#somehow the fates have aligned in such a way where this is a possibility and im absolutely living bc thats so funny

[nazurabbit]

just realized that we may be getting chapter 188 adapted to manhwa this month… happy pride?

[goldfades]

okay but a paige x highschool sweetheart headcannons…….🤫

you’ve known paige since middle school, back when she had braces and that oversized basketball hoodie she wore like a uniform. you weren’t best friends right away, though

she was the loud one, all confidence and easy laughter, and you were… not. but eighth grade science class changed that—she offered you half of her sandwich during a field trip, and suddenly, she was sitting next to you every day

and by the time high school started, paige was already a star

everyone knew her name, not just because she was the point guard who could do things no one else could, but because she had that kind of energy that pulled people in

and yet, her favorite place to be was still with you—sitting on your bedroom floor, eating pizza, and letting you quiz her on geometry proofs. she claimed you were her good luck charm whenever she passed a test

paige didn’t officially ask you out until sophomore year. she said she’d been working up the courage for months—you laughed because, honestly, what did paige bueckers have to be nervous about?

but she was fidgeting with the drawstring of her hoodie, looking at you like she’d miss her next shot if you said no. of course, you didn’t

being with paige meant learning to share her with the world. you went to all her games, cheered louder than anyone else, and learned to love the way she’d scan the crowd for you after every buzzer, that grin of hers lighting up the whole gym when she found you

she’d sneak you into post-game interviews sometimes, just so she could wink at you while pretending to answer a serious question

she loved basketball, sure, but she loved you, too—in a way that made it clear you weren’t just her high school sweetheart

you were her person, the one she wanted next to her, whether she was on the court or sitting on the roof of your car, counting stars

and when senior year rolled around—the stakes felt higher, both on and off the court. she was being courted by every top college program in the country, and you—you were figuring out what life after high school might look like for the two of you

late-night talks turned into plans scrawled in notebooks, filled with possibilities of visits, long-distance calls, and maybe even the same college, if the stars aligned just right

when the acceptance letters came in, it felt like fate. uconn for both of you!

paige couldn’t stop smiling for days, talking about how you’d get to keep cheering her on, just in a bigger arena. but the transition to college wasn’t as seamless as either of you had hoped

paige was the star recruit—the freshman everyone had their eyes on. she was juggling practice, games, media appearances, and the pressure of being "the next big thing"

meanwhile, you were trying to find your footing in a new environment, feeling a little like you were standing in her shadow for the first time

it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but there were nights when it felt like the distance between you wasn’t just physical. you missed the simplicity of high school, the way things felt so easy back then

paige tried—she really did—to balance it all, but sometimes it felt like basketball demanded every piece of her

by sophomore year, the fights started. little things at first—missed plans, forgotten texts. but they added up, like a pressure cooker ready to burst. there was one night, after a particularly tough loss, when everything came out

"i’m trying my best, okay?" she’d said, voice raw. "you think i don’t miss how things used to be? but this… this is my dream. and i don’t know how to do it all."

"and what about us?" you’d shot back, tears in your eyes. "am i supposed to just wait around while basketball gets all of you?"

it was the kind of fight that felt like a turning point—the kind where you either figure it out or fall apart. and somehow, through the tears and the yelling, you found a way to talk. really talk.

paige admitted she’d been scared of losing you, of letting you down. you told her how lonely you’d been, how hard it was to feel like you were coming second to everything else. by the time the sun started to rise, you’d fallen asleep on her dorm room floor, her arms wrapped tightly around you, like she was scared you’d disappear if she let go

things weren’t perfect after that but they were better. you both learned how to make time for each other, even when it felt like there wasn’t any to spare

paige started bringing you to practices sometimes, letting you sit courtside while she worked through drills. you found your own rhythm at school, joining clubs and making friends who reminded you that you were more than just "paige bueckers’ girlfriend."

by the end of sophomore year, you’d both grown in ways you didn’t expect. paige was still the same girl who gave you half her sandwich back in eighth grade, and you were still her good luck charm

but now, you were partners, too—figuring out how to build a life together, one game, one moment at a time

[fatecantstopme]

Picture Myself Happy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Follows the story line of episodes 17-21 of season 5. Lisa doesn't exist, instead it's (Y/N).

Warnings: canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (F and M receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), face sitting, light dirty talk.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked softly.

The look he gave you more than answered your question, but he responded anyway. "I'm about as far from okay as I possibly can be."

"I think we all are."

Dean shook his head. "My decisions have an impact on the entire world, (Y/N)--the world! And I'm sitting here denying fate. Where's that gotten me?"

"What are you trying to say?" you asked softly.

He buried his head in his hands. "I don't know...It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

Dean looked back up at you, face full of pain. You were certain he was going to say more, but his reply was cut off by Sam's voice calling his name.

"We've got an insane amount of demon omens in some tiny ass town in middle-of-nowhere Minnesota."

"Great," Dean mumbled as he stood up, face once again an impenetrable mask. "Guess we should get rolling."

You stood up too, but Dean cut you a look and shook his head. "Not happening."

"Dean, come on. I'm more than ready."

"Absolutely not. You almost died not that long ago. You need to rest."

"I've been resting for weeks. I feel fine," you insisted.

"Maybe she's right, Dean," Sam cut in. "We could really use the help."

"I'm the oldest and I say it ain't happening--got it?"

"Actually, I'm the oldest," Bobby quipped as he wheeled into the room. "Now, what exactly are we fighting about?"

"(Y/N) thinks she's ready to hunt again," Dean answered.

"Because I am."

Bobby's expression softened as he looked at you. "As much as I hate to say it, I think you should sit this one out (Y/N/N). Besides, I could really use your help here. You're better at research than either of these knuckleheads."

You were about to protest, but decided against it when you saw the worry in Bobby's eyes. He'd always been good to you and you owed him your life--you didn't wanna worry him more than you needed to. "Alright, alright. I'll sit this one out."

Dean nodded, seemingly pleased. "I'll call you when we get there--let you know we're safe."

You sighed, but nodded your agreement. You hated watching the boys leave to go on a hunt on their own--especially these days. End of the world and all that.

You watched in silence as Sam and Dean gathered their minimal belongings and piled into the Impala. You waved goodbye before coming back inside, expression clouded with a variety of inexpressible emotions.

The last two years had been a whirlwind for all of you--drawing all of you closer together. You cared very deeply for the Winchester boys and for Bobby, and they cared for you.

You were the same age as Sam, so the two of you hit it off with ease, but the elder Winchester was a little less trusting. The fact that Bobby trusted you meant a hell of a lot to Dean and went a long way in getting him to trust you enough to help on a couple hunts. You were a great hunter and before long, the three of you were almost inseparable.

You counted all three men as family and you knew they felt the same way about you, although you wished Dean's emotions aligned with your own. You weren't sure exactly when it happened, but you realized your feelings had changed one day during a particularly brutal hunt where you almost lost Dean. Somehow, in the midst of the shitstorm that was your lives, you'd managed to fall in love with the most emotionally unavailable man alive.

To make matters worse, you could never tell him for fear of damaging the little family unit you'd created for yourself. Instead, you stood on the sidelines, watching him flirt with every woman with legs and take more of them to bed than you'd cared to count. It made your chest ache, but you hid it well--even from Sam.

Loving Dean Winchester had never been a part of your plans, but you couldn't stop it from happening anymore than you could turn those feelings off now. Every time he walked out the door, you were terrified it would be the last time you would ever see him. You knew he was strong, but you also knew how self-destructive he could be.

He'd been different in recent months and you saw it more than anyone else did. For some reason, Dean chose to confide in you--perhaps because you listened quietly without judgment. You wanted nothing more than to see him find his way back to himself again and you hoped you were there to witness it.

"You gonna come back in or just stare off into the distance all night?" Bobby called to you from inside.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," you grumbled. "I was just lost in thought."

Bobby gave you a knowing look, which you chose to ignore. "Don't you have some research you need help with?"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He handed you a book and muttered, "Get to reading."

**********

"Dean's gone."

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" you yelled into the phone.

"I mean he literally took off, (Y/N)!" Sam yelled back. "He killed the Whore of Babylon--which should have been impossible--and then he took off!"

"He...Sam, that's not possible."

"I was there--saw it with my own eyes."

"I, too, was there," Cas said in the background.

"Only a true servant of heaven can kill her," you said, bewildered.

"Exactly," Sam said, voice much softer than before.

"No," you whispered, disbelief lacing your words. "No--he wouldn't."

Sam understood your meaning. "I don't know anymore, (Y/N). I just don't know."

"We have to find him."

"I have a few ideas of where to find him, but I know he's going to come see you first."

"Why me?"

"To say goodbye," Sam said softly.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you could feel tears pressing against them. "I'll call you if he shows up here," you whispered.

Bobby rolled up behind you as you hung up the phone. "What's wrong?"

"I think Dean's going to say yes to Michael."

Bobby's expression perfectly matched the way you were feeling. A mixture of horror, disbelief, pain, and unbridled terror.

There wasn't much more to say after that--you were both just left to wait. There was nothing left for you to do but wait and see if he'd come home.

**********

The next day, there was a quiet knock on Bobby's front door. It was early in the morning and the older man was sound asleep in the middle of a pile of books on his desk.

You went to the door and peered out to find Dean's face looking back at you. You tugged open the door with more force than you'd intended to and stepped out onto the porch.

"Where have you been?" you snapped. "We were so worried."

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)--I should have called."

"Yes, you should have."

"I--uh, well I can't stay long, but I wanted to come see you."

"Dean, please tell me you're not going to do anything stupid."

He smiled weakly. "Now when have I ever done anything stupid?"

You didn't acknowledge his teasing like you normally would--too worried about the truth hidden behind his sarcasm. "You can't say yes," you whispered.

He gave you a pained smile. "I don't really have a choice, (Y/N/N)."

"Of course you have a choice, Dean! We always have a choice."

"If I don't--the whole freaking world burns! Do you have any idea what it's like to carry that weight on your shoulders?"

You shook your head. "I can't imagine the burden--nor can I imagine losing you to some asshole with wings."

He chuckled softly at that. "None of this matters right now--this isn't what I came here to say."

"Then what did you come here to say?"

He stepped forward and took your hand in his. You were surprised by the gesture, but you didn't pull away.

"You know, our lives are messed up. They're complicated and full of pain and darkness and death. There's not much happiness in our lives--especially not before you came into mine."

Tears filled your eyes as you listened to his words.

"When I picture myself happy, it's with you," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know that."

You inhaled sharply and the tears began to flow freely. "Dean, don't--"

He brushed his lips against your forehead, silencing your pleas.

"Don't worry, (Y/N/N). You'll be fine--I'll make sure of it. They're not getting what they want from me without meeting some conditions first."

"Dean, please don't do this. Just come inside and we can talk about it," you begged.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly. "I have to."

As you opened your mouth to respond, Castiel appeared directly behind Dean. You knew there was a possibility he would never forgive you for this, but you couldn't let him say yes. "I'm sorry too."

He looked confused for a moment until he heard Cas's voice from behind him. "Hello Dean." As soon as the hunter turned around, Cas used his grace to knock him unconscious.

Cas looked up at you with a surprising amount of sorrow on his face. "I will carry him inside."

You watched as the angel picked up the much larger man and walked towards the door.

"Did Bobby call you?"

"He overheard at least part of your conversation--enough to know Dean was here."

You nodded and followed him inside. "Good," you whispered.

**********

"Out of all people, I thought you would understand," Dean growled at you.

"You know what? I do understand! I understand your desire to self-destruct at every turn! I see the pain and the guilt and the utter emptiness inside you every time I look into your eyes, so don't you think for a second I don't understand."

He was taken aback by the anger in your voice--he wasn't used to you yelling at him with such intensity.

"It's for the greater good!"

"Screw the greater good, Dean! What happened to stopping the devil and saving the world, huh?"

"This is the only way!" he roared.

"I refuse to believe that," you said in a much more mannered tone. "I can't believe that...if I do, then it means everything we've done has been for nothing."

His expression softened. "No, (Y/N), wait--that's not--"

You held up your hand to stop him from talking. "I can't do this."

You walked away, leaving Dean alone in the panic room to stew with his thoughts.

"He still being an ass?" Bobby asked when you came back upstairs.

"Maybe you'll have better luck," you say to Cas. Both you and Sam had struck out.

"I will try." Instead of taking the stairs like a normal person, Cas zapped himself downstairs and stepped towards the panic room.

You had gone upstairs to get something from your room when you heard Sam yell your name. You came racing down the stairs, only to find the younger Winchester looking upset.

"Where's Cas?"

"Zapped to Oz," Sam fumed. "Dean's gone too."

"Great," you mumbled sarcastically. "Go find him. We'll watch Adam."

You were sitting in a chair, watching Adam sleep--in the least creepy way possible. You felt bad for the kid--it was a shitty life to be dragged into, especially after he was already in heaven.

Just as these thoughts were crossing your mind, Adam disappeared right before your eyes. You blinked a couple times, but the cot remained empty. "Bobby!"

**********

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" Sam snapped at you.

"As I said before, he literally disappeared," you snapped back.

"Probably Zachariah," Castiel said as he appeared, holding a beaten Dean against his side.

"Dean!" you gasped. "What happened to him?"

"I did," Cas answered.

You were surprised, but you understood the angel's anger. After all, he'd believed in the Winchesters--in Dean--so vehemently that he rebelled against heaven--against everything he'd ever believed.

Cas tossed Dean's body onto the now-empty cot while you gathered some first aid supplies. You began to clean him up, listening wordlessly to the discussion happening around you.

"I think Dean should come," Sam said suddenly.

"Are you insane?" Bobby exclaimed.

"That is a terrible plan," Cas agreed.

Sam looked over at you for input, hoping you would be on his side. "What makes you think that's a good idea?" you asked gently.

"I have to believe he'll do the right thing."

You looked down at the still-unconscious man and sighed. He was the bravest and most loyal man you knew, but you also knew he could be stubborn and self-righteous to the point of aggravation. However, you believed in him too--maybe not as much as Sam, but it was there.

"I think it's highly likely he'll walk in there and say yes without a second thought--especially if it means saving you and Adam," you said honestly. "But I have to believe that in the moment, when it really matters, he'll do the right thing."

Sam gave you a small smile and a nod of gratitude.

"Now until then, could someone please move him down to the panic room?" you asked.

After Sam had talked to Dean and told him the plan, the two of them came upstairs to prepare to leave.

"Sam mentioned you agreed with him," Dean said softly, so only you could hear.

"There's no one I believe in more than you, Dean Winchester," you admitted. "You'll do the right thing."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you," you said simply.

He shook his head. "I'm gonna say yes, you know."

"I'm sure you will," you murmured. "But in that moment--the moments before you decide--I want you to remember one thing."

He waited breathlessly for your next words.

"Only you get to decide your destiny."

Surprise lit up his handsome face. Out of all the things he'd expected you to say, that hadn't been on his list. "(Y/N), I--"

"Time to go, Dean," Cas interrupted.

You offered him a gentle smile. "Go--and remember what I said."

Sam, Dean, and Cas disappeared before your eyes and you felt the familiar terror wash over you. This time was so much worse than all the others--this time you really did believe he might not come home.

**********

"Hey (Y/N/N)," Dean said softly as you opened the front door. "Did you miss us?"

The brightest smile he'd ever seen lit up your face and you jumped into his arms. "Dean..." you murmured against his shoulder.

He held you tightly before gently setting you back down on the ground. You gave Sam a hug before the smile fell from your pretty face. "Cas? Adam?"

Sam just shook his head and you sighed sadly. "Well come in. Bobby will be glad to see you both."

