#so of course that's what makes her snap but still she; even at 14; was the only one with the spine to stand up and say it was fucked up

[nobodieshero-main]

i'm actually still not quite over the fact that oveta and korahi's stories continuously overlap until they finally cross paths in that market. that they don't even say anything to each other, they just smile from their different stalls. oveta rolls her eyes bc kova is being ridiculous and korahi bites her lip so she doesn't laugh and it's so simple, so peaceful, so fucking mundane. they have no idea who the they are to each other. oveta, the girl who killed the queen that destroyed korahi's people, her family. proof that someone tried to fight for them. korahi, the very creature that oveta was almost executed for defending, the push that became a shove to build her own kingdom and write her own laws. proof that nakia failed. but for just that moment, that blip of time, they were just two girls sharing a silent joke, and everything was okay.

[solelifauna]

When you say the love interest might be worse, does that mean "being mean to reader" wise or "being possessive over the reader" wise?

ERMMM...both I'd say. The love interest for the Werewolf AU is Jon Kent. He's about the same age as the reader and older than Damian by one year (From the time-skip space mission that he went on that aged him). But bro, this boy is fucking nuts.

Yes, Kryptonians aren't werewolves in this universe, but Lois Lane is. And a strong one at that, coming from a military family and all that jazz. So Jon Lane Kent is literally one of the strongest beings on earth, being half-kryptonian and half-werewolf.

Now i know what youre thinking.

But wouldn't Jon also be outcasted from werewolf society/wouldn't the bats not like him cause he's a half-blood?

WRONG!!! Yes, Jon is a half-blooded werewolf, but the other half is Kryptonian, one of the strongest species in the universe. If anything, his breeding makes him a very respected figure and the Bats definitely find him worthy. He and Damian are still the best of friends.

Now Jon's relationship with (Y/n). Yikes. Funnily enough, it was (Y/n) who started crushing on Jon first. She'd see him around the manor often, and she'd watch as he interacted with the Waynes or messed around with Damian. From what she could see, he seemed nicer than her family, so maybe she could be friends with him right? Plus, he's super cute!

And of course, this doesn't end well. I mean, this is a dark au. First off, Superman doesn't quite see humans as equals. Werewolves, they have his respect, and all the other races too. Yes, Clark Kent's adoptive parents were humans, and yes he loved them, but they were weak. Fragile even. And he made sure to instill that teaching in Jon as well.

Did Jon love his grandparents? Absolutely, but that meant that Ma and Pa stayed confined to Smallville and their house. They were too weak, they needed to be protected.

Lois also helped push Werewolf culture onto him as well. Weaker werewolves and humans were subservient to the stronger, and if necessary, could be killed and eaten. Jon didn't quite get the eating part, finding it quite gross actually, until he had his first taste of flesh. And, yikes, the boy was hooked.

In his mind, humans were either things to be taken care of (like pets) or food.

What's even more scary is that he's sweet around his family and friends, but those he deems as lesser? Well, let's just hope you don't catch him in a bad mood or piss him off. Which is why when weak, pitiful, abandoned (Y/n) Wayne comes up to him, he's insulted.

Why on earth did you even think you were worthy of talking to him?

Yes, he's seen you watching them, lurking around the manor, keeping your distance. It was quite annoying actually, he could practically hear your heart leaping out of its chest every time you saw him. He knew your intentions, trying to make friends with him.

He just looked down at you, eyes pooling with something nobody could explain, whilst you smiled at him and made small talk. Or tried to make small talk.

"Damian, should I snap her neck? Or is your family still insistent on the old laws?" Jon says.

You freeze, eyes widening in fear. Ah...you've made a severe lapse in judgment.

So much for a new friend.

"You know what? How 'bout I just go?" You quip nervously before trying to run off.

It's too bad Damian grabs you by the back of your shirt, basically choking you in the process. You let out a strangled noise as your body loses balance and lurches backward. When Damian lets go, your having a mad coughing fit, trying to get as much air as you could into your lungs.

Damian only makes an annoyed sound while Jon watches, a sick type of glee in his eyes. "When the time comes friend, you may feast with us. Now (Y/n), apologize to Jon."

You do not even have to think twice about that. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry! I shouldn't have approached you, I'm sorry." And at this point, you're crying. (reader is 14 when this happens)

And god doesn't that make Jon smile. He wouldn't deny, that you were pretty (I mean, you do have half of Bruce Wayne's DNA). But as much as he'd consider coveting you, you weren't worth that honor, no, he'd much rather taste your sweet, sweet flesh. (He could practically smell it wafting off you).

But alas, he'd have to wait.

But of course, in normal yandere fashion, he goes from wanting to eat you to wanting to eat you. The obsession starts to change around (Y/n)'s 16th birthday party that the Waynes throw. It's customary that all children do some public ball or whatever, so this was yours. Jon and his family are there obviously, and you're there as well, looking as miserable and tired as usual (and still somehow being the most beautiful thing in the building). However, he sees you light up in a way he's never seen you do before when your (what he's guessing) friends show up. They're human. They're weak, like you.

Seeing you interact with them, hearing you talk normally(super-hearing, duh) without fear, watching the way you laughed...He realizes he wants. And he wants bad.

Looks like you've got a new problem now.

Anyways, this is all I got!! I don't want to spoil the story more than I already have, but yeah, say hello to "absolutely bonkers Jon Kent". Hope you enjoyed!!!

[wosoloml]

crawling back to you II leah williamson x reader

warnings: toxic, hidden relationship, jealousy, angst

summary: After hiding their relationship for years because Leah was still in the closet, they eventually broke up. Yet, they always found their way back into each others lives.

wc: 1,3k I based on this request

"it´s been two years, Leah. Why are you still referring to me as your best friend and roommate to your teammates? You didn´t even tell Keira about me?! She's your best friend!" I yelled at Leah, more out of frustration than anger. I'm so tired of hiding this relationship, of hiding myself behind the 'best friend´ label.

leah being in the cloest was never a problem for me - for us. But since rumours about her dating her male best friend were a thing it as hard to keep everything private. Growing up in milton keynes it was hard to be openly gay.

"Y/n you know its hard for me to tell everyone we are dating. We both know how they reacted after Keira came out to them. She still suffers from it and i dont wanna experience it please undertstand that." leah tries to explain her situation to me and i wish i could understand her the way i want to. But im too hurt.

"I should understand you? Have you ever tried to understand me? I can't do this anymore, Leah. You deserve someone who can handle this - but I can't. I'm sorry, Lee. It's for the best if we break up."

I say the words with tears in my eyes, my voice barely holding steady. It's a hard decision, but itt's one I have to make.

Being with Leah from the time I was 14 to now, at 17, has meant everything to me. I'm so grateful for the past three years, but I just can't do this anymore.

---------

"Y/N, I BOUGHT US TICKETS FOR THE NEXT GAME AT JOIE STADIUM!"

My girlfriend's excited voice echoes through our shared apartment. It's been seven months since I moved to Manchester and three months since we started living together.

"I'm already excited!" I shout back while checking who City's opponent is. Of course - it's Arsenal.

It feels strange to be thinking about football again, especially after breaking up with Leah almost a year ago. But maybe she's not even playing anymore.

Little did I know, she's been captaining the squad for the past year.

Our seats are incredible, giving us a perfect view of the pitch. As the teams walk out, my eyes immediately land on the captain's armband wrapped around Leah's arm. A strange sense of pride swells in my chest. Playing for the Gunners - leading them - had been her dream since she joined the club so many years ago. Seeing her live that dream now brings an unshakable smile to my face.

My thoughts are interrupted when my girlfriend starts chanting loudly, her passion for the game contagious. For a moment, I forget my ex is even on the pitch.

I never told Sarah about my past with a certain blonde Arsenal player.

I could feel Leah's eyes on me the entire game.

A part of me wanted to tease her, so every time she came over to take a corner, I laughed extra loud at whatever Sarah said or kissed her deeply-just to make a point.

I wanted her to see what it felt like to be in a relationship that didn't have to be hidden. To know how beautiful it is to be loved loudly and openly.

Later that evening, my phone buzzed.

leahwilliamson wants to send you a message. My heart started racing. My eyes widened as I read her message.

'Cute little show you put on earlier today.'

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I just sent back a few question marks. It didn't take long for her to reply.

'The way you laughed extra loud at whatever that girl said. The way you kissed her while checking to see if I was watching. I don't care, Y/N' . My blood starts to boil.

----

"Y/N!!"

I snap out of my thoughts as my coworker calls my name. I hurry over to the counter, my eyes widening.

'Can you serve them? I need to make a quick call.'

I manage a nod, but then I notice here - Leah. Sitting in my cafe. With another girl.

I take a deep breath, forcing a polite smile. "Hey, what can I get for you?" I ask, keeping my tone professional.

Leah smirks. "ll have a matcha latte. And what about you, babe-?" She turns to the girl beside her. "A flat white, please. Thank you" the girl says with a warm smile.

I already don't like her.

"Give me one second"

I know exactly why Leah is here - to get under my skin. And it's working. But beneath the teasing, beneath the smug attitude, it just hurts.

Seeing her be so open, so affectionate with someone else. calling her pet names, touching her without hesitation - it stings in a way I can't ignore.

Whenever we were out together, she barely even said my name, let alone held my hand. Now, she's making sure I see how different things are.

Every time I glance at their table, Leah is already looking at me, eyes filled with something I can't quite place. But I do notice how touchy she is, how overly flirty she's being.

And it makes my blood boil. I text her 'now we are even'. Her eyes darkened as she read the message.

-------

The club was alive with loud music, the clink of glasses, and the smell of sweaty bodies. It was my best friend's 25th birthday, and we decided to celebrate it in our hometown, London. I was also hoping it would serve as a distraction from my recent breakup. After two years of dating Sarah, she ended things last weekend because I couldn't bring myself to tell her I loved her. It's not that I didn't care about her or that I wasn't in love, but things felt different. The only woman I will ever truly love is Leah. Forever.

Suddenly, someone bumped into me, spilling their drink all over my shirt. "Oh god, I'm sorry!" They said as I looked up, meeting their eyes. It was Leah. Who else could it be?

"I didn't know you were here" she said, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, it's Anna's birthday today, and I thought Id come back to London for the occasion" I replied. "What about you?"

Leah seemed taken aback by how easily I kept the conversation going. "Actually, we won the league today. It was the last game of the season against Aston Villa, and we won."

The conversation flowed naturally, and then, unexpectedly, she asked THE question.

"So, is your girlfriend here?" she asked.

"No,†I said "we are not together anymore." "Oh, really? Im sorry to hear that. Funny enough, my girlfriend broke up with me two weeks ago" she replied, a look of surprise crossing her face. I was stunned, my eyes widening in disbelief. The tension between us shifted, and an unfamiliar but unmistakable feeling of missing her washed over me.

After that, we kept texting and even FaceTimed a few times. The vibe was strange but oddly familiar, as though we had never stopped talking, despite having broken up over 3.5 years ago. Nothing had really changed.

---------

"Happy one year, baby!" Leah greeted me with breakfast in bed and the most beautiful bouquet of red roses. I couldn't have been happier with her by my side.

Even though she had a game on our anniversary , it didn't make the day any less special. I cheered her on from the 'Friends and Family' section, proudly wearing her name on the back of my Arsenal jersey. When she scored the winning goal, she celebrated by making a special gesture just for me.

Right person, right time.

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 3

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 5k words

Chapter Warnings: canon typical violence, language, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, injuries to reader

A/N: The first two chapters I uploaded were partially rewritten from the original version I have elsewhere, but it’s not feasible for me to keep doing that, especially if I’m ever going to write new stuff; so from now on I’ll be uploading this story as is. Chapters 3 to 14 predate both, Another Notch On His Belt and Snickerdoodles & Special Sauce While I’d do some things differently, they’re all part of the journey. Enjoy! ✌️❤️

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Dick?” Sam gave a half-assed chuckle.

Dean’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Her mate.”

Oh, the mother fucking irony. He wasn’t just a dick, his name was Dick. Or Richard, to be more concise. Dean had passed over that insignificant detail and Ritchie, as you’d called him, to go with what he found to be the most fitting of the three.

While Ritchie suggested a plain loser, Richard sounded like a pompous jackass, which Dean figured didn’t fall far from the tree. But Dick? Dick narrated a scumbag he could work with.

He remembered Dick Roman and his crass grin all too well, and with his face in mind, Dean had run through all the satisfying things he wanted to do to your mate since the moment he’d found you in the park. Whatever manifested, or not, was for later Dean’s enjoyment, but everything his genius had concocted so far suited Dick to a tee.

Sammy, however, saw the bigger picture.

A tsk left his mouth. Followed by an eye roll and the shaking of his mop-hair through a downward glance. It was a wonder he could do both at the same time. “Don’t you think you should be worrying about her, not her ex?”

Dean’s head flicked over his shoulder to the door on the other side of the car park, where he presumed you were still fast asleep. The heel of his left boot even shifted backwards a fraction. All he had to do was fling his other leg towards the room, and your scent and stimulating curves would soon surround him again.

Was it possible for a heart to skip a beat? Because that action, with that very organ popping out of someone like Scooby Doo’s chest, sure described the way Dean felt at the mention of Dick’s finality in your life.

“I’m really getting soft,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s still sleeping. With any luck, I’ll be back before she wakes up.”

“Dean.”

“Don’t Dean me.”

Sam could argue, meddle, and question all he wanted. Dean wouldn’t sway from his plans, no matter how stupid his method was. “I ain’t letting him get away with it.”

“I’m not saying you should. Just take a minute to calm down and focus on her, not him.”

“What part of he raped her, don’t you understand?” He sighed and drew his thumb and forefinger across his eyes. His voice, while not the loudest he’d ever produced, had been enough to make even Dean anxious.

He cared little about anyone else in the vicinity, but as with every other motel they frequented, the walls were paper thin, and the door you were behind was a mere thirty yards away. Yes. His guilt fueled conscience had him going stir crazy.

Him needing to be long gone before you woke up wasn’t for your benefit. It was for his own sanity. Sam’s too.

“I understand you want revenge. But she still went back to him yesterday.”

“Because I let—”

“You didn’t do anything!” Sam snapped, then shook his head. “They’re bonded. Chances are she loves him. That won’t change overnight.”

“I know that.” Of course he did. Dean wasn’t that unattuned with the world around him, as people always suggested. He got social cues and had feelings like any other guy. He simply chose not to wear his deepest ones on his sleeve out of survival.

Everyone else could still suck it. Sam could too.

“So why are you so set on doing this right now? Do you really wanna risk pushing her away by beating up the alpha she cares about?”

“It ain’t about him or me.”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed. “Like I said, revenge.”

“No. Alright? Just, no.” Dean’s arm swooped through the air, as if shoving Sam’s statement off an imaginary table.

This wasn’t about Dean seeking retribution, although he’d never deny there wasn’t a small piece of him that found the concept enticing.

Okay, a large slice.

He had to find some fun in his shitty existence, especially after being careful for so long.

Ever since Sam had lost Jess, they both had been. Aware there were plenty of other fuckers out there besides the likes of yellow eyes. Crowley, for starters, even Cas and the other angels, Roman, the Steins, Chuck. And not wanting to risk history repeating itself, they turned to suppressants.

Though it took a single instance of him going feral and a stern warning from Bobby and his own shotgun pointed at his extremities, for Dean to see sense and allow his rut to occur once a year.

“One cycle with one of them fake dolls ain’t gonna kill ya, idjit,” he had said. And while that was a fond memory of Dean’s now, it had scared the crap out of him.

So, “If I let him walk, she’s a target. With my claim or not,” he said.

Sam should’ve known that, but his eyes grew wide and a grin made them lift even higher. “Are you going to?”

“I just met her!” And that was still the scariest thing in all this.

He and you were soulmates. Fated to be. Chosen for each other by who even knew? Someone who didn’t know you and expected you both to do what? Commit to each other at the drop of a hat?

Dean couldn’t bring himself to think, let alone say the L word. He’d avoided it on purpose when Sam had mentioned you loving Dick, and that was plain dumb. It was four fucking letters. He wasn’t a child, though he had done some crazy, adultly stigmatised shit on your behalf.

Taking you back to the motel as he had and cleaning your wounds. Sleeping close by and letting you take his jacket to nest with. Ordinarily, these things were tame, but law enforcement would say otherwise if Dick decided to press charges against him even before he did what he planned to do.

It was way too much, not because of the illicit nature, but because it was too soon. Too easy to fall. Too easy to be trapped into something more, and yet, he’d been thriving on every second of it so far.

As usual, Sam knew it, too.

“You’re thinking about it,” he said. “You should ask her to come with us.”

But he didn’t respond with how Sam wanted him to. “Keep an eye on her, would ya?” He patted him on the shoulder, once to steady himself, the second to reassure. “Call me if anything happens.” And with that, he strode ‘round to Baby’s driver’s side and got in. It was now or never.

When he reached your street, Dean parked Baby around the corner. Close enough for a quick exit, but further away from your building to avoid arousing suspicions. Not that there was anyone around to question him or his motives.

Just as it had been during the night, the neighbourhood was quiet and restful. Still early enough on a Sunday for most people to be in bed.

Not him, of course. But regular people. Civilians.

Someone like you, included in his picture of suburbia and the apple pie life he’d always admired from a safe distance. It was a shame that the bubble had burst when he found you in the park.

It looked different in the daylight hours as he moved towards the entrance. All that he’d witnessed tainted the luscious leaves, turning the hues dim. It didn’t help that the clouds overhead were already bleak with grey.

They made the white rendered walls of your apartment block appear worse than his original critique of the place. Even though this was your home, it was a home you shared with Dick. A place Dean would find no comfort in.

He entered the building and made quick work of the steps, bounding up them two at a time, guided by his nose. And the letterbox he’d read at the bottom that had your surname on it.

As he honed in on your front door, his ears perked for any movement besides his own, but all was clear, and he was able to thump on the wood without interruption.

Once.

Twice.

But by the third time, his patience had worn thin, and he resorted to his usual methods.

He wrapped his fingers around the ivory grip of his 1911 and drew it out of his waistband, cocking it in readiness. The cool metal, the perfect fit as always, satisfied his hand and the hunter within.

Was the gun overkill? Eh. That was up to interpretation. Just as he still knew little about you, he knew less about Dick, besides the name and what he had done. The weapon was a precaution. A scare tactic at best.

And with that in mind, the sole of his boot raised and collided with the door of the small apartment, sounding a loud crunch as the wood gave way. It made his bow leg twang from the force, but damn, was the rush of adrenaline worth it.

Fuck! He was pumped.

Ready for a fight or a match of words, though the former was far more enticing. Revenge would be sweet, no matter what Sam said. Which was such a shame because his grand entrance hadn’t paid off.

Dick was nowhere in sight, and Dean begrudgingly returned his firearm to its usual resting place. The fucker must’ve been out looking for you.

As Dean stepped over the threshold and past the now broken door, your familiar scent hit his nostrils. That, and the musk he’d caught in your hair. It was the smell you’d find labelled pine or forest in a gas station’s air freshener selection. Pungent, overpowering and something he’d never allow Baby to be exposed to, let alone his own skin, anymore.

