#still never figured out why it just exploded like that. glass and water everywhere loud af

[smokeys-house]

Ppl in horror movies always freak out when things break or make a mess but tbh couldn't be me. I had a big glass 750ml water bottle I kept on my nightstand and one night ay 2am it exploded on its own and my first thought wasn't ghosts it was "there's water everywhere now great I've gotta clean this up and go back to bed". If my kitchen suddenly exploded throwing everything everywhere I'd be panicked sure but I'd mostly be pissed off I don't have time for that

[catflorist]

Stars (ao3/ffn) catflorist warning: major character death

Sasuke joined the Akatsuki for simple reasons. He heard they had a plan to destroy the shinobi world, and he wanted a part of it. 

As a blizzard raged in the cold northern air, he followed a dark-robed figure into a passageway carved into the cliffside of a snow-capped mountain. The tunnel twisted and turned, snaking past cavernous rooms and rocky chambers. Akatsuki forces milled about everywhere, red clouds hovering on dark cloaks everywhere he looked. His guide, Konan, led him past without stopping.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To our leader,” Konan said, leading him deeper. “She says she knows you.”

He was sure they were halfway through the mountain before she stopped by a metal door. 

“Wait here.” 

She knocked and the door opened a crack. Whispered words were exchanged, too low for Sasuke to overhear.

“You’ll have to wait,” Konan said. “She's still bathing.”

Sasuke was annoyed. Why was Karin going through these theatrics? He hadn’t seen her for months, not since disbanded the team and left to face Itachi alone. How she’d ended up in the Akatsuki he couldn't guess. Not only that, she somehow had all of them tiptoeing around her. 

“Tell Karin I don't have time to wait,” he snapped.

Konan gave him a curious look, but stayed silent.

“What?”

“Enter,” a voice called from inside. The way it echoed off the rock, it didn't sound like Karin’s voice at all.

He stormed in. Torches lit the dark room in a flickering glow, and the air felt warm. A shadowed figure rose from a steaming pool of water. An attendant held out a billowing Akatsuki robe, helping guide arms through sleeves. 

When the light caught her face, shock ripped through him. Because it wasn’t Karin.

Her pink hair was dripping wet, her cheeks hollowed. She pulled on glasses over red-rimmed eyes pinched with pain, the green irises huge beneath the thick lenses. The dark robe slipped off bare, bony shoulders—was that all she was wearing? He averted his eyes, stared at the steam curled in the air. His guard down, his chakra stretched out to meet hers of its own accord. But there was nothing. 

He recoiled. How was that possible? She should be dead.

A diamond mark on her forehead pulsed like the core of a star, the only part of her with any vitality, energy. That and her eyes—they were still bright and sharp. The rest was fading.

“It's good to see you,” Sakura said.

.

.

It didn’t take long for Sasuke to understand. The chakra stored in Sakura’s seal was all that kept her alive, and one day it would run out. 

At the same time, it all depended on her, it seemed, the meticulously planned attack on the shinobi world. She was its life force. Every ounce of her remaining chakra was rationed and monitored, planned in advance for that day. It was all anyone talked about, the reason why heads lowered in respect when speaking Sakura’s name.

To fill his time Sasuke accepted mission after mission. He brought back intel, took out troublesome political figures, and weakened supply chains, doing anything they asked of him to prepare for the attack on Konoha, three months away.

He avoided Sakura.

One night Konan pushed aside the curtain hanging in the door of his small chamber, an alcove in the stone set apart from the other Akatsuki members. “You’re back. What was it this time?”

“We intercepted a shipment of weapons,” he said. “They’re waiting in the meeting room.”

“When do you set out again?”

“I don’t know yet. What do you want?”

Konan met his eyes. “She wants to see you.”

He crossed his arms. “Tell her I'm busy.”

“You think you’re so important,” she said in that calm, mild way of hers. “You wouldn’t act this way, if you truly understood the magnitude of what she’s doing for us. For the world.”

Overcome with sudden anger, Sasuke forgot he came to the Akatsuki willingly, that each day he helped advance its mission. That he too hated what their world had done to his family. 

“It's all for nothing!” he spat. “You’re throwing her away. For nothing.”

“You’re selfish. It’s no wonder you don’t understand sacrifice.”

He grit his teeth. “Find another way.”

“She’s dying already,” she said. “She’s just making something from the time she has left. What have you done with your life?”

Sakura was frozen. Dying. Sasuke pictured her in a land of ice, the snowy expanse that surrounded the mountain lit by a weak and wintery sun. Perhaps she could stretch her life a few years, each day lighting her chakra no brighter than a candle’s fire, barely warming her hands in the cold. 

Instead she would burn up all at once, quick and hot and bright, like an exploding star, and maybe something would grow after the flames cooled. Fire always led to life in some way after all. She would not wait to freeze to death. 

“Go away,” Sasuke snarled. The curtain was already flapping in the doorway.

.

.

Sasuke stormed through the hideout after a botched assignment. What should have been a simple scouting mission had turned into a bloodbath after a surprise ambush. The hidden villages were growing more hostile and clever as the day of the attack drew nearer. 

He didn’t pay attention to his loud footsteps, the eyes following him in fear, until a figure darted into his path. One of Sakura’s attendants, blocking his way with an outstretched arm, a finger held to her lips. 

“What?”

“She's asleep.” Her voice was hushed, like discussing a sleeping god. Not his old, annoying pink-haired teammate. 

Sasuke stepped back. “So?”

“It's the first time in three days.”

Sasuke realized the hideout was utterly quiet except for their conversation. If he listened hard enough he might hear snow falling outside. 

An old memory flashed through him. When they were genin, taking missions as a team, how much Sakura hated waking up in the morning. She’d groan and clutch her pillow, though she’d always get up and help him with their breakfast anyway. That Sakura would never struggle to fall asleep for three days. How things had changed.

Sasuke knew when she woke up, because the deathly silence in the compound lifted. Foot traffic picked up again, the scent of cooking food from the mess hall drifted through the halls.

He walked down the twisted passageway to the metal door, following the route he’d memorized, though he hadn’t ventured this way since Konan led him the first time. He pushed open the doors without knocking.

A wide futon was spread on the ground, where Sakura lay against soft pillows. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell from the stiffness of her shoulders that she was awake.

“Sakura,” he said.

Her head turned, set deep in the pillows like it held a heavy weight. She did not look surprised to see him, did not ask why he’d avoided her for weeks. “Sit down.”

With some reluctance, he lowered himself on the edge of the futon. Steam curled in the air, and water gurgled somewhere hidden, feeding the spring. Beneath the blanket, Sakura’s legs shifted gingerly.

“What happened to you?” he said.

“It’s this world,” she said. “Person after person, sent out to get killed. To protect someone else’s money, or goods, or to fight in pointless wars. And the survivors, they sent them all to me. It never ended.”

She closed her eyes again. “I healed, and healed, until something inside me broke. I couldn’t make chakra anymore. Without my seal I would have died then and there.”

Without meaning to, Sasuke’s hand stretched out, brushing her forehead, where the mark lay. Her brow was feverishly hot. 

“That’s nice,” she whispered. He was about to pull away, but his fingers changed course, trailing into her hair, drawing a sigh. He didn’t know what to do. It was a long time since he’d tried to be gentle. He tried to think of what he liked as a child, the comforting touches he received from his mother, or Itachi, a lifetime ago.

When he finally lifted his hand, the cords of her neck seemed less tense, her head less heavy on the pillow.

She exhaled. “I was dying. I’d given everything away, but still they wanted more. That’s why I’m here. The way this world is, it can’t go on. Everything I have left is going into changing it.”

“This world won’t change,” he muttered.

A thin arm emerged from the blankets, fumbling at her bedside for her glasses. She slipped the frames on, appraising him with large eyes. “Then why are you here?”

.

.

This new Sakura was a stranger in many ways. She carried herself with a quiet calmness, a stillness, like she’d lived longer than her years. When she walked down the corridors of the hideout, heads bowed. At gatherings, she barely needed to speak louder than a whisper, because everyone listening hung onto her every word. 

Knowing she favored him, the members of the Akatsuki looked differently at Sasuke, too. They brought him into their meeting rooms, seeking his advice and ideas. He learned why each of them wanted to destroy the shinobi system. Its claws had harmed others beyond himself. He started to believe they could truly build something new. Something better, that would never force older brothers into cruel and heartless choices.

When Sasuke returned from a mission he found Sakura sitting on a ledge under the stars, snow gently falling around her. They were high up on the mountain, but the sky was white and hazy in all directions, so he could barely tell where they were or what lay in the distance beyond the haze.

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold.”

“I like the fresh air.”

He sat next to her, knowing it was useless to argue. Everyone knew Sakura did as she wanted. 

“My father used to use his katon on days like this. His fireball was strong enough to span the whole length of the lake. But when it was cold, he used it to warm his breath.”

“Show me,” she said.

His hands shaped the quick signs. When he exhaled, a soft puff of fire curled out, a flash of red and orange warming their icy surroundings. “Like this.”

Sakura watched him with furrowed brows. “Can you teach me?”

“Yes, but…” He stopped, tried again. “You can’t...”

“I can’t use my chakra,” she said. “But I can still learn.”

He took her hands. “Serpent, ram, monkey, boar, horse, tiger.” He didn’t need to, but he shaped her fingers through the signs. “Pull the chakra into your throat. Let it churn. Exhale.”

Sakura mimed the signs, paused in concentration so the chakra could build. Of course, it was only pretend. She exhaled. Her cold breath hung in the air, the furthest thing from fire.