The boys explained what had transpired in California as you and Bobby listened quietly. You were glad Dean hadn't really said yes to Michael. You couldn't help but stare at him more than usual, eyes seeking some kind of change in him.

You waited until a lull in the conversation to ask the question that had been eating at you. "So why didn't you say yes?"

Three sets of eyes fell on you, but the only ones you cared about were the mossy green ones.

"Sammy believed in me, even when I didn't deserve it--even when I didn't have the same faith in him. He was stupid enough to take me with him because of that faith...I couldn't let him down," Dean answered honestly. "And, well--I remembered what you said."

You offered him a small smile. "Well I'm glad you did."

Dean held up his beer in a mock 'cheers'. "Screw destiny. I think it's high past time we make our own."

"I can get behind that," Sam agreed.

"That'll work for me," you murmured.

"Well not to put a damper on our middle-finger-to-destiny party, but we still don't have a good plan to defeat Lucifer," Bobby chimed in.

"Buzz kill, Bobby," Dean grumbled.

"We'll figure something out. Somehow, we always do," you added.

**********

You were standing in Bobby's living room trying to find a specific book in the overwhelming piles stacked everywhere, when your phone started to ring.

You answered it without looking at the caller ID. "(Y/L/N)."

"Uhh, am I in trouble? It's Dean."

"Oh shit," you said quickly. "No, nothing like that. I just didn't look at the screen before I answered. What's up?"

"We hit some sort of freak storm coming back, so we're staying the night at a motel we happened to pass. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry."

You smiled even though he couldn't see you. "I appreciate the heads-up. Both of you stay safe and enjoy a nice night off."

"Thanks, (Y/N/N). You too."

It wasn't until Sam and Dean returned from the trip the next day that you learned of the events that had transpired the night before. Several old Pagan gods had gathered at the motel to discuss the end of the world and of course Sam and Dean just happened to be there too.

Apparently the intent was to use the boys as bait to lure Lucifer to the hotel and kill him--at least until Gabriel showed up and told everyone how terrible of an idea it was. Unfortunately, Lucifer had already been summoned by one of the gods and he ended up killing most of the other gods, as well as his brother Gabriel.

In positive news, Gabriel had given Sam and Dean the information needed to stop this whole showdown between Lucifer and Michael. Essentially, they needed all four Horsemen's rings in order to open Lucifer's cage and throw him back into it.

"Small problem with that plan," Bobby stated as the boys finished their explanation. "We only have two rings and we have exactly zero idea where Pestilence or Death is."

"You always manage to find the silver lining, Bobby," Dean said sarcastically.

"He is right though," you said gently. "And it's technically not the only problem. Even if we magically find the other two rings, we still have one very large problem. How the hell do we trick the devil back into the cage?"

"Shit," Dean mumbled. "I hadn't exactly thought that far ahead."

"That's why you have me."

"I guess (Y/N) and I will work on a way to trick the devil, while the two of you look for Pestilence," Bobby stated with a tone of finality.

**********

"This is an absolutely terrible idea," you said angrily. "Out of all the harebrained schemes you idiots have come up with over the years, this one takes the cake. Not only is he a demon, but he screwed us once already. Do you really think working with him is a good idea?"

Dean sighed and ran his hands over his face. "I don't like it anymore than you do, (Y/N/N), but he's the only lead we have."

"Besides, I'm completely trustworthy," Crowley commented as he appeared in Bobby's kitchen. "Well, at least as long as our interests are aligned."

"Fine, but the two of you aren't going alone with him," you said firmly.

"(Y/N), we'll be fine. You should stay here with Bobby."

"I don't need a damn babysitter, Dean," Bobby snapped. "(Y/N)'s better off with the two of you idjits--at least she'll make sure you don't come home dead."

You gave Dean a mirthless smirk and he grumbled in annoyance. "Fine."

"Nice digs," you said sarcastically as Crowley led you to the ramshackle house he'd been staying in.

"No need to be rude," he said in annoyance.

"Okay, what's the plan?" Sam asked.

"The plan, Moose, is for you and the girl to stay here, while Dean and I go to get the Horsemen's stable boy."

"Absolutely not!" you and Sam yelled at the same time.

"I'm not letting my brother go alone with you," Sam added.

"And I'm not letting you come with me," Crowley snapped back. "First of all, you keep trying to kill me, and secondly, I don't like you."

"Fair enough, but why do I have to stay behind?" you asked.

"Someone has to make sure little Sammy here doesn't do anything stupid."

Sam lunged for Crowley again, but you stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his assault. "Cool it, Sam."

Dean sighed, clearly not pleased with the whole situation, but you could see the resignation on his face. You knew what he was going to say before the words even came out of his mouth. "I'll go with Crowley. You two stay here."

"Dean--" you began.

"I'll be fine, (Y/N)."

It was your turn to sigh and nod in quiet acceptance. You looked at Crowley. "If he's not back in one piece, I will hunt you down and rip your heart out."

Crowley threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Understood."

You and Sam watched the two other men walk out the door, concern etched onto both of your faces.

"I don't like this," Sam muttered.

"Well that makes two of us."

"What did you miss about 'one piece'?" you snapped at Crowley when you saw the blood and bruises on Dean's face and torso.

"He's alive. Besides, I had nothing to do with it."

The look Dean gave him said otherwise.

"Technically," Crowley clarified.

You sighed. "You okay?" you asked Dean softly.

"It hurts, but I'll be fine."

Sam started to enter the room where Crowley and Dean had stashed the stable boy (aka Brady), but his entrance was blocked by Crowley.

"What are you doing?" Sam growled.

"Stopping you from mucking this up and ruining any chance we have at finding Pestilence."

"What's he talking about?" you asked.

"Sam--" Dean started.

"Get out of my way," Sam snapped at Crowley.

The demon grumbled, but stepped aside, allowing Sam to pass.

"Sam, just wait a minute," Dean called after him.

The next twenty minutes was a blur of trying to prevent Sam from killing Brady before you could get the information you needed, Crowley going and murdering a bunch of demons, and all of you being attacked by a damn hellhound.

As the five of you raced away from the hellhound fight, you muttered lowly, "Sometimes I really hate this job."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed.

**********

"Why exactly do I need to sit this one out?" you asked in annoyance.

"Because," Dean started as he threw another weapon into his bag. "I don't like the idea of you going up against a Horseman, okay? It's dangerous."

"Everything we do is dangerous, Dean," you countered.

He sighed. "This is different."

"For the record, I don't like the idea of the two of you going up against Pestilence either--especially without backup."

Dean threw his bag into the trunk of the Impala and slammed it shut. "This whole mess is our fault, which makes it our problem to solve. I've never wanted to involve you in this hell."

"I know, Dean," you said softly. "But like it or not, I'm involved."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Just--stay here with Bobby, please. For me."

His voice was as close to begging as Dean Winchester ever got, so you sighed deeply and nodded, biting the inside of your lip to keep from saying anything else.

Dean pulled you into a tight hug, holding you a little longer than would be typical of a friendly hug. You tried not to notice or read into it--after all, just because Dean had told you he'd pictured himself happy with you didn't mean he wanted to be with you. He hadn't brought it up since, but you supposed there really hadn't been time.

"Be safe," you whispered as he pulled away.

"I always am."

You knew he was lying, but there was nothing you could do about it. Instead, you gave Sam a hug before watching them climb into the Impala and pull away.

When you walked back into the house, Bobby sensed your mood immediately. "You alright, kid?"

"I just don't like the idea of them going after Pestilence alone."

"I know you care about them, but they're tough boys, (Y/N). They'll be alright."

You gave Bobby a sad look. "I think we both know I care too much."

The older man sighed and nodded. "I don't think you can care too much," he said gently.

You understood what he meant, but you were too worried to respond. This was the reason why hunters didn't have families--love was a weakness that would only cause you more pain in the end.

**********

"No, no, no. Absolutely not."

"If it's the only way--" Bobby tried.

"I said no," you growled.

"Then we might as well accept defeat now," Crowley said. "Without the spell, we'll never find Death in time. Without Death's ring, we can't put Lucifer back in his cage, and the end of the world is back on."

"I'm not letting you sacrifice your soul, Bobby!"

"I'll give it back," Crowley insisted. "It's a temporary loan."

"You're a demon, Crowley," you deadpanned. "Trusting you would be insanity."

"I don't see another option," Bobby said quietly.

"The only other option I can see," Crowley mused, "is using (Y/N)'s soul."

"Over my dead body," Bobby seethed.

"If I won't let Bobby do it, why the hell would I give you mine?"

"I didn't think you would. I was simply offering up the only other option."

"(Y/N)..." Bobby said gently.

"I don't like this," you murmured.

"I know. I don't like it either, but it's our best shot."

You closed your eyes. "It's your soul, so it's your choice."

Bobby looked up at Crowley and nodded. "I'll do it."

When the boys returned looking a little worse for the wear, but alive, you were relieved to see them. Especially since they had Cas in tow.

You hugged the angel, eyes scanning over him for any obvious injuries before looking at Dean and Sam. "All three of you look like hell."

"It has not been a fun day," Castiel commented.

You patted his arm gently. "I'd imagine not."

"We got the ring, though," Dean stated. "So that's really all that matters."

"We, uhh--well we managed to find Death's location while you were gone," you said, hoping they wouldn't notice the worried look in your eyes.

"How?" Sam asked.

"With my help," Crowley stated. "And some assistance from Bobby, of course."

There was something in Crowley's tone that made Dean uncomfortable. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, addressing Bobby.

"It's not a big deal," Bobby said.

"It only cost him his soul," you said lowly, worry lacing your words.

"What? Bobby, come on! You sold your soul?" Dean yelled.

"It's my damn soul, boy!"

"Technically it's on loan. I fully intend to give it back," Crowley interjected.

"Then give it back!" Dean snapped.

"I will, once Lucifer's back in his cage and we all go back to hating each other."

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled.

You stepped in, grabbing Dean's arm to hold him back. "It was Bobby's choice, Dean. We needed the information and it was going to be his soul or mine."

Dean's expression sobered. He didn't want Bobby's soul to be at risk, but he was beyond terrified of losing you. It would kill him if your soul was damned to hell. "If you don't return it, so help me god--"

"I already threatened him," you said softly. "Repeatedly."

"With torture, I might add," Crowley put in.

Dean almost looked proud. "Good."

"Now that's all settled," Crowley began. "We'd better get to Chicago before the storm of the century wipes the Windy City off the map."

**********

Sam pulled you and Dean outside to chat before preparing for the next mission. "I wanted to talk to the two of you alone."

"Is everything okay?" you asked softly.

"I was thinking about what you said--about getting Lucifer into the cage," Sam responded. "And I think I have a plan that will work."

"Okay, let's hear it," Dean prodded.

"So I already talked it over with Bobby and he was telling me how, when he was possessed, he managed to regain control of himself long enough to keep from killing Dean and stab himself--"

"I can see where you're going with this, and I don't like it," you interjected.

Sam ignored your interruption. "I think I can do the same with Lucifer."

"I'm sorry--what?" Dean exclaimed. "Are you suggesting saying yes to Lucifer?"

"Just long enough to get him into the cage," Sam admitted. "I don't see any other options."

"Absolutely not," Dean snapped. "No way--no way in hell."

"Sam," you said calmly, "this is Lucifer! Not just some low level demon. The amount of sheer force of will you'd need to overcome him is--well it's damn near impossible."

"I know that," Sam said softly. "But I think it's worth a try."

Dean was about to say something else when Crowley appeared with a newspaper in his hand. "Read the headline."

Sam took the paper and began to read, "Swine Flu Vaccines to be Shipped Nationwide by Niveus."

The three of you looked perplexed, causing Crowley to groan. "Niveus? Ring a bell, anyone?"

"Wait," you began, "Isn't that the company Brady worked for?"

Crowley nodded. "At least one of you has a brain. Brady was the senior VP of distribution, to be specific."

"Oh fuck," you muttered.

"Please don't tell me--" Dean started.

"Pestilence had a bigger plan. Swine flu was just the beginning," Sam stated.

"The vaccine is phase two," you whispered.

"Exactly," Crowley added. "And it's full of Croatoan Virus."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"You've gotta admit, it's an effective way to infect more than half the country all at once," Sam said quietly.

"We have to stop the distribution," you announced. "When do the trucks roll out?"

"Tomorrow," Crowley answered.

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "So all we have to do is save Chicago, take Death's ring, and stop the mass spreading of the Croatian Virus to the entire U.S....all in one day."

You sighed deeply. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's us."

Dean looked over at you, a proud smile on his face. "That's my girl."

You blushed and looked away, unaccustomed to hearing him call you 'his girl'. Sure, he called you 'sweetheart', but he called most women that. This felt different, and you weren't sure how you felt about it.

"Let's go save the world," Sam muttered.

**********

You hadn't wanted to separate from Dean, but you knew Sam, Cas, and Bobby would likely need your help more than Dean and Crowley did. You still didn't trust Crowley and you hated the idea of leaving him alone with Dean, especially when they were facing an apocalyptic storm and going up against one of the oldest creatures in creation--Death himself.

"You just gonna sit there?" Crowley asked Bobby, drawing you out of your thoughts.

"No, I'm gonna river dance," Bobby quipped back.

"I suppose if you wanna impress the ladies," he teased. "You know, you can really make these contracts work in your favor, for instance adding your legs as part of the deal."

Everyone stared at Bobby in silence as he slowly began to move his legs for the first time in what felt like eternity. You gasped in shock when he stood up to his full height and took a step forward.

The joy was short-lived, given the tasks you were about to complete. There were a couple hugs before everyone sobered up and finished preparing to leave.

You were about to get into the van with Cas, Bobby, and Sam, when Dean approached you and called your name.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering against your cheek for longer than it should have. "Just--just be careful, (Y/N/N). Please."

You smiled gently and nodded. "You too, Dean."

He pulled you into a tight hug, placing his lips into your hair, gently kissing the top of your head. "I can't lose you," he murmured so softly you almost didn't hear.

When he finally let you go, your eyes had begun to water--emotions bubbling up inside of you despite your best efforts to conceal them. "Come back to me," you choked out.

He gave you a sad smile as he stepped away. You saw him close his eyes as he swallowed thickly, clearly experiencing some complicated emotions of his own.

"Dean!" Crowley yelled. "Let's get a move on."

Dean groaned and his normal impassive mask slid back into place. "I'm coming, quit your whining." He gave you one last look before walking away from you.

Your heart ached in your chest, an overwhelming feeling of fear embedding itself in your bones. You watched him get into the driver's seat of the Impala before you managed to shake yourself out of whatever trance you were in and get into the van with the others.

"You good, (Y/N)? Bobby asked as you shut the door.

"All good," you lied. "Let's roll."

**********

"Have I mentioned how much I hate Croatoan Virus?" you grumbled as you shot yet another infected person who was charging your way.

"Maybe once or twice," Sam shot back.

"We should have known they would infect people before we got here," Bobby commented.

"Yeah, but at least we've stopped the shipment. Now we just gotta kill some Croats," you said with a smirk as you shot another one.

You and Sam traveled farther into the warehouse, following the sounds of people yelling for help. Cas and Bobby stayed up front to make sure no Croats escaped.

You were certain you had to be nearing the last of the infected people, but as you rounded a corner, one got the jump on you, tackling you to the ground. You fought with him, desperately trying to get him off of you so you could shoot him, but he sent your gun flying, leaving you defenseless.

You were starting to lose the battle, the Croat's teeth close to sinking into your flesh, when you heard a yell from behind you. The Croat looked up just in time to see Sam pull the trigger, bringing the terrifying moment to an end.

He helped you up and you retrieved your gun. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the save."

He smiled. "Any time."