Of course, anything that belonged to Dick was repulsive. The recliner Dean stared at had to be his. What with the high back, built-in cup holders that were the perfect size for a cold one or a Dean-sized arm holding a scotch, and a remote in the other hand.

The chair would be awesome in the bunker. Maybe he could… no. No, no. He’d get himself a new one. Along with the flat screen, comfortable-looking three-seater sofa, and the fluffy blanket that had to be yours.

His feet carried him over to the item and brought it to his nose. It was yours alright. The touch of cinnamon he’d savoured during the night had soaked into the colourful fibres and worn thread, and he could just picture you curled under it, cosy and warm. You would look even better with the one he’d buy you, on his bed, nesting, with his pup safe inside your belly.

God, he was being delusional. Conceited too. You nesting on his bed? His pup? The second you discovered the true extent of his meaningless existence, you would change whatever mind you had about him. As you should.

This window into your personality he wandered through reminded him of what he knew, though, and your world was far different from his. Soulmate or no, it would be selfish of him to ask you to give this lifestyle up to be in his where monsters and gore were a constant.

As for pups. Little versions of him mixed with you? The idea took over his body with warm fuzzies, but it was a pipe dream fueled by his instinct to mate and breed.

He knew that.

‘What the hell, man? You don’t even want a family.’ Not like that, anyway.

Fuck no. He’d already dipped his toe in that pool and found it too cold. Being a dad wasn’t for him. Not with the target on his back. And this infinite loop of yearning, then backtracking? It certainly wasn’t, either.

Was this what they meant by a mid-life crisis?

Or maybe it was Dick’s pheromones making him go awol? With notes that belonged in a can of axe body spray Dean had used as a teen before he presented.

His snort was comical.

At least he could put whatever this was to good use. That and the rest of his self worth and a smidgen of hate. They were the perfect recipe for a strong uppercut and Dean was lucky Dick didn’t keep him waiting long.

The unmistakable jangle of keys looking for their lock was the first thing that alerted Dean to his presence.

“Who’re you?” was the second.

Dean spun around on his heels, oozing confidence with his cocksure grin. He didn’t feel the slightest bit intimidated as Dick puffed his chest out. Nor when his gaze travelled the length of his body, top to toe. And rather than answering the other alpha before him, he thought it best to show him how badly he’d fucked up.

Dean’s language was action, after all, and he was finally about to have some fun.

His right hand moved to hover behind his back as the other’s fingers locked around the edging of his shirt collar, pulling it down in slow motion for added effect. He was an expert in gaining attention, even if it was purposeful to piss someone off.

The haughty laugh Dick produced was better than any reaction he could’ve hoped for, and it urged him on.

“Somethin’ funny?” Dean said.

“Guess I was looking in the wrong places. She swore you didn’t want her.” Dick stepped forward, slinking further into the room, unaware of what Dean could achieve.

Mistake number one.

On the outside, Dean was relaxed, too. Both arms returned to his side, keeping his distance with his front positioned towards the other alpha.

Inside, Dick’s every movement was under his scrutiny. He wanted him to fuck up. To say or do something stupid. That way, Dean had probable cause. It would make whatever he ended up dishing out sit better on his conscience if he heard Dick admit it himself.

So Dean poked the bear. Outright asking him, “Did she say that while you were raping her?”

“I marked her as mine.”

Those words were Dick’s second mistake. He’d just given Dean the chopping block.

“And I suppose she didn’t ask you to stop when you hit her, huh? When you tried to scratch my initials out of her skin?” Dean’s voice remained void of all emotion, even as the anger bubbled in his gut. If he held a mirror to his soul, Dick’s face would have been its reflection.

“The little slut is obviously yours now. What do you want?”

Other than using your name, there was nothing Dick could’ve called you that wouldn’t have resulted in him handing over the axe and a third strike.

“I came here to give you a taste of your own medicine. But I don’t swing that way,” Dean said as he withdrew his gun and held it in the air. “Then I thought I’d use this.”

Dick’s whole body flinched. A Mexican wave of nerves twitching all over if you had watched closely, as Dean, of course, had. “You’re fucking crazy!”

Dean was still casual, his smirk devilish. “Oh buddy, you’ve got no idea. If we’d have met last night, well, let’s just say you wouldn’t be here.”

It was all talk. Dean would never go that extreme, not now that he’d had some time to think. He’d meant that bit about being calm. But he loved watching Dick squirm.

His face was hilarious. Dick’s not Dean’s. Dean looked down for business, whereas Dick may as well have been down on his knees. “You want me to apologise? Never see her again? Done. She’s all yours.”

“You think I was waiting for your permission or something? Nah. But I’d appreciate it if you come at me first.”

“Why?” Dick scowled.

“So I can claim self defence.”

To Dean’s exhilarated surprise, his jaunts worked and Dick lunged forward, colliding his fist into his cheek. The muscle below throbbed, and the broken skin stung, but the blood that swirled through his mouth was worth it.

Dick was too dumb to realise Dean was playing with him.

He took blow after blow, waiting for the moment Dick wore himself down to absolute exhaustion.

A punch to the gut. Another to his ribs. With each new strike, more of Dean’s stock appeared on the other alpha’s knuckles. If it weren’t for the colour, he may have confused the patterns and added chunky bits with strawberry jelly, seeds and all, smeared over his pasty white skin.

“Is this what you did to her?” Dean taunted. As much as the truth would anger him, he wanted to know. The more he heard, the easier beating Dick to a pulp would be.

But Dick was too busy concentrating on his workout. Huffing and puffing, with zero energy to answer, or blow the house down.

“That all you got?” Dean made him work a little harder. He’d started dodging, adding some defensive blocks amongst the steps he took backwards. His goal, further from the door, knowing full well that by bringing Dick into a different room, there would be no chance of any witnesses.

It proved more difficult, what with his centre of gravity slightly off because of the punch he’d allowed Dick to land on his right ear. But now in the kitchen, with counters he could lean and bounce off of, Dean decided it was time. His defence turned into offence, and in a matter of seconds, his fist had shaped its way into Dick’s face twice, the butt of his gun another, satisfying every part of his being.

Dean delivered more, all to the fleshiest parts of Dick. His stomach, his thighs, colliding with both boots, and his namesake, which met Dean’s very forceful left knee.

Both men winced. Both groaned, too. Only Dick was in pain, Dean out of mock sympathy.

His hand grabbed the back of Dick’s shirt next, lifting his body upright to send him flying, much like his front door. He landed head first into the lower cabinet with a thump and a flop onto the floor, where he received more of Dean’s wrath.

Looming over your mate, he used his boot to roll him to the side, further toeing his chin to make sure he had the bloodied face’s attention. “Being someone’s bitch ain’t so fun, huh, Dick?”

“Who wants breakfast?” Dean did his best to act casual and ignore the two pairs of eyes that followed him as he walked back into the room. His body ached all over.

He’d been gone a little under three hours now, but he knew that wasn’t what either of you had an issue with.

His brother’s gaze forever judged, while yours appeared concerned, possibly frightened, and neither surprised him, having received similar stares from strangers the entire way back to the motel. A swollen face and bloody knuckles just did that to people, and Dean accepted it.

“What happened?” Sam asked from behind his laptop. Though it should’ve been obvious “I thought—“

“Nothin’.” Dean wasn’t gonna talk about his confrontation with Dick. Not anytime soon, least of all when you were in the room. He needed to gauge your feelings on the matter first, then he’d play into them.

Would you be upset he’d beaten the guy into a pulp or were you concerned with his injuries at all? Because while the latter sure sounded appealing, it wouldn’t help his latest penchant towards you.

He moved to the table and unburdened his hands of everything he carried, starting one by one with the two trays of drinks he’d been balancing. “We got, ah, black, milk, mocha, red-eye, iced, breakfast tea? With, huh, milk? Hot chocolate, and,” he lifted a steaming cup to his chin and inspected the scrawl written on the lid, “the lady said this had Thai in it? I dunno. It’s popular with the locals.”

Impressed, Sam stood up and reached over to pick out a coffee Dean had labelled, only to be smacked away by an overtly aggressive hand.

“Ladies first.” Dean shot you a glance.

You were sitting on the bed he’d left you sleeping on, but had since been remade. As had his Sam’s, with his jacket folded at the end. “I also bought some sandwiches, donuts. Pie.” Both brows raised on that last part, and his grin, although stained with blood, was rather proud.

He had no idea what you liked, but he was confident you would find something to your tastes among this lot. He may have been intent on pushing you away, but he could still protect and act chivalrous towards his soulmate.

If you decided you wanted nothing, it wouldn’t go to waste because he was salivating over the aroma alone since he’d picked it all out. He could always have another coffee, too.

While he didn’t hesitate to pull up a chair and slump into it, he did second guess himself when he addressed you. “C’mon Omega. You must be hungry.”

The term slipped off his tongue with ease, and one thing he was suddenly certain about was his sack being empty. He’d dropped his balls somewhere between dealing with Dick and now, and this uncertainty and stilted behaviour needed to stop.

Even after seeing your apartment, being surrounded by your things and having his inadequacies resurface again. He wasn’t what you needed in your life, and he had to remind himself of that, though it drove him crazy.

This constant mystification around you would surely end with your reflection in Baby’s rearview once more, wouldn’t it?

Yes. It had to because he was Dean frigging Winchester. Never confused by anyone, male or female.

But you and your hesitant steps, observing him as you made your way to join them, were an enigma. Beautiful even with your still stiff gait and bruising on your face and neck that had darkened again. The two of you could almost be a matching pair. Dick sure favoured a hook.

“What’ll you have?” he asked as you sat down, eyes focused in and around his.

The plastic against your pelvis must’ve been uncomfortable. Dean paid particular attention to the way your expression tightened, then relaxed as your body did.

“Coffee? Tea?” He ignored his anguish, pointing to each cup as he listed them, waiting for your response, then passing you your selection when you did.

Your grip was gentle. Your bites and movements were just as soft as how you held your drink when you ate, and through Dean’s constant glimpsing, he found himself less and less interested in his own food.

“You sleep alright?” he said, and your lip twitched into a soft smile when you nodded. Your continued stare had him pulling at his collar.

Sam watched the entire exchange with interest. Here was Dean, someone so hellbent on never entering another relationship after whatever it was he’d had with Lisa and Ben, now infatuated with you. Sure you were soulmates, but it was simple and refreshing.

He saw the way Dean grappled with his instincts, trying to pretend you were no one special, even though all these sweet gestures showed otherwise. The food, the coffee, the bag he’d packed with as many things of yours as he could after leaving your apartment.

You may not have realised what the duffle below your feet was just yet, but Sam sure did. The scent of your belongings oozed off of it, blending with his brother’s own.

Cinnamon, apple, a touch of vanilla, and other spices that collected under those which Dean surrounded himself with. It fit that his palate, in its purest form, would work so well with that of his soulmates.

Almost the same as Sam and Jess’ own mix…

Sam understood Dean’s reluctance, not just with you, but with everyone. He appreciated that his own misery had shielded Dean from heartbreak so far. He wished the transformation he saw in his brother would open himself up more to find what he had lost.

Until then, though, Dean was going to receive a world of shit when they were alone again. Sam owed him for the morning’s wake up call. No doubt for other instances he still didn’t know about, too.

The clothes Dean had picked for you from your wardrobe before leaving the apartment, while fitting as they should, left him disappointed. As crazy as he knew the notion was, he enjoyed seeing you wearing his things, even though temporarily. There was something about the way his shirt flowed over your breasts and hips.

It had engulfed your figure. How it hung below your rear, revealing your thighs when you stretched, and the edging of what he presumed to be a cute pair of lacy panties hugging the curve of that sweet ass he’d pictured as he took care of himself.

Yup. He was going to hell. Again.

He’d been over this and it couldn’t happen.

‘She was just fucking assaulted, man,’ his brain rerouted. ‘Not even a day ago. She doesn’t need this shit from anyone, least of all her soulmate. Or her alpha.’

There it was, that primal side of him coming out. It had been there at your apartment too, but it, like the more sane part of him, was more interested in screwing with Dick at the time.

Now that it was all over, he needed to do his utmost best to reel it in. There was still one last thing that had to be addressed, and neither lusting nor pussyfooting around was going to get it done.

He had to cut ties with you. He had to. His life wasn’t for you, not after seeing the life you could have, with or without Dick. So as he helped you clean up from breakfast, sorting out scraps from leftovers and recycling from trash, he decided there was no time like the present. The sooner the better.

Dammit. He had to do this, now, and he listened to make sure the shower was still on and Sam, in it. Then, running his fingers over his hair, flinging each bristle forward, he cleared his throat.

“So, now that our case is over, me and Sammy will head home to Kansas.” He was smooth. In control, and confident in his delivery. It showed a little too well.

“Right,” you whispered. Your head, delaying by a second, gave a quick shake.

Was that pulling your teeth over your lip nerves? Disappointment?

Scrap that part about confidence. There was that powerful beat in his heart again. The one that felt like it had escaped his chest, pumping back and forth for the world to see.

“I ah. The good news is he won’t bother you anymore.”

Your body froze on the spot. “You—”

There was no need for you to say anything further because he could tell by your horrified expression alone you thought the worst.

“No. No, no. I mean, he looks worse than I do.” He chuckled awkwardly. “But I didn’t murder the guy. As much as I wanted to.”

He shouldn’t have said that.

“I might’ve hustled him a little first, but he’s gonna recover. Just like you will.” He paused and raised himself, pulling his muscles taut. He’d forgotten all about the medicated cream he’d bought you.

His hands touched his hips, then his thighs, searching his pockets, though he didn’t know why. The tube, still in its box, wouldn’t fit anywhere on his person.

He scanned the table and the ground below it before reaching down to pick up the small paper bag. “I got ya this at the pharmacy near the diner. They said it’d help with the infection. Might have to borrow some myself before we leave.” He grinned.

But you didn’t return it. Your brow furrowed as he stepped closer to hand it to you, fingers playing with the package the second they touched. “What’re you trying to say, Dean?” you said, and damn. Using his name stung.

You really were intuitive. He should’ve bargained for it. And what choice did he have but to rip the bandaid off? “Look. What I said about wanting you was true. But my life is dangerous, and I can’t bring anyone into it. Especially you.”

Though his words were every bit rejecting, the way your chest rose below the outline of his chin and your lashes batting against your cheek had him taken, and his concentration proved difficult to maintain.

There was a touch of spice in the air that hadn’t been there before. Something familiar, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on where it came from. It was addicting, and while he knew it was wrong to let it engulf his senses, he didn’t stop himself.

“So,” he shuddered, using the slight tremor as a final plight to clear his head, “if there’s some place you can go, family or friends, I’m happy to take you there. Anywhere at all. I think it’s best you do that, and you know, forget about Ritchie, and—“

“And you.” Your lips were so plump and enticing. His eyes could only focus’s on their shine, moving under the light as you spoke.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his stomach pulling a one-eighty.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Nope. But what could he do? Your safety was far more important than his need to have you around. His life wasn’t for you. Hell, it wasn’t a life for anyone, and when he stuttered and your mouth pursed in an understanding smile, he was further reminded that what he was doing was right.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said as your hand came up to touch his and your face lifted to graze a simple peck on the other.

The softness he felt against his skin covered his body in a blanket of goosebumps, igniting a fire within that made his blood thrum, and his ears pop and pulse along with his gut, churning once again. And before you could retract, before you could step away or even turn, his arm had wrapped around your waist, tight, and he commandeered a kiss of his own.

Was he stupid? Damn straight he was, but the genius that lay dormant would pull him through. His inner alpha would always be there to protect his omega. He just needed to figure out how.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

How awesome was that gif at the top? Gave me goosebumps when I was going back and forth, formatting.

I wish I could say that’s the last we’ll see of Dick, but unfortunately, memories live on, and we’ll delve into them more in the future. Did Dean beat him up enough, though? I’ve killed some characters off in the past, not going to lie, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it with him.

We have a cyclone causing trouble here - yay - and my kids are already driving me insane. If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I’ve either lost power/internet, or I’m huddled in the foetal position of my living room, with my wine stash, gone… That’s far more likely. Enjoy your weekend wherever you are in the world!

Chapter 4: Familiarising - 14/03

Dean rolled off to the side, bringing you with him to rest your head against his chest instead. He pulled the covers with you to drape them across your shoulder. Close and cosy, but away from his clear arousal, choosing it best to leave the pressure in his pants over putting it on you.

“I, ah, just need a sec,” he breathed through the grin plastered over his face.

If only you’d give him one.

Your hand patted his sternum, but your leg wrapped over his, bringing your knee close to his semi.

“Not that I’m complaining, sweetheart, but you’re making it hard for me here.”

“Pun intended?” You asked, earning yourself a light smack on your rear.

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Tormented Spirit | 19

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: it's been a while, so i'd like to acknowledge this ask, the lovely comments i got from it, and this ask, because they were really sweet and really motivated me to finish this. the chapter feels a bit aimless because its a filler chapter, so i would love to know how you all feel about it. if i find people are not very interested, i might just do the big time skip and end this story, so please consider leaving a comment/reblog | cross posted on ao3

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"Kepus."

Daemon looks over his shoulder, finding Rhaenyra strutting over. Her violet eyes were not on him though, but on the blood wyrm sprawled on his belly yet again. Caraxes recognizes her and huffs smoke through his nostrils when she is upon him.

Rhaenyra knits her brows and prince steps aside, allowing her to pet his mount. "I did not think it was possible for a dragon to appear as such, much less a dragon as high and mighty as Caraxes."

Daemon does not speak. His face remains stoic but Rhaenyra knows better than to believe he is unfeeling. Still, she decides to linger in his silence. She ceases stroking Caraxes when he does.

He turns to her; she looks concerned and sad and it makes his chest tighten. He knows his instant recognition of it is borne from familiarity— familiarity for you emanated such emotions. He mumbles, "do not be so worried."

A line forms between Rhaenyra's brows. Part of her wants to snap at him— of course she would be worried! She wants to thrash her grievances out and tell him he ought to be glad she was worried about Caraxes, about him; it was never something he afforded her, not in the way she would have wanted. Her pride reigns her back from doing anything however.

Daemon witnesses the inner turmoil seeping on her features. Try as she may, she was not a difficult read. It was clear his sentiment was not appreciated. "I don't mean that I don't want you to care."

Rhaenyra opens her mouth, but no words come out, as she was not expecting such a response. Mockery? Something akin to it? Yes. But not that.

Daemon stares at his niece, brows raising at her shocked expression, "I do not want your youth and beauty to be wasted."

She purses her lips. Earnest. Her uncle was earnest. Her lips curve into a soft frown. His wife has made him soft. Her belly bubbles with feeble jealousy.

He shifts in his spot, their arms brushing against each other's as they turn to pitiful Caraxes. He links his hands together, "would you do me a favor, my girl?"

Rhaenyra's nostrils flare faintly. Am I your girl?

"I am to leave soon."

Her brows furrow, "what?"

He shifts again, "I cannot remain merely watching as Caraxes worsens day in and out."

"But I am to be married in three days!" Her lips stiffen, "will you not stay three days for me?"

He raises a brow "what use am I on your wedding day?"

Though he says it plainly, she hears it laced with vitriol, "to support me? To be there for me?!"