“Thank you. I understand now. Your katon always fascinated me.” She opened her eyes. “Once, I saw you practicing in the distance. I secretly hoped, one day, you would teach me yourself.”

Bitterness filled him. “Not like this.”

“This is enough,” she said, her voice kind.

He thought about young Sakura—energetic and talkative, irritating, nervous around him. He pictured her, watching as he exhaled fire, wishing. The way her voice sounded as she spoke to his back, because he didn’t have the strength to turn and look at her, begging him to stay, or to take her with him. 

“Did you mean what you said? The night I left?”

For once she didn’t meet his eyes. “That I loved you? Yes, I meant it.” Then her calm returned. “I’m glad you’ve thought about it since then.”

He felt the urge to throw her off guard, to catch a glimpse of the girl from his memories.

“You still love me,” he accused.

Her eyes seemed to sadden. She touched his face, her hand growing warm. He wrenched away, but it was too late. A cut on his cheek was healed. 

He held his cheek like she had burned him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m in control. I know how much I have left. Shouldn’t I be able to do what I want with it?”

Her hand remained outstretched. He gripped her wrist tightly, so tight it must hurt, and threw it away from himself.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

.

.

“Why are you always bathing?” Sasuke asked her once.

Shameless, she stood up in the bath, reaching for her robe. He tried very hard to ignore her body, only glancing up when he was sure the robe was around her. The front hung loose, only her hand clasping it together.

“It hurts less in the water.”

Her eyes always gave everything away. Even when they were kids. They said everything she was thinking. When he met her eyes now, he was dazed to find unguarded curiosity, desire. The difference now was she put it bluntly to words.

“Haven't you wondered?” she said.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t. He was wondering now, painfully aware of how his body was reacting to her there, so close, so easy to touch. 

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “You’re—you’re sick.” Dying. But he couldn't say that. “I could hurt you.”

“I've never been as fragile as you thought I was.”

She let the cloak slip. It draped down low, revealing the narrow expanse from the hollow of her throat to the space between her breasts. Sasuke heard a small noise escape his throat, a strangled cry. And he was crossing the room, because he couldn't refuse her, not when it was something he also wanted so badly. Each footfall shed away the time and distance built up between them, laying in his wake like shed layers, so by the time he got to her he already felt naked. 

He walked straight into her touch, her palm pressing against his heart, the other curling around his nape. He slipped her glasses off, let them fall, secretly hoping they’d break on the stone ground. He hated them.

In the dark, as he leaned in to kiss her, he could almost imagine they were somewhere else. In a soft bedroom, in a life they lived together, elsewhere. But he could not ignore the echoes sounding off the rock walls, the feeling of emptiness handing over their heads, the cold pressing in.

.

.

Sasuke stared up at the sky, his back to the dirt.

Around him, battle was waging. The day they’d all been waiting for, fueled with Sakura’s remaining chakra, was almost over. He didn’t know which way the tide was pulling now. He could only feel the hole in his side and know for him it was over.

When he next opened his eyes, everything was green, like he was lying on the forest floor. It wasn’t what he expected death to be like. But Sakura was there, leaning over him. He smiled, washed with relief. At least, even in this place, they had found each other. It was such a comfort, it didn’t matter to him what happened next.

He tried to sit up, and pain tore through him, though it was fading quickly. His eyelids drooped. Sakura’s hands shifted across his body, so warm.

“Can I go back to sleep?” he mumbled.

She cupped his cheek. “Yes, my love.”

He almost listened to her, but strange sounds reached his ears. Metal clashing, screaming. He cracked open his heavy eyes. A body lay close by, red staining the ground beneath. Above him, Sakura’s face was streaked with dirt and tears.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“My part is over,” she said, hands rooted to his chest like an ancient tree to the earth, unwavering and sure. “I have some left. Just enough.”

His body rippled with an electric shock. “Don’t, Sakura!” 

He struggled to move, but she held him down with an iron grip.

“Just take it!” she cried. “What else would I do with it?”

It was always coming to this, he knew. But he wasn’t ready. He needed her to stay just a little longer. There was so much he still needed to tell her. 

“One more day,” he begged. “You could stay just one more day.” 

Her green eyes were like a storm, and as she steamed the last of her chakra into him, she didn’t look like she was dying. She looked as strong as he remembered. “If I stop now you’ll die.”

That night, when he left the village, he should have taken her with him. Taken her far, far, away. Why had he left her there? What use were his prized eyes and Uchiha blood if he couldn’t see the right choice to make? 

“Don't leave,” he gasped. It was hard to see her, tears blurring his vision. “Please don't leave.”

Her hands softly slipped from his chest. “It’s okay, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice came from far away. “Just go back to sleep.”

The mark faded from her forehead like a star at dawn.

.

.

Konoha fell. The world was raw and overturned. Burning, and growing, and burning, and growing. One day, Sasuke would want to see it. For now he returned to the mountain, to Sakura’s pool.

He floated in the water, weightless, aching with the life she’d given him.

.

.

.

.

notes: a longer multi chapter is coming soon, but for now take this, and sorry

[tinyyoungblood]

quarantine madness | t.h

summary: you knew quarantine with tom was going to drive you both nuts, but now he wants to reenact a scene from age of ultron and possibly break his back, and you’re ready to punch harry for going live on instagram to share his brother’s misery with the world

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: just fluff

requested by: @shythingstudentdragon

* * *

Thud.

“Y/N, are you awake?” A deep voice whispered.

You rubbed your throbbing temple and stared dizzily at the mop of brown curls. “I just body slammed the floor. Do you really think I could’ve slept through that?” He grinned cheekily and pulled you back up, but the simple motion made your head spin, and he was quick to steady you.

“Careful,” he said. You let out a paltry grunt and collapsed back onto the couch. Harry glanced at you for a moment before darting to the kitchen while muttering jumbled words under his breath. From afar, tiny exciting paws reverberated against the hardwood floor and you forced your eyes open to greet the precious bundle of joy.

To your luck, Harry had opened the blinds to the living room, allowing sharp sunlight to flood what once used to be the comfort of a dark cave. You almost hissed. Pitch-black eyes were jumping up and down in front of you and you were quick to scoop Tessa into your arms.

“Hey, baby,” you cooed. “Did you get here all by yourself?”

A snort sounded from the side, and your eyes flitted to a warm smile leaning against the doorframe.

“She did. She’s a big girl now. In fact, she drove us over all by herself, right, love?”

The couch dipped as Sam sat beside you to pet Tessa as she frantically whipped her head from side to side as if to wholeheartedly agree. A chuckle slipped from Sam’s lips before his gaze locked with yours. Concern crossed his eyes.

“Y/n.” He licked his lips tentatively. “I’m saying this in the nicest way possible, but you—”

“You look like shit.”

Harrison entered the room and crossed his arms with a look of disapproval and worry on his face.

Bemusedly drawing your brows together, you cocked your head and listened to the footsteps coming from the kitchen. “Is Twain also going to pop out of nowhere? How did you guys even come in?”

Silently walking over, Harry handed you a glass of water, his blank stare never wavering as you chucked the liquid.

“Spare key.”

Harry took the glass from you and placed it on the coffee table. “And Twain’s coming over later. Thought we might check in on you guys. See if you’re still alive.”

“It definitely doesn’t small alive in here,” Harrison said, grimacing.

Someone had opened the windows, and you had to admit it was nice to breathe crisp clean air again. Cowering under their worried looks, you crossed your legs and glanced at the clock on the wall. How was it already three o’clock?

“Okay, maybe quarantine got a bit over our heads,” you said and picked up a sock from the armrest. “But it’s not like we’ve gotten completely insane. We’ve just been…wasting away.”

Sam eyed the towering stack of Blue-Rays on the coffee table and a teasing grin swiped over his lips. “Wasting away with a movie marathon, I’m assuming?”

You smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Not much else to do around here.”

Stretching your limbs with a gratifying sigh, you placed Tessa on Sam’s lap and stood up. “I’m hitting the shower, guys. Make yourself at home.” You gestured spiritlessly and patted Harry’s shoulder on your way out. Just as you stepped over the threshold, you spun around and stared at Haz’s leaning figure. “Where’s Tom?”

“Would you look at that.” He laughed, his crystal blue eyes loosening up from the stern gaze. “It only took you five minutes to remember your boyfriend’s existence. And they say romance is dead.”

Swatting his arm with a mock scowl, you looked around the living room and then spared a glance into the hall. “Seriously, we fell asleep on the couch together. Where is he?”

As if on cue, a loud thud bellowed from above, and your eyes widened. You had already turned on your heel and dashed upstairs before anyone could answer. The door to the office room fell open and you gawked at the sight ahead.

Tom was sprawled underneath the long velvet sofa, holding it up with both arms. He lowered it with a heavy grunt, and lifted it again with an even heavier grunt. He seemed to be deeply entranced in his action, not even taking notice of the footsteps nearing him until they stopped right by his side.

Stopping mid-action, he looked up and beamed at you. “Hello, darlimg.”

“Hi, love,” you said, amusedly. “Busy?”

“Uhm.” His eyes flickered to the sofa. “You could say that.”

“Just one question, Tommy.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why?”

Tom blinked at you. “What do you mean why? You know why.”

He was quick to scoot out from underneath, jump on his feet, and stand in front of you with the faintest scowl plastered on his face. You racked your hand through your tangled hair. “But I don’t. Should I know?”

His mouth fell open. “Yes. Yes, you should. You were there.” Your face remained expressionless. “Yesterday? When we watched the Age of Ultron scene on Clint’s farm?” Nothing. He groaned. “When Steve and Tony had an argument and Steve ripped that log in half, and you bet I could never do that?”