The two of you started moving back towards the front of the building. You heard a sound down one of the aisles and you started in that direction. You nodded for Sam to get back to Bobby and Cas, confident you could handle the situation on your own.

You cleared the aisle, but didn't find anything. You started heading back when you heard Sam yell and you started running. You arrived just in time to see Castiel shooting a Croat in the head to save Sam.

He looked slightly pleased with himself, gazing down at the sawed off in his hands. "These things can be useful."

You chuckled and Bobby just shook his head.

Sam got up and clapped Cas on the shoulder, a silent thank you for saving him. "Alright, let's blow some stuff up," he said with a grin.

"This has always been my favorite part of the plan," you declared with a grin of your own.

When the four of you returned to Bobby's, you were pleased to learn Dean and Crowley's mission had also been a success. Not only had they saved Chicago, but Dean had managed to secure Death's ring and learn how to use the rings.

"How old do we think Death is, exactly?" you asked.

"He told me he was as old as God...maybe older, but neither of them could remember," Dean responded.

"Holy shit..."

"Yeah. He didn't exactly strike me as the forgiving type, so I doubt he'll appreciate me lying to him," Dean commented.

"You lied to Death? About what?"

"I told him I was okay with Sam saying yes to Lucifer."

You sighed quietly, not wanting to admit which side you fell on in this particular argument.

Thankfully, Bobby did have something to add. "You and I have always treated Sam like he's a kid, despite the fact that he's one of the toughest people I know. He's been running into burning buildings since he was what, 12?"

"Pretty much," Dean replied.

"I saw him today, Dean. We both did," Bobby said, looking over at you. "He's not that little kid anymore. He's strong--stronger than any of us give him credit for. I think we should have a little more faith in his abilities."

Dean looked over at you, silently asking for your input. "I've always believed in Sam," you said honestly. "I'm not gonna stop now."

Dean nodded, a look of resigned acceptance crossing his features.

**********

You'd just gotten out of the shower when you heard a knock on your bedroom door. "Just a second!" you called.

You quickly threw on pajama shorts and an old faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, before throwing open the door without checking to see who it was.

"Dean," you gasped in surprise.

"Hey," he murmured awkwardly. "I, uhh--I was hoping we could talk."

"Oh, umm, sure." You stepped aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Everything okay?" you asked worriedly.

"I'm just thinking about what's going to happen in just a couple days and I--I don't want to leave things unsaid."

"Dean, we don't have to--"

"I need to, (Y/N/N)," he interjected. "Just in case."

You didn't want to think about the very distinct possibility that one or both of you might not survive the coming fight. Your heart ached at the mere thought of losing him, and to your surprise he felt the same way.

"I don't know if we'll make it through this--all I know is I'm terrified of losing you," he admitted.

You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to say.

"I'm not used to being afraid," he whispered. "It's not a feeling I'm accustomed to experiencing and to be honest with you, I kinda hate it."

"You don't have to be afraid for me," you reassured him. "I'll be fine. You know I can take care of myself."

"In every other fight? I'd agree completely...but this isn't any other fight. This is Michael and Lucifer--it's the biggest fight of our lives."

"I know," you murmured. "But I have to believe that at the end of this, we'll all be okay."

He nodded, but you could see the emotions clouding his normally bright green eyes. "I wish I had that same faith."

You gave him a teary smile. You understood where he was coming from, especially given his past experiences.

"Any chance I can convince you to stay back?"

"There's no way that's happening, Dean. If you're facing two archangels, I'm coming with you."

He sighed. "I figured you'd say that." He exhaled deeply, clearly preparing himself to say something else. "Things have been so--intense--for the past few weeks and we haven't really had much of an opportunity to talk. We've been dancing around our feelings and I don't wanna keep doing that--I can't."

You swallowed thickly. "I don't know if I can..."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to say anything if you don't really mean it. You're scared and honestly, so am I. This might be the end, Dean--the end of everything. I just don't want you to say something you think I wanna hear because we might die, or something you don't really feel just because you don't wanna be alone for the end...I can't handle that."

Dean stood up and reached out to you. You'd finally let the tears fall during your speech, and he couldn't stand to see you cry. He reached up slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him. When you didn't, he cupped your face in his hands, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"I don't want you to ever think I'm choosing you because of some misguided desire to not be alone. I meant what I said, sweetheart--you're the only person I can imagine myself being happy with. It's always been you--I've just been too scared to tell you."

You sniffled softly as he finished wiping the last of your tears. "So why now?"

He continued to gently rub his thumbs on your cheeks, almost afraid to let go of you--as if you would simply disappear. "Because I'm tired of pretending I'm not in love with you. If this really is the end, I don't wanna go out without telling you the truth. If you don't feel the same, I understand, but I needed to--"

You leaned in to press your lips gently against his, silencing the rest of his sentence. He returned your kiss, one hand sliding into your hair to pull you closer to him.

You pulled away from him to suck in some air, leaning your forehead against his as you caught your breath.

"So does that mean you might feel the same?" Dean murmured softly.

You laughed lightly. "Maybe just a little bit."

He grinned as he slipped his arms around your soft waist and pulled you closer. "Just a little?" he teased.

You giggled as his fingers gently tickled your sides. "Or a lot."

"Yeah?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah...there's a strong possibility I feel exactly the same as you."

"Oh, baby, I don't think that's possible."

You looked at him in confusion.

"I love you more than anything--I don't even have words to express how I feel about you. 'Love' just doesn't cut it."

You practically melted in his arms, a warm, teary smile gracing your face. "I don't think I can compare to that, but I do love you, Dean--so much."

Dean was one of the most deeply emotional people you'd ever known and the way he loved was no exception. He was incredibly passionate and he loved with a kind of fierceness that almost frightened you. But at the same time, you felt incredibly honored to be loved by such an amazing man--a man who was loyal, brave, strong, and sensitive (even if he would deny it).

Dean kissed you deeply, holding your body tightly against his own. You could feel his arousal stirring against your stomach and you moaned softly.

"I could kiss you all night," he whispered against your lips.

"Why don't you then?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, a small smirk playing on his lips. "How would you feel if I kissed every square inch of your body instead of just your lips?"

You inhaled sharply, his words sending a shock wave of need straight to your core. "Please," you begged softly.

"Oh baby, you're in for a treat." He grabbed you and spun around, tossing you onto the soft bed.

It didn't take long for you both to be completely naked, Dean's head between your legs, bringing you closer to blissful release with each passing moment.

Every movement of his lips and tongue had you moaning in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails scrapping against his scalp as he continued to drive you wild.

When your orgasm finally hit, your hips began to buck wildly, causing Dean to lay his arm across your abdomen to hold you in place. He continued lapping up your juices and teasing your clit until you dragged him away, whimpers of sensitivity leaving your lips.

He breathed heavily as he hovered over you, licking his lips in contentment. "I didn't wanna stop."

You smiled. "I could tell."

"So I can go back down and finish--" he started moving lower and you grabbed him to keep him in place.

"No!" you said, laughter filling your voice. "I'm a little too sensitive for that right now, Dean."

He groaned in displeasure. "Fine," he mumbled. "Later then."

He leaned down to kiss you and you giggled softly against his lips. His antics always made you smile, so you weren't surprised to find the experience continued in the bedroom.

As he deepened the kiss, you felt his cock brush against your core, a sharp hiss leaving your lips at the contact.

"Sorry, baby," he murmured.

"I'm not," you said lightly.

He looked down at you quizzically, but didn't have time to comment before he found himself lying on his back looking up at you.

You grinned down at him, clearly pleased with yourself.

"Whatcha doin' sweetheart?" he drawled.

"Taking what I want."

Your meaning was quickly made clear as you kissed slowly down his chest and abdomen, stopping only to make a soft sound of appreciation when you came upon his throbbing cock.

You wrapped your hand around it and licked slowly from the base to the tip, giving a flick of your tongue against it to collect the precum.

Dean moaned softly, green eyes watching you intently as you took his cock into your mouth, slowly lowering yourself down until you couldn't fit any more.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, hand reaching for your hair to tangle his fingers in it.

You hummed happily and began to move, bobbing your head up and down in a pleasurable rhythm. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't fit into your mouth to ensure his entire member was receiving pleasure.

Dean's hips jerked slightly each time you made a noise or a particularly pleasurable motion, and his grip on your hair tightened considerably.

You made it very obvious you were enjoying yourself, which seemed to only increase his pleasure. You very gently caressed his balls, massaging them in your soft hand as you continued to suck his cock.

Dean's moans and curses had increased in both volume and frequency, signaling he was nearing his peak. You flicked your gaze up to look at his face, meeting his dark, lust-blown eyes.

You held eye contact as you continued your motions, soft moans vibrating against his cock.

"Holy fuck," he whispered. "Gonna cum, baby."

You hummed, signaling your desire for him to let go. You continued to hold his gaze, but you switched your focus to the head of his cock, using your hand to rub the rest.

Moments later, Dean came with a low groan of your name, hips stuttering upwards as you swallowed every drop he gave you.

Just as he'd done to you, you refused to stop until he literally pulled you off his cock, aftershocks shaking his body.

"That was incredible," he breathed.

You smiled down at him, appreciating the praise.

"I wanna taste you again," he begged softly.

Your eyes widened a bit, but you couldn't deny the ache in your core. You wanted to feel him inside you so badly, but you knew he'd need some time to work back up to it.

"I suppose you can have a little taste," you murmured teasingly.

You started to get off of him, but he grabbed you to hold you in place.

"Where ya going?"

"To lay down..."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Did I tell you to lay down?"

You inhaled sharply. "No..."

"Didn't think so, babe." He shifted so his head was flat against the mattress. "Come on up and sit on my face."

"I'm sorry--do what?"

He laughed softly. "Sit on my face."

"Umm...you sure?"

He lifted his head to look at you. "I've never been more certain."

You bit your lip and considered his words for a moment. You'd never sat on anyone's face, but you'd heard it was an enjoyable experience.

"Alright," you agreed, pulling yourself up to hover over his mouth.

"Lower, please," he said.

You lowered yourself down, but remained hovering.

"(Y/N)," he said harshly. "Sit."

You lowered yourself as much as you could without putting your full weight on him.

"For the love of god," he growled, tugging down on your hips and forcing you to actually sit.

You heard his groan and what sounded like a muffled "Fuck yes", before his tongue slipped between your folds and the assault began.

If you'd thought he was good with his mouth before, it was nothing compared to the incredible feelings you were currently experiencing. You had to press your hands against the wall to hold yourself upright and your thighs were pressed tightly around his head.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were loud enough to wake the neighbors, but you couldn't be bothered to care.

You could feel his tongue pressing into your channel while his nose bumped against your clit with every movement. The combination was amazing and your hips started to move on their own, seeking more friction to push you over the edge.

Dean's grip on your hips tightened and he started to move your hips more forcefully, letting you know it was okay to ride his face.

You took the hint and completely let go, allowing yourself to truly enjoy the experience. Dean's moans vibrated through your body, which only served to increase your pleasure.

Your thighs began to shake and your moans had turned to cries of his name as your hips made one final thrust before you fell apart. The orgasm that crashed through you was easily the most incredible one you'd ever experienced--the high both better and longer than ever before.

You lifted yourself off Dean's face as the pleasure became too much, but your legs were no longer able to support you, so you fell onto the bed beside him. You were both breathless, but Dean wasted no time in rolling over on top of you and pressing open mouthed kisses to your heated skin.

When you finally caught your breath, you murmured, "I've never felt that good in my life."

Dean smirked, pride evident on his face. "I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart."

You bit your lip and looked up into his handsome face. "Is that a promise?"

He groaned softly and his cock pressed against your core. You both inhaled sharply and he lowered his face down to kiss you deeply. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"I hope not," you whispered back.

He smiled and placed another sweet kiss to your lips. "You ready?"

You nodded--you'd never been more ready in your life.

He gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, pressing in slowly to give you time to adjust.

You whimpered at the feeling, his cock stretching you in ways you didn't know you could be stretched.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mhmm," you hummed. "Keep going."

He waited another moment before continuing to push forward. By the time he was fully seated inside you, you were both breathing heavily and a light sheen of sweat graced your face.

Dean pressed soft, sweet kisses all over your face as he waited for your breathing to normalize. "Let me know when you're ready," he murmured.

After a few more moments, you took a deep breath and said, "You can move now."

Dean's hips began to move slowly, his thrusts languid and gentle at first. As your grip on his cock tightened and the soft sounds you made washed over him, his pace began to increase.

"You're so goddamn tight, (Y/N/N)," he groaned softly. "So warm and wet--fucking perfect."

You pulled his face down to yours to kiss him passionately. "Feels so good, Dean," you moaned.

He knew he wasn't going to last very long...which wasn't common for him. You just felt so incredible and he knew he was going to lose control.

He'd be damned, however, if he came before pulling at least one more orgasm from your sweet body.

Dean grabbed your legs and folded them towards your chest, flexing your body almost in half. This position allowed him to get even deeper inside you and the head of his cock pressed against your sweet spot with each thrust.

"Dean!" you gasped in surprised pleasure. Not very many men had managed to find your g-spot, but Dean wasn't exactly most men.

You dug your nails into his biceps--the only part of him you could reach, and your moans turned into an unending song of pleasure.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't love every part of it. Every noise was like music to his ears--a soundtrack he could listen to forever. The sharp pain of your nails in his skin only heightened his pleasure and the look of pure bliss on your face was an image he wanted to sear onto his brain.

He was desperate to watch you come undone--to see your beautiful face in full view as you fell apart for him. He was certain it would be an image worthy of an art museum.

"You gonna cum for me baby?" he asked lowly.

You nodded rapidly, unable to form a verbal response.

"Can feel you squeezin' me so tight."

He sped up just a little more and a sharp gasp left your lips. He knew you were seconds away--and honestly, so was he.

"Need you to cum for me sweet girl," he begged. "Wanna feel it so bad."

His words sent you over the edge, your third orgasm of the night washing over you and throwing you into pure ecstasy.

Dean held back his own impending orgasm just long enough to ask, "Can I fill you up, baby?"

"Please!" you cried.

Dean came with a loud shout of your name, hot ropes of cum filling your pussy to the brim. His thrusts slowed as you both rode out your highs and his cock began to soften as he pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside you.

"That was--" you began.

"I know," he finished.

You turned to look at him and giggled softly. He grinned widely and let out a warm laugh along with you.

"Who woulda thought we'd end up here?" he asked.

"On the brink of the end of the world," you added.

"There's no one I'd rather be with," he admitted.

You rolled onto your side to face him completely. "Same here, Dean."

He offered you a small smile tinged with sadness. "I love you, (Y/N/N)...and if we die tomorrow, then at least you'll know how I feel about you."

You closed your eyes and sighed. "I love you too. But I want a life with you, so let's try to make it through tomorrow, okay?"

He smiled warmly. "Alright, sweetheart. I'd like that."

"Good," you whispered as you nestled in close to him, laying your head against his chest and sighing softly.

Dean wrapped his arms around you tightly as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go. You fell asleep like that, one last moment of peace and contentment before the final battle.

[kaibutsushidousha]

You’ve talked about the concept of a character who is not fit to be the protagonist of their story, recently with Ichigo and in the past with Hakuno, so I’m curious if you have any characters you think are perfect fits for the story they’re telling?

Starting an answer I already gave multiple times for different questions: unreliable narrators always feel essential to the story because they control what gets to be story and what doesn’t. Every time a story has an unreliable narrator, it is for a specific purpose and the same plot wouldn't be same experience if told from a different point of view.