Daemon chuckles, genuinely endeared by the sentiment, "you need not your uncle's support on your wedding day."

She does not recognize his endearment. She scoffs, "you've made me come here to ask me for a favor, yet you m-"

"Lykirī," Daemon chortles, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "I did not say I was leaving before your wedding." Calmly.

She stiffens.

He smirks, pulling his hand away, "I was merely explaining, my absence would not be so substantial if I we-"

"What do you want?"

Daemon watches her tap her foot.

"What's the favor?" she motions with an impatient gesture.

He stands still for a moment, building the nerve to say it as plainly as possible. His voice betrays him with a random voice break, "m-y wife." He clenches his jaw. Gods. He can hear his own desperation.

Rhaenyra is offended by his aching, or rather, she wants to be. She was unsurprised that whatever he needed had to do with you, yet, it still went down her belly horribly. "What of her?"

"Last time I left... much of her was lost..."

She frowns in remembrance.

"... much of us."

Her reaction is involuntary. She scoffs and raises her brows, "do you forget, she wrote to you and you never once responded?"

Daemon's jaw sets. He slowly shakes his head, "I do not forget." He turns back to Caraxes, rubbing his side, "I shudder to think my penance is at the peril of my mount."

She stiffens, unexpecting another... earnest response. She nibbles her lip as guilt tightens her chest. Rhaenyra never believed Daemon was heartless, yet to see him so haunted... so vulnerable— "was it not you who said we carve our own destinies?"

He does not look at her. He hums, "and did I not carve out this demise myself?"

She watches him slowly turn.

He purses his lips, waiting for a response.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, "no. It's not like you made both your wife and your dragon sick."

Daemon chuckles and shakes his head, "you are kind to me."

She huffs through her nostrils. She thinks about his words for a moment then suddenly tenses, "wait. Are you telling me she is with child again?"

Daemon stiffens. For a moment, he wants to make her believe it, that his wife has not rejected any and all of his advances, but as he sees her horrified expression, he realizes she must think him villain, that he's had his way with you because he could, because it was easy. He clenches his jaw, "no." He wipes his face, "I simply want someone to look after her upon my leave."

Rhaenyra slowly tilts her head.

"My madness forthcomes if she withers because of my absence," he mutters lowly, turning back to his dragon.

"She is daughter to the Hand," she crosses her arms, "she is well looked after."

He chuckles dryly, "yes, oh I do so trust my wife's well-being with that old cunt." He shoots Rhaenyra a withering glare.

"She is sister to the queen," she raises a brow and crosses her arms, "you'd be wiser to have gone to her. I am outranked."

"And Alicent is far weaker to him than she," he narrows his eyes, "besides, I come to you because it is you I rest my confidence in," he gives her a solemn expression, "and you alone."

For a moment, Rhaenyra is satisfied. She basks in the thought, but it is soon not enough. She takes the opportunity to spur him on, "what of her twin?"

Daemon tenses, "what of her damned twin?"

"I'm sure if you wrote to Ser Gwayne, he—"

"Yes, and I'm sure you know how little my patience is."

"Well," she looks off and shrugs, "if you wish to surely see that you-"

"What do you wish me to say?!"

Rhaenyra pauses.

"Is it my tears you thirst for? Or you want me to beg?"

Her jaw slowly clenches. Perhaps.

"Or do want me to admit you that you were not my first choice, girl?" Daemon tilts his head as he looks upon her.

Her lips part.

"I asked Laenor first for he is her friend," he explains, sparing none of his vexation, "they're the same age, so he to her is like that fucking brother she so fucking deeply misses, Rhaenyra," he seethes, "is that what you wish me to say?"

Her expression hardens.

"You would be glad to know your promised is a loyal thing, Naturally, he agreed, and naturally added that if his princess told him otherwise, he would do otherwise."

Rhaenyra looks away, feeling in the least bit gladdened.

Daemon watches her aimlessly scan the room.

Caraxes rolls over, finally on his feet. He immediately is met by Daemon, who coddles him and sighs when he nuzzles into his chest. He spares Rhaenyra a glance, "doesn't feel good, does it?"

The princess would have flared at the words had her iciness not been shattered by the dragon's frailty. She huffs and rapidly shakes her head, "what do you want me to do?"

Daemon places his palm on the dragon's snout, turning to her as Caraxes leans into him.

"Shall I write letters to you everyday regarding her conditions?"

A line forms between his brows. He places the hand he had on his mount on her shoulder, "let her keep her peace... do not let anyone rob it simply because I cannot safeguard it."

Rhaenyra gazes upon her uncle. Her brows now match his, tightened with a weight of emotions they could not so simply name. She swallows the lump in her throat and lowers her gaze, "ao jorrāelagon zirȳla." You love her.

It was not a question, yet Daemon hums, "bona ñuha ībyr ōdrikagon." That my bones hurt.

She looks up at him, eyes beginning to water, "skoro syt..." Why...

Her uncle captures her chin and brushes it gently.

"Skoro syt gaomas tolvys vestragon naejot henujagon nyke?" Why does everyone seem to leave me?

"Eman daor geptot ao," Daemon shakes his head, "ñuha egros iksis aōhon." I have not left you. My sword is yours.

"Ossēnagon nyke lēda ziry pār," she snaps, pulling away from him. Slay me with it then.

"Rhaenyra-"

"Enough," she raises a hand, "I've heard enough."

He does nothing but clench his jaw.

She scratches her eyes, "rest assured that any who dare deturb your lady-wife's peace, mine own and my husband's dragon shall bedash their corpse."

As quickly as he takes a breath of relief, just as quickly does Rhaenyra walk off. Daemon only watches, though part of him did not want her to leave him so angry.

Daemon remains in the pit, fussing over Caraxes to the keepers, until supper nears. He leaves to join you, luckily spotting you just outside your niece's nursery.

Helaena is in your arms, asleep it seems. You spot him as he approaches, offering him a soft smile, "I'm just going to set her down."

Daemon notices there were flowers in your plaited hair. You were surely in the gardens with Aegon... and by extension your wards, but he trains his focus on your face. He opens the door for you.

"Thank you," you mutter, walking in.

He follows you towards Helaena's cot, watching as you set her down and tuck her in. The locks by your ears spill over your face. As you straighten and push your dark hair back, he wishes that he could have been the one to do so.

You smile at him again, "she nearly stood up today."

Daemon smiles back, eyes trickling down your form. Color has found its way back to you, to your clothes and your face. Today, you wore green, but nothing slimy and greedy like the color of your house. Twas taffeta in a freshly-grown-leaf green, embellished with silver lace that embraced your form. You looked like a woodland nymph, especially with the braided flowers running down your spine. Your eyes were not so sad and your skin was not so grey, though your cheeks remained rather hollow.

"I am eager for the day she speaks," you say as head out, your husband closely tailing you. You link your hands together as you walk side by side down the hall, "she looks always as though she has much to say."

Daemon hums, eyes pinned on your features.

You turn to him.

He smiles softly.

You recognize the exhaustion on his face, even through his current expression, "how fares Caraxes?"

His smile fades. He shakes his head, "there must be something done for him."

You frown when he clenches his jaw. You rub your arm, "is he still unwilling to fly?"

"He's unwilling to do anything save wallow," his nostrils flare.

"Poor thing..." you clench your jaw and rub your arm, "what do you plan to do?"

"I read that there is a gut illness that makes beasts lethargic. Apparently, there is an antidote in an herb that grows by the banks of the river Noyne."

You nod and furrow your brows.

"I will set to Norvos to procure them in three days, immediately after Rhaenyra and Laenor are wed."

You stop in your tracks.

Daemon does the same, only to take a step towards you.

"Oh... I..."

"Travel to Essos would take two moons, if luck finds me," he speaks carefully, "I will not take a second longer than I must."

Your lips part.

"I would take you with me," he reaches for your hand, "but I am to travel by sea and I fear too greatly your health will worsen on the way."

His hand is burning hot against yours. Goosebumps prick over your arms as he rubs your skin.

Daemon's heart drops when you lower your head. He gulps and bends down, desperate to see your face. It gashes him when you turn away.

"Kostilus," he mutters, "gaoman daor jaelagon naejot ojughagon ñuha zaldrīzes." Please, I do not wish to lose my dragon.

Your eyes are glassy as you look back at him. You shake your head, "you need not explain... nor do you need my permission," you sigh, "I will not beg you to stay."

He clenches his teeth hard enough that it hurts him.

You take a deep breath and rest your free hand atop his, "pepper balm, is it not?"

Daemon straightens up.

"The herb in river Noyne?"

"I-" he nods, "yes. Ysartia. Pepper balm."

You nod, "it is a ghastly bitter herb. I do not know if Caraxes will down it. I barely could, even with milk and honey."

He knits his brows, "you've had pepper balm?"

"I've had possibly every herb you can think of, Daemon," you mutter.

This only makes his brows further tighten.

For a moment, you lower your gaze in thought, then you decide to continue walking, "Delacius."

Daemon follows you, eager to keep holding you.

"He was the man my father hired whenever he needed something from Essos. He had a silver beard and a cut on his right eyebrow. He was massive, terrifyingly so, and had runes on his arms," you shake your head, "I met him only a few times, but he was someone you could not forget."

He is immediately enthralled. Your stories were normally told to all else but him. He is raring to hear this.

"He either smelled of sweat and sun... or barley, and gave me pressed flowers from his travels," you knit your brows, "... he was uncharacteristically gentle, considering my father told me he was a sellsword with a bounty on his head."

"Why did your father hire a sellsword to procure pepper balm?"

You chuckle and shake your head, "to cure me, Daemon," you roll your eyes, "hopefully."

The prince looks forward, "I did not know of this herb's existence until a week ago. None of the maesters nor dragon keepers seem to know it either."

He looks back at you when you squeeze his hand.

You offer him a gentle smile, "the oldest memory in my mind is that of my father leaving Oldtown to go to Highgarden. It did not know it, nor did I understand why. He had not been out longer than a day since we were born, neither had he ever gone without bidding me and my brother farewell. He had bid Gwayne, but I had slept in longer, and just missed him.

"I remember seeing his horse. I remember him seeing me run out to the yard. My nursemaid caught me and pulled me back, and father spared me but a glance upon his horse before trotting off," you shudder as the memory plays in your head, "I do not know why I thought he was leaving because me, but it was believed. It was the first time my heart tightened and my body trembled in anguish. I was bedridden when he returned, and he did not leave the chair beside me until I was strong enough to rouse.

"Since then, I have only gotten worse. The maesters first said my illness was simply borne from the fear of separation, of losing my father, my loved ones. It proved to be true, because whenever he left, I would get sick. Then my mother died, and heart began to give in if I ran too hard, or worried too much. My father allowed me to do less and less and procured more and more medicine," you purse your lips, "including pepper balm."

Daemon does not like the chuckle that leaves you.

"Clearly, none of them worked."

"Well, pepper balm is for the gut, not the heart," Daemon mumbles.

You shrug, turning away, "what cures the heart, I wonder."

He frowns at your expression and squeezes your hand.

You turn back to him.

"Love has brought color back to your face."

You chuckle and rub your tightening chest, "love is what drained it to begin with."

He looks away and hangs his head. He tenses when you pull away, but does not try to stop you.

Dinner is more frigid than usual for you were all of you cursed by the presence of the Lord Hand. Normally, attendance was reserved for four: you, Daemon, Alicent, and Aegon. Yes, there was the occasional ward, sometimes two, but even that he could stomach. There was something so putrid about the atmosphere because of this sour cunt, and Daemon knew it was not only him who thought so.

The only sounds in the room were of the cutlery and Aegon's babbling. Sometimes you or Alicent would respond to the boy, but it was silent otherwise. There was no reason for conversation to flow for you had not spoken to your father since Daemon's altercation with him in the hallway. And your sister was never particularly chatty in this time of day.

That all changes when—

"I have reassigned your wards," Otto mentions casually.

Everyone, save Aegon, turns to the old man. He, in turn, turns to Daemon, face blank, yet appearing as though he was looking for a challenge. The prince merely chuckles under his breath.

Your face, however, falls, "what?"

The Lord Hand takes a scoop of peas and chews it rather slowly

Daemon clenches his fist and slowly turns to you. You had been smiling at your nephew just a moment ago and now you were tense. He clears his throat and adjusts Dark Sister, which was leaned on the side of his chair.

Otto notices it. His lips curve as he swallows. He pats his mouth with a table napkin, then turns to you, "you have no use of them now that your husband is an ever ready presence."

Daemon chuckles, louder this time.

Your father's eyes flicker to him. He tilts his head, "do you disagree?"

You and Alicent tense as you look between the two glaring at each other.

"Mummy," Aegon points a chubby finger, "gravy please."

Alicent turns to the boy and pours some gravy on his potatoes.

Otto continues, "I don't recall you were ever fond of them anyw-"

"AH! MoOooOre!"

"No, Aegon," Alicent pushes his hands back when he tries to snag the gravy, "it's not a soup, you shouldn't put-"

"PLEASE!" he whines.

"-I don't recall you were ever fond of the Cargyll brothers," Otto finishes, eyes turning from his grandson to Daemon.

Daemon shrugs.

You frown, "where did you reassign them?"

"Back to their usual rotation," Otto turns to his plate and cuts some meat, "don't worry. You will not be seeing much of them, as they have much to attend to, considering the upcoming wedding."

"Āzma hen iā orvorta, glaesagon hae iā orvorta," Daemon says, making you turn to him. Born from a cunt, lives as a cunt.

"Orvorta." Aegon repeats. Cunt.

You gasp, "Aegon."

Daemon laughs, "kessa, ñuha valītsos. Aōha kepāzma iksis iā orvorta." Yes, my boy. Your (maternal) grandfather is a cunt.

"Gaomagon daor bodmagho se valītsos kōz ēngos," you grab Daemon's arm, making him laugh louder as he turns to you. Do not teach the boy evil tongue.

"Orvorta iksis daor kōz," Daemon chuckes, "mērī zirȳla... aōhon iksis gevie." Cunt is not evil. Only him… yours is beautiful.

You make a face and slap his arm.

Daemon snorts through his nostrils.

Otto attempts to get a word in again, but Aegon nearly jumps off his chair after deciding he was finished with his meal, stealing everyone's attention with him as he nearly crashes to the ground.

Alicent is forced to end her meal, and you do the same, not having much of an appetite anyway. You stand with your sister, and Daemon stands with you. He unabashedly eyes your father, silently warning him not to follow. Soon Otto is left in the room alone.

"Do not worry," Daemon tells you once you've parted with Alicent and Aegon in the hall.

You turn to his face and then to his hand when he takes your arm.

"You will keep your wards."

You take a sharp breath.

"I will not let him torment you with this," he shakes his head, "I cannot stand them, but I will not leave you lonelier because of mine own feelings."

Your lips wobble at his words.

Daemon frowns at it, heart aching at the slightest look of worry upon you, "I will speak to my brother about this, and if need be, I will speak to them myself."

Your forehead curls.

Daemon reaches for your hand, "do not worry. I will not cause commoti-"

You kiss his cheek, stealing his words and his breath at once.

He is gobsmacked when you pull away, unable to believe what had just happened.

"Thank you," you whisper.

Daemon feels his cheek tingle. He cannot help himself and touches the area which you laid your affection.

For a moment, it amuses you, but then his intense shock begins to make you wonder if you had overstepped... after all, you were never so physically affectionate. You only kissed when you laid together, and even then, it was hardly ever tender.

You shake your head and decide not to address it, "I... we should go to bed."

Daemon rubs his cheek, "... yes... t-to sleep..."

You feel your face flush and shake your head faster. You mutter, "yes, of course, what else for?"

Perhaps Daemon should be grateful that Otto was a scheming cunt. Things changed between you because of that dinner, because of that kiss. A barrier had been broken, a wall torn. You were no longer so distant. In times where he itched to reach for you, he would be shocked to have you touch him first.

You had invited him to do mundane tasks you normally accomplished on your own, like choosing the dress you were to wear for the day. You were no longer on such high guard.

And now, as music played in the great hall, as lords and ladies danced in celebration of the union of Rhaenyra and Laenor, you danced amidst it all and he could see you glistening. He saw you in a light he had not seen, or rather, he had been blind to.

You laughed, you frolicked, you danced, you lived— you were living. You were a shining, beauteous lady. You were you. This is who you were without the debilitating melancholy, without the cumbersome illness, without the suffocating father... without the sordid husband.

He watched upon the his seat on the banquet table how you grinned when it was your turn to spin around with Laenor. The sound of your laughter was set apart, as was the rest of you. You glimmered in your dress as you acted out the steps. Your face was not weighed so heavily by inhibitions. This was how you really looked. Daemon had never known it till now. He could not hide his awe.

Laenor notices and mutters as he twirls with you, "you should ask him to dance."

You look at him, smile morphing from glee to confusion, "who?"

"Who do you think?" he laughs, tilting his head to the side, bringing your attention there.

You look and see your husband, gaze locked upon you with the gentle smile. You stop dancing because of it, taken off-guard by the expression you had never seen before. You didn't think it was possible for him to look this way, to look at you this way. He looked fond, not lustful or hungry... dare it be love?

Laenor takes your arm, pulling you back into reality. When you finish the dance and applaud, you turn your back to Daemon, who was still staring at you.

Your breath catches in your throat when he stands and walks over. You are frozen in your spot.

Daemon tilts his head back and drinks in your form. He reaches a hand, "ñuha dārilaros." My princess.

You take his hand.

"Bisa siñagon ao," he rubs your knuckles with his thumb, "iksan biare naejot ūndegon ziry." This becomes you. I am glad to see it.

He pulls you into him and you hear your pulse thumping in your ears. His hand comes to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. The other comes to the small of you back, where he presses you flush against his.

Your breathing begins to shorten.

His lips barely move as he mutters, "lilagon lēda nyke?" Dance with me?

Your lips part but you can only nod.

Daemon pulls away but takes your hand. He leads you out of the room.

Rhaenyra watches you both leave the celebration early.

"I... did I misunderstand? Did you not ask me to dance?" you mutter as both pace down the western hall.

Daemon turns to you, squeezing your hand, "I did."

You stare at him for a moment, hoping that he'd explain.

He merely smiles at you.

You only realize he had taken you to the gardens when you arrive. It is a dark, moonless night, but you could still see his soft expression.

He brings you towards the fountain then takes both your hands.

You look up at him as he steps forward. He places your hands on his shoulders before brushing his own down your waist. You hold your breath when he brushes his nose against your temple, leaning into you. He begins to sway and you slowly follow suit. You sway with him, and only then do you bring yourself to relax. When you do, you take in his scent and relish his warmth.

"I will miss you greatly in my travel."

You tense and turn to him.

Daemon's eyes lock with yours. He tucks your brown hair behind your ear.

"The thought does not comfort me."

His brows furrow, "I... only meant to tell you."

Your eyes rove over his features. You notice the corner of his lips begin to droop, "why?"

"... why?" he repeats, almost questioning you. His brows furrow further, "I... I wish to be known..." he takes one of your hands from upon his shoulder, "like you know Laenor."

You watch him move your hand to his chest.

"Or Gwayne," he whisper softly, "or..."