Finally, realisation crossed your mind. “Tom, I was half-asleep during that part. At that point, I was just mouthing gibberish,” you reasoned and laughed lightly, but it died down the second you realised Tom was not fining any trace of humor in this conversation. “You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

Vibrant blue caught your attention and your eyes flitted across the room to a blue yoga mat in the middle of the floor. “Oh no.” You groaned and let your head fall into your palms. “You’re going to rip a log in half?”  

Your question was muffled, but Tom caught it and nodded proudly when you met his gaze again.

“You could seriously injure yourself, you know that?” He hummed and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your cheek before wandering over to the mat.

“For instance, you could get a splinter and die of blood loss.”

Again, he hummed while lowering himself to the ground, starting with slow pushups.

“And you would die before Spider-Man 3 was filmed and the whole world would just explode in chaos.”

“Yes, love. You’re right,” he said in between pushups and you sighed.

“You’re going to do it. You’re going to rip a log in half. I’m dating a maniac.” You threw your hands up and spun around when Tom hummed again, stopping what he was doing to lock eyes with you.

“I think the others are right. We’ve gone insane,” he said.

You nodded and hugged yourself as your giggle settled into a soft smile. Your expression melted at the sheer sight of your boyfriend making a complete fool of himself merely to prove his point. A second later you noted that he still managed to look too attractive for his own good.

Your eyes trailed the lines of his back muscles, screaming to tear his tight gym shirt in half, and down to his prominent bicep, flexing with each movement. Knowing there was no point in trying to persuade your competitive dork of a boyfriend, you left the room to take a much-needed shower.

The rest of the day went smoothly. As planned, Twain stopped by and together with the boys, you had managed to have a nice afternoon consisting of board games and trivial chatter. It was nice to be surrounded by other humans again, and you appreciated their company.

But what you appreciated a little less was Tom’s sudden spur of insanity. It’s been almost four hours and the guy didn’t find it in himself to stop preparing for what he had now titled the “Big Reveal”.

He was everywhere and nowhere. When you couldn’t find him plank in the middle of the living room, he was probably doing sit-ups on the staircase. At some point, you and the others had just accepted his new maniacal hyperfixation.

It was the kitchen encounter at 7.25 PM when you had finally found the courage to ask him the godforsaken question. It wasn’t by choice, really, but rather a lost bet with the others.

You were attempting casualty, maneuvering around his body to snatch a random bowl from the kitchen counter like it was the most normal thing—stirring air with a fork. Tom was currently doing pull-ups and you watched for a moment how his arms flexed and sweat glistened across the skin of his forehead.

“You alright, love?” His voice pulled you out of your trance and you shuffled on your feet.

Clearing your throat, you spotted the tiniest hint of a smirk revealing itself on his lips, and your eyes narrowed. “I’m good, thank you,” you snapped and rounded his body to stand in front of him. “You ready for the Big Reveal?” The words made you grin inevitably, but Tom didn’t notice. He plopped to the floor and beamed at you.

“I think so.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ready to regret yesterday’s words, love?”

                                  ───

“Wait, I didn’t agree to go live. Harry, no.” Tom’s warning fell on deaf ears as his brother simply grinned at him. He held up his phone and filmed the two of you with the back camera.

“Too late,” he mouthed and you were left with no other choice than to wave awkwardly.

“Hey, guys. Welcome to this very much unplanned Instagram Live.” He doted a mock glare in Harry’s direction and wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his side.

“Some of you might already know, but this is my lovely girlfriend Y/N. Trust me, she’s usually not this stiff.” Tom poked your side and flashed you a toothy grin. Playfully gasping, you leaned forward and spoke to the camera.

“Hi, guys.” You smiled. “Some of you might already know, but this is Tom. Our not-so-friendly neighbourhood psychopath.”

The boys snickered. You winked at the camera while Tom chuckled next to you. It was infectious and never failed to make you smile and feel at ease, so you continued your role as a moderator. After you had explained the absurdity of the situation and gestured to the provisional log standing representatively on the grass, it was time.

Stepping backward, you watched as Tom confidently, but with a certain waver of caution, picked up the log to examine it. A fleeting shimmer of doubt crossed his eyes but it was gone with the blink of an eye.

It seemed like the whole of London had agreed to stand still. There was only the sound of your droning heartbeat that filled your ears. The others had frozen completely. Even Tessa watched curiously.

Tom’s eyes flicked to yours and back to the camera. “If I break my back, you know who to sue.” He laughed heartily when you swatted his arm with a gasp.

“Just do it, Holland.”

And then it happened.

Gripping both sides of the log, Tom tugged at the piece of wood until it ripped down slowly in the middle and tore apart only a second later.

The yard exploded with noise.

The boys shouted, yelled, and cheered while running across the grass. Harry whipped from left to right like an excited child, trying to capture every moment.

Only you stayed put on the spot, your eyes flitting across the yard to the big ax stuck in another log. You cracked a private smile. It seemed as if only Tessa had caught on, and you winked at her knowingly. Your gaze wandered back to Tom and Haz who were both standing in front of Harry and talking to the phone.

“He might have lost his mind, but not this bet and never his fashion sense,” Harrison said proudly into the camera and Tom showered in glory.

Coming down from his blistering high, he turned around and his gaze landed on you. With a broadening smile, he was quickly by your side and smothering your cheek with tiny kisses.

“Thank you.” Kiss. “For doubting me.” Kiss. “I would’ve never made it if it weren’t for you.” Kiss. Harry came closer with his phone and you jokingly pushed Tom away, feigning a disgusted face.

“Move over, man. I don’t like you that much.”

The others laughed, and Tom leaned in, his warm breath fawning over your face as he chuckled. Lifting your chin with his hand, he guided your lips to his and captured them in a kiss.

“Get a room, mate!” Sam shouted from across the garden.

“There are children watching!” Harrison hissed.

You pulled back from the kiss and rolled your eyes at their quarrel, smiling. Unwrapping yourself from Tom’s embrace, you stepped back and gave the camera a two-finger-wave. “Alright, enough PDA. It was great to talk to you all.”

Just as you had turned around, a hand curled around your wrist and pulled you back.

“Not without me.” Tom leaned in again, nose bumping, and a dreamy smile hanging onto his lips. You huffed, but your grin betrayed you.

“Fine,” you said.

Tom pecked your lips and pulled away, hugging you even closer. He flashed you a cheeky smile and said, “But I’m not going, so neither are you.”

* * *

can’t believe i’m back. it’s only been like what? four years? :’) hope you liked this one! thanks for reading <3 

🦋 masterlist

taglist: @honeypie-holland​ @himarisolace​ @duskholland​ @insidiousslut​ @siriuslyslyslytherin​ @hollandsrecs​ @quaksonhehe​ @chloecreatesfictions​ @writertoo18​ @fl0ating​ @luwloki​ @missnxthingg​

[heycallmeladytypewriter]

A Call of a Siren - Chapter 2

A/N: As you guys have noticed, I tweaked a few things to fit Delia into the story but please let me know if I missed or messed up something on the storyline. Again, looking for a beta reader if anyone is interested. Chapter three should be up soon along with everyone's favorite angry boy. I don't own My Hero Academia. I only own my own characters and the story I create within Horikoshi's masterpiece of a world I'd love to live in.

Chapter One

_____________________________________________________________

“I expect you to all to still work hard on exams even though the end of the school year is in sight!” Her teacher was lecturing them on the importance of tests or something but Cordelia had other things on her mind. 

Nine months ago, she saw the world's greatest hero and a scrawny boy her age on the beach. A day she wouldn’t forget as it was a major part of why she was trying her damndest to get into UA in a month.

She went to the beach mostly everyday on a run and also practiced in her room after her family went out or was asleep. She also tried to incorporate some strength training exercises she got off the internet as she was sure you needed more than cardio to make it in. 

One thing she found herself doing, albeit shamefully, was sort of spying on All Might and Izuku Midoriya train on the beach and park. She didn’t necessarily go out of her way but it was on her training grounds too. No matter how she reasoned it, she still kept her distance and would hide at first sign of being found. It also didn’t help that she felt she had stumbled on a major invasion of privacy as she witnessed the strong and well, mighty, All Might transform to a tall but skinny weaker man. The first time she saw it she thought her eyeballs were for sure going to pop out her skull and fall to the floor with her jaw. She would never tell out of respect for the hero but still...every time he did it was like a mini heart attack especially when he would cough up blood afterwards. Like Jesus man please go see a doctor!

“Miss Bell I hope that dazed look on your face means you are thinking of your study schedule this weekend?” 

Her head turned from the window and faced the teacher, “ Oh, yes of course!” 

“Hmm..so anyways class -” Cordelia went right back to gazing out the window. 

_______________________________________________________

“ FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO DO YOUR STUPID STRETCHES BRAT!” Angry boy yelled at her for the 400th time.

Delia rolled her eyes again but continued her stretches where she was. She was here first anyway. Not that it mattered as she always stretched here because after Angry boy decided it was his workout spot she decided it was hers too. 

“Oi, don’t ignore me! Move your fat ass out of here!” 

“No thanks I’m good. And who are you calling fat ass, big tits?” She laughed as he bristled immediately at her response. He reminded her of a cat, all puffy and angry,  when he got like that which only made her giggle more. She wished to know his name but last time she asked he flipped her off. 

Looking at her watch, she realized she was going to be late for dinner. “Oh crap. Gotta go! Bye Big tits!” 