Okabe Rintarou is not exactly an unreliable protagonist, but he's a really similar example in how he sets the tone. He's far from the only thing making Steins;Gate excellent, but his personality alone immediately gives the game an identity that stands out from other pieces of its genre.

In the interstice between these two examples, perhaps pending more to the unreliable narrator's side, there is the "cheater" protagonist. Cases like Joseph Joestar, Haruaki Fusaishi, or Houshin Engi's version of Taigong Wang. Characters who are deeply familiar with how the people of their world work, specifically subvert them and seize control of the plot.

But these above are all cases of protagonists that force the narrative to fit them. The opposite, protagonists that force themselves to fit the story. Characters that care about the themes of their story on a deeply personal level and spends the plot constantly thinking about until they ultimately presents an opinion at the finale. That's the cases of Hisagi and Itadori previously mentioned in this conversation. Also Shuuichi Saihara, Asai Kei, Asakura Yoh, and Miles Edgeworth specifically in the second investigations game.

Hakuno is technically an example of this, but as spoke in more length before, it fails to work because Fate/EXTRA simply contains too much that is irrelevant to Hakuno's story.

Then there are the protagonists who just naturally fit their stories without actively trying to. That's the most common type of "good protagonist", so it's harder to throw specific examples, but since this conversation started with Ichigo and Hakuno, there are at least two specific protagonists that deserve special mention.

My stated problem with Ichigo and Hakuno is that they either don't care or care very selectively about the new worlds they explore. However, it is possible to make a similarly uncaring protagonist work. Luffy is a guy who regularly refuses to hear people's backstories, but that's somehow never a problem because Luffy has a strongly defined set of philosophies that naturally align with the core themes of the content he's ignoring, and he's always responding to the actions of his antagonists in specific ways. See the quote about wanting Wano to be a place where people can share food for a great example of this.

The second example is one that maybe I still haven't gotten to know enough to be commenting about, but Maomao works for all the same reasons Luffy does. She's a natural detective character without even trying because cases happen to align with her special interests and her strongly defined set of philosophies.

One last thought on protagonist vs world alignment is that you can also make a great protagonist out of someone who is intentionally mismatched with the setting. Not someone like Rintarou who is just quirky, but someone with strong beliefs shaped by an environment getting thrown into a completely alien environment, and navigating the culture shocks between their past and their present. Soujuurou, Ichi the Witch, and again, Maomao are some of the first examples to come to mind.

On this kind of discussion, perhaps the most interesting protagonist I can mention is Ryuunosuke Naruhodou, as he's equal parts the Soujuurou situation (the Japanese boy struggling to adapt to a new life in the racist lands of England) and the Hisagi situation (a novice lawyer slowly building his opinions on how far he needs to go for the truth's sake, plus the whole unlearning of his idolization of Asougi).

[wingedblooms]

Blooming with life

@offtorivendell and I were chatting about the cover for the next book and while there are several options for what might be depicted on the cover, the one that makes the most sense to me (and makes us scream) is the Cauldron (blooming with life, vines and flowers and creatures spilling from its iron lip). It hasn’t been used on a cover yet, and assuming Sarah will continue with one romantic pairing per book, it would align perfectly with what Elain and Azriel’s story would contribute to the overarching plot.

Let me preface this by saying that I do think the three Archeron sisters embody (or are vessels) for the three faces of the Mother, and they will likely need to come together at some point in this storyline (the dream). But if anyone’s story is connected to a force that once bloomed with life, and is tasked with uncovering its secrets to help it and the land bloom again, it’s Elain. The quiet, gentle gardener who glows like the dawn and smells like a promise of spring. She might even be able to use the language of creation to (re)write her own fate. It doesn’t seem coincidental that Azriel has been present or connected to Elain’s major moments involving the Cauldron (her forced rebirth, naming her powers, questioning the mating bond, using TT to rescue her family, being forbidden from going near the Cauldron, etc.). Their story is tied to the Cauldron and what we’ve learned about it (from the original trilogy to the spin-off books to the crossover). Sarah has left hints that it is still important, in general, and specifically in Elain’s journey with Azriel:

acotar

Feyre gives us our first glimpse of the Cauldron from the living (Spring Court):

I found myself overlooking a rose garden, filled with dozens of hues of crimson and pink and white and yellow.

I might have allowed myself a moment to take in the colors, gleaming with dew under the morning sun, had I not glimpsed the painting that stretched along the wall beside the windows.

[…]

At first I could do nothing but stare at its size, the ambition of it, at the fact that this masterpiece was tucked back here for no one to ever see, as if it was nothing—absolutely nothing—to create something like this.

It told a story with the way colors and shapes and light flowed, the way the tone shifted across the mural. The story of…of Prythian.

It began with a cauldron.

A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but…effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world…(acotar)

acomaf

Elain emerges from the Cauldron. It tips onto its side by itself, as if influenced by an unseen force. Elain rises from the floor, like the earth in the mural, glowing with immortal light and beauty.

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.

And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.

Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live—

Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer.

And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—

Nesta began roaring again.

Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

acowar

After Elain was Made in the Cauldron, Azriel is the one to name her power, freeing her from a murky realm where dream and reality entwine:

“A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” (acowar)

Feyre wonders about Elain’s new, inner sight and how it might be connected to the Cauldron.

Elain had been told—by Amren. She now sat at the table, more straight-backed and clear-eyed than I’d seen her. Had she beheld this, in whatever wanderings that new, inner sight granted her? Had the Cauldron whispered of it while we’d been away? I hadn’t the heart to ask her. (acowar)

Feyre questions the mating bond system, wondering why Azriel and Elain aren’t mates and who determines it.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?”

“I’d keep that question from Lucien.”

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?”

Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies…”

Azriel is the first to notice Elain’s absence and risks his life to get her back, inspiring Feyre to join him.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

With the shadows, he might stand a chance of slipping in. But there were wards to consider, and ancient magic, and the king with those spells and the Cauldron…(acowar)

Armed with Truth-Teller, the blade Azriel gifted to her for the battle, Elain—rather than the Cauldron—answered Feyre’s pleas, somehow appearing just in time to deal Hybern a killing blow.

For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas.

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.” (acowar)

While connected to it through a living link, Feyre learns that the Cauldron adores Elain, gave her such powers (plural, baby), and would not harm her.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain…Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something…It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken. (acowar)

Both Elain and the Cauldron are described as blooms in bleak and barren settings, which seems to be a hint of their intertwined role/power that is reinforced in the spin-offs and crossover.

She was a rose bloom in a mud field…[…] If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta, she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood. (acowar)

-

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower (acowar)

acosf

Cassian reminds us that the Cauldron is hidden (and supposedly asleep) in Cretea, worrying that no one could control it if it awoke.

A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim Prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken. (acosf)

Nesta reminds us of the time the Cauldron stole Elain and its song called only to her:

Elain had been stolen by the Cauldron and saved by Azriel and Feyre. Yet the two terror still gripped Nesta, waking and asleep: the memory of how it had felt in those moments after hearing the Cauldron’s seductive call and realizing it had been for Elain, not for her or Feyre. How it had felt to find Elain’s tent empty, to see that blue cloak discarded. (acosf)

The Inner Circle discusses the Cauldron-Made Trove, and Feyre and Amren remind us that like calls to like, which is why the sisters can help find them.

“What does it have to do with the Cauldron?” Nesta pushed.

“Like calls to like,” Feyre murmured, looking to Amren, who nodded. “Because the Trove was Made by the Cauldron, so might the Trove find its Maker.” (acosf)

Elain offers to find the Trove when Nesta admits to her fears, and Nesta forbids her from going anywhere near the Cauldron.

Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to…reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways.o You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”

Feyre said, “It’s Elain’s choice, Nesta.” (acosf)

Nesta gives us a glimpse of the dusk service where priestesses worship the Mother and the Cauldron and the Forces That Be (Fate). A sacred, possibly interchangeable trio, which is deeply connected to creation and the earth:

The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth. (acosf)

Nesta finds the carved rose Papa Archeron made for Elain and places it next to a figurine of a primordial goddess:

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

-

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. (acosf)

Nesta makes a bargain with the Cauldron, so it is at least somewhat awake and seems to be influenced by, or working alongside, a luminescent hand (maybe a gentle gardener’s hand?) that intervenes on Nesta’s behalf.

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore.

A bargain with the Cauldron itself.

Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf)

After their almost-kiss on solstice, Azriel dares to question the Cauldron, which he appears to revere.

���What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

Rhysand blinked. “What of Mor, Az?”

Azriel ignored the question. “The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

hofas

In the crossover, we learn more of the Cauldron’s history. Life once blossomed from it, but—as if echoing Azriel’s question to Rhys—it was warped by the Daglan (Asteri).

“The Cauldron,” Azriel amended. Bryce shook her head, not understanding. “You don’t have stories of it in your world? The Fae didn’t bring that tradition with them?”

Bryce surveyed the giant cauldron. “No. We have five gods, but no cauldron. What does it do?”

“All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas)

-

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. (hofas)

The Under-King leaves us with a look at the Cauldron from the dead. It was misconstrued as a goddess over time, explaining interconnected, if not interchangeable, terms (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Forces That Be), but she is a force and her name is Wyrd.

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin … they were like tattoos.

[…]

“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

Tags: @elriel-month 💕

What do you think will be on the cover, friends? Do you agree it might be the Cauldron, or will it be something else, like the Harp or even…a Pegasus?! Ramiel?

[yanderepalace]

YAHOO THANK U ^_^

Can u write miku with an escaped darling...

Yandere!Hatsune Miku with an escaped darling

warnings: kidnapping

a/n: ngl I had a lot of fun with this one, enjoy!

Miku had resorted to drastic measures out of sheer desperation. She didn’t want to take such actions, but she felt she had no choice.

As a busy idol, Miku was accustomed to constant attention. She struggled if your schedules didn’t align or if you dared to spend time with friends or family instead of her.

Miku didn’t handle that well.

At least she was kind enough not to keep you bound in a dingy basement like some other yanderes might. Instead, she set up a whole room for you in her house, complete with lots of entertainment, a comfy bed, and even some of your missing belongings!

You could do whatever you pleased within the room, but Miku made it very clear that you were not to leave. She kept the doors locked at all times.

She was the most doting captor you could ask for, always asking if you were hungry or needed anything, and she’d get you whatever you asked for.

She expected you to be happy with her, she really did.

When she returned that one fateful night after an exhausting day of training, she wanted nothing more than to nuzzle into your unwilling arms for comfort.

Entering an empty and silent home, she didn’t want to believe it at first. She thought someone must have taken you away, but upon investigation, she found the door lock broken from the inside.

Her teal eyelashes held back tears from stifled sobs as she realized you had abandoned her. Miku’s heart was broken.

Despite feeling shattered, Miku couldn’t wallow in self-pity. She had to find you.

Her blood ran cold thinking about what could happen to you out there. God forbid something should happen where she couldn’t save you.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she quickly put on a baseball cap and sunglasses to hide her recognizable appearance. Fans running up to her was the last thing she needed.

When she finally caught up to you, she didn’t get physical immediately.

Upon seeing your frightened appearance, she was reminded that you had left her of your own volition.

Coldly, she stared at you and asked what she did wrong. What could she have possibly done to make you want to leave her?

Miku’s once expressive features were now dull and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. You almost felt bad.

You tried to explain that you knew she loved you, but kidnapping was not the way to pursue a relationship.

It might as well have gone in one ear and out the other. To her, you were clearly not in your right mind if you would leave her like that. Why would she listen to anything you had to say?

At least not until you were back home, safe with her once again.

Somehow, she became even more doting over you. She subconsciously believed that you left because she wasn’t good enough.

Her affections was almost overbearing. The amount of gifts and treats you received, the smothering attention from the blue-haired singer—all just efforts to win your heart.

You instilled a paranoia in poor Miku. She constantly second-guessed herself, wondering if she was doing the right thing, worrying if you were plotting another escape, and fearing if you secretly hated her.

She’ll just have to try even harder, next time.

[dutchessofcaladan]

Pirates of the Caribbean: Wrath of the Kraken

My 1st Pirates fic! And before you ask: No. I didn't abandon Ghostbusters: Soul Resurgence. My hyperfixation wheel decided to spin and somehow landed on Pirates of the Caribbean (I blame Geoffrey Rush).

Anyway, this fic (and possibly others, we'll see how this goes) will be a continuation of the PotC franchise (not a reboot like Disney so stupidly decided on) and will feature new and returning characters as well as take inspiration from previous films and the mobile game Tides of War.

And just like Ghostbusters: Soul Resurgence, a bit thank you to @phantomoftheparadise0002 for beta-reading this!

Summary: When Jack recruits Smith to help him find the lost relics of Cortez, their mission doesn't go as planned when they run into terrors and joys from their past, ultimately witnessing the resurrection of the Dutchman...and her beloved Captain.

TW: Some language

Jack smiled as his face became illuminated by the moon, its light shining through the parting clouds.

"Mr. Gibbs!" He shouted from the helm.

"Cap'n?" Gibbs responded, turning to Jack.

"Prepare the Pearl for docking!"

"But Cap'n, where be the dock?"

"Look through the mist, Mr. Gibbs." Jack smiled.

As if by magic, the mist faded, revealing the fortress that had been built into the side of a mountain.

"El Silencio en el mar Caspio." Jack all but sighed, as if he was returning home. "The Silence in the Caspian Sea."

As the ship got closer to the dock, Jack hopped down to the main deck, Cotton having taken the wheel.

"ALRIGHT STEADY! STEADY!" Jack shrieked as the ship aligned itself.

A terrified look covered his face as a loud snap echoed from the front of the ship.

Turning back to Cotton he shouted, "No matter! Everything's fine!" Pulling Gibbs to him he whispered, "Let's just hope she'll go easy on him otherwise we'll need a new helmsman."

Gibbs turned to him in shock. Before he could ask who they were here to see, Jack had hopped off the ship and started down what was left of the dock.

"Oi!" One of the guards shouted, blocking Jack's way. "What do you think you're doin'?"

Jumping back slightly, Jack looked at him in confusion. "Have we met before?" He questioned bluntly.

Before the guard could answer, Jack snapped his fingers, delight painting his face.

"I've got it!" He slurred. "You're one of those guards from Port Royal!" Leaning in close he asked, "Have you learned to swim yet?"

He jumped as the guard let out an angered huff.

"Let's just forget that last bit, shall we?" His eyes widened slightly, seeing that the guards expression hadn't changed. "How 'bout this: I'll go wait in that tavern over there, have a few drinks, while you go get your Captain for me."

Before the guard could answer, Jack pushed past him towards the tavern.

"Pirate, nay. Privateer."

"I'm disinclined to acquiesce your request. Means no."

"Aye. But that's a gamble of long odds, ain't it?"

"There's no guarantee of comin' back. Passin' on, that's dead certain."

"Too long me fate has not been in me own hands. No longer."

"Do ya mean grass? On a farm? Milkin’ a cow? Makin’ cheese? While they sink me treasure?! I'm a Pirate. Always will be."

"You know the first thing I'm gonna do after the curse is lifted...eat a whole bushel of apples."

“For too long I've been parched of thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died. I feel nothing. Not the wind on my face nor the spray of the sea. Nor the warmth of a woman's flesh.”

“You best start believing in ghost stories Ms. Turner. You’re in one!”

"I'm the master of me ship. Not Blackbeard. I'm the master of me fate. Not Blackbeard. So I did what needed done. I survived."

"Nay, belay that! Let ‘er run straight and true!"

"Brace up yards, ya cack-handed deck apes! Dyin' is the day worth livin' for!"

"I feel...cold."

Smith awoke in a cold sweat to someone banging on her door. Standing up, she went to open it.

"What do you want, Mullroy?" She growled, glaring daggers at the guard who'd been banging on her door.

