a quiet, wavering tone.

K͍̩̳͔̻a͙̤̗͇͙͉̅͗̐̀w̗̩̱̹͍̬o̠̼͕͐̋ͨ̆ͦȓ̤̭̣̪̰͛ù͔̣̀ͭͧͧ̄ would have needed a grief seed last time. He should get this one instead…

She wasn’t going to allow him to perish. Not again.

(Are you so sure?)

She wasn’t going to watch Shinji break down. Not again.

(A̻͍͓͎̙̝̝̎ͤ̐ͣͧ̉r̫͚ͤ̑ͧͥ̂ͭẹ̝̦͚̾́͛ ̳̣̫͎͔̍̂̄y̹̼̝̲͈̮̑͒͗o̦͚̪̟̩͋̑̌ͨu͂ͭͧ̒ ̣̮͆̋ͩ̂ș͔̣͙̀̂͊͂̃̆̂ͅȍ̥̖̫̳͈͖ ̯̝̹̦̻̱͍ͮͣ̎s̜̝̹u͔̗ͫͯ̄r̞̠ë̓́̏̏ͥ?̫̭́̀ͧͨ̇̓)

Another moment of silence, Homura speaks up again. “I’m so sorry that I caused s-so much trouble for you… I d-don’t know what happened. I can’t remember too much of the fight…” She murmurs honestly as she looks down at her feet. She tells herself over and over that she has to snap out of it. Focus. Stop being such a failure. She had no choice but to be stronger. Inhaling slowly, she looks up at Shinji with a small smile. “I’m sorry f-for making you worried, Shinji. It… It won’t h-happen again. I guess I d-didn’t get enough sleep last night. I just need some more rest, I guess. I’ll be okay…”

(How can you be so sure?)

[ilytuan]

GOT7 reaction to you pushing them away due to grieving

genre › reaction ︱ fluff ︱ angst

pairing › reader ︱ GOT7

word count › 1,932

warning › death of family members ︱ grieving

synopsis › how GOT7 would react to you pushing them away due to grieving the loss of a family member

Jaebum: 

Jaebum’s eyebrows furrowed at you as you pushed his arms away and rejected his offer of an embrace. He stared at you for a couple of seconds, debating whether or not he should leave you alone like you wished, or if he should comfort you. 

Losing a family member was one of the worst things to ever experience, and Jaebum’s heart ached at the fact that you had to go through it. You just lost your auntie who raised and took care of you whenever your parents couldn’t as a child and that couldn’t have been easy, so he didn’t want to leave you alone with your thoughts. His mind was dead set as soon as he saw the first tear stream down your face.

He quickly pulled you into his chest, letting you cry it all out and telling you not to worry about anything, because he was here for you whenever you would need him. You wiped away your tears and runny nose a few moments after you calmed down, frowning at the obvious wet patch on his shirt that was caused by you. 

Jaebum smiled sweetly at you instead, ignoring it and enveloping you in his arms again, despite your protests and want to be alone, because he knew you better than you did, and he knew that you needed comfort and support more than anything right now. Everyone was busy greeting all of the guests, like you had been doing earlier, so Jaebum gave you some time to rest.

“You’re warm,” you whispered into his chest, and Jaebum gave a fond smile at your closing eyes, glad to be able to offer comfort to you in such a moment. He just wanted you to know that he is always here for you, no matter what. 

Mark: 

Your eyes set upon Mark, who was entering the funeral home and tears almost automatically sprung to your eyes. It had been almost a week since you last saw him, and since the passing of your little brother. 

You had been ignoring all of his calls, replying vaguely to his text messages or barely responding at all. You had practically been living at the funeral home for the past three days, greeting guests who were coming and going to give their sympathies. 

Tears of grieving and mourning had been building up all this time, since you had been trying so hard to stay strong for your parents who were even more upset than you. But seeing Mark now made everything come crashing back down and you realised that you didn’t want to be strong. You wanted your little brother to come back. 

Mark rushed towards you, pulling your head into his chest and letting you cry it all out. He knew you needed this. When you stuttered out questions of confusion on why he was here, and how he found out, he did nothing but smile softly and kiss your head in relief that he was able to see you, though you weren’t in your best condition. 

“I was just thinking about you.” He said, as your tears had reduced to nothing but a whisper. He had been so worried about you ever since he found out that your brother had passed because he knew how much you cared and loved your little brother. His mind was always filled with thoughts about if you were taking care of yourself, because he knew you would neglect to take care of yourself. He was reassured now that he had at least seen you. 

Jackson: 

Jackson’s voice rung in your head, your last normal conversation with him. “Call me if you need anything,” he had said, but you picked up the phone again, or even texted him to let him know you were at least still breathing. 

All he wanted to do was make sure you were okay after the loss of your grandmother, but you didn’t want to speak to anyone, or think about anything other than all of the times you spent with your grandmother. 

She was the kindest human in your life, next to Jackson, and both of them were the people you held dearest to your heart. No one but Jackson was able to understand that, so it pained you when you couldn’t even text him just to clear your mind. 