His water bottle flew right past her head as she ran off while he screamed expletives at her. “Hey!” She scolded. She slowed down enough to pick it up and chucked it with maximum force back at him, “don’t fucking litter!” 

She ran a little quicker when she heard the little pops of his quirk which is when she realized a few months ago that he was getting more pissed. “Goddamn brat!”

________________________________________________________

“Cordelia, you are late! Go wash up.” Her mother scolded her from the kitchen as she walked in the house. 

“Lost track of time! Sorry I’ll be quick!” She hopped up the stairs and nearly ran into her father, wearing his uniform, on the way. “Oops sorry Daddy!”

 Yes, she still called her father ‘Daddy.’

 Her ‘Daddy’ was a 6’4 man with piercing blue eyes that could intimidate anybody which probably helped with his job. Her mother always liked to point out that of course all her children had to inherit his blue eyes and not her brown ones.  

“Hey,” His hand shot out to gently grab her wrist before she could keep going, “What is all this training you doing for?” 

“Nothing in particular. Can’t I have a hobby?” She lied through her teeth before continuing on upstairs. 

“Cordelia…” 

“Dad. Teenage girl who wants to be fit - not rocket science!” 

Hopping in the hot shower, Delia relaxed finally. She was soooo lying to her family but felt it necessary as they stood on opposite ground concerning her dream of becoming a hero. 

She had a dream. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight just because she was alone in it. Deep down she was hoping if she became a good enough hero she could change their minds about the matter. 

She even took many preemptive precautions such as designating herself as the mail person of the house. She got it every day without fail and they would get used to just depending on her to get it. She managed to get a third cordless phone for the house she’d hide in her room to check the number in case of any specific calls coming through. She even created a fake parent email and perfected their signatures if needed. She was good at lying but it never felt easier on her to lie regardless of her reasons. 

“CORDELIA!” 

With a sigh, she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. At least I dry off quickly, she thought amused as she wicked the water off her body and out of her hair. 

__________________________________________________________

It was exam day. 

Delia’s nerves were all over the place as she sat in the auditorium filled with the other hopefuls. They grouped them by class it seemed though she didn’t recognize those sitting near her. Her fault, she was sure, as she didn’t reach out to others during this past year as she just assumed or more like hoped she’d be transferring after the year was up. 

She wondered where Midoriya was as he was the reason she got her butt here in the first place. 

The Pro, Present Mic, continued to shout out to the crowd of potential students but Delia figured everyone was too wound up to join in or even focus enough. He was in the process of explaining their physical test when a loud voice rang out. A boy with cut blue hair and glasses stood suddenly and practically demanded answers of a possible inconsistency regarding the robots before the Pro could probably get to it (impatient much?) and then turned behind him to yell at the very boy she was wondering about for muttering too loudly. 

She wanted to laugh but her nerves were already fraying. As they were announcing the order of tests and people were slowly being shuffled out of the auditorium, Delia took a long breath before marching outside with the others. 

____________________________________________________________

This was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. 

She went on auto pilot as soon as the doors opened. Everyone rushed forward only to be immediately greeted by a bunch of green robots with glowing red eyes. Without thinking, she looked for the nearest water source...yes, a fire hydrant!...and reached her hand outwards to pull the water. A burst of water came rushing out that she quickly sharpened into her normal water whip and sliced out at the first two robots she saw ahead of her, breaking their heads off. 

“Wow that was amazing!” A girl with short brown hair to her left shouted at her before running further down the street. Delia blinked. Holy shit, that was amazing! For a moment, Delia felt she could really do this...until about 10 minutes later.

The robots didn’t give her a minute to think anymore, which considering her extreme anxiety over today was probably a good thing, and she used her whip to maim any robot who came within range. As soon as she was finally racking up a few points, a giant shadow loomed over the street. 

It was the zero points robot. 

Holy shitballs it was huge, Delia thought, shielding her face, as it stomped its way over causing surrounding small buildings and the street itself to explode with force everywhere. 

She was about to run but she heard someone cry out. It was the really nice girl from earlier who was caught under the debris from the zero pointer. 

Everyone was running. 

Then she ran. 

Towards the girl. 

There was water running from a broken pipe so she willed it near her as she skidded to the girl and put her hand up and the water formed a water dome around her the girl as they braced themselves for the next step from the robot but it never came. 

“SMASH!” Midoriya yelled from above them. Through the water she saw him go flying at the face of the robot and hit it so hard the zero pointer was thrown back with a broken face. 

“Oh my god” she whispered. The water fell on them in a whoosh and she snapped back to the girl and pushed the rock up far enough to wiggle her leg out. Looking up, she saw Midoriya start to fall and her heart continued to race as she tried to figure out how to catch him but the girl who was stuck ran, now with a limp, touch a rock and float upwards towards him. She meets him halfway then taps him midair and slowly brings them back to earth. Then promptly throws up off the side of the rock. 

The buzzer goes off. 

Times up. 

Delia felt her shoulder drop in disappointment. She only had 20 points from the smaller robots and barely. That was it. She was stuck at a regular school and wouldn’t be a pro hero. 

The finality of things started to weigh on her and followed her as she shuffled her way home, trying not to cry.

____________________________________________________________

The wait was killing her. 

It’s been days and she’s checked the mail repeatedly. Damn near scared the mailman a few times when she ran up to him a few houses before hers.

By the time it came, she had all but figured she failed so badly that they weren’t gonna waste time with a letter. Yeah, she was being dramatic but still. 

Finally, a small package addressed to her arrived. Delia had to wait until her parents went out to the store with Henry before she could run to her room and play it. After triple checking they left, she set it up on her small desk and internally started to scream. 

“Young Bell, it is me All Might! I am here! To give you your results on your exam to UA!” 

There goes her ability to breathe. 

She started to bite her lip nervously. 

“It says here that you scored 24 points on your practical and did well enough in your written test. BUT” 

She was now on the verge of gnawing her lip off.

“While your scores were alright enough, what really wowed us was your last few minutes of the practical!”

He started a small screen next to him of the girl who was stuck under a rock talking to someone behind the camera. 

“Is it possible to share my points?!” The girl exclaimed to someone behind the camera. 

Delia’s hand went to her chest as the girl, who didn’t know her nor should’ve bothered to do this, wanted to make sure her and Midoryia earned enough points and if not, to give them some of hers. Her lip had to have been bruised by now.

“Did you really think a Hero academy judged solely on the ability to hit a robot? We look at everything! And you, Young Bell, embody just the right person we strive to teach! You went ahead without thinking or caring about anything but the girl and acted- acted heroically! We awarded you 30 more points bringing your total to a whopping 54! So, Young Bell, I want to congratulate you on your acceptance to UA! Welcome, future hero!” 

Delia’s lip was bleeding now but she didn’t care. Tears were rushing down her face before she could stop them.

She thought it was done.

But really- it was just beginning. 

She sent a silent thank you to the boy on the beach and the hero they both looked up to

[banashee]

Part 13/25 of my second round of @badthingshappenbingo​

Prompt: Ear injury

Warnings for blood, violence and past child abuse, please check the tags!

 Suddenly, there is silence

 Suddenly, there is silence. The sounds of the fight that is still going on around him are no longer noticeable to Clint. All there is, is a stabbing pain that feels like his skull is about to explode.

 He is gasping for air, trying to get up from the concrete floor. Why is he even down here in the first place? Quickly he finds that getting up is nearly impossible. There is blood gushing everywhere, and fuck, is that his own?

 Clint doesn’t make it all the way up, but his balance is shot to shit, so he staggers and falls back down again. The pain is getting more and more intense, and when his head hits the floor, there are two arrows next to him, covered in blood. Neither of those arrows is his own, but he still recognizes them. It’s been years since he last saw his brother, but he knows his signatures when he sees them. Ice cold dread is running down his spine when that thought hits him.

 Oh, Fuck.

 Before Clint can say anything, like calling for help or looking where his attacker has fled to, Clint starts passing out. His comms are going crazy, what with his teammates calling for him, but he can’t hear it.

 He can’t hear anything. All there is is silence, and it surrounds him while he slowly drifts away.

 *+~

 In between unconsciousness and being awake, Clint remembers that fateful day nearly 30 years ago when the world had suddenly turned silent for the very first time in his life.

 The really sad thing? He doesn’t remember what set Dad off that day. If he messed up somehow, or if Dad had been too drunk to think straight. Logically, Clint knows that none of this is his fault - never had been. Years and years of therapy have pounded this into his head, and he may or may not believe it now, but it doesn’t change the fact that he always starts this particular thought with “I don’t remember what set him off that day”.

 He      knows     it’s the alcohol - he      knows     it was his dad being angry and frustrated at the world in general, and nothing Clint did or didn’t do could have changed anything about that.

 Unfortunately, Harold has always taken it out on his wife and kids.

 Barney might have remembered the few and far between good times with Dad, but Clint never got to know that man. All he knows is fear and pain and hiding, when thinking of his father.

     Clint doesn’t know what set Dad off that day.  

     All he remembers is that he was suddenly being grabbed from behind, shaken hard enough so that he dropped the glass of water he had been holding at the time. The breaking glass and the mess on the floor only made Dad more angry, and then he lashed out.  

     Sadly, even at 6 years old, Clint was used to being his fathers punching bag, and he knows that it’s best to remain silent - don’t talk back, don’t scream, and most of all, don’t cry. Don’t ever fucking cry, or it’ll get so much worse.  

     So, Clint remained silent that day, hoping that Dad will stop soon, hoping he’ll move on to something else when he is done here. Only, that day, that is not what happened.  