You turn to him, brow quirking at his lowered gaze, "Alicent?"

"Mmm," he turns back to you, voice growing quieter, "yes... though I was going to say... ... your wards."

You laugh at his whisper.

Daemon thrives at the sound.

"My father is right," you shake your head, "I have not spent much time with them for you have kept my company..." you take a breath, "I admit, it has been a while since I've spoken to them."

"Well... that will change as I must leave your company again," he mutters.

"You can still keep me company even if you are not here," you bring a hand to his cheek.

He stiffens, throat tightening at your touch, at your words.

You feel your pulse begin to quicken as you open your mouth, "you... you could write to me."

Daemon involuntarily shakes his head, "I..." he grips the sides of your waist, "I would go mad not to receive word back from you."

You knit your brows and tilt your head, "do you assume I would ignore you?"

He pulls his head back. His lips part, "I-" he gulps, "it would be fair."

You take your turn to shake your head, "why would it be fair?"

"I... I hurt you."

"And hurting you in return will be a balm to me?" you brush his jaw.

"I-" his breath hitches, "it would be fair... to you."

"Fair..." you sigh, clutching his cheeks, "nary equates to right."

He is unable to keep your gaze. He chuckles under his breath as he looks off, "no one alive deserves your kindness."

"Deserve it then."

Daemons eyes flicker back to yours.

"Do not make me into you," you whisper, "be a little more like me."

You both stop swaying.

"Know me... like Viserys or Rhaenyra."

Daemon squeezes your side, "my love-"

Your belly rolls at the term.

"- we would not survive King's Landing if I let kindness cloud my judgment."

You sigh and shrug, "perhaps spare a bit of kindness for me?"

He deflates and rests his head upon yours. He embraces you tightly, "I swear to you, I try," he rubs your back. His body tingles when you return his embrace and rest your head on his shoulder. "You must understand I find it would be kind to behead your father."

You cannot help the chuckle that leaves you.

"I will not, for I know you find no kindness in it-"

"I do not."

"-but... it is truly kindness in my eyes."

You sigh, "then perhaps you must understand that I find it would be kind of me never to admit how your leave inspires my jealousy."

He stiffens and pulls away.

You chuckle bitterly as you see the looks of him, "I am sick... yet you would not stay for me."

Daemon opens his mouth, "I... I found no one who would go to Norvos."

You nod as your vision blurs with tears, "I kno-"

"I swear to you, if I could, I would bring you wi-"

"I know," you press your hand to his lips. You find yourself chuckling again but this time, tears stream down your face, "I will not stop you." You shake your head, "I should not have said it. It is not in my interest that you lose Caraxes."

Daemon grows teary eyed, "neither is it mine."

You nod and smoothen out his top.

"... shall... shall you see me off?"

You lower your head and disagree, "I would much rather not."

He squeezes your hand, "I understand."

The docks are surprisingly busy when he gets there. His things had been loaded beforehand, all that's left for him is to board.

"Why did you do it?"

Daemon stops and turns around.

Otto stands there in a dark, hooded cloak, "why did you reinstate her wards?"

He is immediately riled up, "what?"

"I was doing you a favor."

He chuckles dryly, "well, do me another and drown." The prince turns and makes towards the ship waiting for him.

"My daughter is a feeble woman," says the Hand, watching him walk away, "but she is a woman no less."

This makes him stop in his tracks. Daemon slowly looks over his shoulder, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

Daemon is freezes. The sound of a ship rocking with its anchor sounds with the wind. The next second, the prince turns on his heels and storms towards Otto.

The Hand is completely still as the prince yanks him by the collar. Daemon seethes, "you would poison me with ideas to the detriment of your daugh-"

"I tell you because I wish to save her," Otto quips, "this is your consequence; it was you who has poisoned her, made her strong-willed and disobedient. She was never meant for you. She would be happily living in Oldtown had you not been less of a weaselin-"

"Careful!" Daemon barks as he shakes him, "I have my hands on your neck."

"Kill me at your peril," Otto scoffs, "your satisfaction will be shorter than mine own once I meet the grave."

Daemon shoves him back and Otto skids on the dirt, nearly toppling over.

"Remember it was you who brought Arryk and Erryk back into her company," the old man dusts off his cloak as his nostrils flare.

"And remember it was I who took who your daughter's maidenhead and nearly slayed your son during a tourney."

With this, the prince storms towards his ship and the lord feels bile rise up his throat.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy holidays! Do you have any zagreus interacting with other gods? Thanks so much

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Other people are learning about Zagreus.

Not that they know it's him, of course. He goes by the moniker prince.

Just enough to direct prayers and pay tributes, but a nameless god standing against Demeter? It's enough to send the whole pantheon in an uproar.

It's enough to send Demeter to heights of rage that Artemis previously thought her incapable of reaching.

There are gardens that her frost can't touch. Fruit she she has no hand in growing.

There are people who will not submit and die as she wishes it, blaming mortals for her daughter's death and so making them pay the price for a lost goddess.

Not even Zeus has rained destruction upon the mortals like Demeter had and not even Zeus can stop her.

It's too much. Too much taken, too much suffering.

Persephone was a sweet girl. But her loss is not worth the life of every mortal upon the earth.

Artemis is with Aphrodite, both of them having been evoked powerfully enough to send shivers down their spine. She leans against her spear and tried to think of any other way to fix this.

It's a town on the edge of collapse, a thick forest between them and the rest of civilization. In spring the journey is long but easy enough, but it hasn't been spring for a long time.

There's no game to hunt. Loved ones are dying. They beg and beg to any god that will listen but while every god can hear them no god can save them.

None but one.

But how would they know? This far out, there only contact is other isolated villages too deep in the world.

"I'm tired," Aphrodite whispers, knees pulled to her chest, something about her coltish in her helplessness.

Artemis has never tried this. She doesn't even know if it will work. But he won't ever find his way here on his own. "Can you keep a secret, Aphrodite?"

She shifts her head enough to look at her with a single garnet eye. "What secret do you have, sister mine?"

"Aphrodite," she says warningly.

She huffs, amusement aging her. "Yes, yes, my silence or my life. What is it?"

Artemis hopes she doesn't regret this. She hopes it works. "Prince Zagreus!"

"What's Zag going to do?" Aphrodite blinks. "He can't even-"

She cuts herself off and Artemis knows she's thinking through the first part, coming to the obvious conclusion and rejecting it out of hand.

"Artemis?"

They both turn and Zagreus is standing there. Not as image or projection like he was the last time they met face to face, but solidly beside her in the flesh.

He grimaces in pain and raises a hand to his side before straightening and forcing his arm down. Whatever it is that keeps him in his father's realm still has some hold on him, it seems.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something," he says. There's blood on his teeth. There wasn't any a couple seconds ago. "Oh, hi Aphrodite. Er. Please don't tell anyone."

"It's you?" Aphrodite demands. "You?"

"I am me," he agrees.

Artemis would beat him if they had the time for it. "Can you help them? This village will die. Word of you hasn't reached them and your temples are too far to travel too even if they had."

He grins it's all red. His blood drips down his chin. "It's not going to be pretty."

Artemis has never thought about how exactly the god of life and blood spreads his blessings. She thinks she's regretting that now.

"Pretty's my domain anyway," Aphrodite snaps. "Help them."

Zagreus moves too quickly for Artemis to stop. He grabs her spear and slices down his chest and then there's blood everywhere, pouring out of him, more than should be in any one body.

Aphrodite screams and Artemis wrenches the spear away, horrified. "This is celestial silver! You can't - even gods can't heal from it!"

"Death heals all wounds," he says and there's blood down his chin, spilling out his mouth with his every breath.

Then he's running.

They talk off after him and it's easy to follow his trail, the deluge blood and smell of copper filling her nose as they chase him.

Zagreus is mad. When she wasn't looking he went insane and now she's killed him.

They have to slow him down, have to get him to Hermes. It should be easy, they're goddesses and he's dying, but he stays fast enough to stay just out of their grasps.

He's lose a body's worth of blood a dozen times over and yet still more flows.

He finally trips and falls, giving gurgling breathes.

"Zagreus!" she shouts as she and Aphrodite fall into the snow beside him. "Zagreus, hold on, it's going to be okay."

He laughs and pats her cheek. He's too pale. "Relax. I die all the time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aphrodite demands, trying to put her hands over the wound but it's too long to stem.

Zagreus doesn't answer.

His body goes slack and it takes Artemis several seconds to realize the person screaming is her.

Aphrodite is sitting there shell shocked and bewildered and then Zagreus's body sinks into the earth, not even reacting to Artemis's attempts to hold on.

"Oh."

She looks up and Aphrodite is looking behind them. Artemis slowly follows her gaze.

Every place blood touched the ground, there now grows bushes of bright purple berries, more vibrant than any fruit she's seen grow that shade. They grow thick and fat on every branch and if there anything like the other food in Prince's gardens, it will keep them alive and they'll be able to grow more themselves.

If they're willing to sacrifice the blood.

The next time Artemis sees Zagreus, she's going to kill him.

[morgana-larkin]

Here's the next chapter of Just Tired! It's all Y/n's POV of the same 2 and a half days. Would have had this out yesterday but my little brother's birthday party was yesterday. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 26

Just Tired - Part 25

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 2.8k

You wake up on Monday morning and put your hands over your eyes. You’re still in shock over what happened yesterday with Melissa. Now you’ll have to see her at work, right across the hall from you and not talk to her. You get up and get ready for work and try not to cry. 

You arrive in the parking lot and let out a breath that Melissa’s car is not here yet. You go into the school and walk in the break room and head over to the fridge to put your lunch in there. You then sit at the table with Jacob and Janine who were talking about what they did over the weekend.

“So Y/n what did you do?” Jacob asks you.

“Oh I didn’t do much, mostly stayed home and watched movies with my roommate.” You tell them and then you see Melissa walk in and she freezes. 

“What movies did you watch?” Janine asks you and then Melissa seems to start moving.

“Just some Disney movies like Sleeping Beauty, The Lion King.” You say to them.

“Ohh! I love Disney movies!” Janine exclaims and that sparks a Disney conversation.

You mostly tune out what Janine and Jacob are talking about, mostly thinking about yesterday. You notice that they seem to be talking about the classics and talking about which one is the best.

“Oh, we gotta get to our classrooms.” Janine says and it snaps you out of the whirlwind your brain was thinking.

“Now, who can tell me what people used before clocks to tell time?” You ask your class and you point to the first one who raises their hand. “Alec.”

“My mom said they used sundials.” Alec replies with and you smile. 

“That’s correct.” You tell him as you are leaning on your desk, facing your students. 

You go to sit at your desk while your students are reading and you glance at Melissa across the hall and sigh. You miss her already, even though it’s been a day. You guess knowing that she doesn’t want anything to do with you makes it harder as you’ll never talk to her again. You then cast those thoughts aside as you’re at school right now, you can cry when you get home. 

At the end of the day you see her saying goodbye to her students but you notice she doesn’t have the same energy as usual. You guess being abused by your ex again and getting into a fight with a trusted friend can bring you down. When all your students are gone, you lock up your classroom and head down the hall, not knowing that Melissa was watching you. 

When you get home all your thoughts are of Melissa. You go on your phone and look at all the photos you two took together. The first one you guys took was when Gerald drove you both to the gay bar for Melissa’s first time and you took a selfie from the backseat. 

The second one was when you two were on your first date and walking to the car with your ice cream cones. You took your phone out to take a selfie of the both of you and Melissa stuck her tongue out, that was the second time that day that you saw her silly side. You, of course, followed suit and stuck your tongue out as well.

The third picture of you both together is after you helped her get revenge on her ex and egged their house. You were both laying on her bed and you got your phone on and she kissed your cheek as you took the picture.

The next picture was the next day when she took you to Danny Wok’s to try his chicken and you had a nice afternoon that day. You took a picture together after exiting the store and you were holding up the box of chicken she bought for you, Melissa was holding hers up as well.

The following picture was with Janine and Jacob when all four of you went to do the escape room. Melissa was right beside you as Janine and Jacob were right behind you. You and Melissa ended up taking a photo of just the two of you after. She has her arm wrapped around your neck and you both have a big smile on your faces.

The next picture is when you love to look at. It was after you both were roller skating and were walking to get pizza. You stopped and got your phone out and she saw you were about to take a picture of you both. She quickly leans forward and kisses you on the lips just as you take the picture. The next picture is about a minute later and it’s just Melissa from the side in the picture, she has her head down and she has a smile on her face.

The last picture is the one that Janine sent you of the picture she took of both you and Melissa kissing in the parking lot of the escape room. You finish looking at all the pictures and sigh.

“Even if I’m not in your life anymore, you meant so much to me, and I hope you continue living life the way you want.” You say as you look at the picture of just her.

You then end up going out with Hallie and her friends as you told her what happened and she called her friends to go out to a bar. You got to meet all her friends and danced with a couple of them to the music. Hallie cuts you off after your fourth drink and drives you home not too long after.

You wake up the next morning with a slight hangover and you put your sunglasses on as you drive to the school. You walk into the break room and get a coffee before you sit down with Janine and Jacob. You have a slight headache from the alcohol and don’t really pay attention to what they’re talking about. You take a sip of coffee just as you hear the door open and see Barb and Melissa walking in. You wrap your sweater around you for comfort as Melissa makes her way over to the fridge.

“Y/n? Are you even paying attention?” Janine asks you and you look up at both of them.

“Not really, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, sorry.” You tell them and you get a sudden sadness taking over you and you realise you need to leave. You grab your coffee mug and get up and immediately go for the exit. You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings and end up walking right into Melissa and spill your coffee on both of you. You end up letting go of your coffee mug due to the surprise and it breaks upon impact with the floor. “Oh god, Melissa I’m so sorry.” You tell her as you realise who you bumped into. She looks like she’s about to say something but you can’t deal with her complaints. “I’ll go get Mr. Johnson so he can clean this up.” You tell her before bolting out of there with a few tears running down your face. 

You reach the safety of your classroom and immediately change into your emergency shirt that you now keep in your classroom, thanks to Melissa. You sit down at your desk and curse yourself for what just happened. You can’t hold back anymore and start crying until you see that there’s a few minutes until the bell. You wipe your tears away and go in your bag and put some mascara on to cover up the fact that you were just crying for 20 minutes. There’s one minute until the bell so you open up your door and greet the students as they walk in, although you don’t feel up to your usual enthusiasm at seeing your kiddos. All of a sudden you see Melissa walking up to you and you have no idea what she wants to say to you, considering you both agreed to cut all communication off unless necessary. You look at her in confusion when she’s right next to you.

“Can I help you Ms. Schemmenti?” You ask her, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. 

“Just wanted to say no hard feelings about the coffee, accidents happen.” She tells you before she goes back to greeting her students. You stare at her in confusion for a few moments, not expecting that. You thought that she might be complaining about the coffee incident, especially since you’re sure she’s still mad at you about the stuff you told her on Sunday.

An hour later you’re grading their homework that you gave them last night when your thoughts drift back to Melissa and the fact that she wasn’t mad at you about bumping into her and spilling coffee on her. She knew for a fact that you were blaming yourself and made sure you knew that she doesn’t blame you. You decide to return the favour and send her a text.

You: Thank you for forgiving me about the coffee incident.

You text it to her before going back to grading the homework. A few seconds later you feel like you’re being watched and look at all your students. You see they’re all hard at work and no one is watching you. You then turn your head to Melissa’s classroom and see that she’s watching you with a smile and her phone in her hands. You look at her eyes and see the brightness in them is still there and she must have moved on from you and that hurts you to think about it. You then see her break contact and put her phone down before she continues doing what she was doing before you texted her.

The day went by as normal. Your headache disappeared around lunch when you were eating and drinking lots of water throughout the day, making the hangover leave you. You were saying goodbye to your students with more enthusiasm than you had this morning when a parent comes up to you and starts yelling in your face. He’s holding up a piece of paper of the history test you gave them last week and see who his kid is and he points to the queer question that’s on it.

“My kid has been telling me everything you’re teaching and I don’t like it! I want you to change what you’re teaching them!” He yells at you and you realise he means the queer history. You take a deep breath and try to reply to him as calmly as possible.

“I’m very sorry to hear that but I teach them what I’m told to teach them and what I think they should be taught as it’s important.” You tell him.

“I don’t want you teaching them queer history! I don’t want it rubbing off on my kid! It’s bad enough that her teacher is a queer!” He yells in your face and you’re taken back by that comment. It quickly makes you think back on your own parents and how they used to yell at you for being gay.

“Is there a problem here?” You hear Melissa ask and see she’s right beside you and looking at the dad who’s yelling at you. You see him relax a bit as he looks at Melissa.

“Mrs. Schemmenti, you’re a respected teacher here. Please tell this queer that she shouldn’t be teaching gay history to our kids.” The dad demands of her. You have no idea who’s side she’s going to take in this. She is a respected teacher because the parents see every year how much she cares about her students but you know she also respects her fellow coworkers.

“Well first off it’s Ms, and secondly I think it’s important for our kids to know our whole history and not just parts of it.” She says and you widen your eyes as she’s defending what you’re teaching your students. You look at the dad and see that it did not please him as she took your side instead of his like he thought.

“Why are you defending her? This queer! This *insert gay slur*!” He yells and you let out a small gasp, not even your parents were mean enough to call you that. You look at Melissa and see that she’s not thrilled by that comment.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you take your daughter and leave now.” She tells him sternly before he takes his daughter’s hand and leaves. You look down as he leaves as his comment got to you. “Are you ok? Parents can be mean sometimes, don’t listen to what he said.” She says and you look at her and see she’s looking at you with concern.

“Never had anyone say anything bad about my sexuality before.” You say. You both know your parents have but Melissa knows what you meant. You then see her go to reach for your hand but then she freezes. You don’t know what to do either and realise it must be instinct but then she might not want to touch you. You then wrap your sweater around yourself for comfort like you did this morning. 

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a homophobic jackass.” She ends up saying and you look at her and nod.

“Thanks.” You tell her and then you see her nod before she goes back to saying goodbye to her students. You see her casting glances at you until all the students are gone.

You go home and sit on the couch with a hot chocolate and put on a disney movie. Today is just not your day. You end up telling Hallie what happened when she gets home as she can see you were upset about something. She joins you on the couch and you end up watching some comfort Disney movies.

The next day you get to the school and go to the break room for some coffee. You still weren’t really in the mood to talk to anyone so you tell Janine and Jacob that you’ll see them at lunch and you go to your classroom.

You see Melissa’s door is already open and you see her at her desk. When you walk in your classroom, you see something on your desk and go over and see it’s a container full of food. You see there’s a note attached to it and read it.

‘Hope this makes you feel better.’

-Melissa

You read it a couple of times before you look over to Melissa and see she’s still doing something at her desk and take a deep breath. You have no idea why she’s secretly slipping you food when you both agreed on no contact and no friendship at all. You have a pretty good idea of what she’s talking about with the feel better but you want to make sure. You cross the hall with the container and reach her classroom.

“Feel better about what?” You ask her and she looks up at you.

“About yesterday.” She simply says and then you watch as she begins placing a piece of paper on the student’s desks.

“I’m grateful that you defended me but I don’t need your food.” You tell her and you see that she sees the container of food in your hand and you know she’s not used to people turning away her cooking, especially you.