"Pardon me for awakin' you, Captain, especially at this hour, but," the look on her face told him to get to the point, "there's a man, in the tavern. He requested that I bring you to him."

Grumbling, Smith slammed the door, only to reamerge moments later fully dressed, motioning to Mullroy to take her to him.

As Jack downed his 4th mug of rum, the door to the tavern opened.

"Jack Sparrow." Smith smirked.

"Smith! It's been too long!" Steadying himself as he stood. "Hasn't it?"

"Aye." Her smile was strained. "9 years."

Heading to the table and pulling up a chair, Smith leaned close to Jack.

"What the hell are you doing here, Jack?"

Leaning forward, Jack slurred, "I've heard stories. Of a great treasure that lies at the bottom of the Atlantic. It's said to be one of the relics of Cortez himself."

Sensing she wasn't paying attention, he poked her in the forehead.

"'re you alright?" He asked.

"I've been having these...dreams." She sighed. "Every night for the past 9 years. Every single one about Hector. It's like he's calling to me."

"Tis not Barbossa who calls to you."

Swiftly turning in the direction of the voice, Jack aimed his pistol while Smith readied her sword.

Jack's eyes widened.

"Calypso." Smith's eyes narrowed.

"In de flesh." The Sea Goddess smiled, black teeth shining in the dim light of the rising Sun.

"What do you want?" Smith held her sword more firmly.

"Not'ing more dan to give you a gift."

"A gift?" Jack questioned. "Did you bring me a gift too?"

Calypso shot him an incredulous look, causing his smile to fall.

"Tis more of a...repayment, den a gift."

Smith's eyebrows furrowed. "A repayment? For what?"

Stepping closer, Calypso smiled. "In time, you and Jack will venture to dah sea. Dehn you will fallow Deh Map No Man Can Read. Dehr you will find your repayment."

"Repayment for what?" Smith repeated.

"You'll see."

As quick as she'd arrived, Calypso vanished.

"The Map No Man Can Read." Smith repeated, turning to Jack. "You don't think-"

"Think what?"

Before he could get an answer, Smith fled the tavern.

Placing her hands upon the wheel of the Queen Anne's Revenge, Smith let out a shaky breath. For the first time in 9 years, she stood at the helm of her ship. Her. Ship. Those words felt wrong. No. This was Hector's ship. He had been the one to take it from Blackbeard. He had been the one to make the Revenge what it was today.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her sword from its sheath and thrust it into the air, the tip of it gleaning in the newly risen Sun. As she did so, the wine colored Sails were released from their bonds, the early morning air filling them. Thrusting the sword towards the bow of the ship, she watched as her crew tumbled down the deck at the sudden burst of acceleration.

Returning the sword to its sheath, she addressed her crew. "All hands! Ply to windward! Get crackin' ye bloomin' cockroaches!" She let out a laugh as her crew joined. "The Crown served me well! But now, by the Gods of sea and sky, make way for Tortuga!" Her crew cheered as the ship continued on.

Smiling as he heard the cheers of Smith's crew, Jack whispered to himself, "That's my girl."

[yeehaw-in-magic-space]

Barley Arc Interlude - Prometheus: Part 2/3 (from the perspective of a lingering observer)

Beginning at midnight, you seem to be just. Waiting. From the evening into the night, you waited for all other persons to leave the area, to be as sure as possible that no one would disturb you. But you’re just telling yourself that. That doesn’t seem to be the only reason you’re hesitating. You’d just managed to get the book out on the table before thinking of another trifling hesitation; you ought to see if the lights still work. Trying the switch on the wall, the lights barely, dimly, buzz to life. You’re pretty good at ignoring things, but the sound annoys you enough that you shut it off. The provided light didn’t really make any difference to you anyways. You try to settle down in order to begin, you’ve wasted enough time as it is, and you open the book. You try to pick back up where you’d left off: greymatter and bone particles revealing to you the fate of a previous owner. The signs of similar ‘signatures’ are present everywhere, themselves surrounded by edges of indiscernible text and icons. You try to count how many there are, and just how many you’d somehow missed, until you hear the doorknob turn. You forgot to lock it. Again. It slams open, startling you up and out of your seat, as you shut the book loudly at the same time. You keep one hand on it, as you see Chuck in the doorway, gun trained on you. You think of a thousand responses, fears coming to fruition about the intentions of this bounty hunter, all for him to ask judgmentally why you’re still awake, lowering his weapon. You fumble for a response, but only manage to ask him the same thing back, twice as barbed. Good one. He elaborates that he doesn’t need to sleep, to which you ask why he came here of all places. Chuck claims to have seen a light briefly, that same one you turned on just a little while ago. He asks why you’re sitting in the previously very haunted house, alone, in complete darkness, reading. You tell him you were doing just that. Reading. And he lets it drop. 

He begins a different line of questioning, on the Vox, particularly where your preconceived notions of their distrustful nature stems from. He seems to understand your point of view, and admits that his trust of Evelyn came from his past positive experience with a different Vox. You two discuss deeper into the intention and perceived trust of this group. You inform Chuck of that exact caveat; that their goals may align with yours when you meet them once, but in your experience, they prefer their own obscure aspirations. They will step over anyone in their way to fulfill their goals, often speaking of harmony with nature, but showing they care little for others around them. Your home has had trouble with them for years, taking precaution when they were seen or heard of on any planet. Because of said precautions, you’d never met one until Evelyn, but her ‘first impression’ is what you’d feared it would be like. Regardless of Chuck’s firsthand experience with his Vox of the past, with Evelyn now, you tell him that rumors like theirs stem from something. 

But something stops your negativity. It’s the fact that Chuck is still here, right now in front of you. Your mood cracks like ice, just a little, enough to admit that you’re relieved that this Vox is on your side of all this. For now. Her actions the other night more than prove that to you. You both let the silence sit for a bit. And the note you left off on makes you think for a moment on the experience. And you catch yourself again asking with vested interest, in what Chuck had actually experienced that night. You want to know what it was like being possessed by something like that. As a much more open person than yourself, Chuck plainly explains his perspective. He says that it pulled him towards his childlike state of pure instinct, fight or flight reactions for survival that once meant life or death for him if he failed. He’d heard of other Thri-Kreen being set off in similar ways well into their adulthood, so he didn’t even register it as anything foreign. But he hopes that the possession was all that triggered this. You agree that a problem like that is the last thing we need. And then it hits you, as it does many nights. A fatigue greater than just a listless need for sleep. You have to cut the conversation short, and barely manage to ask Chuck to leave. Unbothered, confident he understands what he sees, Chuck parts with you. You try to hold on to the conversation you’d just had, thinking back on its contents, not realizing its significance to you like a light in the darkness. But you can’t conceive of that darkness right now, as you pull the tome away from the desk with you, and collapse onto the bed with it, in an immovable slumber. Sweet dreams would be apt, if you had them.

You can’t wake yourself when you want to in the morning. You’ve not been able to for years. You wake up when you do, beholden to nothing save for someone attempting to rouse you. Beginning your day somewhere closer to the afternoon than the morning, you spend this entire day poring over your obligation, making better use of your time on this day than you had in procrastinating last night. This occupies your entire day, undisturbed and unbroken. It’s been too long since you had a day like this, where you allowed yourself to be lost in its pages. And it ends all too quickly, as sunset passes to midnight. 

[chaosandcontemplations]

0237:02 2025/02/24

They say the world is small when people meet by coincidence. And with the world being as vast as it is, carrying the weight of centuries, of stories, of everything that has ever been—wouldn’t that be an odd thing to say? A contradiction, almost. But I understand why people say it. I understand the awe in their voices when they utter, what a small world, as if marveling at the improbability of paths crossing, of fates entangling.

Because how else am I supposed to explain this?

When I say the world is small, I don’t mean the planet itself—I mean my world. The bubble I have built around myself, the universe of my own making, where I decide who gets to revolve around me and who I choose to revolve around. And it is small—small enough that you and I have found each other, drawn together in a way that feels both impossible and inevitable.

You, with your gravity, your presence, your quiet pull. Me, with my careful orbit, hesitant yet unable to resist the force of you. And somehow, in all this vastness, we met not with destruction, not with the violent crash that so often follows when two forces come too close—but with something softer. Something almost celestial.

Because when we touched each other's atmosphere, when the space between us grew thin and everyone else held their breath, bracing for the inevitable ruin, we did not break—we revolved. We moved around each other in a delicate balance, like planets in alignment, like twin stars caught in the same gravitational pull, neither one overpowering the other, neither one fading away.

And in a world where goodness is often scraped from the bottom of unwanted barrels, where kindness is rationed like something too precious to share, it is nothing short of a miracle that I have found you. That, in all the vastness, in all the randomness, in all the possibilities of who I could have met and who I could have lost, you exist here, with me, in this tiny, fragile corner of the universe I call my own.

And in my small, little world, you are always welcome.

[beskarhearts]

re: you wanting one shot/blurb ideas: *chanting softly* domestic din, domestic din, domestic-

HOME (DIN DJARIN X READER)

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!reader

Word count: over 1.9K

Warnings: very brief allusion to sexy time (I think that is it but let me know)

Summary: Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

Notes: Just so you know, I completely ignored events of season 2 because I just wanted these 2 to be happy and we all deserve domestic Din. I hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

_____________________________

Home had seemed like such a foreign concept to both you and Din for so long. You were aware of its existence but it may as well had been the Force with how confusing of a thought it was to you two. The galaxy was a hard and tough place, one that seemed like you had to fight to get through each day. Din certainly had been handed the short end of the stick as well, having gone through more struggles and travesties than you could count on one hand. In a world that was so brutal and could sometimes be so cruel, how the hell were you to find a home in the midst of it?

But then for some reason, the universe aligned and you had met Din on a fateful day that changed the rest of the course of your life. It took awhile because of the walls you both had up and the lack of trust you had in humanity, but eventually you came to realize something. Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

So for years you were content with Din, even if that meant living in the Crest with Grogu and traveling from place to place. You had him by your side and that was enough for you - enough for the rest of your life. You wouldn’t mind hopping from planet to planet as long as at the end of the day you could slip into a cot with Din, no matter how tiny or uncomfortable it may had been. And Din the same. Sure the Crest had been a sort of home to him considering how long he had it but it had never felt quite as bright until you were in it. Never had Din felt so settled and content until he felt the warm brush of your fingers against his hair and felt the wave you seemed to mold into his touch, like you were becoming one person. That was also when Din realized home could be a person.

That still didn’t stop you two from hoping though. You couldn’t bare to say it during the day but at night, when you two whispered sweet nothings to each other, you would also make grand plans of a home. Talk about how one day you two would settle down on a sparsely populated planet somewhere with Grogu. Find a small little house and take care of each other for the rest of your days until you were old. Maybe have a couple kids to fill the empty rooms with noise and happiness. You would talk of having a kitchen where you could make meals and teach Din how to cook, both of you eating something other than ration packs or broth on a daily basis. Find a place with some land so Din could step outside without his helmet with no fear and breath in some fresh air, while the child you had both come to love roamed around the tall grass. Din would speak of a bed - a proper bed - where you both could spread out as wide as you wanted (even though you both knew each night would end with you in each other’s arms, trying to get as close as heavenly possible). A place that could properly be decorated for holidays and special occasions, maybe even a big tree for a Life Day.

But all of those had seemed like simple dreams best to be spoken of in the warm confines of each other’s arms. Because things like that didn’t happen for people like you two.

Until they somehow did. Until somehow everything fell in line and you realized it was no longer a dream, but close enough to touch and grasp if you really wanted it. And hell, you both wanted it so badly. So when Din landed the Crest on a planet with warm air and fresh grass and flowers, he knew you would love it. It was meant to just be another pit stop until Din found an abandoned little house in the middle of this field and suddenly he realized everything he wanted was right in front of him. He could let you and the child settle down. You and him could relax and finally make the family you had discussed. It was sitting there right in front of him, like all the beautiful magical intricacies of the galaxy came together to form this perfect little sanctuary for you both.

Din had been so excited to show you that he quite literally ran to you, dragging you and the child with him in the most chipper mood you had ever seen the man. You had playfully teased him for his childlike behavior until your eyes landed on the small house and your heart melted. The look you have Din was not one you needed to explain because he had the same exact one. No words were spoken, no confirmation of what he wanted that place to be for you. You both knew and all you had to do was grab Din’s hand and walk him into the home for him to instantly decide to retire from his life and spend the rest of his days with you on a planet whose name he could barely remember.

The place had not been in the greatest shape. It was old and had clearly been abandoned for long enough that the place fell into a little disarray. But you and Din had certainly faced much worse so you didn’t allow it to scare you away. Instead Din worked on building furniture and fixing holes in the wall, a big smile on his face the whole time because he was constantly being hit with the realization of ‘this is what normal people do’. You had painted the walls with flowers like you could see outside the windows, filling it with more color than Din had ever seen in his life. And once the home was finally finished, equip with a functioning kitchen and the largest bed you had laid your eyes on, you and Din got married.

You could of traveled into the closest town and maybe found someone to officiate it for you, but that felt so conventional and unnecessary. You didn’t need another person to declare your love for each other and make it official. You had only ever needed each other so you both had as traditional of a Mandalorian wedding as you could, a bit difficult due to it being only you two and the very dapper flower boy that had been Grogu (who had managed to eat all the flowers and not throw a single one). Din wore his armor and you wore a small white dress you had made from a set of curtains but you both swore it was the most beautiful the other one had ever looked.

Shortly after you had gotten married, Din had begun to not-so-subtly, in fact very obviously, started dropping hints about kids. There would be times you were sitting on the couch and Din would look around before saying something like, "This house is a little big for just the three of us, don't you think?" Just the other day, Din had gone into the closest town for some supplies and came back not only with food and stuff you needed, but with a plethora of baby clothes that he all claimed were for Grogu (even though they were all obviously way too small for him).

You knew what Din was doing because it was the clearest thing in the world and you were on board. But watching Din drop the most obvious hints and slowly become more flustered the longer you pretended to be oblivious was hilarious to you. But eventually a dam broke and Din just grabbed you and marched towards the bedroom, very loudly stating that it was time to make some babies ASAP to which you responded with a fit of giggles.

And that led you to where you were now. Stood in the middle of your kitchen in your home, looking out the window where you admired the way the sun illuminated the flowers and trees. A warm cup of caf was clutched between your hands, the wonderful scent filling your nostrils as you held it close to your mouth. The home was silent, the child still asleep in his room and you had left Din to sleep in the bed while you snuck out.

The moment you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you into a broad expanse of warmth, you let out a small content hum. Din's head nuzzled into your neck, his ruffled hair tickling your chin. "Mornin', cyar'ika." Din grumbled, his voice still laced with a type of sleep-drunk tone you adored. His voice in the morning was always your favorite - it seemed to amplify the gruffness and deepness his voice he usually had.

"Morning." you whispered back, feeling your heart flutter when a light kiss was pressed into your neck before he pulled away, grabbing a mug a caf for himself.

You admired his figure, eyes raking up and down in pure adoration. His hair was ruffled and messy from sleep, going in every which way. His eyes were still a little droopy and his whole body still sagged a little. He was wearing a shirt you had given him months ago, one that you were certain he found ridiculously ugly yet he claimed was his favorite because you chose it for him specifically. "Why are you up so early?"

"Wanted to watch the sunrise." you responded, your smile growing as he padded back over to you and planted a kiss on your forehead.

"You look beautiful."

You snorted, giving him a small lopsided smile. "I haven't even brushed my hair yet or washed my face. I am still crusty."

Din smiled, looking down at you with the warm brown eyes you had learned to love. "Well your crust is very sexy."