     Harold Barton was hollering at his youngest son, inches away from his face, so that stinking breath that reeked of alcohol and flying droplets of spit hit him straight in the face. And then, suddenly, Clint’s head collided with the coffee table.  

     Dad stopped yelling, but then again, there was no other sound either.  

     There was a pain in his head, different from anything else Clint had ever experienced, even in the sorry circumstances he spent the majority of his short life in.  

     Out of pure instinct, he touched the sides of his head, over his ears where the pain was worst, and his tiny hands came away covered in blood - Clint was terrified. And because he was so utterly scared, he momentarily forgot the two most important rules when it comes to Dad - Don’t scream, don’t cry.  

     He was sobbing from fear and pain, and he couldn't make out even part of that, even though he must have been loud enough for half the street to hear. It terrified him even more, and Clint didn’t dare   look at Dad, didn't want to see his red, angry face yelling at him any more.  

     Harold grabbed him by the shoulders, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. He was still shaking him as if that would stop anything, and he kept doing so until Mom came running and forcefully pulled Harold away. She was shrieking at her husband,  

     “What have you done?!” but Clint couldn’t hear that, either.  

     At this point, he was about to pass out from the pain and blood loss, and really, it was a relief.  

 *+~

 Clint wakes up to bright lights and scratchy sheets. There is a sharp, distinctive smell of antiseptic in the air that tells him that he is in a hospital. His head is heavy, as if filled with cotton, but there is no pain. Other than that, the world is still utterly silent. Sometimes, there is a muffled bit of something that makes its way through, but it is over just as quickly as it came.

 With a groan, Clint opens his eyes. The light is blinding, way too bright, and he almost flinches away from it. Too much. It’s too much. His dream is lingering, but he is too tired to deal with that.

 A warm, gentle hand rests on his arm, fingers tapping a short but familiar rhythm - Clint relaxes at once, because only two other people use this form of communication with him. Originally, they came up with that in case they can’t talk out loud during missions and when hand signs would be too obvious - Clint, Nat and Phil are fluent in each other's micro expressions, but sometimes, it’s nice to be able to say something.

     `You are safe. I’m here.`      is what the tapping rhythm means, and really, just moments later, the lights are dimmed a bit, which is an instant relief. Then Phil steps into his line of sight. Clint manages a small smile.

 He is happy and relieved to see him, and Phil seems to be just as happy. Slowly, he reaches out for his hand and Clint happily lets him. With his other hand, Phil is brushing away a few strands of blond hair from his forehead, and Clint leans into the touch.

 “Hey. What happened?” he asks, and this time, he isn’t surprised at all that he can’t hear himself. There is a fear in the back of his head, old memories that are coming back to the surface, but he manages to hold that off for now. He is safe, and Phil is here - he can figure out the rest as it comes.

 Phil taps his shoulder, and Clint opens his eyes again to look - oh, right. Communication and all that. His head is still cloudy. But lucky for him, his partner is prepared as always. He hands him a notepad, where he has written a few short, blocky sentences. It’s far from his usual small, neat handwriting. This was written with someone dizzy and exhausted in mind.

     Hi. Good to see you awake.  

     You are safe now, but you were attacked in the last fight.  

     Stabbed ear drums. Hearing loss.  

     Might be permanent.  

     Doctors say a little might come back over time.  

     Can’t say anything for sure yet.  

 Clint takes that in, and has to swallow a lump in his throat. The word “permanent” is burned into his brain, and it makes him think of a doctor’s visit many many years ago, where these exact words had been written down for him -      Hearing loss, possibly permanent.  

 Clint remembers feeling completely numb at the time, only nodding to indicate that he understood. He didn’t know what his parents told the doctor back then, but there is no doubt that they’d gone the “clumsy kid had an accident” route like they always did.

 Clint had been long used to that, too, and he wouldn’t dare say anything. He was way too afraid of the painful consequences if he did.

 His hearing had returned over time - mostly. It hadn’t been great ever since, but he’d managed well enough.

 Now, things look quite a bit different.

 Now, as an adult, Clint nods to the explanation, trying to keep all of the  thoughts and memories at bay. Phil seems to know that he must be struggling, so he leans over to press a kiss against Clint’s temple. Clint leans into the touch, and is happy that Phil is scooting closer so they can keep up the physical contact more easily. Then, he flips over to another page on his notepad.

     How are you feeling?  

 Clint considers this for a second. Then he shrugs.

 “I don’t know. Tired. Dizzy. Can’t hear anything.���

 Talking feels funny, too. He says as much, and Phil nods in understanding.

     Pain?    , He scribbles down under his first question, and Clint shakes his head - just the tiny bit of movement makes his head spin. It takes him a while to answer because of that.

 “No, I think they gave me the good stuff. Just, my balance must be shot to shit.”

 This time, Phil writes a little bit more.

     Yes, that is normal for now, from what I’ve been told. Doc will come by later to explain.  

 With a long sigh, Clint nods again.

 “...Okay.”

 There really isn’t much else he could say right now, and despite having questions, Clint can feel the exhaustion pulling him back under again. While he settles back into a more comfortable position, he can feel Phil sitting down on the edge of his bed. He reaches out, carefully, and Clint happily accepts the offer. He drifts off into sleep while leaning into the warmth of his partner, leaning into the touch while he slowly strokes his hair until Clint is out cold again.

 When he wakes up again, nothing has changed. He still feels the same, and thankfully, Phil is still with him. They don’t talk much, although the notepad is still close.

     I was worried about you.  

     Do you need anything?  

     Natahsa is coming by tonight.  

     The team might join us later, if you’re up for it.  

 and

     I love you.  

 are the only things currently written on it, but the      `I love you´     is written a lot bigger than everything else. Phil has underlined that sentence more than once and he even drew a few lopsided hearts floating around it.

 Clint can still feel the flush that crept up his neck, but he also hasn’t stopped smiling since, despite everything else. The amount of love he feels for Phil is hard to put into words, and sometimes he can’t believe how lucky he is that Phil feels the same for him. But he does, and he only leaves Clint’s side to shower and change, or to pick up food from the cafeteria. Other than that, Phil remains close, happy to write small notes for Clint or to hold him while he sleeps, occupying himself with a book or paperwork.

 Clint is happy, and more than a little thankful for the distraction. This whole situation still terrifies him, still makes him think way too much of the first time his world has turned utterly silent. All that is a can of worms he doesn’t want to open right now, so he takes any distraction, any happy thought he can right now.

 Maybe, when he is out of the hospital, he might tell Phil about it. He knows that he would be willing to listen at any time, happy to help him sort through the thoughts and memories. He would be      there    , to support him in any way he needs, and Clint loves him for it.

 He doesn’t fool himself - he knows that the rough times will hit as soon as the fog has left his head and things are more clear. The memories and old trauma will hit him then, no doubt, but he also knows that he won’t have to do this alone. Sometimes, he doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve Phil.

 But for now, he is happy to doze off with his head pillowed on Phil’s legs, happy to let him keep watch for a little while longer.

      -

Prompt: Ear Injury

[butmomilovejin]

Day 1/365

Prompt: “Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before.”

Genre: Angst, Mild crack

Summary: Jungkook had never felt fury like that; uncontrollable. You, having been his best friend for the best part of the last decade, meant so much to him and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being uncomfortable under the hands of some gross loner at a party. After he had taken his anger out on his target, he ends up at his boyfriend’s front door

Warnings: Mentions of sexual harassment, Violence, Yoongi tries to make light of a bad situation? 

WC: 1.4k

It was 2 in the morning and Jungkook was not where he should be, in bed, asleep. No. He was walking the streets of Seoul, pace rapid, as his legs carry him without him knowing, to Yoongi’s front door. 

He didn’t know what came over him. Earlier that evening, when you had told him about what that guy had done to you at a party the night before, touching you up as you wriggled to escape, you hadn’t expected him to explode like that, rushing out the door before you’d even finished your last sentence. Jungkook rang the doorbell for what felt like hours. No sign of movement in the house. Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he sees almost 100 missed calls from you over the past few hours. He continues to ignore them though as he unlocks the phone and goes straight to Yoongi’s contact. The phone rang... and rang... and rang... and Jungkook had begun searching through his messy pockets to try and find something to pick the lock with. But finally, just as it almost went to voicemail, a groggy sounding Yoongi muttered a confused ‘Hello?’ on the other end of the phone.

“Yoongi! How could you not hear the doorbell??” 

“You’re at my house?” He was now gradually waking up due to the rushed tone of Jungkook’s voice.

“Yes, now please let me in my saliva is turning into ice out here.”

“Nice mental image thank you, but the door’s open just come in.”

“Oh, ok- wait you leave your door unlocked at night?” 

“Locking doors is for the weak; now come inside before you get hypothermia.”

Jungkook tested the handle on the door and sure enough, it was open. He heads to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, listening to the soft movement of Yoongi’s footsteps he walks down the stairs, clad in his dressing gown and glasses, hair a mess, strands in every direction, not that Jungkook’s was any better.

Yoongi sits at a stool in the kitchen and looks at JK’s back as his hands grip the sink, white knuckles protruding, Yoongi seemingly not phased at all that his boyfriend was at his house at the witching hour, looking rather handsomely disheveled.

“Well, aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m here?” Jungkook asked, now facing Yoongi.

“No, I figured you’d tell me without prompting anyway.”

“You- Fair enough. Well where do I even START?”

“Why don’t we start with why you’re not at Y/N’s having your movie night, which by the way, still upset I didn’t get an invite.”