“I’ll defend any teacher here, no matter what. As for the food, just think of it as a celebration for surviving the first time a parent yells at you.” She tells you and you see she’s being a bit vulnerable with you right now. “I’ve been here for 15 years and parents weren’t too pleased to have another white teacher at first.” She says and you look at her.

“Well thank you.” You say to her and she shrugs.

“Just give me the container back when you’re done with it.” She tells you and you nod. Then you go to walk back to the break room to put the container in the fridge. As you walk there you think back to how she’s being nice to you. Is it possible you misread all the signs? Was she mad at you? You then remember her eyes yesterday and realise they were shining the same way they do when she looks at you and you freeze.

“Well, shit.”

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[petalsandantlers]

for @taylorswiftmicrofic / january prompt n.14: psycho (541 words) A03

The door to the Heads' Common Room slammed shut with enough force to rattle the picture frames. Lily Evans stormed inside, hair wild and green eyes blazing. James Potter was sprawled on the sofa, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a book he wasn’t actually reading perched on his knee.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Lily snapped.

James didn’t even flinch, which made her angrier. Of course, he looked utterly unbothered, glasses slightly askew, a smug grin playing at his lips.

“What’s it this time, love?” he drawled, stretching as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Don’t you bloody ‘love’ me,” she spat, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You told the entire Quidditch team I’d hexed you last week! Again!”

James smirked. “Well, you did hex me last week. And the week before that. Pretty sure it’s become a regular hobby of yours.”

“You deserved it, you prat!” she barked, crossing her arms. “If you weren’t such a sodding show-off—”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” he interrupted, standing up now, all six-foot-something of him towering in the dim firelight. “You’re the one who went full psycho over a bloody Muffliato charm! It’s hardly my fault you can’t take a joke, Evans.”

Her mouth fell open. “Psycho? You absolute—”

“Oh, go on, tell me how I’m the problem,” James said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “This’ll be good. Write a whole essay about it, why don’t you? I’m sure Slughorn’d love to mark it.”

Her cheeks flamed. “You think you’re so bloody charming, don’t you?”

“I know I am.”

She let out a frustrated noise, spinning on her heel to pace in front of the fireplace. James, to his credit, didn’t press further. For a moment, there was nothing but the crackling logs and the rustle of Lily’s robes as she fumed.

“Sometimes,” she muttered, not looking at him, “I don’t know why I bother.”

His grin faltered. “Oi.”

She didn’t stop pacing.

“Oi,” he said again, softer this time, stepping in her path. “You don’t mean that.”

She stopped short, staring at him. His hair was a mess (always), his glasses were smudged (again), and he was looking at her with that maddening mix of arrogance and sincerity that made her want to kiss him and hex him in equal measure.

“You’re impossible, James Potter,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“And you’re bloody perfect, Lily Evans,” he replied without hesitation. “Even when you’re an absolute nutter.”

Her lips twitched. “I am not—”

“You are,” he said firmly, leaning in. “But you’re my nutter.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, weighing whether or not to stay angry. Then, before he could say anything else infuriating, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard enough to make her point.

James stumbled slightly, but recovered fast, his hands finding her waist as he kissed her back with every ounce of devotion he had. When they finally broke apart, both a little breathless, she narrowed her eyes.

“You’re still sleeping on the sofa,” she said, stepping back.

James grinned. “Fair enough. But you’ll miss me.”

“Bugger off,” she muttered, but there was no real heat in it.

And he knew.

[captain039]

PART 2 Unconventional Alpha

Alpha!Viktor x omega!reader

Warnings: Heats, suppressants, AOB, light swearing, Viktor’s not dying but still disabled, reader has chronic pain, plus size reader, nesting, Older Viktor, Professor Viktor, artistic reader, age gap reader is in their 20s +

Just finished a 14 part fanfic. Immediately starts a new one xD

Previous part <-

It became a routine. Professor Viktor would meet you around dinner in the cafeteria, with the same question. ‘What is my work to you?’

And every time for the last week you’ve struggled to answer. You’ve tried to find ways the hex core was used in your life, time and time again you couldn’t find it, not till tonight. You stare at the heating pad on your bedside table, Hex Corp on the tab. You find yourself laughing a bit at the ironicness of it all. The one thing you use daily and you didn’t even notice was from Hex Corp.

It’s a Monday night and you sit at the same desk, you wait for a bit, but he doesn’t show up. Something inside you saddens before you push it away he’s a professor he’s probably busy. You pick at the rest of your food and sigh getting up and leaving.

You sit in your room writing a part of an assignment before there’s a knock at your door. Frowning you stand wondering who it is. You open the door your eyes going wide as you see Professor Viktor standing there.

“Professor” you greet he gives you a small nod.

“I’m afraid I missed our dinner” he says and you struggle for words for a moment.

“Right, no that’s ok I figured you were busy doing- Professor things” you shrug.

“Can I come on?” He asks and you notice he’s leaning more heavily on his cane and you feel bad. You nod quickly letting him in, he sighs as he sits down at your small table.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” he says.

“No you’re fine” you say realising your space is a mess. You gulp a bit noting dirty clothing scattered, notes, and art things everywhere. You notice a few of your dirty bras sitting out in the open too making you grow embarrassed.

“I uh- don’t get guests” you mutter quickly trying to hide your underclothing.

“It’s quite alright” he chuckles softly and the sound makes you feel warm inside.

“Drink?” You ask opening your mini cooler.

“What do you have?” He asks.

“I’ve got, coke, lemonade, iced tea?” You say.

“Water?” He asks.

“Yes I’ve got water” you say getting him a glass and handing it to him. He thanks you quietly taking a small sip before looking at your laptop and notes.

“Assignment?” He asks and you nod.

“Yeah, we have to do a quick essay on our favourite artist” you shrug sitting down. You take a small breath in and you’re acutely aware of how omega your room smells. You quickly glance to the alpha but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Of course, he’s not why the hell would he be? You scoff to yourself mentally.

“Interesting, who is your favourite?” He asks and you snap back to the now.

“Uh, she’s an artist from Zaun, Antina,” you say.

“Ah, she’s got talent” he answers.

“You know her?” You ask curiously.

“Not personally but I know her work” his lips twitch a bit.

“Right” you mutter shocked he knew her seeing as her work was more fantasy-themed. A small silence pasts before he speaks again.

“Have you an answer to my question?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah, actually I do” You stand up and head to your bedroom picking up your heating pad and put it on the table.

“A heating pad?” He asks and you nod.

“It’s from Hex Corp” you answer.

“May I?” He gestured to it and you shrug nodding. He picks it up his fingers brushing over the tag. You feel yourself suck in a small breath watching his long but slender fingers move over the object.

“So my work to you is a source of comfort?” He asks and you shrug.

“Yeah, that’s- yeah” you stutter a bit.

“Hm” he says lying the heat pad back down on the table.

“You don’t seem thrilled by my answer, I’m sorry it’s boring” you chuckle a bit.

“Boring? Hardly, it’s endearing really” he says almost lost in thought.

“Endearing?” You frown.

“My work brings you comfort, relief, something I always wanted” he adds and you feel yourself grow warm at the words.

“Oh,” you mumble out. You shift in your seat a bit and watch his eyes snap to the movement making you freeze a bit. His gaze is intense only one produced by an alpha and it makes your heart beat faster.

“Thank you for the drink,” he says standing up.

“Right of course” You nod and stand too feeling a shoot of pain go down your leg. You curse and lean against the table quickly making him frown.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Yeah sorry- just pain” you shrug off straightening yourself up with a small sigh.

“I suppose I won’t see you at dinners anymore” you joke changing the conversation.

“Why not?” He frowns his face genuinely confused.

“Oh, I gave you my answer” you gesture to the heating pad.

“You did” he mutters a small frown on his face.

“I would like your insight though,” he says focusing on you.

“Insight?” You ask and he nods.

“I’m hardly smart enough for insight” you laugh off.

“You’re more ‘smart’ than you realise Miss Y/n,” he says in an almost defending tone making you tense a bit.

“I-ok” you mutter.

“I'll uh, see you tomorrow then” you offer and he nods seemingly happy with the answer before leaving.

“Goodnight,” he says.

“Night” you call. Once the door closes you sigh leaning against the table again cursing your throbbing hip. You grab the heat pad and limp to your room before falling on it.

Viktor closes his eyes a moment trying to clear his mind. The whole room had the sweet scent of omega and something entirely you. He’d always been well at hiding his alpha nature, priding himself in being neutral in such things. You though, you stirred something in his chest he hadn’t felt since a young adult.

Viktor had shown up at the cafeteria late, having been caught up in a council meeting. He dreaded the whole talk his mind not focusing, his mind wandering to you. He always enjoyed your talks, your complete lack of interest in his work intrigued him, to say the least. When he caught a glimpse of you in his lecture he knew he shouldn’t single students out but your dazed-off look and scribbling hand made him intrigued wondering what was going on in such a mind. His guess of art was easily placed, the smudges of lead on your hands the paint marks on your clothes, but you also had the creativity in your eyes, a different view of the world. Finding out you painted the picture in the council room made him even more interested, time and time again he found himself staring at it, your initials small in the left corner. He’d always been fascinated at the eyes, her eyes holding so much longing and love and his holding desperation only a man in love could hold. He found himself always looking forward to dinners with you, your casual free speech, not fawning over an inventor but instead speaking to him as a man. Your lack of answers to his questions always intrigued him, but your answer from tonight surprised him, he hadn’t expected something mundane and simple. He meant what he said finding it endearing, he always wanted to help the world be a better place, but hearing it from you made a difference, that he helped provide you with a simple comfort. It also stirred something foreign, the need to provide more comfort to you. He had to keep himself in check when he saw you wince and lean on the table quickly, he knows hidden pain all too well, the way your jaw was tense and the stiffness as you walked. It made something in his mind switch to needing to help you, he knows the pain isn’t new with the way you acted and he wonders what happened. He had stayed back when he heard the soft curse, his ear pressing to the door and the uneven steps you made. His fingers clenched into a fist forcing himself away, his second nature begging for release.

You arrive at the cafeteria a little late, having had to move slower through the halls. You see Viktor already waiting there a thoughtful look on his face. You smile to yourself at the look, his high cheekbones and straight rounded nose.

“Evening” you greet and he looks up. You sit down forcing the pain down as you sit with your food tray.

“Evening,” he says his eyes studying you.

“So, what did you need insight on?” You ask and see the small twitch in his lip.

“A new design” he says grabbing a notebook from his bag and flipping through the pages before laying it on the table.

“What is it?” You ask peering at it.

“A new heating pad” he says and you frown.

“What’s wrong with the normal ones?” You ask.

“They’re simple, anyone can make such a thing,” he says almost scoffing.

“Ok,” you chuckle softly.

“Infuse a little magic into such a thing and well endless possibilities are present” he says.

“Magic-infused heat pad?” You ask a small smile on your lips.

“I’m very serious Miss Y/n” he says and you nod trying to force your smile down.

“Please elaborate,” you say beginning to eat.

“Well, for someone with higher pain than most a simple heat device isn’t always enough, you need the heat to go deeper and soothe inside rather than the outside. So infuse it with something as a precision rune, and you have precise usage and targeted relief” His words make sense as he speaks.

“That’s pretty genius,” you say letting out a small chuckle of awe.

“You forget who you’re talking to” he says a small smirk on his lips.

“Right of course” You grin a bit. You fall into a comfortable silence of finishing your meals. You notice something though, the strength of his scent, you wonder if it’s just you but his scent smells stronger to you. You take a small breath savouring it for a moment before you realise what you’re doing.

“A heating pad isn’t exactly revolutionary though” you try to distract yourself.

“Why not?” He asks.

“Well I mean, you’re a man of progress are you not? You’re always bringing out big great ideas, I think the council will be disappointed with such a small item” you say shrugging a bit.

“You’re correct,” he says sighing pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t mean to not make it- I-“ you sigh trailing off.

“You didn’t offend me” he smiles and it almost makes you freeze at the warmth in it.

“Call it a…personal project” he adds.

“Right” you nod feeling your body go warm.

“I should head back to my room” you say and stand up feeling a shoot of pain go up your back. It’s hard not to react, you’re due for a flare-up. You barely notice Viktor before you feel his warmth, hands holding you steady. Gods he smells better close up.

“What’s the matter?” He asks voice concerned. You have to take a small breath partly from the pain and from his closeness.

“My back- it’s fin-“You feel yourself freeze up at the hand on your back.

“You’re awfully stiff” he says his hand gently moving against your back. You look at him noticing the intense look of concentration on his face.

“Your muscles are tense and knotted too” he adds.

“Uh-“ you manage and his eyes flick to yours. You notice the rise of red on his cheeks before he clears his throat and steps back.

“Apologises, I should not have-“ he looks away with a frown and blush on his face.

“No, it’s-“You don’t know what to say in a situation, you just want him back close.

Next part ->

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello, hello!!!I saw your post here with the answer to the question (If the age restriction was done away with, do you think Harry's name would have been picked for the tournament at 14?). And your thoughts on Cedric and Hufflepuff, and I'd like to know your opinion. I've always disliked the Hufflepuffs and Diggory himself because of their behavior when Harry was chosen champion. Cedric is always called a good guy, but he did nothing when his friends wore badges against Harry and laughed with them about it. Your thoughts?

I'm so glad I found your blog! You are miracle!

Hello again 👋

(Referencing this post)

Well, I don't dislike all the Hufflepuffs in the books (I like Susan Bones a lot because of the 2 lines she has in the whole series), but I do find it interesting that a lot of the students we see in Hufflepuff when Harry's at school, don't really exemplify Hufflepuff traits.

The Potter Stinks badges I'm kinda fine with. Like, I can understand it. See, Hufflepuff usually doesn't get the spotlight, and then they have Cedric Diggory as the school champion. Of course, they're excited. And then, oh, what's that? Harry Potter from Gryffindor is stealing the Apotlight again as the fourth champion! WTF? This isn't right!

For them, supporting Cedric and renouncing Harry is the just and fair option. Becouse Harry isn't supposed to be a champion, and they're supporting the "true champion". It doesn't really matter Harry didn't want to be a champion, it's unfair he was chosen as one at all.

So, I get it. I get the support for Cedric and resentment of Harry. It's other smaller things that make the image of the house fall apart a little for me.

It's Ernie McMillan making grandiose declarations not becouse it's the right thing to do, but for appearance's sake:

“Well said!” barked Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry had been expecting to speak long before this. “Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we’ll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!” He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry, “Surely not!” When nobody spoke, he went on, [...] “Er . . .” said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. “Well . . . I’m sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.” But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. “I — well, we are prefects,” Ernie burst out. “And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out . . .” “You just said this group was the most important thing you’d do this year,” Harry reminded him

(OotP, Ch16)

Or his general concern with appearance over substance, really:

Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest.

(OotP, Ch11)

It's Justin and the others snap judgment of Harry in CoS without actually being fair and hearing him out:

the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained. He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful — but certainly not angry and scared. “What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

(CoS, Ch11)

and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

(CoS, Ch9)

It's Amos Diggory having no idea what "fair" is even if it punched him in the face and being the most insufferable character that isn't an outright villain:

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year. . . . I said to him, I said — Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. . . . You beat Harry Potter!” [...] “Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. “I told you . . . it was an accident. . . .” “Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman . . . but the best man won, I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!” “Must be nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley quickly

(GoF, Ch6)

(I hate that man sooo much it's not even funny.)

It's Cedric needing to be nudged to tell Harry about the egg from Moody/Barty as I mentioned in the post you referenced.

Zacharias Smith being a bit of a prat is fine, it's not like he's ever pretending to be anything else, so at least he's honest. But the point is that a lot of the Hufflepuffs we meet aren't exactly just and fair people like their house would suggest.

And I love it.

I mean, we talk about how Gryffindors aren't all brave, like Remus and Pettigrew who are both cowardly lions who'd rather run away in many situations. Or how Slytherins aren't all bad, that "the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters" and that Slytherin is more than just power-hungry evil people.

Showing Hufflepuffs who aren't noble, just, and hardworking is great. In fact, it's essential worldbuilding. It's another nail in the coffin of houses not being the be-all and end-all of who a person is. Becouse Hagrid is wrong in what he tells Harry:

“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” said Hagrid darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

(PS, Ch5)

Some Hufflepuffs are assholes, some Slytherins are nice, some Gryffindors are cowards and some Ravenclaws aren't smart. Houses aren't just about what you are, but what you value, what you want to be. I always saw someone's house as a mix of their traits, yes, but also their priorities, approach to problem-solving, or what they value most about themselves.

Remus and Peter may be cowards, but both of them value bravery greatly. They both looked up to James for his courage. There could be a Ravenclaw who isn't the sharpest, but they like to learn and solve riddles, even when they aren't any good at it. Slytherins like Tom Riddle, who value bravery and courage and despise cowardice like a Gryffindor, but they're so set on being great, of leaving a legacy, that the hat places them in Slytherin. Hufflepuffs like Ernie, who want to be noble and looked up to as a beacon of justice, but it doesn't come naturally to them so they act the part ("fake it till you make it"). I love this idea of Hogwarts houses that all these Hufflepuffs exemplify. Houses aren't always what you are, and sorting is more complicated than that.

So Cedric isn't the peach perfect noble and just Hufflepuff and it's great. Becouse people aren't always perfect and just and he's human. I would give him that he is a hell of a lot fairer than some of his housemates. But I don't think Cedric is the poster child of a just Hufflepuff — he isn't, and I prefer him that way. He's nice, don't get me wrong, he's not a bad person, but the idea that he was so perfect just because he died tragically sucks.

[thehypnone]

Sundown: Chapter 14

WC: 2,7K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Transfeminine Mountain, Fluff, Wedding!!!

Swiss’ hands shake as he slides the ring down Mounty’s finger, but it’s okay; so do hers. They giggle quietly at each other when it takes a small eternity for Swiss’ ring to end up on his finger, but soon enough it’s done.

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 14 under the cut or on AO3.

When Mounty’s leg is healed and Swiss’ stitches are out—a few weeks after the scariest day of them all—the real countdown begins; it’s all pure chaos and days blurring together.

One day, though, Swiss and Mounty wake up in the morning tangled together and realize it’s the day.

They kiss about it and giggle into each other’s mouths, so happy and yet still unable to fully grasp what really is going to happen in a few hours.

After a little while Mounty goes down to the bar to prepare some light breakfast and Swiss packs his stuff, planning on going to Rain, Dewdrop, and Phantom’s place later to get ready there, leaving their space for Mounty.

He can’t find his bolo tie, though—of course—so he jumps down the stairs and calls out to his girl, “Momo, have you seen my…”

Swiss doesn’t finish his question, getting distracted by the presence of the tallest man he’s ever seen in his entire life. He’s just there, standing by the bar and talking with Mounty. They both turn, hearing Swiss’ voice.

“Good morning,” he says with reservation, even though Mounty is completely at ease; obviously comfortable with the man.

“Good morning,” the stranger replies, “I'm Earth, Mountain’s father.”

Swiss’ jaw drops.

“Oh, you–her…her father, I–uhm, good–good morning…sir,” he stammers out.