You threw your head back in laughter that time, shaking your head as he joined in with a slight chuckle. "Din, you are a horrible liar."

"I'm not lying. I love the morning crust. It's cute." he responded back, no hint of sarcasm in his voice but a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Shut up." you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Y'know, it is actually so sexy that we should probably-"

Din was cut off when the sound of cries began to fill the house, the noise coming straight from Grogu's room. You chuckled when an exasperated expression grew on his face and he placed his cup in your hand. "What were you saying, handsome?"

Din rolled his eyes as your sarcastic remark but you could still see the small quirk on the corner of his lip. "I'll go get him."

"You sure?" you asked.

"Yeah." Din mumbled, heading towards the door to Grogu's room slowly. He turned back to you once last time before opening the door. "Cyar'ika?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

You softly smiled. "I love you too."

Din smiled before opening the door to Grogu's room, slipping inside. Within a couple minutes, the crying died down and was replaced with soft cooing that filled your heart with warmth, accompanied by the sound of Din's soft voice as he spoke to the child. You placed the cups of caf on the counter and then made your way towards the room, thinking how this is exactly what home was supposed to feel like.

[clefairymuke]

regrets | chapter sixteen

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 1912

"You act like a child."

Levi's voice, though calm, rang a striking forte in the hushed atmosphere of his office. You were used to him raising his voice at you, of course, but this felt different. His repertoire of angry lectures with you were previously livened with notes of discipline and superiority; his tone, now, could only be described as personal.

Your blood ran cold as if the ice dripping from his voice had infected your veins. This is what I wanted, you reminded yourself, trying to make sense somewhere in the emotions of the man in front of you. "I act like a child?" you scoffed in an attempt to save face. You were unsure of what audience you were putting on for -- he saw right through you, and you knew it. You remembered your gleeful grin as you changed clothes before coming, how you practically celebrated with Jean when Levi was out of earshot. It was childish, but you were comfortable with that. It felt justified.

The scene in front of you was less than romantic: Levi stood to face you in front of his desk, his eyes narrowed to a glare. His face was less void of feeling than it typically was; his lips were drawn into a scowl and his brows dipped towards the corners of his slate eyes. There was no tea set, no papers strewn about, and no thing out of place. It was simply you, a spotless room, and an insufferably furious man a couple of yards away.

Your hands were balled into fists at your sides. You were angry in part because he had you figured out -- his first words to you upon your arrival were accusatory. He knew just as well as you did that you and Jean were playing a silly game. You both knew it was designed to get under his skin. This didn't make him any less pissed off, of course, and likely only fueled his fire further.

"Yes, you do," he asserted. His glare was unending and unforgiving, boring into you like knives as you put forth your best effort not to cower. "Children play fucking pretend."

"What makes you think it was pretend?" you questioned him, insulted by his critique of your acting skills. For the pain it required, you thought, you deserved a bit of recognition.

"Are you insinuating that you're actually in some kind of relationship with Kirstein?" he inquired, knuckles growing white as he dug his nails into his palms.

You considered your answer carefully -- admitting guilt too early may not lead to the most peaceful conversation; on the other hand, neither would keeping the lie going. Avoiding the question altogether seemed to be the most logical choice. "What does it matter to you anyway?" you asked him, trying to deflect. Regardless of your intentions, you were curious to hear his answer. If he truly didn't care about you as you did about him, he would have no opinion about what you did and didn't do with Jean -- or any other guy, for that matter.

"You know exactly why it matters to me," he hissed, his glare breaking momentarily to show the most minuscule bit of softness. It took no time to return to his hard, unforgiving stare.

You groaned, close to losing your cool. "I actually have no fucking clue why it would matter to you, Levi. I don't understand anything about how you feel," you told him, honestly yet harshly. Your breathing began to balloon your chest as you drew short, shallow breaths; the physical reaction behind your fury was conspicuous and annoying. "You haven't spoken to me outside of scolding since I was in the infirmary; even the last few days there, you gave me the cold shoulder without any explanation. How the hell am I supposed to know how you feel?"

You watched him sigh, removing his nails from his palms so that he could rest his face in his hands, his eyes hiding behind his fingers as considered your words. "You aren't --" he started, breaking off midway. There was a strange tone to his voice now, more understanding, more sad, yet still angry. It was like satin laid over barbed wire. "You aren't even supposed to be considering how I feel. You can't think of me that way."

Fury bellowed within you like a match on the floor of a rickety wooden house; it overtook you as the fire would, enveloping you completely and without remorse. Your mind raced with disbelief  -- how were you to keep from thinking of him that way? He opened that door wide with his stupid, comforting teatime chats and tiny smiles, with tender touches and lingering caresses long past the hours that would be considered appropriate for him to be alone with you.

It took longer than you would have liked for the words to travel from your brain to your tongue. Now you were the one raising your voice. "You made me think of you that way! You're fucking impossible, Levi, do you know that? How can you pretend that there's nothing between you and me?"

"Because there is nothing between you and me. You have a stupid schoolgirl crush, and I'm trying to get these dumbass ideas out of your head," he argued, face twisting yet again. His words pressed tight against your heart, pain oozing through the rigid wall your anger had built by hand. Still, you refused to let it fall.

"Then why do you care so much about me putting on a show for you with Jean today? Why was it so important that I had to be called to your office like you're going to make me clean the dorms over it? Your words don't align one bit with your actions, but I'm the crazy one." Your hands shook at your sides as you yelled at him; you didn't care if Erwin, Hange, or every scout you knew heard you. You were sick of the embarrassment he brought you. For every second you've been happy with him, there was an equal and opposite force of mortification. You would yell at him until your voice couldn't handle it any longer -- anything to get your point across.

Seeing Levi so full of emotion was rare. If you weren't so overtaken by rage you might have saved a moment to appreciate it. His typical straight-set lips hung open as you watched all the  things he wanted to say pass over his tongue. His eyes were dancing with anger, sadness, passion, yearning, annoyance, confusion -- all at once, one after the other like a montage of color. Your anger blinded you. You had a million and one harsh replies to a million harsh things you thought he could say, but you had no answer to what finally came out of his mouth when all of the emotion in his eyes settled within him.

"I knew you were doing it to bother me," he began, his tone gentler than it was before. "And the worst part was that it did. I couldn't stand to see someone touch you that way, even if it was all for show."

You hadn't expected that. The anger in you hadn't died, but the breath you took after hearing that was the most satisfying one you'd ever had, as if you were in atop a mountain breathing the cool oxygen for the first time. You studied him closely, meeting his soft eyes with the most understanding gaze you could muster. "Why couldn't you stand it?" you coaxed him, waiting to hear the words.

He let go an irritated sigh. "God damn it," he grumbled. He took a long step toward you, leaving only a few feet of distance now. "I --" he shook his head, "I can't do this with you."

You rolled your eyes with ever ounce of energy in your body. He came even closer, but you weren't paying attention. "Of course you can't. You get so close to finally just admitting the truth, and then you hide from it because it's impossible to admit that you have feelings for me." You were yelling again, despite how he was closing in on you. You hoped you were giving him a headache as he inched closer.

"It's inappropriate for you to even think that that's a possibility," he shouted back.

As he stood only a foot away and your words exchanged grew ever louder, you wondered where the crescendo would end. One of you would have to quiet down eventually -- and you would be damned before backing down. "I don't know why you think I give a shit about what's appropriate, Levi!"

"I know you don't give a shit. It's pretty fucking obvious."

"Then why are we even talking about this? Why didn't you just keep ignoring me?"

"Because I couldn't. I--" he broke off again, his eyes darting around to read your face. "I just -- You know what? Fuck it." Before you could process it, he took another step forward. His hand launched to the back of your head, the feeling of his fingertips somehow still gentle despite his rough movements as he pulled you towards him.

His lips crashed onto yours with a reckless abandon.

Your hands came to his chest to push him away, but once realization set in, you left them to rest there. His fingers began to tangle themselves in your hair as his inhibitions disappeared, every muscle losing its tension and every thought fading to static. What he lacked in the argument became clear in how he enveloped you; the screaming match seemed to continue into the way your lips battled, still ever-building.

Your hands left his chest to loop round his neck, one of them wandering off to grip his hair similar to the hold he had on you. His arm snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him, every curve in your body neutralized by a curve in his until it was difficult to tell where you ended and he began.

The time-slowing force that visited with absolute ecstasy had paid you mind, permitting you to relish in every movement. The kiss was deepening and deepening and deepening, leaving you to wonder what was left to explore, and yet still keeping you captivated with every second. In this moment, every doubt or worry was solved, and you would be content to never experience anything else; to stay clutched tightly in Levi's arms seemed like a well-enough fate to spend all of eternity. Despite your pleas to whatever controlled the universe to leave you just where you were forever, it had to end. The sight you saw when he pulled away was almost as satisfying as the kiss itself: Levi, eyes wide and almost frenzied, lips red and the tiniest bit swollen. When he pulled away, he did nothing to alter the position of your bodies, still pressed as tightly together as humanly possible, unsure of how to separate and not wanting to find out, either. He gazed into your eyes for only a second, light pants filling the space between you as you searched each other's faces for answers to questions you were unsure of. You brought your hand from the back of his head to rest on his cheek, tilting your head just slightly as if to get a better look.

Without exchanging words, the two of you had finally come to an agreement. You closed your eyes as his lips attacked yours once again.

[loki-hargreeves]

Klaus Hargreeves x You - Morning After

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, the tiniest hint of angst if you squint, but mainly fluff, making coffee (sorry if you hate it irl) Pairing: Klaus x You (The gender of the reader is not specified) Word Count: 2,1K Summary: Waking up early with Klaus and deciding to stay in bed all day instead of doing anything else. Prompt: is that my shirt? / You mean our shirt? Author’s Note: writing fluff is hard and scary. I tried to publish this for Valentines day but I’m bad with deadlines. I hope you like it though! :)

Your POV

The first thing you noticed as you slowly came to your senses was the warmth of someone’s body pressed so close to yours. A smile spread on your sleepy face when you remembered the previous night. Klaus was still right next to you and it made your heart flutter with pure joy and love. 

It was still too early to get up, you decided without even looking at the clock. It was the weekend, and if it were up to you, you’d spend it all in his arms. Softly, you turned around on the bed, making sure to hold onto the blanket so your naked body wouldn’t get exposed to the cool air. The sheets and pillows smelled so much of him, which you didn’t mind. Klaus was someone you could get lost in anytime. He was irresistible. 

Through narrowed eyes, you looked at Klaus, who was still asleep. His long eyelashes were touching his soft cheeks and his hair was messy, yet adorable. He looked so peaceful in his sleep.

Being unable to resist yourself, you traced your fingers up and down his arm where you had touched him last night as well. Long story short, your hands had been all over each other. It had been pure bliss. There were a few faint love bites and scratches on his skin and without a doubt on yours as well. Your mind already played with the idea of kissing him all over once he’d wake up. Or perhaps you could wake him up with a few affectionate pecks? It was definitely a tempting idea.

After a while, Klaus began to wake up too. He felt the lingering gaze on his skin and slowly he opened his eyes, not wanting the rising sun to blind him. As he saw your eyes meeting his, he smiled sheepishly. 

“Staring is rude y’know,” He murmured tiredly, his voice sounding slightly deeper and raspier than it usually did. 

“I’m not staring at you,” You defended yourself with a small laugh, “I couldn’t look away. You’re kind of precious like that.”

Klaus couldn’t deny that waking up to such sweet words was nice. A little stroke on the ego here and there was good for anyone. 

“Hmm,” He blinked a few times, trying to fight the weariness, “good morning to you too.”

“Tired?” You wondered although it was obvious. The way neither of you could keep your eyes open for more than two seconds said it all. 

“Mm-hmm, we stayed up quite late,” Klaus remembered as he ran his hands over your sides, then your back as he pulled you closer to him needily. His touch was so gentle and caring that it sent shivers down your spine. 

“How about,” you paused for a moment as you played with his small curls, “-we go back to sleep?” 

“I would love that,” Klaus admitted right before a yawn escaped his lips. 

As if it was second nature, you snuggled against him like you had done many times before. The feeling of being close to him never grew old. He shut his eyes once more and it didn’t take long for him to return to his slumber, not when he was with you. Just like that, you fell asleep again in each other’s arms. You were lulled to sleep by his deep breaths and heartbeat. You were safe and sound in bed where nothing could’ve possibly disturbed you. 

         Klaus was beginning to wake up ever so slowly. He wanted to sleep for just a little longer, but the sunlight wasn’t going to let him. It crept in softly from behind the curtains that were flowing gently because the window was open. It hadn’t been open before, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it now. 

He took a few deep breaths before opening his eyes, only to see that he was all alone. It was weird because he had fallen asleep with you. How much time had passed since he last woke up? Ten minutes? Several hours? He had no clue.

Tiredly, he sat up just enough so he could look around your bedroom. It was a little bit past ten in the morning, which felt way too early to be up. When Klaus heard noises coming from the kitchen, he was relieved. 

Despite how much he was tempted to stay under the warm sheets, he forced himself out of bed. After all, he just wanted to see you and hold you just a little longer. The night before had ended far too soon. 

Klaus didn’t find his shirt anywhere on the floor. Had he left it in the living room? He wasn’t too sure when or where he had taken it off. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him without it before. Just like that, he waltzed into the kitchen with a small smile on his face. The moment he saw you, it grew much wider and brighter.

“Is that my shirt?” Klaus noticed his shirt which was the only thing you were wearing. The lazily buttoned button-up didn’t leave much to the imagination. The sight of you in his clothes was adorable. You still had a sleepy look on your face because you hadn’t been awake too long either.

“You mean our shirt?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Our shirt,” Klaus repeated your words and made his way to you, “if you say so, Y/N. You look cute in it.” He snaked his arms around your body and pulled you close. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as he hugged you from behind, allowing you to continue making coffee without being too distracted. His touch was so affectionate. It made you happy.

The radio was on and music was filling up the silence. The song that was playing was Unchained Melody, which was almost too cheesy for the soft moment you were sharing. Almost. 

It reminded you of the time you and Klaus had watched the movie Ghost. It had been a lot of fun, and Klaus definitely had a lot of strong opinions about the movie and what or what not ghosts could do.

Klaus started swaying to the song and you did so too. You finished the steps it took to make coffee and now all you had to do was wait. You turned around in his arms so you could hug him back, which felt so relaxing. It felt like all the stars aligned when Klaus was by your side. Everything was so good. Despite the challenges life brought your way, you always made it at the end together. 

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed,” You told him after a while. 

“You should’ve been quieter,” Klaus teased you, which made you fake gasp. 

“Klaus!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just messing with you,” He pressed a kiss on your forehead. “We can still have breakfast in bed.”

“That would be nice,” You enjoyed the sound of that. Just the two of you and some coffee and toast. It was the weekend so you had nowhere to be. The two of you could spend all day in bed if that was what your hearts desired. Knowing Klaus, it wouldn’t be a challenge to come up with things to do either. He was rather creative in his own way, which you adored about him. 

Your arms wrapped around his waist and you held onto him a little together as you wished to savor the moment. Lately, things had been so hectic in your lives. A lot had happened and it felt like moments such as these were rare. His father had just passed away, but they had never been close. You couldn’t help but wonder if it affected him more than he let you know. 

“What are you thinking about?” Klaus noticed that you were getting lost in your thoughts. 

“Nothing important,” You didn’t want to think at all at that moment, honestly. A smile decorated your face and it convinced Klaus for now. You were happy. Nothing else mattered.

“Actually, I think toast is quite important,” You changed your mind. “Does that sound good to you?” 

“I would never complain about good old toast,” Klaus stated seriously. 