“It’s tradition between us! You can’t come it’s OUR time.”

“Kook... I’m joking,” Yoongi says as he guides the younger to the living room and sits him on a sofa across from himself, “What happened babe?”

The pet name causes Jungkook to look up lovingly to Yoongi. 

“Well, ok, so I was with her and she seemed a bit- I don’t know. She seemed kind of off-ish, I knew something was up when she didn’t even suggest Cat in the Hat for our movie.”

Yoongi nods along but he doesn’t know you nearly as well as Jungkook and has no idea how that would give the impression there was something wrong. Regardless, he acts like he understands as Jungkook continues on.

“I asked her what was up and she was very reluctant to tell me but eventually she gave in. She was harassed last night at that party we were meant to go to. I wish we never ate that week old pie, we would’ve been there if we weren’t spewing everywhere”

“Harassed?” Yoongi asked, trying to the pinpoint the important parts in between Jungkook’s rambled monologue.

“The guy was touching her up even when she was trying to get back to her friends. She said she was fine about it last night, because she was so drunk, it barely registered in her brain, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it all day today.”

“Well, technically yesterday, its 2am.”

“Dude... shut the fuck up.”

“Did you just friend zone me, we’ve been together for 2 years bro.”

“I love you bro.”

“I love you too bro, anyway please continue.”

“Oh yeah, so I basically stormed out, started running before I even knew who it was, realised I didn’t know who I was after, went to her friends Instagram and saw him and Y/N in the back of the picture, figured out who he was, turns out I went to school with the prick, found his Insta and, through that, found he still lived with his parents, knocked on the door, his dad opened the door, I politely asked for his son-” He took a deep breath before continuing, “He called him down, I grabbed his collar and dragged him outside and ruffled him up a bit, a lot actually, but then his dad came out with a whole ass bat and I grabbed the banana in my pocket I was saving for movie snacks and smacked him in the head with it before he could get me with the bat then he fell down and I ran away, oh my god have I killed an innocent old man?”

“Uhhhhhh,” Yoongi is unsure of what to say as Jungkook was now pacing around his living room, “Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before.”

Jungkook gave him a death stare.

“Whew, if looks could kill. Listen Kook, you did the right thing, it was a BANANA, as strong as you think you are Mr Gym Lad, you’re not strong enough to kill a man with just a banana. What about Y/N though? You didn’t even say anything before you left?”

Jungkook had calmed down a tad now and was perched back on the sofa. He shook his head to the question, suddenly feeling bad that you were probably at home worrying when, most likely, you had just wanted comfort from him about the situation.

“Call her Kookie. Lets get in my car, you call her, and I’ll drive to her place.”

Jungkook agreed instantly, Yoongi was always good at grounding him. 

They did as they said and Jungkook held his phone to his ear as it rang, after some further persuasion from Yoongi, as the car rolled through the harsh lights of the street lamps, roads completely bare of any sign of life. Contrasting the call to his boyfriend, the phone hadn’t even rang once before your voice was on the other end.

“KOOK WHAT THE FU-”

“Hey...” He says quietly, a bit embarrassed of the drama he had caused.

“What did you do?” You said, relieved that you could hear his voice.

“Me and Yoongi are on our way over, I’m like 5 minutes away, we’ll talk about it then.”

You sigh, “Ok Kookie, you want hot chocolate?” 

He smiles slightly for the first time since stepping foot in your apartment earlier that night. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I’m making one for Yoongi too, does he want cream and marshmallows?”

“You want cream and marshmallows on your hot chocolate babe?” Jungkook holds the phone away from him as he directs the question to Yoongi, putting you on loud speaker.

“Obviously.”

“Ok, see you soon.” You respond before hanging up.

They buzz your apartment and you let them in instantly. The minute the door opens, you run to Jungkook, hooking your legs around him as you hug him closely. You had been worried all night he might have done something stupid on your behalf and gotten himself hurt or, more drastically, imprisoned.

He chuckles lowly as he sets you down. You walk to the kitchen and like little ducklings, they follow.

You hand out the hot chocolate and sit at the dining table, waiting for Jungkook to explain. Both you and Yoongi look at him expectedly and he finally begins his explanation, fortunately much calmer than the first time he had recited his story to Yoongi.

When he was finished, you go to wrap your arms around his neck, “Thank you,” you murmur into his hair as he keens to your hug, “But next time you wanna start chaos, take me with you.” You unwrap your arms to give him a hard flick on the back of the head, causing Yoongi to snigger and Jungkook to sheepishly rub the back of his head.

“Now, I know its late, but can we watch The Cat in the Hat?”

The boys share a look before agreeing and curling up with you on the sofa.

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

AN- Ok! This is my first work of this year! I want to do one every day this year, it won’t always be possible but I will try my best! Yoongi could be seen as a bit insensitive in this one but I wanted to portray the dynamic his and Jungkook’s relationship has. If you enjoyed please leave me some feedback to help me improve and motivate me, like and reblog! 

[frangipanidownunder]

Would you consider a prompt? I have been home from a unexpected and long hospital stay for just a couple of days. The news is all good, but I am tired and it's freezing and gray and rainy here. I am amazed at the level of loving support from my husband and I feel so loved. So I am thinking of Scully, home from the hospital after Tithonus or Redux II or FTF and wondering how that "coming home" goes for her - and Mulder of course. Fic is Medicine Anon

And prompt 39 from the cliché list for @edierone ‘Having a bad day and the other noticing’. Thank you to @chekcough for your excellent betaing.

Living Better: fic

There’s a newness about everything. A sheen of hope. The sun is bright, the sky open, the world seems wider. The furniture in her apartment gleams, her plants are healthier, lush. Her mother must have been in, cleaning and tidying as though hygiene and order could turn around the march of the cancer invading her daughter’s body. 

Scully is grateful. She is. Whatever quiet miracle took place over the last few days, she’s been given a second chance and this homecoming, however unremarkable (I’ll be fine, mom), is a new start. 

Before. After. 

Still, everything feels Herculean. Where there should be wings of freedom, she’s weighted down by invisible cargo. There’s a roiling mass of ingratitude inside her. A fist of anger or shame or bitterness. During her fight against the disease, her mind had accepted her fate and now it’s like her spirit is pissed that she’s having to live again. There’s a nagging voice in her head. You should be doing more, Dana. You should be out there living. Life rushed by once before, don’t let it disappear into the rearview mirror again.

She should be free. Free to feel. She knows she should feel more. People have revealed themselves, their true selves, to her these past months. And Mulder. There’s Mulder. A hero who went in to battle. Who won. And now? Happily ever after is a load too heavy to bear.

With late afternoon shadows playing over the floor of her living room, she’s sitting on her couch, knees tucked under her seat, robe pulled around her frame, still bony and paper-skinned, prone to the cold. Aromatic steam wafts from her cup. Peppermint tea helps with the lingering nausea. There’s a romantic comedy playing in the background and she’s trying to read the novel that Tara presented to her with a ‘I’m sure you’ll love it because I did and we’re related…’ smile. It’s not really her thing, but she has time, once a luxury, to read, to rest, to do nothing. 

After a while, the words blur together and the movie’s credit rolls. Her stomach is empty and she knows she should eat. Her mother insisted on leaving cooked meals in the freezer but she has little appetite and her sense of smell has all but disappeared anyway. Where is the joy of food when it’s been reduced to just a necessary fuel? 

As the plastic tub of pasta revolves on the plate in time with the drone of the microwave, she remembers the slop from her night in prison, and gags. Not just at the memory of the soggy grey mess of that stew, but at her resolve to be strong for Mulder, to protect him. She fears that resolve has disappeared, along with the cancer. Back then, when he walked into the senate hearing and smiled at her, she’d felt something more than relief. She could admit that now. At her bedside one night recently, he’d collapsed in tears, clinging to her hand like a child. She’d kept her eyes closed for fear of humiliating him further. He was hanging on to life by the same spidery thread she was. 

And now they have to move on with life as though nothing has happened.

She throws the dinner in the garbage bin.

Sleep evades her again that night, nightmares swirling around her mind, shadowy figures clawing at her as she tries to run, her feet mired in a squelching, sucking bog. The flash of a bullet. Mulder’s temple exploding. His hot blood splattering over her face.

She shoots up, the beating of her own pulse too loud in the predawn stillness.

Something outside of her control demands to hear his gravelled voice. Calling his number is an impulse. He answers, fear edging his voice. She remembers telling him she’s okay, but the rest of the conversation is lost to the void of her memory. A symptom she hopes is only temporary. Now, Scully pads from her bedroom, drawing her forefinger and thumb along the edges of her cheekbones. Hollow. She rests her hand over her stomach, concave. The points of her hips jutting out. Gaps and sharp edges everywhere.

There’s a hazy film of dawn across the kitchen. As she waits for the tea kettle to boil, she’s lost in the mist frosting the window, the ragged edges of it blooming out before receding to nothingness. Just a dot on the glass. She presses the pad of her finger to it and breathes, leaving a trace of herself on the pane. A sharp rap at the door makes her startle, her elbow knocking over the vase her mother gave her when she bought this place. She meant to put it back in the cupboard. She meant to keep it safe.

Mulder’s inside before she can move to find the dustpan, weapon in his hand, yelling her name. If she had the energy, she’d laugh. Instead, she sinks to her knees, feels the gritty shards of porcelain digging into her skin. Her sigh is ragged, the exhalation physically painful.

“Are you okay?” he says, kneeling next to her. She can sense his hand hovering over her shoulders and she wills him to lower it, to feel the warmth of his touch. Instead, he starts to pick up the broken vase.