“You said that already,” Earth chuckles and Mounty hides her smile with a hand. “Indeed it is.”

Swiss now understands where his girl got her height and sense of humor from. He completely forgot Mounty had talked about him and mentioned inviting him to their wedding.

He jumps off the last step he’s been lingering on and makes his way to the bar, albeit keeping a safe distance from the huge man.

“I think you scared him, dad,” Mounty gets on her tiptoes to whisper into her father’s ear over the counter, but it’s still loud enough so Swiss can hear it.

“No, no, hah, I–” The cowboy blushes. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” Earth nods with a gentle—but still a bit scary—smile and turns a chair for Swiss to sit on. He obliges, of course. And buttons up his shirt. “I've heard you saved my so–daughter's life.”

Mounty doesn’t seem bothered by the tiny slip up, so Swiss ignores it. He can see Earth is supportive and loving, and that it was an honest mistake, probably an effect of all the years he did indeed see Mounty as his son. Swiss learned that little errors like this don’t matter when someone really cares for the other person.

 “Me? I–I guess you could say so…sir, but–”

The cowboy yelps in surprise when Earth suddenly throws his arms around him and hugs him tightly. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Mounty holding herself back from bursting out laughing.

“Thank you.” Her dad finally pulls away. “Mountain didn’t tell me much, but I’m grateful you were here to protect her when I couldn’t.”

Swiss looks down on his feet, a wave of guilt washing over him; Mounty wouldn’t be in danger in the first place if it weren’t for him, after all, but the next thing Earth says snaps him out of it and fills him with something that almost feels like pride.

“I can see in both your eyes how much you love each other. I have no doubt you will make her happy, son.”

If Swiss tears up a little, nobody mentions it. He swallows through the lump in his throat and nods with a smile, finally looking Earth in the eye properly. “Thank you.”

Mounty decides it’s time for a distraction, so she brings out food for the three of them.

“So…have you seen my tie?” Swiss asks again as he takes the plates from her and Mounty smirks, taking it out from under the counter. The cowboy furrows his brows, confused as to what it’s doing there but then he remembers last week—when he was trying his suit on—and blushes bright red. He silently begs any god that will listen that his soon-to-be father in law doesn’t connect the dots. “Thanks, sweetheart…”

After the incredibly awkward breakfast, Mounty’s dad decides to go for a walk to kill some time before the wedding and Aurora comes knocking on Mounty’s door with two boxes of beauty products under her arms just when Swiss is about to leave. He helps her with the cargo and then gets shooed out of the saloon and waved goodbye by the two giggling women.

He doesn’t go straight to his groomsmen’s house, though, as planned. He goes to the stables, to Monty, first.

The mare is happy to see him—as always—and Swiss thinks she can sense his happiness and excitement as she seems to mirror it. He leans against her and talks to her quietly; an old habit they have been cultivating since Monty was a foal.

“What are you doing in here?” Swiss gets interrupted at some point, hearing Dewdrop behind him. “Not planning on leaving Mounty at the altar, are you?”

“Oh, I ain’t going anywhere, don’t ya worry,” he chuckles. “Just thinking. Trying to…comprehend it all.”

Dewdrop nods, understanding.

“And talking to this ol’ chick. She’s the one who’s been with me through it all.”

The other man hums in acknowledgement and gives Monty a pat.

“This reminds me of something from a few months ago,” he says after a moment of silence. He’s right, Swiss doesn’t miss the parallel. “Look how far you’ve come.”

“I wouldn’t be here if not for you, you know that?” Swiss finally looks at Dewdrop. His eyes are glassy, but there’s a smile on his face and the other can see genuine gratitude in his expression. “I would be long gone if you hadn’t stopped me that day and I would be convinced I was doing you all a favor. Especially Mounty.” 

“I hope you can see now how wrong you were.”

“I do. And I ain't ever again gonna even think about leaving her.”

“Atta boy.” Dewdrop mirrors his smile and claps a hand over his shoulder. “Now come on, let’s make you presentable for your girl.”

Swiss laughs, pats his mare’s neck and lets Dewdrop lead him to his house.

In the meantime, the girls are having the time of their life in the saloon. By the time Cumulus arrives with Mounty’s wedding dress two hours later, Aurora has already done her makeup and hair.

Weeks ago, when the tailoress had asked Mounty what she wanted from her wedding dress, she only said two words.

“Just…me.”

The tailoress didn't have much time so they decided to make it rather simple, but special and very Mounty nonetheless. Now when she is putting it on, Mounty realizes she could not have dreamed up a better dress for her wedding than what Cumulus came up with.

Also because of how little time there was, Mounty told her bridesmaids to just wear something green instead of dooming Cumulus to sleepless nights spent working on matching dresses for them all. Swiss said the same to his groomsmen and for himself decided to get Cumulus to tailor a suit that's been waiting in her workshop rather than to make something entirely new. It's not about clothes, after all, especially not for Swiss. All he wants is his girl to be happy and he never doubted Cumulus’ ability to make Mounty the happiest bride with her work.

“How are you feeling?” the tailoress asks as she finishes tying the corset of the dress up.

“Lussy, this is–I’ve no words, it’s so beautiful,” Mounty mutters, looking herself over in the mirror. She can barely recognize herself; in a good way. For the first time in what feels like forever the barmaid sees a beautiful woman in the mirror and there’s no nagging voice in the back of her head telling her otherwise.

“I’m so happy you like it, my dear,” Cumulus chuckles, “but how are you feeling, really? About all of this? There must be a lot of emotion, let it out.”

Mounty sighs. There is a lot of emotion, indeed, but it’s not so easy to put it into words. She tries her best, “I never thought I’d find someone who…who’d take me seriously. I didn’t ever expect anyone to see me as a real woman and love me as one, too. This is more than a dream come true and Swiss is…he’s a lot of things and he might not be perfect but he’s perfect for me. Makes me feel whole, you know?”

“I know,” the tailoress—and Mounty’s maid of honor—agrees. “I’m very happy for you, Mounty.”

The bride grins and can’t help but throw her arms around the other woman and hug her tightly; as a thanks for everything.

“Careful now,” Cumulus laughs, “let’s not crease your dress before Swiss can get his hands on you. Though I must admit I’m a little scared for it, because he will want to rip it right off you when he sees you, my dear.”

Mounty pulls away and can’t help but giggle. It’s contagious so they end up laughing so hard they can’t breathe as they joke about Swiss and how the bride has him wrapped right around her little finger.

Cumulus was chosen by Mounty to be her maid of honor with Aurora, Cirrus and Mist—Mounty’s cousin that traveled with Earth—as the remaining bridesmaids, while Rain, Dewdrop and Phantom are Swiss’ groomsmen. He and Mounty gave Phantom a choice whether they wanted to be one of Mounty’s bridesmaids or Swiss’ groomsmen and they chose the latter, wanting to make the number on both sides even.

Albeit, to most guests it still won’t seem even.

They decided to get married in the groove. Mounty has always loved that place, it’s where Swiss proposed—or rather tried, the first time—and it’s simply beautiful. It was clear to both of them it had to be there. And considering it’s August, the weather would be perfect for an afternoon wedding out in the open.

Setting it all up took some time; they put tons of chairs around the trees and a carpet for Mounty to walk on down to the altar made of a few short steps and a platform with a floral archway. A similar passage was put at the entrance—this one with a curtain so Mounty could be unseen before its time for her to walk through it. Behind it all, on the edge of the groove there’s a tent for the reception party with a wooden floor that took the longest to make. They also built little stables with hay and water for people that wanted to come on their horses; many indeed did.

When the clock in Sundown strikes three, it all begins.

Dewdrop, Rain, and Phantom go first, standing in a neat line on the left side of the officiant already waiting there, but one step down. Then come the bridesmaids—Cumulus, Cirrus, Aurora, and Mist—and line up on the right. Swiss takes a few more deep breaths and walks out after them to wait for his girl at the top. It feels both like a second and an hour as the space is filled out with overlapping murmurs of the guests.

But then it all goes quiet.

Everyone stands up and Swiss feels his heart in his throat.

His knees nearly give out when Mounty walks out from behind the trees with Earth by her side and a pretty bouquet in her hands. They begin to make their way to the altar and Swiss’ eyes sting; he tips his hat downwards to hide the wet shine in them.

“Dude, are you crying already?” Phantom teases quietly. Indeed, he is. Already.

“Yeah, just…just look at her,” Swiss chuckles. Phantom does look over and they can’t deny Mounty looks absolutely divine. Her dress is long and puffy with layers upon layers of tulle; the top part of it a simple off-shoulder corset with a sweetheart neckline—how on point. It’s all pure white, just as the veil that’s cascading down over the bride's let down amber hair down to the very ground, but there are green applications scattered all over it. As Mounty gets closer everyone sees they are patches of leaves with tiny red flowers amongst them.

“She’s a goddess,” Swiss whispers wetly and no one would dare disagree with that.

Mounty smiles brightly as she and her father cross the remaining distance to where her future is waiting; she hugs Earth before he goes to take his spot in one of the front chairs and turns to Swiss. She takes that last step but her foot catches on the edge of the platform through her dress and she sways; falling right into Swiss’ arms.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he chuckles, looking deep into her fresh-grass-green eyes. Mounty blushes, regaining her footing, and stands proudly in her spot. Cumulus runs up to her quickly to smooth down her veil and the back of her dress and when she nods at the officiant it all begins.

They made it.

Neither Swiss nor Mounty will remember the next twenty minutes—they’re not even listening to the officiant, staring at each other and smiling like two teenagers in love instead. Only when it’s time for them to speak—for their vows—do they snap out of it. Well, not fully, of course.

“Mounty, love of my life,” Swiss begins. “You know I ain’t much good with words, so I’ll just say what…comes to mind. We haven’t known each other that long, but you already know me better than anyone else ever had; better than I know myself. You looked at me once and your kindness and beauty captivated me and I can’t imagine my life without you now. I was lost and you found me and I can never repay you for that, for all you’ve done for me. But I’ll try, I’ll do my damn best to give you a better life than you’ve dreamed of. If you’ll let me.”

Mounty chuckles, nodding with a grin and glistening eyes.

“Swiss, my darling, you gave me something I doubted I could ever have. You made me feel loved and important and now I wake up every day with the knowledge that I’m someone’s. That I’m yours and I couldn’t imagine it being different, now. You filled the empty spaces in my heart and soul I didn’t even know were there. I look forward to waking up next to you and facing the world for the next tens of years and more. You also gave me something to worry about and I do think you may have to work on that aspect.”

This time all the guests laugh with them.

Swiss tries to be discreet when he wipes the tears from his eyes, but he’s not doing a very good job of it. Neither is Mounty, even though she’s more graceful when she pats them away with a corner of a napkin.

The bride looks back at Cirrus as it’s time for them to exchange rings and she brings them out; just two simple golden bands. They decided they needed nothing but a symbol; their love alone already made them richer than any jewelry could ever be a proof of. 

Swiss’ hands shake as he slides the ring down Mounty’s finger, but it’s okay; so do hers. They giggle quietly at each other when it takes a small eternity for Swiss’ ring to end up on his finger, but soon enough it’s done.

They made it.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant announces and the world goes quiet.

Swiss grins as he throws his hat away before wrapping his arms all around Mounty and dipping her so low the ends of her hair touch the ground. The guests cheer loudly, but neither the cowboy nor his wife pay them any mind as they kiss; it’s just them despite the crowd, just like the first time.

And the sun that shines upon them through the treetops is the missing best woman.

look at the beautiful art by @arkeusruin!!!

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #14

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You try to move on after the Universe has been saved.

Word count: 4,700

Warning: Angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

You're standing in the middle of your old apartment.

The same apartment that had a helicopter crash into it and left nothing but rubble, ash and melted cement in its wake. Except now it's restored, like nothing ever happened.

Your rickety dining table sits in the middle of the room, propped up by a hardcover book to make up for the fact that one leg is crooked. Your tiny double bed with your lumpy mattress is pushed up against the wall. The usual piles of clean and dirty laundry indiscriminately mixed together sits unattended on top of the unmade covers.

You don't understand.

Why is it all back to normal?

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it.

Miguel… You need to get back to him and you don't have time for this right now.

"Lyla," you summon. A warm ping vibrates against your inner wrist as Lyla appears. "Take me back to the void."

Lyla shakes her head firmly. "I'm sorry I can't do that."

"What do you mean? Of course you can, you've brought us there twice. You did it when Miguel commanded you."

She peers up at you through her pink heart-shaped glasses, with a solemn look in her holographic eyes.

"The first time was a miscalculation. The second was to eliminate the continued threat to your life."

Her words stop you cold. 'Continued threat...' Is she referring to Miguel?

"Lyla, please. Stop messing around. Take me back to Miguel."

Lyla's eyes go blank, no longer the flippant expression you are so used to seeing.

"Request denied. My programming does not allow me to expose you to danger."

"He's going to die if we don't do something Lyla!" You shout at her.

There is a tremor in your hand. Your nerves are shot, exhausted and tired from everything that has happened in the last 24 hours and you can feel the tears pushing up against your throat.

"Isn't it part of your protocol to protect him?!"

"I was built to protect you. My primary directive is to make sure you're safe above all else. That is my purpose."

She recites the words as if she's reading from a manual. It's flat and emotionless in a way you've never known Lyla to be before. Like the line is hardwired into the very core of her basic coding. There are no funny jokes. No sass.

"Lyla, please," you beg.

She doesn't answer you. That same impassive expression as before is still on her face.

"Lyla..." you try again.

You scramble to think of your options. To devise a plan B. But to your horror, you can’t think of anything.

What are you meant to do? You’re not a super genius who can build source code out of thin air that can break the laws of physics. You have no superpowers. No magic that allows you to travel to other dimensions.

The only thing you know how to do is file claim insurance applications. You’re useless.

There's nothing to be done.

It's over.

Your legs give in from the oppressive weight of your realization. You slump to the floor, unable to hold yourself together as the hard wooden floor hits your knees. You fold in two, hunched over the floor and you let the ache inside your chest break and pour over and you cry.

When you come to some time later, you find yourself curled up on the floor. You don't know how long you must've been crying for. But it must’ve been long enough for you to have cried yourself to exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

Turning onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling, shivering from the cold breeze of the evening coming through the window.

Your limbs are cramping from exhaustion. You're dehydrated. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with dried tears. There's a deep-seated headache burrowing into your skull. It's a struggle for you to get up from the floor into a seated position, as you properly take in your surroundings.

At first glance, this version of your apartment looks identical to yours, but on closer inspection there are some stark differences.

By the window, there are black out curtains hanging from the ceiling to allow for sleep-ins during daylight hours.

On your bed, amongst the mountain piles of laundry strewn haphazardly, there are items you don’t recognize. Oversized hoodies that are big enough to fit a bear. Male sweatpants. Socks so big they look like they're Christmas stockings.

Walking over to the kitchen area, there's a distinct lack of coffee. It's been replaced by expired Reese's Peanut Butter cups, milk duds, and Hershey bars that fill every corner of your kitchen cupboards to the brim, stuffed haphazardly on the upper shelves that you could never reach. They have even made their way into your nightstand and stuffed and hidden between books on the bookshelf.

Lyla doesn't even have to tell you where you are. You already know.

This is your home. In your other self's dimension. It belongs to Miguel's nena.

Miguel sent you here, the closest universe he knew of that was identical to yours, so that you could live out your days in safety, without him.

Fucking idiot.

This is not what you wanted.

Days pass.

It's an odd and empty existence, you've beaten the impossible odds and won against the universe itself and made it out alive. Yet you're not sure that anything about this truly qualifies as a victory.

For all you know, the world that is your home may have been destroyed.

After all that's what Stark said: there is no guarantee that just because you left, everything would go back to normal.

And who are you to argue with the (second) smartest man on earth?

There's no way of you knowing what the outcome was, and Lyla refuses to transport you out of this current dimension.

You spend most of your days curled into a ball in bed unable to summon the strength to keep yourself upright or awake for more than an hour at a time, haunted by the knowledge that your escape from your death might have doomed trillions to theirs.

In the hours in between, when that inescapable guilt doesn't eat into your mind, the only thing you are left with is replaying the moments of your life in the past three months.

It flits through your closed eyes like an old film reel and in every one of those moments, Miguel is there, reminding you of what you have now lost.

You feel hollowed out, scraped out and empty like there's nothing inside. The only time you manage to feel anything that resembles an emotion is when you clutch onto whatever piece of oversized clothing that once belonged to Miguel. The only physical trace you have to prove to yourself that he existed and it's not just some fantastical made up story in your mind.

Miguel once told you that anyone who gets lost in the void gets erased. Their very existence scrubbed from the records of the world. Does the fact that you can still remember him mean that he's still there? And if so, how much longer will you be able to mourn him before he's faded entirely in that space. Before your very memory of him and the love you have that sits inside you with nowhere to go is gone too?

Nothing about this feels like a happy ending.

In the first few days, you don't leave the house. You tell yourself that it's better that way. Now that Miguel is no longer here, the idea of walking out in into open streets in broad daylight seems strange to you.

Lyla tries to tempt you with exotic holidays.

“Bali, India! The world is your oyster, we can fly out first class tonight and do an Eat Pray Love for as long as you want to!” Lyla’s voice sings in your ear. "Thailand is lovely this time of the year, barely any tycoons."

Most of the time, you ignore her presence, burying your head into the pillow, pathetically hugging onto one of the oversized shirts that’s been left behind.

Everytime you hope to catch a whiff of the remnant traces of Miguel’s presence there. But there’s nothing. It just smells of stale detergent.

After surviving the end of the world, a lot of things that used to be important seems meaningless to you now.

Alive as you may be, there’s no real purpose for you carved out in this dimension. You don't go to work in the mornings, because the you of this universe died years ago. Showing up at your office at the Chrysler building would likely induce heart attacks amongst your old co-workers.

You could scour Careerbuilder for job ads, but there's a sour pit in your stomach that hugs tightly around your guts everytime you think of the prospect of having to speak to job recruiters.

You don't think you have it in you to lie to some stranger at an interview and pretend that being in front of a white screen poring over excel sheets 8 hours a day is the way you want to spend the rest of your life until you hit retirement.

Besides, rent is not an issue anymore. Nor is money when Lyla is there to take care of you and act as your digital sugar momma. A standing order for any and all bills needed to maintain this home had already been set up long before you arrived.

You feel sorry for Lyla. She's been programmed to take care of your mental and physical well being and you know she is at wit's end with your listless behavior.

She pulls out all the stops. Lyla orders take out for you, delivered right to your door to try to get you to eat. If she had a physical body, you think she would hold you down and force feed you.

But something is wrong with you, because even though every dish is your favorite, rounded up from your favorite restaurants in the city, for the first time in your life since you were born, you no longer have much of an appetite.

You usually only manage mouthfuls just to keep Lyla from constantly nagging, before you shove the take-out box back into the fridge and then crawl back into bed.

Everything tastes bland and grey. Everything around you seems to have lost its color and shine. Was the world around you always this dull?

On the fifth day, there is a familiar baby-pink box with Gladis' logo printed on the lid arriving at your doorstep.

“Surprise!” Lyla announces. “It’s your favorite! I ordered the luxury box with the elderflower lemon flavors, as well as the lychee-raspberry jello!”