“Glad to know we’re on the same page here,” You were happy to hear that. 

Before you could even think about doing anything, Klaus cupped your face and looked deep into your eyes. He had a very piercing gaze. It felt like he could reach your soul without even trying, but you didn’t mind it at all. He simply took your breath away and turned your legs into jelly. You didn’t fight it, but you wondered what he was up to. 

“You know that I love you, right?” Klaus suddenly confessed to you, which was so unexpected. Just a moment ago he seemed like he was still half asleep, but now he was telling you those three little words so sincerely - like the fate of the world depended on it. The change was so sudden but you didn’t mind it. Hearing those three words was like music to your ears. 

“I love you too,” You answered without a doubt. The two of you had known each other for so long and usually, you let each other know your love through actions. Hearing it out loud was so special each and every time.

“Is everything alright?” You asked him cautiously. 

He nodded quickly and tried to relax his shoulders, “Yeah. I just needed to let you know.”

“I’m here for you if you want to talk about anything,” You reminded Klaus.

“I know,” Klaus seemed content with that. As if to make the moment less serious, and more cheesy, he grabbed your hand delicately. Without breaking eye contact with you, he brought your hand to his lips and he kissed you. After all the years you had spent together, he still made your cheeks heat up somehow. 

“What are you doing?” You wondered but made no effort to stop his amorous actions.

Klaus kissed a trail up your arm until he reached your neck and he paused, “Do I need a reason to kiss you?” 

“Not really, no.”

You decided to grab his jaw ever so softly so you could face each other properly. Something told you that there was something Klaus was hiding, something that was on his mind. But you also knew that there was no use in trying to figure that out until he was ready to talk about it. Perhaps he was still in shock over the fact that his brother who had been missing was back in their lives? It was surreal, even for you and you hadn’t even known Five before. 

Klaus spoke before you could, “I’m pretty sure we agreed on making toast.” It seemed like he wanted to get lost in the moment for now. You were right there by his side and you would be there when and if he wanted to talk about anything else. You’d be all ears even if he wanted to tell you about the most wicked of his stories. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” You wondered, already eager to finish making breakfast so you could waste the rest of the day in bed. If not all day, then certainly the next few hours. 

“Let me help you. I can’t possibly mess up making toast,” Klaus said once you parted from your embrace in order to get things done.

“Don’t jinx it,” You warned him. 

Klaus grabbed a couple of slices of bread and stuffed them in the toaster. “Worst case scenario, the toaster sets on fire and technically we would still have toast.”

You rolled your eyes and failed to hold back a smile.

“I mean you’re not wrong,” it was hard to argue against his logic. 

Klaus pressed the button and watched the bread disappear into the slots, “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Oh you better not set my toaster on fire!” You warned him playfully, because you knew the odds of it setting on fire were slim. Harmless banter with him was always nice. It certainly made mornings much better than they usually were. 

Klaus leaned against the counter as he waited for the bread and he gave you a curious look, “what are you going to do if I happen to set it on fire?” 

You recognized the tone in his voice with ease. The little gleam in his eyes said more than words. He was certainly awake by now. 

“Do you really want to find out?” You grabbed all that you needed from the fridge and closed the door with your hip, then placing all the ingredients on the table, never taking your eyes off of him. 

Klaus seemed positively intrigued by your answer, “Oh, I do.”

A/N: I realized after writing this that I could’ve just made this into a headcanon post. Oh well. I hope you liked it! If you did, I would love to hear your feedback 🥺

Forever Taglist:  @iraniq  @embrycallsgirl  @blackroseyaz @badass-psycho  @r-alexandra01 @p3aches13  @your-pixels-are-showing @disasterren @iamsuperjenna  @yuna-belikova @ornella0910 @optimisticpeacecollector5 @thehumanistsdiary @your-pixels-are-showing @klanceiscannon14

[forcebewitht]

✴Twisted Wonderland Theory: Overblots and their Disney Villain Opposites✴

I came to a realization just before I went to sleep last night. All of the people who Overblot are the direct opposites of those whose "souls" they supposedly have.

Although Riddle is like the Queen of Hearts and follows rules very strictly, it is not him who originally made them. He also does not truly seem to wish to do such things, but that is all he knows. So, that seems like it is all he can do.

Leona has the vast intelligence and power of Scar in spades. But unlike Leona, Scar was always consistently moving forward within his goal. He was always seen lurking about somewhere or planting little seeds of doubt in Simba there. He just kept on moving. The only time he actually stopped to "loaf around" a bit was when he won. Leona doesn't have any hope too much in terms of ever winning anything, so he just doesnt even try to apply himself.

Azul has the stage presence of Ursula, alright. But you would never see Ursula get that emotional or anything at all, would you? Especially not basically reveal her plan and what all she had done that quickly. Ursula was secluded because she was banished by Triton for unknown reasons (although widely assumed to be racially based). Azul was secluded both due to his rather shy nature as a child and because of how he looked.

It is unknown how Jafar came to be the royal vizier in the first place, although it was possibly as a long placed cover to ensure that he got his hands on the magic lamp. Jamil, however, was practically forced into his own position by his family being "slaves" and whatnot. Jafar was rather outright in what he wished, but the plans came from his sidekick, Iago. Jamil had no loveable parrot sidekick, so he came up with everything himself. Jafar's plan seemed to take only a matter of days, Jamil's intense planning most likely took years.

The Evil Queen has been known for her cruelty in the kingdom- as it is often told and retold that she actually poisoned and murdered her second husband- Snow White's father- just to become the queen of the lands. She sought to be the most beautiful by any means necessary and had little to no qualms about her actions. Vil, however, is- you guessed it! The opposite. Vil believes that through nothing but hard work and determination that you can be the best you can be/beautiful- otherwise, he would have most likely searched for a Siren-esque spell to make himself the most beautiful. Vil immediately began to realize just what he had done and retreated within himself, overloading his brain with that negative energy needed for the Overblot. The Evil Queen would have simply cursed the little ragtag group from the get go.

So, my current standing theory, taking all of this into account, is this for both Idia and Malleus:

Hades was fueled by his desire to move up and be the lone God running the show, since he worked the hardest amongst any of the others. He plotted and schemed for years and years until the planets were in alignment for his "shot" with the help of the Fates. Hades, in the end, didn't really care about Megara- the "Haha she sexy" girl that we all know and love today. She was the ends to meet the means in a way, and he probably would have either just let her go because he didn't care anymore or just put her back down in the Underworld. I believe Idia will be the opposite. He will try to move up to the pinnacle of the Olympus company with his truly stunning inventions and wow everybody thanks to encouragement from both Ortho and most likely our ragtag 1st year group. But Idia's own love and compassion for his brother will be what causes him to flip out, Overblot, and eventually put a halt to his plans.

Little to nothing was known about Maleficent within the original film- that is certain. But I have been paying attention, and I am seeing some mixed elements from both the Maleficent in the "original" Sleeping Beauty and the Maleficent from her standalone film- Maleficent. While I am not as confident about this as I am with Idia, this seems to be where my brain is leading me. The second Magift tournament shall be held with the Diasomnia arc- not the Ignihyde arc like everybody is assuming, for some reason. Why, you ask? Because the basis for over half of the plot for Chapter 2 was that the Diasomnia Dorm was the best and greatest in Night Raven College at Magift. This is literally going to be the biggest event of the year, as they are going against Royal Sword Academy again. I am suspecting that something will occur with Grim's now "normal" behavior seemingly growing worse (given that I am assuming that he shall suddenly revert back to 'normal' in the next chapter) and it will worsen. Malleus will somehow not be invited either to the event of the Magift tournament itself- or the after party. Maleficent within the original Sleeping Beauty film had no love. No compassion. She wasn't named the Mistress Of All Evil for no reason. But, as we have seen with Malleus, he is quite the opposite. The MC/Yuu will wind up possibly getting cursed by something by mistake, and the love that he has for "us" will really shine through. With the Mirror Hall most likely already ruined from his sheer outrage, his Overblot will finish and he shall be the one to wake us after we successfully view his backstory. This will already set up the ruined and recently horrendous stage for Grim to snap, take the final Blot stone, and Overblot himself.

((Hey hey, my lovely Readers! I truly hope you all enjoyed that wild ride of a theory of mine! Let me know what you think, and we shall see in due time whether my brain is headed in the right direction or not! 💖🔮

[thedeathdeelers]

Okay just because I fucking love your writing unmm something about Julie maybe reflecting on how Luke was brought to her, by the universe or her mom etc, and just fucking soulmate fluff. I loved your religion drabble btw!!

thank you so much!!!🥰

sorry for the delay :$ but i hope you like it!! (ps it turned out to be way longer than i anticipated, so, ya)

pps: you can now find this on my AO3 🤗

——

i think i dreamed you into life

   It was a Julie & Luke writing session, just like any other. They were sat, hunched over their shared journal on the faded black couch, too absorbed by the words and notes scribbled on the pages in front of them to pay any attention to anything else.

   Julie had just had an epiphany, finally finding the right words to lead them into the chorus following the first verse. With a stiff neck and a cramping hand, Julie stretched her arms over her head, sitting up for a second before collapsing back onto the back cushions of the couch. She heaved a large sigh, looking around and only just registering the low setting sun. They had somehow managed to lose track of time, again, spending well over what she assumed was 4 hours working on this one song. She shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she looked back at her writing partner, still fully focused on the journal in his lap.

   They were so alike sometimes, it scared her a little. How could they be so perfect for each other when they were never meant to meet? Cross paths? She often found herself wondering about the way they were brought together, the reasons they were in each others’ lives. But then as soon as her mind wandered towards the mysteries of the universe and its guiding powers, she always ended up spiraling - no matter how she looked at it, Luke and her were somehow meant to be. Fated. Star crossed....whatever.

   Her train of thought would always start off innocently enough - she was part of a ghost band. She could see ghosts (well three particular ghosts, at least) - the only lifer who could without Caleb’s help (as far as Willie could tell). She had never really been one to believe in the supernatural, but she was now so intrinsically involved, that she frequently wondered whether everything about her life wasn’t just a dream. Maybe after years & years of practice, she had managed to hone in her daydreaming skills to a point that allowed her to create a world that sounded a little too much like she was the protagonist in a movie or a show. This couldn’t actually be real life, could it? Her life?

   The couch shifted, Luke reaching over to grab his guitar, testing out a line before placing his guitar back on the ground, and crossing out a whole section. No, she doesn’t think her mind could have ever managed to dream up Luke.

Don’t get her wrong, there were definitely moments where Julie felt just as normal as she used to. She’d forget that the boys were anything other than her lovable, goofy bandmates. Normal teenage boys, messing around and playing music in her mom’s studio. But then she would look up and see bright hazel eyes staring back at her, and she‘d unexpectedly be hit again by the storm of emotions that washed over her the first time she had accidentally walked through Luke. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. She had felt cold, then warm, and then this peculiar feeling of being....whole. Like she had just come home after a long tiring trip. She couldn’t describe it properly even if she tried, but the only thing that came close to summing it up was home.

Julie closed her eyes, trying to recreate the feeling, bringing it back up to the surface.

Her logical side knew soulmates was just a term used to romanticise romance, she knows that, but whenever she remembers that feeling, just like she is now, she wonders whether she had somehow felt his soul in that kitchen - sneaked a peek before latching onto it. These thoughts made it harder to hold onto logic.

Ugh, she was spiralling again. Julie lifted her hands to her face, rubbing furiously at her eyes, trying to dislodge some of the thoughts clouding her mind. She could feel a headache coming on, and that was the last thing she needed right now. She rolled her head back, resting against the old cushions, and looked at the floating chairs on the ceiling.

Her mother. Didn’t her mother always tell her that there was more to the world than meets the eye? That it wasn’t always wise to think only with one’s mind, but to trust your gut, your heart?

It used to be comments like those that led Julie to believe that her mother was more than just her mother. Could Rose have been an angel in disguise all along? Fate, Love, personified? Julie would be lying to herself if she said she had never thought about her mother being the key instigator behind the boys’ presence in her life. She just somehow knew that Rose had handpicked these boys, and sent them to her. Sent Luke to her. She had known that Julie would need divine intervention to pull herself out of her slump, and who better to do that than the one person, the one soul in the universe that perfectly aligned with hers?

Julie rolled her head to the side once more, staring at Luke’s profile, his brows drawn, deep in thought. If he hadn’t died all those years ago, if he hadn’t eaten that unfortunate hotdog, this never would have been possible - they never would have met. Julie shuddered at the thought, her heart and soul aching in protest.

A connection of heart, mind and soul, her mother had told her. “They really do exist, mija” she‘d say, but Julie would only smile and nod, never truly believing that soulmates were real, that they were part of the universe’s grand design. But now-

Oh. Soulmates.

“Did you say something?”

Startled, Julie blinked herself out of her daze, realising too late that she was thinking out loud.

“N- no, no, nothing. Just uh- just thinking of the next verse, you know,” she chuckled awkwardly, avoiding Luke as she tried not to fidget. “Always working!” She pointed to her temple, immediately regretting the movement, cringing at her awful attempt at a cover up.

She could feel Luke’s unwavering gaze, focused on her as he sat up, pushing the journal onto the seat next to him. He shifted, turning towards her, even as she continued to face forward. Her cheeks were definitely getting warmer. Not good.

“Did you-” she saw him tilt his head to the side from the corner of her eye, “did you just say Soulmates?”

A lie was on the tip of her tongue, ready to burst, but as she reflexively slid her eyes to meet his, the words died out before they could be vocalised.

He was looking at her with a peculiar look in his eyes, a slightly awed expression etched on his face.

“I- I was just thinking...” She stuttered, unable to take her eyes off of Luke’s, even as her fingers fiddled with the loose threads of her jumper.

“About?”

“You know,” she lifted her hands, gesturing at the space around them, trying to be as vague as possible. “Life.”

Eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his orange beanie.

“Life? Really?”

“Yes. Life. Just..you know, how things change. Like the way you grow up thinking one thing but then something happens and it completely changes the way you see the world around you, the way your beliefs...shift.” She shrugged, trying and failing to seem nonchalant.

“Hm, deep thoughts for a Saturday afternoon.” He studied her for a second, before cocking his head to the side. “Any reason this led to the conclusion of Soulmates?”

Julie shifted uncomfortably, trying hard not to look away even as she felt her cheeks somehow growing even warmer.

“I...I was just thinking about my mom. And things she used to talk about and believe in with a certainty that always...confused me I guess. How could she believe in something so easily, when she couldn’t even see it? Feel it?” Julie diverted her gaze, choosing to look at her mom’s piano instead. Her voice took on a quieter tone, almost reflective as she continued with her new train of thought. “What if she wanted me to believe again? What if she had somehow found a way to not only get music back into my life, but to believe in love and fate and-“ Julie stopped short, her eyes darting back to Luke - his face was now frozen, showing her nothing of what he might be feeling.

Julie suddenly felt very silly.

“Never mind,” she laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off as just silly musings. “My mind was just wandering, but now I’m back and maybe we should just get back to that second verse...” Her voice trailed off, Luke’s face still giving nothing away.

Crap. She just made it weird - this is what she gets for letting her mind go down the rabbit hole that is the universe and its misguided mysteries. Way to go, Julie.

   Just as she was about to jump up and flee to her bedroom, hoping that maybe her floor would do her the courtesy of swallowing her up, Julie felt the couch dip further down to her right, Luke’s knee pressing up against her thigh. Resisting the urge to look at him, her eyes flickered to her fingers, to their journal and then back to her mom’s piano.