She heaves herself up and takes a bag from the tidy under the sink to dispose of the pieces. As Mulder places the larger pieces carefully inside, he looks down at her but by now she’s unable to meet his gaze. His scrutiny will crack her open just like the vase and if she falls apart, she’ll never be put back together.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, without alarm, but he takes the bag and leaves it in the sink before bracing her shoulders, turning her into him and leading her to the couch. “Sit.”

It’s strangely comforting to be ordered about by him. She obeys, exhausted. It’s then that she sees the pearls of blood dotting her legs, collecting in the longer threads of her robe. A sharp diamond of porcelain is sticking out from the skin of her knee. 

“Where do you keep your Bandaids?” Mulder’s voice floats over her as she watches the blood ribbon down her shin. She’s no longer shocked by its crimson brightness, having seen it leach from her body so often. But for Mulder, she realises, it’s a cruel reminder of past months.

“In the bathroom,” she says, nodding in the direction. She tries to say ‘thank you’ as he walks away, but the words dry in her throat.

Mulder returns with a first aid kit, unwraps the scissors from their plastic shield and removes the offending shard. She watches his lips form a silent ‘sorry’ as he dabs antiseptic lotion on her, but the sting is refreshing. She can feel it. He holds a cotton pad against her knee and she looks at his strong fingers across her skin. She sees her unshaven legs, her blue veins, her crumpled socks.

“I’m such a mess.”

No response. He dabs at her knee, lifting the pad to see if the bleeding has stopped. He disappears to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water.

“Sorry about the vase,” he says, sinking into the seat next to her.

“It was a gift from my mother. She’ll probably buy two more. She’s…just so grateful, you know?”

He nods. “I am, too,” he says softly. “Very much so.”

Tears burn the corners of her eyes and she presses a finger under her nose to stop the flow but it’s impossible. He lets her weep until she’s wrung dry. Exhaustion leaves her body trembling. He finds a blanket, God knows from where, and covers her.

“You need to give yourself time, Scully. You’ve been through…”

“Don’t say ‘an ordeal’,” she says wearily. She’s heard it from her mother, brother, Father McCue, doctors, nurses. She survived. Life shouldn’t be a trial.

“I was going to say ‘a lot’. It’s not just the cancer, Scully. Your work with me…the abduction, your sister. It all adds up. This disease…how close it came to…” He stops, taking a shallow breath and rubbing at his stubbled chin. “In a funny way it made me reassess everything. That sounds selfish…it’s not what I mean. I…guess that you…not being here would change... everything. You mean more to me that you know, than even I knew.” He looks at her, eyes wet, and laughs in surprise at his own admission. 

“Mulder…”

“It’s true! It took your death sentence to stop me suffocating up my own ass.”

A giggle wells up in her throat, along with more tears. Her chest hurts. And she’s not sure if it’s pain or a coming back to life of sorts. His face lights up. 

“What I’m trying to say is that this is a second chance. For you, for us, for the work…if you still want it.” His voice lowers and he presses a hand over her arm. “Scully, your health is the most important thing to me. And you need to take some time, as much time as you need.”

The silence of the night is heavy in her head. There were times in the hospital where the midnight hours would stretch elastically until she felt she were forever walking towards an elusive dawn. Time really was a construct. The hours on the clock held no meaning, yet they marked her life in increments – for treatments, for food, for visits. 

“I do want to come back,” she says, finally. “I thought I would already be back. Recovery has been…more difficult than I expected.”

He chuckles. “Why does that not surprise me?” He taps her elbow with two fingers. “You are the strongest person I know but you’re also the worst at cutting yourself some slack.” His forehead crinkles, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have nothing to prove that you haven’t already, Scully. Especially not to me.”

“Mom keeps coming by and she’s so cheery and happy and it’s hard, you know? That sounds so selfish, but I keep thinking that I have a duty, some kind of moral obligation to live a better life now that I’ve…survived. It’s like the pressure of life has doubled, tripled, and I can’t even make myself dinner.” Her nails dig into her palms. How can she make him understand? She’s alive. She should be grateful, not bitching about her mom. She shrugs off the blanket, runs her hands down her frame. “I can’t even decide what clothes to wear so I just wear this. I brush my hair, put my earrings in, look at my make-up and all I think is ‘why?’. What’s the point? I’ve already beaten this disease. Isn’t that enough?” He pulls her into a hug and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Shouldn’t it be enough?”

His breath ruffles her hair. His chest moves up and down as he breathes and she listens to the solid, steady beat of his heart.

Releasing her, he takes both hands into his, holding them gently, bringing them to his mouth to press a soft kiss against her knuckles. There’s such reverence in his action. A kind of benediction for them both. “I think...I think you’ve put yourself under this pressure, Dana. Nobody, least of all your mother, expects you to leap back into work or life straightaway. I...I don’t want that. We all want you strong and healthy. And your mother, she knows you. Knows you’ll cut her off, give her a hand wave and an ‘I’m fine’.” He smiles. Gets her smiling too. “How many of those have you given out over the last few months, hey, Miss Scully?” He bounces their clasped hands between them. “I’ve heard more ‘I’m fines’ than I’ve seen aliens.”

She laughs at that. Mulder and his ridiculous puns are like the sun finally rising after an eternity in the dark. 

He pulls the blanket over her lap and his, squashes a cushion behind his head, points the remote control at the television. “There’s a movie on that I know you’re going to love.”

Leaning against him as he chuckles at the scene playing on the screen, she looks around. There’s a newness about everything. A sheen of hope and the itch of wings forming on her back.

[cryxmercy]

Death Becomes Her  {POTW}

Serendipity comes in the strangest forms. 

When: Current time, very late evening Who: Mercy and @mor-beck-more-problems​ (Morgan) Where: Morgan’s dream of the day she died

TW: blood, gore, implied character death, body mutilation, injury, body horror

The black sockets where Coraline Adams’ eyes once were stared at Morgan from the pavement. She opened her mouth, slowly, stiff and weighted by the iron melded into her flesh. Blood fell over her scorched lips and rushed down her chin. “Are we the same?” She asked.

Morgan could not speak. There was no compulsion to eat, nothing dragging her forward into the dark red muscle exposed around Coraline’s cheeks or the glisten of her nix scales on her arms. Nor was there any fear to run away. Morgan’s body had forgotten movement altogether. She could only stare as Coraline’s ruined body asked her again, “Are you like me?” The burns spread on her face, ripping apart from her mouth and outward. Red exploded from the body, showering Morgan in blood. The world spun and without warning, the ground was suddenly beneath her. She was on Main Street again. The pole was in her stomach, so sharp it made tears start fresh. She wriggled in place, harder than she had been able to in life. Maybe this time… 

“How is this balanced?” Coraline Adams was next to her, hairless brow wrinkled with curiosity. “Don’t we deserve more than this?” There seemed to be more she wanted to say, but Morgan felt a strange prickle on the back of her neck, like someone was watching her. “Hello--?”

The black water stretched out endlessly on all sides. Still as glass, yet Mercy could feel it lapping at her ankles. There was no sun, no moon, no stars. And yet there was light. It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. There was no land. No mountains or shorelines in sight. Yet Mercy could feel sand and rocks beneath her feet. There was only a distant fog that drifted slowly.  She wanted to move. To walk, to run… to flee. 

Never run from anything immortal, a familiar voice whispered in her ear. It only attracts their attention. 

Mercy smelled burning flesh. ‘Are you like me?’ 

Mercy turned towards the new voice, but there was no one there. “Like who?” Then the world shifted in a rush of sound, and the lake was gone. Concrete was beneath her feet now. Feet that were still soaking wet, and left dark, inky footprints when she finally started to walk. The streets were empty. Foggy, like the lake. Mercy walked for awhile, but stopped when figures appeared up ahead. They were talking with each other. One was impaled. The other was burned. None of this frightened Mercy, and she approached calmly. Too calmly perhaps.

“The gods don’t care what we deserve.” She looked at the woman with the pole through her middle. “You should pull that out.” 

Morgan turned as much as her body would allow, straining through the smoke on the empty street for a sign. This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here, she was supposed to be home, she was supposed to be fine, not trapped here again, and this--what was it?--didn’t belong in this nightmare plane with her. Then a voice spoke and a tall woman emerged from the smoke. She towered over the shadowy wreckage like a statue. This was stupid, Morgan didn’t even have any gods. And if there were any, she was growing confident that they didn’t care at all when it came to the undead. She looked down at the rebar in her stomach, then back at the woman, so strange and hard along her face, even otherworldly. She reminded Morgan of old paintings she’d studied in school, icons of Roman goddesses and pre-raphaelite witches. She wasn’t familiar enough to have come from her subconscious, but where was she from, then? “I can’t,” she replied, as if it were obvious. “I’m kind of stuck to the ground. And bleeding everywhere.” But that was beside the point, right? “Who are you? I don’t even know you.”

Mercy wasn’t supposed to be here either. Foggy streets in modern times were hardly ever the background for her dreams. She wondered if she was alright, back in her bed at Arthur’s house. Or if she tossed and turned in her sleep. She wondered idly if she would wake him with her restlessness. But the dream pulled her back in. She looked down on the unfamiliar woman with the same neutrality she always wore for the dead and dying in her dreams. But this wasn’t her dream. Was it? Maybe it was, and she didn’t know it. She’d seen more traffic accidents than she could remember. Maybe this was one she’d forgotten? But why? She didn’t know this woman. Nothing about the accident stood out as extraordinary. Other than the woman - pretty, with soft brown hair and kind eyes - who wasn’t dead. When she should be. “It happens.” Mercy moved to squat beside the impaled woman, snagging a finger in the fabric of her bloody shirt and pulling it to one side to peer at the wound. “Mercy,” she answered. “Do you want help?”