You sit down by the table, staring at the beautifully adorned cupcakes in the box. Spirals of white and pink frosting with petals of edible flowers. There's freshly cut strawberries and blackberries and chocolate shavings on op.

Picking one up, you cram the whole cupcake into your mouth, trying to cling onto the memory of that first time when the flavor of lemon zest bursting on your tongue had made you squeal with happiness.

That doesn't happen.

This time, as the sugar hits the top of your mouth, all you can think about is how much you miss him. How things will never be the same without him.

How you'll never get to have him sit next to you, smiling softly as he watches you eat. That you'll never get to see him demolish a cupcake in one bite and leave frosting on his nose.

It doesn't feel the same, you just feel hollow. Wetness spills across your cheeks, and snot clogs your nose and throat. You must look like a looney, ugly crying with your mouth stuffed full of cupcake, barely swallowing.

After that Lyla doesn’t order them for you anymore.

It's morning you think, judging from the bright sun pouring in from the blinds.

Lyla is buzzing near your ear where you've taken off the watch and placed it on the pillow next to you for company.

"You need to get out of the house. You're turning into a social recluse. It's not a good look," she says, as she peers down at you over her pink-tinted glasses.

"How about I get a date for you? Have a fab night out on the town? I have a roller-dex of the top bachelors in New York. I'm happy to hack into their calendar!"

You ignore her, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging Miguel's worn hoodie tighter to your chest. You pull the cover over your head, but you can still hear her babble on through the thin separation of fabric.

"What's your type? Oscar Isaac? He’s hot– No, no you're right he's happily married and we don’t wanna be homewreckers here. What about Lenny Kravitz? Doesn't get cooler than Kravitz and he’s long divorced."

"Lyla stop," you groan, poking your head back up above the covers. You just want quiet. Just want to stay here cocooned in this space that is the closest you'll ever get to Miguel for as long as you can remember him, until that too is taken away from you.

"I'm fine. I don't need a date."

"You're not fine though. You've only eaten a box of cupcakes in the last week. You haven't showered and you look like a mess. Your hair is greasier than the BP oil spill off the gulf of Mexico. My purpose is to keep you safe, and that includes your mental and emotional levels, which are... " she stops, throwing up some diagnostics boxes in floating holograms, then makes a face. "Yikes."

She’s doing this on purpose. Talking incessantly, so that she can nag you into doing what she wants. Suddenly you gain newfound sympathy for Miguel. You used to think it was funny when she nagged him and got on his nerves, but now that you're on the end of it, you see how he must’ve suffered when Lyla was in one of these moods with him.

"Will you stop if I step out of the house for a walk," you offer as an olive branch, hoping for a little peace and quiet.

"How long of a walk?"

"Five."

"Minutes?!" Lyla screeches with outrage. "The general recommendation is 150 minutes of weekly exercise, I'm going to need at least an hour's walk from you boss-girl."

"Twenty minutes."

"Forty!"

"Half an hour, or I'm going back to bed and wearing earplugs."

Lyla grins. "Deal".

The streets here look the same as the ones in your dimension, down to the Bodega owned by the old Korean couple around the corner. This version of earth is identical to yours in almost every way you know of.

Except in this New York, instead of Matthew Ellis, a man named Biden who is apparently over 100 years old (give or take a few years) is president.

In this reality, Leonardo Di Caprio apparently won an Oscar, while Amy Adams still hasn't, which is nuts to you.

The Avengers also don't seem to exist here. Though Superheroes still seem prevalent. A group of misfits that refers to themselves as the Fantastic Four seems to dominate the news cycle more often than not.

Ahead of you, the street splits into two paths and you take a corner into the smaller street that you know should cut through to a dog park.

But it doesn’t. Instead of green grass fields and park benches, you end up in a small narrow dead end of a street. Somehow you're lost. Shit. You should've paid more attention.

Looking up, you turn your head left and right to try to make sense of where you could be. You’re just about to pull up google maps, when the flickering light of the one sole streetlamp illuminating this alley catches your attention.

You're 12 blocks from Chinatown, but you recognize this alley even though it shouldn't be here.

From a distance, you spot the familiar red stall. The same small rickety table. The same red cloth draped on top. The same old lady with her abnormally large shiny head, comically large sunglasses and white-blue robe. The same giant sign spelling out: Fortune teller.

Only this time, there's only one folding chair set up in front of it.

She takes one look at you, as you sit down with a look of familiarity in her milky-white eyes.

"Your bad luck is gone," she says.

You should be more surprised that the scam fortune teller from another dimension seemingly remembers the conversation you had with her other self. But it doesn't. You've learned by now that nothing is as it seems.

Random near death accidents are not just due to bad luck. A superhero that repeatedly saves you isn’t just doing it out of sheer goodwill and duty. A starmap is not just a starmap, and you’re willing to bet your life that this fortune teller is not just a fortune teller.

“Who are you?” you ask her.

“Is that of importance to you?”

“Yes.”

She takes off her sunglasses and stares directly into your eyes. Without the obstruction of dark tinted lenses, you can see that it's not glaucoma causing the whiteness in her pupils. In her eyes, there are galaxies, millions of tiny dots of glowing stars, endless and mesmerizing as you stare back into them.

"My name is Ulana. I’m a Watcher. My role is to observe the Multiverse from the Nexus of all realities.”

There’s no longer that harmless demeanor and friendly smile that makes you drop your guard. She holds herself with reverence as she speaks, with the aura of the divine.

“Does that mean you are able to observe every reality in this moment?” you ask.

“Yes.”

The image of your New York with its pink cracked sky and the chaos you left it in crowds your vision.

"Can you tell me what happened to my old world after I left? Is it still there?"

"Your old home is intact and safe."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you had been holding all this time.

Thank god.

Relieved tears spill from your cheeks. Somehow you haven't single-handedly caused the destruction and death of whole worlds and countless lives.

Even if you can never go back there, that place will always be your home, and your chest warms at the thought that even without you it will always still be there.

You take a moment to gather yourself, to wipe the errant tears that are welling up with the back of your hand.

Then you take a deep calming breath before you ask her the question that has been plaguing your mind since you arrived in this reality.

"Is Miguel still alive in the void?" you ask her.

"Your husband is still alive. But he doesn't have much time left. He's fading."

Your fingers curl into fists on top of your knees, "How do I save him?"

"I couldn't tell you.” She shakes her head sadly. "My kind is not allowed to intervene. We are only meant to observe the ongoings of the universes. I've already meddled too much.”

Ducking down, she reaches under her desk, sorting through the pile of junk paper, before she leans back up over the table.

"This is the only help I can give you," she says, reaching over to place something into your hands.

You look down to see a familiar bright yellow Star Map.

"He'll be home this time," she tells you.

You're standing on the doorsteps of the old brownstone on 177A Bleecker Street, staring up at the old ornate wooden front doors.

Unlike last time you were here, there's no hesitation in you anymore. It doesn't matter that you've come alone with no other superhero to validate your mad and fantastical story about the Cosmos that was out to kill you.

You don't care if Strange thinks you're a random crazy from the streets.

If he doesn't believe you, then you'll make him believe you. If he tries to have you hauled out, you'll kick and drag and scream at the top of your lungs, and chain yourself to his front door if that's what it takes.

You bring your hand to the door knocker and tap it three times. Then you wait.

Nothing.

Didn't the fortune teller say he was going to be home this time?

Goddamnit, was she a scam after all? What kind of name is Ulana for a celestial being anyhow? Did you end up wasting another ten dollars?

You grit your teeth and step forward again, grabbing the door knocker to pound it down against the front door, even harder this time and you don’t stop at one or two, you keep slamming it down fervently.

Mid-knock, the door creaks, swinging open, as an exasperated voice greets you.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming. There's no need to knock that aggressively, I'm not going to come to the door any fast–"

He stops mid-sentence as he looks at you. For a man you've never met, Dr. Strange's eyes go wide at the sight of you standing on his doorsteps. His eyes are filled with the disbelief of a man who's seen a ghost.

"You're alive," he says.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Strange says as he hurriedly pulls out a chair by the old oak table in his dining room.

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says.

He waves his cape with a dramatic flare in the empty space, and from a distance you hear a small click, before you realize that he must’ve used magic to put on the kettle.

For someone that’s supposed to be a sorcerer, you don’t know why the hell he bothers having a kettle. Seems a bit redundant, couldn’t he just use magic to instantly heat water?

You sit down as instructed, hands folded in your lap as you try not to fidget.

There’s a prolonged and uncomfortable silence as you both wait for the water to boil.

Strange opens then closes his mouth, as if he’s unsure of who should speak first. In the end though, he doesn’t say anything at all, he just drums his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface as he smiles politely but awkwardly at you. Across the room, the water starts simmering to a boil.

This wasn’t what you had expected. You had counted on him to try to kick you out and you having to make a passionate plea for him to listen to you. Instead he’d opened the door and insisted on inviting you in and now the two of you are drowning in a sea of uncomfortable silence.

There’s a tinny whistle from the kettle, and Strange darts up from the chair, as if the interruption was a godsend. He rushes over to pick it up, before walking back to the table with it at a much slower pace.

Then he stands next to you, tilting the snout of the kettle into your small tea cup.

Strange stares intently at your face as he pours the boiling water into the cup. So focused on you that he doesn't pay any attention to the level of the hot water, until it spills over the rim and onto the table surface below. Then he seemingly snaps himself out of it.

"Shit! Sorry," Strange begins. He wipes up the spillage with his robe, even though there are perfectly good paper towels behind him, even though he could’ve just used magic to make it vanish in the blink of an eye.

"You look exactly like her," he says, then he stops himself.

Strange considers the statement and does a curt little nod at himself as if berating himself for how stupid that comment sounded. "Which of course you do. You are her, just… from another dimension."

From your time with Miguel, you’ve been able to glean from his childish rants about the man’s “ugly” and “useless” and “impractical” cape that there’s a hostility there towards Strange that goes beyond just Miguel being Miguel.

Judging from the guilt in this man’s eyes as he looks at you from across the table, you can guess that there is a complicated history between Strange and Miguel and you.

“Did you know me?” you ask.

“Yeah, we were friends. Good friends,” Strange corrects himself. Then a sadness seeps into his eyes as he stops wiping the table and pulls back his robe close to his body. “Although I supposed I wasn’t a great friend to you near the end of things.”

He places the cup down on the table in front of you, the rising steam wafts through the air, smelling of mint and honey as he drags out the chair and sits himself next to you.

"Why don't you tell me everything from the start," Strange asks you.

So you do. You tell him of that first day when you fell out of the Chrysler building and was saved by Miguel. Tell him about how Miguel saved you again and again and how you tried to trap him with cookies and how you fell out of the Chrysler building a second time on purpose, which makes Strange laugh that sounds fond and warm.

You tell him of the void, the fortune teller, the Avengers and everything in between, and how despite surviving all of that Miguel had exiled himself to the void and sent you here by yourself, with each event you tell him his eyes grow sadder.

When you're done, Strange nods solemnly. He picks up his cup and takes a small sip of his tea to buy himself time to gather his thoughts. Then he finally speaks again. "What can I do to help?"

"Miguel is still in the void. I need your help to send me there so I can get him back."

Strange frowns, then goes entirely quiet as he stares out of the window in deliberation. It takes several moments before he speaks again.

"The void is a dangerous place, stay too long and you will be erased from existence. If you go in you may not be able to find your way out and I wouldn’t be able to help you from here."

“That’s fine, I just need your help to get there” you say.

He sets down his cup as he continues. "I can’t in good conscience send you back out there. I've already broken my promise to keep you safe once."

Frustration brims in your chest. As flattered as you are over Strange’s concern over your safety, you bristle at the fact that there seems to be none extended to Miguel’s. Every second you spend here is another second wasted.

“Miguel is there. If I don’t save him, he’s going to be erased from existence.”

That doesn’t seem to move the doctor in the slightest.

“For Miguel, his own life is a small price to pay in exchange for yours. He’d sacrifice the whole world for you to live.”

“That’s not a choice for him to make.”

Strange scratches his thumb over his bearded jaw, as if he's trying to figure out how to solve a puzzle, before speaking again.

"Right now with Miguel gone, the volatile cosmic energy surrounding you is stabilized. The version of you in this universe died and is viewing your presence as an equivalent exchange. You could stay here. You'd be safe. Miguel would've known that. That's probably why he sent you here.”

"I don't want to stay here if Miguel isn't here," you counter.

Leaning back in his chair, Strange up at the ceiling in deep thought.

"It's risky, if I sent you there, you may not even be able to find him. He might not even have his physical shape anymore, he’s been there too long by now."

His head ducks back down as he looks at your face, observing you for long moments.

You don't know what it is he sees, but a small amused smile quirks at his lip as he shakes his head again.

"But... I think you already know the risks and nothing I can say will dissuade you will it?" he says.

You nod.

It's not that you've stopped being scared of the void. It's not that the very thought of it doesn't fill your stomach with a cold dread. It's that Miguel is there, and there is no risk you're not willing to take to have the chance to see him again.

You square your chest and confidence swells inside you with your answer.

"Send me there."

~ Next Issue

Credit and Dedication: We're almost there guys! Next issue is going to be the final one. Thanks to everyone who has been with me on this ride! I cannot wait to share the final conclusion with you all.

Special thank you (as always) go out to my bestie: @thirstworldproblemss who is a big reason this story even lifted off the ground in the first place.

Big BIG BIGGEST thanks to my muse @guruan who has gifted me with so much inspiration be it thirsty twitter art of our favorite rude spider or her own insanely gorgeous art. Have you seen this heartbreaking beauty?!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[butdaddyilovehim-hs]

Tolerate It

Inspired by 'Tolerate It' by Taylor Swift :)

"I know my love should be celebrated... but you tolerate it."

Quite frankly, Y/N isn’t sure how much longer she can take this. It’s the second time this week Harry hasn’t been home for dinner and it’s only Wednesday. Y/N is normally fine looking after baby Elle by herself, she knows Harry has important things to do and people to meet and deals to close its just… lately he’s been different. More withdrawn, constantly at work and seemingly finding less and less time to spend with his wife and 6 month old daughter. That morning he had left in a whirlwind, pressing a quick, barely there kiss to her cheek before promising to be home for dinner at 7. 

Y/N swirls what’s left in her wine glass as she glances over at the clock that reads 9:14. He’d be out for a while yet, she knew. Sighing, she puts his plate in the fridge, washing the dishes before getting ready for bed, popping into check on Elle. She smiles softly at the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest as she sleeps, leaning down and kissing her head then moving away from the crib and towards her own bedroom. It’s Y/N and Harry’s shared room but Y/N can’t remember the last time she actually woke up to Harry still in the room. Or the last time she fell asleep with him beside her. 

Y/N intends to wait up for her husband but when her eyes flutter closed she can’t seem to stop them. They open after what only feels like minutes later when the bed dips on Harry’s side. She blinks sleepily, watching him slide into bed and prop himself up against the pillows, reading with his head low. She shuffles, catching his attention and when he meets her gaze, she smiles tiredly up at him.

“Hey. Thought you were going to be home for dinner?”

“Things got busy. Ate at the office.” He turns his attention back to the book he’s reading and Y/N’s smile droops. 

“You could have called. I waited for you.”

Harry scoffs at her confession, rolling his eyes. 

“Y/N I don’t have time to give you a call every time I’m going to be a bit late coming home. Get off my case, it’s fucking annoying.” His voice rises slightly in volume as he gets frustrated, but not loud enough to wake Elle in the next room. 

“I’m not trying to be annoying H. I’m just saying that I missed you today and as your wife it would just be nice if you could let me know.” Y/N sighs, rolling over, her back to him as she tries to go back to sleep. Her breath hitches as she feels Harry come closer to her, kissing her shoulder before burying his face in her neck. 

“Sorry my love, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just really caught up lately.”

“I know you are.” Y/N tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as he sponges kisses on her neck, shoulders and then slowly down her arm. 

“Tomorrow. Take Elle to my mum’s and I’ll be home around 5. Let’s make it a date night, just us.” At this, Y/N turns to face him, a small grin on her face. 

“Yeah? Just us?”

“Just us bub. Promise I’ll be home in time and I’m all yours.”

~

Y/N believes him. So, she does what Harry says. Take’s Elle over to Anne’s around midday, the older woman over the moon to spend some extra time with her granddaughter. Around 2, her best friend makes a surprise visit to the house, finding Y/N slaving away in the kitchen.

“Are you cooking for 12?” Lucy laughs as Y/N rushes around putting finishing touches on what seems to be a ten course meal.

“No… just Harry and I. But I’m making all his favourites. I want tonight to be special for us. He’s been so busy with work lately.”

“What are you wearing?” Lucy smirks at Y/N who simply blushes.

“It’s on the bed.” She says referring to the lacy white lingerie set that Harry had bought her for their first anniversary. Lucy wolf whistles, causing Y/N to turn even redder.

“Lucky husband, that Harry of yours. Now hurry up and finish so we can have a glass of wine before he gets here and I have to go.”

Y/N grabs a bottle and the two women sit and chat for a few hours before Y/N realises it’s 10 to 5 and she needs to go and change. She kicks Lucy out as politely as possible before getting ready and waiting for Harry. 

The clock ticks over to 5:00pm. Then 5:01pm. Then 5:20pm. 

At 5:30pm, she calls. His phone is off. 

At 6:00pm, she finishes a second bottle of wine, and then she calls again. His phone is still off. 

At 6:17pm, Lucy sends her a link to an article and Y/N feels the sudden urge to throw up. Because the article is about Harry and the headline reads: Trouble in Paradise? Styles and Co CEO Harry Styles seen partying on a yacht with ex Kendall Jenner, just months after celebrating his third wedding anniversary and welcoming daughter Elle Styles. 

The photos are incriminating. Kendall’s face in his neck, his hands around her waist. Kendall getting into a cab, leading Harry behind her.

Lucy calls. Y/N doesn’t answer.

At 8:15pm, Y/N picks herself up off the floor, goes upstairs, grabs a bag throws essential things inside for her and Elle and gets her keys. 

That’s when the door opens and her husband walks, stumbles, through the front door. 

“Sorry I’m late. Something smells good.” Harry’s words have a slight slur to them, she knows he’s been drinking but she can’t bring herself to care. He steps closer and she wrinkles her nose. 

“You smell like her.” Y/N comments, willing herself not to cry. 

“Who? Kendall?” Harry is suddenly ten times more alert, worry evident on his face.  

“Nothing happened Y/N.” “Sure didn’t look like nothing. In fact the photos were… quite something.”

“Love… I don’t- I put her in a cab and she went home. It was supposed to be a quick meeting and then it turned into a yacht event and I know you wanted me home earlier but I-”

“This isn’t about me wanting you home earlier Harry. I wanted this night for us. Because we’re drifting apart and I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“You’re being dramatic, I’ve just been busy.”

“You’ve been “busy” for 4 months Harry. Are you not in love with me anymore?” Y/N’s voice trembles but she holds his gaze. Harry feels his heart drop into the floor.

“…What?”

“Tell me it’s all in my head. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Y/N calm down. You’re acting insane, of course I love you.”