   “You know,” Luke spoke up, voice soft, almost a whisper, “I never gave fate much thought back when I was alive. I always figured a person forged their own fate by believing hard enough in what they wanted and then working even harder to get there.” He reached over, grabbing hold of her right hand, ceasing the fidgeting motions of her fingers. “Even when it came to my soul, I only ever considered it when thinking about music and the power it had over me and my life. If music was so important, wouldn’t it mean my soul was constantly connected to it? My instrument, an intrinsic part of who I am?”

   He went quiet for a few seconds, prompting Julie to turn her head back towards him, as his calloused thumb started rubbing gently against her knuckles. His gaze, which had been glued to her face the entire time, was now locked on their hands.

“So I always figured I was “fated”, I guess you could say, to follow that connection I had with music, and just see where that took me.” His fingers were now tracing little circles on the back of her hand. “But then we died, and became ghosts, and it changed the way I think about things, but at the same, my core beliefs remained the same. I’m still not sure about fate, and the role it plays in how things are dictated in my life, but I know that music is still such a major part of me. Because, I mean, if that wasn’t the case, how could you have possibly pulled me back from the dead and down to earth by playing our song? How could you, a lifer 25 years after I died, have been the one to pull me back, and make me feel alive again?” He shook his head before he continued. “And every time I ask myself these questions I just come back to the same conclusion,” he stops for a second, lifting his eyes back up to hers. “You embody music to me. You, Julie, have always been what my soul was connected to - not my guitar, not just music in general - but you, my own personal musical goddess.” His lips tilted up at the corners at his last words, his eyes boring into hers.

   “So yeah, I know what you mean about not necessarily wanting to believe in something unless you can see it or feel it. But at this stage, how could I not believe in soulmates when you’re right here, somehow a part of my life, 25 years after I’ve died?” He shook his head again, his smile getting a little sad. “We technically never should have met, would have never crossed paths, but fate....fate had other plans for us I guess. Our souls just couldn’t bare being separated, and the universe just....found a way to rectify that.” 

   Julie could do nothing but stare at the beautiful boy in front of her, her mind trying to process the prose he just recited to her. Almost as if by reflex, Julie slowly lifted her hands up, cupping his face and held onto him like he was the most precious thing in the entire world - because he was.

Luke mirrored her actions, his eyes soft, as his fingers traced her cheeks, wiping away tears she didn’t even know were there.

And just as she was about to let loose the words that had been rattling around in her mind ever since he had stumbled into her life, Luke beat her to it.

“I think we might be soulmates, Jules.”

FIN

[phthalology]

There is Singing in the prison.

Jesh Thule does not doubt his own abilities. He is a Titan, and he has held many battle lines. But Ikora warned him he might be tempted to talk to the prisoner, to the Warlock whose name has begun to be circulated with the same mix of respect and disgust as Osiris’ was. Or was it that he might be tempted to listen?

She never said anything about singing.

Guard duty makes him restless. There are rumors of terrors worse than the Fallen now, and heroes willing to sell their souls to them. Some people are sympathetic to the Fallen, but that sympathy does not find itself greeted with eager deception. The Fallen raid and attack and do not speak a language that can be understood outside their ranks. The possibility of peace is locked behind walls of grammar and vocabulary, so-far impassible but mundane barriers. The Hive speak directly into the mind, some say, and extend incomprehensible ideas in plain, clawed hands. And this fallen Guardian Jesh is taking a shift to watch wants to turn one reaching Hive into a forest of hands that could grasp the whole Last City. Toland the Shattered did something, told the Hive something, drew them some map, and for that he was brought in while the Vanguard make a final decision what to do with him.

Jesh is bored by his duty but does understand the seriousness of this, and so he turns and looks at the door behind him.

His first surprise: the thready song is not the only tactic Toland is using. The room behind the door of the makeshift cell is on fire. Jesh feels the familiar Solar burn of a Warlock Super on his legs and the bottom of his feet.

There aren’t usually cells in the Tower at all, not like this. Not ones with locks on the outside, not for people. But the Vanguard are meeting to decide this Warlock’s fate, and he’s doing something weird. Something Jesh Thule should do his duty to stop.

So he crosses the narrow hall to the locked door. Fire licks out from beneath it. Warlocks’ Crucible fire Jesh knows, but he thinks he never understood before why it was called Sunsinging. The voice is cracked, not with any discernible youth or age but like trying to speak out of a cut throat. Nevertheless, singing: resonant, humid not like fire at all but like breath too close.

Jesh knocks on the door. “Hey, quiet down. You can sing if you want, but don’t do any … magic stuff. Do you need anything? Snack?”

There is not a window in the cell. It used to be ammunition storage, maybe. Walls thick enough to take an explosion. Jesh almost wishes he could see Toland’s face instead of just imagining the connection between that slippery voice and the fire still blackening the bottom of the door.

“This will be the sound and the fire of our destruction,” Toland says. “Or half of it. Or twice it. Whatever way the life song and the death are tangled together … I still must know. I still have time.” The voice becomes wheedling, regretful.

Jesh becomes bored. “I said stop doing it. Vanguard will be back any minute.”

He turns away.

Toland keeps talking. Jesh suspects this is one of his primary traits, and tunes the words out.

And yet they go on, and there is something of the fire in them; something bright and twisting. You’ve seen the green needles in the skin of the Earth. The seed ships, which are also life and death at once. Tombs filled with nurseries. Leaves sprouting from bone… to discern life from death like notes on a scale, to notate eons of crumbling survival or a day of rotting youth, to take hold of time …

Jesh turns back toward the door. Shakes his head to clear it. “I know what you’re doing. It won’t work. You can’t sing me into a lull, or whatever it is you do. I’m too smart for it.”

Warlocks, he knows, don’t have a monopoly on that. He can feel the temptation to engage with the words, to even bother to follow them, and resists. There are more important things to concern himself with right now. The Hive are on humanity’s doorstep, and they are more numerous and strange than even an Awoken Guardian, awash in magic after magic, can comprehend. But they won’t defeat the Guardians. Jesh is going to live a long life and keep getting pastries at the same bakery until the sun runs out.

Or will he?

Toland mutters: … All questions fade away in response to the last question, that which is also the final shape … do we lose? Are we erased?

The words float up to Jesh as if out of a dream. Sensations flash through him: the Hive are coming here. They are attacking en masse now. They …

Toland is speaking out loud instead of singing or beaming directly into Jesh’s head now, the Titan thinks but is not sure. “The Hive already outlasted us. Their species is older than ours. Were we to align the beginning of humanity to their beginning, we would have a glorious future ahead of us.”

Jesh Thule’s mind is being rearranged. Maybe this is worth talking about. “They aren’t right just because they’ve won,” he manages. “Won some measure of numbers, I mean. They haven’t won the war.”

“They still drop seed ships. They still sing to us from the moon. Look up at our scarred satellite. Can’t you see them?”

He almost can. The idea of them, the song of them, winds around Jesh’s ear. A backing chorus rises up behind it, a thousand screaming voices (or three, maybe, three voices that he strains to hear because despite their grating and alien tone they are somehow like him …) and their echoes bouncing off the rippled walls of a cave.

Ikora’s footfalls rang on the floor.

Jesh blinks. He is standing much closer to the door than he had thought, his helmeted face tilted up toward where he imagined the Moon might be. Turning around, he sees Ikora as if she suddenly appeared in color when his world had been black and white before.

She inclines her chin at the door. A few tendrils of flame smolder beneath it again. “Don’t talk to him. It’s dangerous.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That the Hive are still sending advance forces onto Earth, despite the Lunar Interdict.”

“The interdict holds, as well as it ever did,” Ikora says.

Toland laughs behind the door. Now he does just sound old, as if his voice is finally growing tired. It gives Jesh energy to try to get back some of his lost dignity.

“No more,” Jesh says. “You’ve lied to us —“

“Is it a lie if it rhymes?” says Toland.

“Stop with that Warlock crap,” says Ikora Rey, and steps toward the door. Jesh realizes with shock that he had begun to imagine an invisible line on the ground in front of the door, right at the edge of the tip of the longest flame, and that if he stepped over it the smallest bit he would be burned to ash in one long second, a melody in his ear all the while. He had been trying to cross that line, and could not.

Ikora steps over it effortlessly.

Toland shuts up.

The enormity of this situation is not lost on Jesh Thule.

“This is over.” Ikora gestures Jesh down the hall and speaks softly. “Whatever he told you, it doesn’t matter. He tries to get inside your head. Tries effortlessly.”

“All that about the last question, about whether we might lose …”

“He’s worried,” Ikora says.

“He sounded pretty certain, to me.”

“I know. That’s his problem, too.”

“And you’re going to …”

“Make sure he doesn’t talk where any of us can hear. And keep the Hive at bay.”

The other Vanguard round the corner. They relieve Jesh of duty, and as he watches them set up a neat trio before the door he feels the jagged edges of Toland’s words smoothed away. The Hive might win, yes. But that isn’t reason to dwell on the possibility.

Except the conviction, in the screaming song …

No. It’s simply not important.

Jesh moves on.

Toland is exiled.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Kiss of Death pt 2 (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: If the Angel of Death came upon you but you had half an hour, what would you do?

Part 1.

BGM: Ateez “Inception” slowed + reverb (Insomnio on YT)

Word count: 1,284

Warnings: Character death and bodies

Tags: @rintomoj @yuki-osaki @yamichxn​ @lonelyfangirl453 @cyanide9602 @liviitehe @bigkoalafications

a/n: Feels good to be back to writing here~ As promised, this sequel part is the day after the first part.  Am I sorry for my first post after hiatus being angst? Not really, whoops 😉.  Enjoy suffering~

Todoroki didn't know what kind of dream that was; it was too realistic for him to categorize it with his other dreams.  He even began to doubt that it even was just a figment of his imagination.  Normally, the images in his head would be too abstract and scattered to remember all the details; although still spotty and scattered, the images his mind had conjured up were too defined than anything he'd experienced before.  Even the kiss felt irresistibly real, and he wondered how his inexperienced mind conjured such a sweet taste.  In a way, he was disappointed that his mind dangled such an opportunity over his head teasingly.

"I have feelings for you.”

As Todoroki opened his refrigerator to look for some breakfast, he frowned to himself.  The images held a strangely incomplete weight to it, something he can't put his finger on.  The entire scenario seemed like call to action in disguise for some unknown reason.  Perhaps this was his sign that he should seize the opportunity, take matters into his own hands, make his dream a reality.  The powers at be were giving him the green light; this was some divine signal that his confession would be reciprocated and he has nothing to fear.

His heart skipped a beat and his cheeks rushed with heat at the thought of his reality aligning with his inner fantasy, the memory of your soft lips ghosting over his.  It seemed too good to be true, but still somehow within his reach.

Fueled by this affirmative omen, he decided to pay you a visit after breakfast for a coffee date.

~

Todoroki pulled his scarf slightly looser as he entered your apartment building, his body temperature suddenly warmer.  Numerous times on the walk over did he have to remind himself of why he was here, the light that was mostly likely waiting for him at the end.  Picturing your smiling face and how precious you would be standing with him kept his feet moving.  If he didn't take advantage of this sudden flash of confidence today, he couldn't be confident that it would strike him again.

He called the elevator and took another calming breath.  The doors opened almost immediately and he stepped in.  In a daze, Todoroki pushed the button to your floor, his mind palace painting lovely images of you two going on casual dates strolling through the park, having fun at amusement parks, and cuddling under the stars.  He almost missed the desperate call of someone rushing towards him.

"Hold the door!"

He snapped out of his daze and pushed the open button right before the steel doors shut.  The breathless figure stumbled in, heaving for breath.  "Thank you- Oh, Todoroki."  The figure straightened up.

Todoroki bowed his head briefly in greeting.  "Good morning."  He recognized them as your close friend whom you talked fondly about often.

Their eyes flickered to the button for your floor that's already illuminated as the doors shut.  "Here to see (Y/n)?" they asked cheerily.

"Yes, just to visit," he responded vaguely.  "I haven't seen them in a while, I thought I would drop by."

"I'm sure they would appreciate that," the shorter friend smiled.  "Especially since they need help cleaning today, they would love the extra set of hands."  They checked their phone.  "I wonder what suddenly got into them that they decided to message me at almost 3 last night."

"Yeah, I came at 3 am to confess to you, I’m sorry.”

His clock in his dream and your words flashed through his mind and he cocked an eyebrow to himself before shrugging it off as a strange coincidence.  In regard to your friend's words, he decided to rework his plan.  He didn't mind helping you clean your place.  It would make his request to take you out to coffee afterwards more natural as a job well done for cleaning.

The elevator opened on your floor.  "They must be sleeping still, they didn't answer my text."  The two of them approached your door and the friend knocked.  "(Y/n)!  Wakey wakey!  Your cleaning crew has arrived!"  Without waiting for an answer, they lifted the doormat to retrieve the spare key hiding under it, unlocking the door and bursting in.

As they announced their arrival, Todoroki closed the door behind him and removed his shoes and quietly took in your home.  He smiled to himself because the atmosphere and decorations remind him of you.

"(Y/n), come on!  Get up!"  Your friend quickly slipped off their shoes and coat, messily throwing them onto your couch before dashing straight to your room.

Todoroki hung back instead, opting to stroll around your living room instead.  It's not his first time here, but he didn't think you were close enough to enter your room so brazenly; he respected your privacy.  He occupied himself with rehearsing how he would confess his feelings to you.  He wanted to make it as earnest but smooth as possible.  Should he take your hand when he's done?  Should you be walking around or remain inside the coffee shop when he says his piece?  There were so many options, but he wanted to make that moment as perfect as possible because you deserved nothing less.

"Todoroki!  Come over here!"

The alarm in your friend's voice prompted him into action.  All his thoughts scattered into incoherent fear.  What in the world could've happened?  He didn't know.

Todoroki burst into the room and wildly surveyed the scene.  Your friend stood frozen over your bed where you lay, but something seemed off.  Why would you be sleeping over your sheets and blanket?

"I-I came to wake them up, they didn't respond to me calling them- When I went to shake them, they-they-"  They stepped back before knocking into the desk.

Todoroki's mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of them pleasant.  A shaky hand hesitantly grazed the crook of your neck and his breath stalled.

You were cold.

He drew his hand back, refusing to believe any of this.  His world suddenly spun on its head.  How could you be-?

The rest of his dream echoed in his mind.

"I have to tell you something It can’t wait until morning.”

"I didn’t want to leave without finally saying this to you."

He stumbled back a few steps as he remembered you suddenly vaulting off his balcony.

Your friend sank to the floor, clutching a paper and envelope, body wracked with a sudden onset of sobs as they cried your name.  "(Y/n)!  T-They're gone!"

The pieces finally click together, Todoroki's body grows cold.  Last night was no dream, it was your final goodbye to him.

That was your goodbye kiss to him.

It was his turn to fall to the floor, shudders wracking his body as his throat threatened to close because of the sobs welling up inside him.  The sweet kiss he savored only a minute before suddenly tasted bitter, the future he'd built up for you two ripped away from him.  Todoroki fell apart to the feeling of guilt, regret, anger, misery, distress, and so many other ineffable emotions.  Various self-loathing what-if's and if-only's consumed him.

Todoroki couldn't bear to see your face; even if he wanted to, his body shuddered too much to move and his tears blinded him.  His heartbeat nearly deafened him as your friend read your note aloud as their voice broke and wailed.  He felt cheated by fate.  He refused to believe this was when you were meant to depart, not when he'd experienced just a few seconds of the bliss of you two being together, regretting that he hadn't acted on his feelings sooner and stupidly believed he was sleeping during your final moment together.

Never again would he indulge in your cheerful expressions, your endearing mannerisms, your sweet voice.  You now only lived in his memories and in his dreams, as you'd never live in his reality anymore.