He was waiting for your call, or even a message, but it never came and when Jackson was through his head with worry, he decided the only way you would open up to him was for him to find you. There was no way he would let you suffer by yourself like this. 

Just as you came into his view at the funeral service, Jackson felt his phone ring and your trembling voice filled his head. He didn’t even hear what you said, he just ran straight to you and pulled you tight in his arms. He would always be here for you. 

Jinyoung: 

Your voice echoed in Jinyoung’s head, “do you want to come too?” He had told you that he would try to clear up his schedule as soon as possible so that he could accompany you, but there was still a lot of work to be done before he could go. 

He thought your words over, confused on why they wouldn’t get out of his head and he called you, figuring it wasn’t too late to attend the funeral of your grandfather, but it rung and rung, only to end with your sweet recorded voice telling him to leave a voicemail after the beep. 

Jinyoung’s mind recalled the tinge of sadness he heard in your voice when you asked him if he wanted to go, and he finally worked out that you weren’t asking him to go, but you were asking for his support, because you were scared and upset about your loss, like a cry for help in a way. 

You had been avoiding him for the whole week prior, so Jinyoung thought you were mad at him for some reason and decided not to pry, but he was beating himself up now over the fact that he didn’t take up your offer to go the second you asked him. You were alone and grieving, feeling alone and confused without the love of your closest grandparent, pushing Jinyoung away due to that fact and he should’ve known by your constant swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

He vaguely remembered the name of the funeral home you mentioned, driving past the speed limit to get there before you could possibly break down again, embracing you in a tight and reassuring hug, promising to not leave you alone again during this time. 

Youngjae: 

Youngjae held your hand in a comforting hold, squeezing occasionally and rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. Your eyes were distant, and you had a permanent frown etched on your face, but it was better than no expression at all. 

Youngjae was scared that he would lose you completely in your state of grief. It was almost impossible for you to come to terms with the fact that you had just lost your father to the battle of cancer, and Youngjae was unsure of how to comfort you. 

Both of you sat together in silence, Youngjae bowing politely to guests every once in a while, in your place whenever they gave you supportive pats on the back, and words of how great of a person your father was. You were unresponsive and the distant look in your eyes always remained, but Youngjae knew you would recover soon, he just didn’t know when. 

When your eyes finally drifted away from the glass of water in front of you and towards Youngjae’s, you were met with a soothing gaze and you felt somewhat relaxed and relieved. He was here for you. 

“I’ll still be here when you’re ready,” he had said, and he remained adamant on staying by your side throughout the whole funeral process, only going home when you did, and eating when you did. You tried to push him away, wanting to be alone to mourn and and cry, but he never left you alone and you were eternally grateful.

Bambam: 

When you showed up at Bambam’s house, dead in the night, with tears streaming down your face and a pained expression, he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his house, into his warm and comforting arms. 

He hadn’t been able to see you for the past two weeks, you choosing to ignore the world around you and turn off your phone so that no one could reach you either. Bambam had been searching everywhere for you but gave up after he realised that you didn’t want to see him at the moment. 

The only thing he could do was wait for you to come back to him, when you wanted to open up and let him help you. The death of your mother was sudden, and it left you heartbroken and devastated, since you never thought you could live without her. 

Bambam let you cry into his chest, soaking his designer t-shirt but he didn’t care in the slightest. He was just content knowing that you finally came to him and decided to open up. He wanted to protect you from the world and he would make all the sacrifices necessary to do so. 

You felt like it was wrong to come to him after shutting him out for so long, but Bambam reassured you, saying “it doesn’t bother me. You’re here now.” And he let you drift to sleep in his arms feeling protected and completely safe. 

Yugyeom: 

When you knocked on Yugyeom’s door at 2am, sleep deprived and exhausted, he remembers seeing your horror-stricken face and dried blood on your hands. Your head had blood too, and the source seemed to be from somewhere around your temple. You were hurt too. 

Yugyeom ran out to the scene which was only a block away from his house, and there was your car, turned over and in smokes. You were in hysterics, yelling at him to call an ambulance and get help because your sister was still in there. When they showed up, you declined treatment and demanded they only help bring your sister back to life.

After you were taken to the hospital and refused to leave your sister’s side in the gloomy morgue, Yugyeom went home to freshen up and bring you some clothes to change into. He knew the death of your sister would take a huge toll on your mentality and health, so he took it upon himself to take care of you. But when he got back, you were gone, and your phone was switched off. 

He worried endlessly, leaving voicemail after voicemail, every hour of the day, telling you to take care of yourself and eat, saying “you’re important too.” He tried so hard to remind you that her death wasn’t your fault, and that at the very least, you should eat and live in her place. He tried everything he could to get you to at least drink some water. 

You never replied to him, but he knew that you heard his messages and that was already a start. He kept leaving them, knowing that you would come back to him soon. You showed up in front of his house again four days later, swollen and teary-eyed, but you had cleaned up and you look healthy. Yugyeom embraced you with both arms, whispering reassurances and just glad to have you alive in his arms. You were glad to be back in his arms too.