“Harry, you make me feel annoying when all I want is for you to love me back as much as I love you! You just sit there and you… you just tolerate me. And I don’t deserve that. I sit here in this stupid mansion you bought for us with our daughter who probably doesn’t even know that you’re her father because you’re never around. I just sit here and I wait with Elle. For you to come home to me, for you to tell me you need me as much as I need you. And I don’t think I can do it anymore.” She pushes past him to the garage and he grabs her wrist gently. “Y/N. Baby where are you going?”

“Bit late for the pet names H. Don’t you think?” She scoffs. 

“I need space. Come find Elle and I if you think you’re going to be able to show up for us, because I don’t feel the need to explain to our daughter why she doesn’t have a fucking dad.”

Harry steps back, looking at her helplessly as her words cut him deep.

“Bye Harry.”

Read Part II here

Tags:

@lukesaprince @harryspirate @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @lilyrmason12 @styleslover-1994 @stylesfever @kathb59 @indierockgirrl @bxbyysstuff @gills-lounge

[igncrxntripley]

their secret weapon pt. 14

synopsis: y/n's reunited with her loves, and they all begin to see just how much of a toll being away from them has taken on her.

author's note: grab your tissues and get the hell ready for this roller coaster

mentions: poly!judgment day, fem!reader, mentions of regular wrestling violence, some illusion to feelings of anxiety and depression, overall SFW

tags: @thesithdiaries @cassiesgreta​ @roseheartsworld @theworldofotps​ @babybatlover @ripleyswhore @auburnwrites @obl1vionblackhart​ @emogoblin-666​ @hereliespumpkin​ @embertargaryen​ @neptune-lover​ @bunnysmyname @i-have-issues-lol​ @ares-athena​ @thatonepansexual2000​ @witcherfromwallachia​ @infamousvampcx​ @christinabae @kagome2909

"oh my god..." rhea had never reacted so fast to a text message. she was in bed, pajamas and all, ready to finally get some sleep after a hectic travel schedule and not having y/n home. but reading her phone for the last time before she planned to shut her eyes for the night had the eradicator jumping out of bed.

the rest of the group was scattered throughout the bedroom area; finn still deep in thought in the shower, dom fast asleep in bed already, and damian trying to make his side of the bed as comfortable as possible before hoping to be just as fast asleep as dominik. rhea getting out of bed and hurrying to slide someone's hoodie over her head was enough to wake dominik from his deep slumber, the young lucha rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "is there a fire?" he mumbled.

damian was just as confused. "rhea? babe, what's wrong?" he asked, watching the aussie hurry out of the bedroom and following closely behind. "rhea!"

"no no no no..." she was mumbling, panicking at the thought of what could have been on the other side of their front door. of course rhea wanted y/n home, they all did. but she also feared this was some sick joke. a nightmare she wasn't able to wake up from and she'd be forced to sit through the whole thing. the rain was drowning out the sound of damian's footprints rushing behind her, and a small crack of thunder sounded as she opened the door.

there stood y/n. soaking wet from the rain, shaking and trembling like a leaf, and the sight of rhea alone caused a sob to leave her lips. "m-mamí..."

"oh honey, shh," rhea tugged y/n into her arms and brought her inside the house. "i've got you, it's okay. you're home."

those words didn't feel real...none of this felt real to y/n. she'd spent the last month being ostracized from the people she loved as a form of payback. she was used as canon fodder against the judgment day, simply because she chose her own path and not what edge wanted for her. enough fear had been instilled in her that she didn't just go back home to her little family, and now that she was finally back in the safe embrace of the eradicator herself? that fear was even more rampant in her veins.

y/n was wriggling in rhea's arms, shivering and her teeth trembling as she tried to get warm. her entire body was drenched from the rain. even the warmth of rhea's body wasn't enough to make the shivering stop, and rhea realized that very quickly. "damian, dom, towels please?" she looked up at the top of the stairs, where dominik's mouth had practically dropped open with shock. "did i stutter? towels, dominik! dry clothes, blankets, anything!"

dominik snapped out of whatever trance he was in and ran into the bathroom for towels. finn was still showering, and upon hearing all of the commotion entering the steam-filled room where he was trying to process all of his emotions, he poked his head out from behind the curtain. "jeez, dom." he groaned. "it's late, what are you doing?"

the panic was written all over dom's face. "y/n..." he said, grabbing a stack of towels from a cabinet. "she's here. she came back in the rain." without another word, he left an astonished finn in the bathroom and rushed back to where rhea was holding a terrified y/n.

"i-i...i couldn't...rhea, it..." y/n could barely formulate words from how hard she was sobbing. it was hard to even distinguish what was tears and what was raindrops on her face.

rhea shook her head gently and wrapped y/n in a towel, then a blanket. "don't talk, y/n." she said softly, immediately pulling her close again to try and calm her down. "just take deep breaths for me, okay? come on, you're safe here. we've all got you."

damian, who's just finished bringing the warmest blankets in the house to where rhea and y/n were sitting together, took one of the towels from dominik and began drying y/n's hair so it would stop dripping down her back. "shh, estas en casa ahora hermosa." he said softly.

meanwhile, finn was left in a daze from dominik's words. y/n was here? she came back? how did she manage to do that? isn't she going to get in trouble? how he didn't slip when getting out of the shower was a mystery, because he got out of there as fast as he could and got dressed before rushing downstairs. the sight in front of him was one that not only broke his heart, but fueled every bit of anger that had already been permeating in his body. seeing y/n, shivering and huddled in rhea's arms as she sobbed and mumbled absolute nonsense was every reason for him to unleash absolute hell on edge.

go to her, my prince. she needs you now more than ever.

"oh, lovey..." the irishman rushed to where his girls were sat, his arms open for y/n who immediately rushed into them with another sob. "baby, what are you doing here? you know what they told you."

"i don't care!" she cried harder, hiding in his neck. "they can't keep me out of my home! t-that i pay for a-and clean and have a key to!" finn wrapped the towels around her a little tighter and she leaned into his loving touch. "no one is in charge of me but me."

all four members of the judgment day, while saddened this feud with edge and beth had gotten to this point, had to admit that there was an aspect to their princess's anger that had them feeling proud of her. the y/n they originally recruited into the judgment day probably would have never stuck her metaphorical middle finger up to her bosses or mentors. but her being in this position had forced her to dig up that buried confidence and finally put it to use.

time had passed, with all five members of this reunited judgment day sitting in the living room trying to warm up and calm down y/n until she was no longer sobbing and shivering. she'd been reduced to silent tears and the slightest trembles in her shoulders, but nothing more. more than anything, y/n was exhausted and she wanted to sleep in her own bed. "can i please go take s shower?" she asked quietly from finn's shoulder.

the prince nodded in response, damian moving the blanket and wet towels from her body as she stood up from her tight ball on the floor. "i'll put your pajamas in the dryer so they're warm for you, love."

the two walked upstairs, one of finn's arms around y/n as they went into the bathroom together. he grabbed a spare towel for the dryer as well, and gave a gentle kiss to y/n's forehead. "what else do you need, angel?" he was expecting something simple as answer from y/n; maybe her water bottle to be filled and by their bedside, or something to eat, maybe even a request for a specific member of their little family to hold her that evening or to sleep in the middle. but her words instead held a much deeper meaning.

"revenge. i want revenge."

****

monday night raw. only three weeks away from wrestlemania, the grandest stage of them all, and the judgment day only had one thing on their minds; ending this feud with edge, once and for all. for everything he did to them. for all of the chaos he put their little family through. every one of them wanted a piece of the fight, but finn ultimately was the one who'd be in that ring with the hall of famer.

edge stood in the ring, facing four members of the group who stood at the top of the ramp. they stood strong, like a solid barrier against the negativity and hurt edge had put them through. "a few weeks ago, you challenged me to a match at wrestlemania, right?" he asked finn. "and since you're not man enough to come in here and face me, you want your match at wrestlemania? fine, you got it!'

finn was hyped; he was nodding, smiling at the other man while the other members were getting just as hyped alongside him. finn had been dying for this match. he issued this challenge weeks ago, and the desire to be in a ring alone with this man was only getting bigger and bigger. the cheers of the crowd around them wasn't helping anything either.

"hey, did you hear that, dom?" the prince asked. "rhea, did you hear that? finn's going to wrestlemania! you think the beating i gave you at extreme rules was bad-" the adrenaline was pumping through his veins, he was trying his best to get through this promo without letting his hype get the better of him.

"shut your mouth!" edge's words silenced him, the crowd reacting in the canadian's favor. "for the last year of my comeback, i've wasted it on all of you." by his choice, for the most part. "the year before that, i wrestled in front of a bunch of tv screens in the thunderdome. i don't have time for this. i'm running out of time."

the irony in his words could be felt by the judgment day on an entirely different level. he had so much to accomplish that he abandoned y/n, left her in the dust in favor of his own career that had lasted twenty-plus years. sure, he was running out of time. but running out of time so fast that he had to practically forget y/n ever needed him in the first place?

the anger was pulsing through finn's body. the others could sense it, and dom put a careful hand on finn's shoulder in hopes that he'd calm down. but he couldn't stop pacing and moving as he glared deep into edge's soul from the top of the ramp.

"so the way i see it, there's only one way that this can end." edge said, holding onto the top rope as the audience also picked up on where he was going. finn was watching him carefully, his top lip twitching in anger just at the sight of him. "at wrestlemania, edge versus finn bálor, inside hell in a cell."

the audience reacted exactly how one would expect; finn stood stoic in his spot, edge was shaking with anger and adrenaline. the cheers from the crowd only fueled the two men and their respective anger.

finn was gripping his mic tight, his knuckles starting to whiten. "edge, i've been to hell before." he stated. "it spit me out because hell couldn't handle my demons. i'll see you at wrestlemania, but until then..." he looked at the other three members of the group, but what edge didn't see was what stood behind him with her own weapon of choice.

there y/n stood, coming up from her hiding spot under the ring with her own adrenaline rush. no one wanted this revenge on her mentor more than she did. no one wanted a front row seat more than her. this would be her first taste of that, as she swing her arms back and the kendo stick in her hands struck the back of the hall of famer. she hated to admit it, but there was a sense of pride as he fell to the mat and her partners began to unleash their own hell on him. y/n hit edge not once, not twice, but three times; and the yelps of pain that emanated from him sent chills down her spine.

even as the rest of the ring burst into chaos, other superstars coming out to edge's defense, she stood in front of him with her breath ragged and her palms sweating. "you're going to wish you never asked to meet the prince in the gates of hell." he'd never heard that growl to her voice or seen that ravenous look in her eyes. this was a new y/n, one that was sticking it to the people who'd caused her more pain than she'd been able to manage in her small body.

"get ready to meet the demon you created, pops."

[rosewoods-sweetheart]

It Could Never Be

my submission for the first prompt of 14 Days of Love

I chose idiots in love

pairing: alexandre bontemps x renee de noailles

rating: g

summary: alexandre is in love with renee but he's in denial.

word count: 826

tagging: @rc-catalog

author's note: i think i have a thing for men who will die for their loves but are in denial about it.

additional note: this was written in half an hour, it's not beta - read because we die like men around here

Alexandre sat on his sturdy armchair at his table, teacup in hand, filled almost to the brim with the piping hot beverage. He placed the cup gently on his desk and flexed his shoulder and neck muscles, groaning with relief. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

It had been another long day of courtly duties. Advising the king, attending meetings, holding celebrations. God, there were so many extravagant celebrations and he had the burden of ensuring everything ran smoothly. 

He loved being the valet to his king, but sometimes he regretted his life choices. 

Alexandre took a sip from his tea, savouring the rich flavour. 

Tea. 

He suddenly remembered Renée liked her tea with cream. 

Renée. Lady Renée de Noailles. 

Brilliant Renée. Playful. Bubbly. A pain in his damn ass. Why did he take her in? He should have reported her thievery to Lady Suzzanne the moment he caught her. But he hadn’t. There was something in her eyes. A spark. Potential. She was meant for something bigger. 

Alexandre took another gulp of his tea. 

Of course, he had to be the one to take on the responsibility to guide Renée to achieving her potential 

He was sick and tired of her antics. She was a magnet for trouble. And he always did his best to get her out of trouble. She was resourceful enough to do it herself but - 

No. 

Alexandre could not go down that line of thought. 

He did not dare to try to entertain it. 

Renée…

He wanted her out of trouble because it would be a hit on his reputation. He was responsible for her and her wellbeing. He had to use her to get to what he wanted. That was the point of their deal. 

He scratches her back and she will scratch his. 

A business transaction. 

So then why did he care so much?

Well, it wasn’t like he hated her or anything. Sure, trouble was her friend and she was annoying with her sharp quips but she was also brilliant. A brilliant orator, a brilliant spy…brilliantly beautiful. 

Wait. That’s not important. 

Alexandre sipped at his tea thoughtfully. He imagined brewing tea for himself and Renée every evening after a long day of work. He would make it perfectly. Hers with cream. He would hand it to her and watch her smile at him as she always did. Her mischievous grin. And they would spend every evening like that, bickering lovingly, drinking their warm tea. Maybe there would be sounds of giggles as young children tip toe around the house past their bedtime. 

Alexandre blinked. What was he thinking? It could never be. He was nothing but a measly valet and Renée… Renée was a noble lady…way past his station. It could never be. 

Never. 

But still, it wouldn’t hurt to delve in imagination. Maybe in another life, where he wasn’t a valet and she wasn’t a noble. 

After a few minutes of living in this fantasy world, he snapped himself out of his reverie, sipping again at his tea. 

Right then - as if she had read his thoughts - came the scratching sound on the adjoining door to the next room. Renée’s room. She was here.

Alexandre masked his surprise immediately, after all, he was always used to wearing one. He straightened up and looked calmly at the woman who had entered his room. He never told this to her, but Alexandre loved that she trusted him so much. To be able to enter someone’s private chambers shamelessly, without fear of humiliation or discomfort, was perhaps the greatest form of intimacy one could have. Sure, there were higher forms of intimacy than that, but Alexandre will take what he can get.

Renée hopped slightly from foot to foot, nervous. After a moment of silence, she finally broke it: ‘I apologize for the intrusion, Alexandre. It’s just…I did not know what to do.’’

Alexandre immediately stood up from his place, concern evident in his eyes, concern he didn’t care to hide, not in front of her. ‘’What’s wrong?’’ He asked softly.

Renée bit her lip, ‘’I had a…nightmare. And I don’t know why I came here, but you were closest to me.’’

Alexandre paused. A nightmare. And she came to him. 

He pressed his lips together. Slowly, he put forward his arms and even slower did Renée walk to him and sink into his chest. 

A moment of intimacy. 

A secret that burned his throat begging to come out. He pressed his lips together, tighter than before. It would not come out. He would take it to his grave if he had to. 

Because it could never be. But at the present moment, it was. 

He rubbed Renée’s back. Repetitive motion. Up and down. Up and down. 

He felt his neck wet with warmth as she sobbed softly. He let her cry and cry and neither of them knew how long they stood there. 

[gatitties]

Glitter

─Dbd x gn!teen!reader

─Summary: Everything here is too dark or lifeless, why don't you change that? You decide to give it a cuter touch

─Warnings: none

ty to Gay4kitty on ao3 for the idea again!! :pp

12 < 13 > 14

Today you woke up and thought it was a wonderful day to ruin everyone's day -something quite common in your daily life- the crows were cawing, the air was hard to breathe, the fog prevented you from seeing beyond three meters, it was so cold that it could freeze your bones and the forest looked as dark as a horror movie, that's the perfect day here in the realm of The Entity.

You took a breath through your nostrils, closing your eyes as you raised your leg in the air like a comical scene of the perfect sunrise, you choked on your saliva as the thick dark smoke traveled through every corner of your body, what better way to start the day than a trial? You took a good minute to get your bearings, even getting to work on one of the generators because everything was too quiet, you had appeared alone and you hadn't seen any signs of survivors or the killer, so you took it as an advantage to do everything faster and go off to do your original plan, to disturb the killers in their camp.

Your head snapped up like a deer about to be run over when you heard quick footsteps approaching, Élodie put her fingers to her mouth so you wouldn't make a sound, but your bewilderment got the better of you and your mouth spoke for itself.

"Mama... mama, girl behind you."

You pointed out, confusing the woman, she turned around to find a red-haired doll gaining momentum to stab her in the abdomen, if it hadn't hurt her you would have laughed right there, this new killer had to be a joke, he didn't even reach your knees. In fact, on one of the occasions when you were being chased you just got tired and kicked him, bitch, this midget is not going to ruin your new outfit that you earned with sweat, tears and of course, blood points. The game ended without many complications and without casualties, proud of your work you went to your cabin to collect the essential material for your mission.

Running through the forest you quickly arrived at the assassins' camp, it seemed quite empty and depressing ─as always─ Michael only shared a brief look with you and decided to leave for his domain as quickly as possible, you snorted at his behavior, fine, whatever, you have more assassins to choose from.

"Hey, hey, hey Oni!"

You smiled from ear to ear when you saw the Oni sitting by the fire, he seemed quite calm, as strange as it seemed, you never had many problems with him, although if you were being a little annoying he would simply carry you on his shoulder until you calmed down. He looked at you waiting for you to continue, which made you move towards him quickly, taking out from behind your back a couple of medium-sized bags with an easy-open zip.

"I promise I'll be quick! I'm sure you'll like the change."

Without knowing very well what you had in mind he stood still waiting for whatever, he didn't expect you to try to take the weapon from him, although he had to move it for you because you weren't able to move it. He looked at you skeptically seeing how its sharp blade was now covered in stickers of Hello Kitty and her different characters, he didn't expect it, but he didn't know what to think about it either.

"Ready! A cute weapon now hehehe, every time you hit someone the blood will have glitter on it."

Sadako, who was hanging around, was drawn to the conversation, moving slowly towards you, she looked ─or so you thought because her hair covered her face─ at the stickers on the Oni's sword, you looked at her with a smile, holding up the bags of stickers and the little jars of glitter.

"Don't worry, I have plenty of material."

She seemed indecisive for a moment, after all, she doesn't have a weapon as such but her powers, but you had the solution, you gathered her hair with some clips, enough so that half of her face was visible, and you placed stickers of stars and flowers on her face, she nodded in approval after looking at herself in the mirror, making your chest swell with pride at your work.

Chucky arrived a while later, but as soon as he saw you he decided to run away, you shrugged, you wouldn't be happy either if you had been kicked and ruined one of your first games. Some other killers came and went, not all of them were so easy to convince, and maybe you stole some of their weapons to decorate them without permission, you had some trouble getting The Trapper's machete and The Trickster didn't let you finish your job but you still made many of the bloody and rusty weapons shine like fairies. Of course, your faithful like Ghostface and The Legion didn't even ask and let you do whatever you wanted with their weapons, Susie even used some of your stickers to decorate your face as well, not even you ran away from your silly idea.

Returning to your camp you saw some of the survivors with their recent wounds just as shiny because of you, making you smile at having achieved your goal, it wasn't the most effective way to annoy the others since as strange as it was the assassins seemed much more docile today in the face of your idiocy, that, or maybe they really are getting used to your nonsense once and for all and are accepting that if they can't fight you, they must join you.