Morgan hissed and wriggled as the woman examined her wound. “Don’t!” She turned again, looking for Remmy or Deirdre, but there was only Coraline Adams, her bloody mouth gone slack, the raw scorches on her forehead wrinkled with distress. “You don’t even know who I was,” she said to Morgan. And at last it occurred to her that she didn’t even know what Coraline sounded like. So whose voice was she speaking with? Morgan flopped back onto the pavement. There was something painfully ironic about being confronted by someone named Mercy. “You wanna help? Are you gonna un-kill me, Mercy?” She asked, laughing dryly. “Or un-kill her?” She sniffled and gestured her head towards Coraline. “Are you gonna care about any of us for the gods? Are you my subconscious’ supernatural avenger?”

Mercy glanced at the woman’s face, wanting to tell her it could hardly hurt much worse, but did as she asked and let the wound be. She followed her gaze to the other figure standing nearby, burned and bloodied and hovering far too close to be anything other than a figure of horrible importance. Mercy had had too many dreams to think otherwise. The question was, why was she dreaming of this? Of an impaled stranger and her scorched watcher? She turned back to the woman stuck on the pole as she sagged to the pavement. It was ironic indeed, the thought that ran through the woman’s head about Mercy’s name. She was likely the first person in a very long time to understand without being told, and she didn’t even speak it out loud. Most did. In the end. When they cried for mercy. So an eyebrow raised slightly at her other comment, Mercy’s first reaction other than neutrality. “I’m not a necromancer. But did I kill you?” She frowned, looking at the burned woman. “Did I kill her? I’ve killed so many....” Mercy shook her head and frowned. “That’s not how gods work.” She looked at the impaled woman again. “Your subconscious? This is my dream.” But she sounded very, very unsure. 

All at once, Morgan was so confused her mind forgot to conjure any pain. She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to place the woman. She was good with faces and she’d passed through a lot of places, but she couldn’t pin down anything about her or why she would invent someone like her who wouldn’t just give a straight answer. “Raising from the dead isn’t the same as un-killing, we know that.” She said. “What do you--? I died, Mercy! I died stupid and helpless on the street and my friends had to watch! There’s no fixing that, anymore than there’s any chance of fixing Coraline!” She looked at the burned nix again, tears welling up. “I don’t know what I’m doing, what I think finding out who killed her is going to change. She’s still going to be dead, and she’s still going to wind up nowhere and forgotten, and everyone else this alchemist asshole hurt is still going to be hurt. There’s no magic undo button for any of this. So what counts for mercy or balance there, Mercy? What do we do for her?” Morgan was so worked up in trying to force answers out of herself she only then realized Mercy’s question. “What do you mean your dream? Are you--real? How are you--?” Shit. “Fuck, I’m not even supposed to be asleep! Zombies don’t sleep! What is this?” She began to thrash around the pole in her, grimacing with effort. She couldn’t stay here, wherever here was. “Am I dead again?”

Mercy let herself be observed, not minding the other woman’s perusal. She was just as confused at the stranger’s presence in her dream as the stranger seemed to be. “I guess that depends on your definition of death,” Mercy said a bit too casually. “I’ve died many times. And I’m still here.” Too many times, she thought. She wrung her hands, which didn’t shake as they had started to do in the waking world, and looked from the impaled woman to the burned one and back. “I’m just wondering why you’re in my dream if you’re dead. Usually, it’s someone I’ve killed. Or someone I know that’s died. Never a stranger.” 

Mercy wasn’t unsympathetic to the woman’s plight. There was a reason she was here after all. But as she spoke, Mercy frowned. It still didn’t make much sense, but death was something she knew well. As was revenge. “People are only forgotten when we stop telling their stories.” She looked at the woman as she spoke. “And if this person - this alchemist - who hurt her is still out there, in the real world, then you find them, and you make them pay. Pain for pain. Suffering for suffering. Life for life. Death for death.” The Fury shook her head, blonde hair obscuring part of her face. “It won’t bring them back, but it will avenge them. That is what you do for her. So that no one else suffers her fate.” Mercy frowned again as more questions followed. “I’m dreaming. This is… my dream. I’m… aren’t I?” She looked around. “Yes, I’m real. I’m… I live in White Crest… I’m… at my- at Arthur’s house… in the guest…” The impaled woman started to thrash, and Mercy turned to watch as something registered. “If you’re a zombie, then just pull yourself free. It’ll grow back.” She shook her head. “The truly dead don’t dream. Are you in town too? Is this… are we… dreaming together?” Mercy didn’t like that idea. Not one bit. 

Well, at least Mercy’s way of measuring justice and balance matched up with Morgan’s. Equivalent exchange didn’t have to be pretty to be fair. But a life for a life didn’t answer what to do about someone who had taken more than their share. What did you do for someone who had taken two, maybe even four or eight lives? For parts, for the fun of it. Morgan didn’t see how Mercy’s presence wasn’t connected to this place her mind had built for guilting. 

“This is my death, my personal crime scene, my recently acquired baggage,” Morgan said, gesturing to each in turn. “Maybe you brought the gothic fog with you, or maybe it’s my brain saying thanks but no thanks, I was too busy dying to remember how many cars were piled up in the traffic accident. Either way, I think the majority says you’re creeping on my turf. And, you know, maybe I would just ‘pull myself free’ if I wasn’t stuck.” She tried again, grimacing as blood began to burble out of her back and stomach. “White Crest. That’s...yeah. That’s here. You’re here, in White Crest in my hea...oh. Right. Um, yeah, I’m...there too, on the east end of town. At home. Or at least, I better be. If I am somehow fucking cursed after dying, I swear to the fucking stars--” She gave up on freeing herself once again and fell back to the ground. “This is some big, fucked up magic.” She mumbled. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I already have to worry about whether or not my girlfriend and I are going to make it home each night, and there are two bodies killed by a fucking alchemist psycho that are somehow my responsibility! If you’re okay can you just, help me or leave? Shit, you are okay, right? My brain’s not...hurting you? Making you sick? I don’t know how this works.”

Mercy knew many ways to make people suffer. She knew how to keep someone alive for days on end. She knew how to draw out a death, until they were begging for it. She knew more ways to kill than most people even knew existed. So she would’ve told Morgan to make this person suffer by taking them apart piece by piece and selling them off to the highest bidder. But that was just what Mercy would do. 

“Keep your death. I’ve got plenty of my own.” It wasn’t said unkindly. Mercy was simply... confused. “Our memories keep things we don’t always remember. But no… I think you’re right. This is you. But why am I here?” Mercy had little time to contemplate the thought as the woman - Mercy still didn’t know her name - tried to wiggle off the pole again. To no avail. “Fucked up is right,” Mercy agreed. The woman’s list of problems was… hell, it sounded like she’d had a shitty few weeks. Mercy could empathize. 

“That sounds shitty. And… I really hope it gets better. Look me up in the real world if you want revenge on that bitch. Though if it makes you feel any better, I was drowned by a demon-squid, died… went to some fucked up limbo… before coming back a few hours later just before Dr. Oblivious wanted to autopsy me. She did put me in the fucking freezer. Like a turkey. Can you believe it? And then my- ex-fiance-… my… friend. Arthur. Whatever the fuck you call someone you almost married 200 years ago… we went on a fucked up magic carpet ride through my memories to undo a spell to save a baby werewolf from certain death, and got all sorts of mind-fucked on that one. Oh... and I was blind for almost a month before that.” 

Mercy gave the pole a tap with her hand. It wasn’t budging. “You want me to cut you loose?” She pulled a rather large, curved knife from her boot. “‘S’just a dream, right? And I’m… fine? I honestly don’t know at this point.” Mercy waved the knife again, offering her help to get Morgan off the pole.

Mercy’s story was so unbelievable, even with all of Morgan’s knowledge, she wondered again if this wasn’t some interdimensional limbo, or some mind spell gone horribly wrong. But the energy of the universe did not look at her the same way it had before. It would hold her just enough to keep her here, striving against everything else in the world, but no more. Something much bigger than her existence was bending the world to its will, catching them up in its grasp. Which meant Mercy, in all her strange, improbable glory, was real. Morgan gaped for words, mouthing absently like a fish until she managed to sputter, “I...don’t know how to unpack that. Except, my subconscious definitely doesn’t have the imagination to invent...all that. I...wait, so this means you’re someone who can...find people? Or kill them, or--?” It was too strange, too unlike everything in her miserable mortal life, for something like this to just fall into her lap. She looked at her with open faced bewilderment and hesitantly reached for her hand instead of her knife. She moved some inches off the rebar before something snagged on her insides. The pain was so sharp and sudden she was beyond screaming, beyond help. “W-what--what’s--” Then her wrist erupted with pain and she fell back, no longer to the hot pavement of the street but an endless freefall, the world turning darker and darker around her. “Mercy!” She cried. But the only face she saw through the dim was Coraline Adams, still burnt and smiling her sad, toothless grin.

Mercy felt the tug of reality pulling at the edges of her consciousness. She’d had too many dreams not to recognize the signs that this - whatever it was - was all coming to an end. For now at least. But perhaps not it was also a beginning. Of something unexpected. Serendipitous, even. In a strange, twisted way. “Then don’t. Not yet. Later… when you’re not stuck in your own head, think about it then.” Mercy tucked the knife away when it was clear it wasn’t needed. She still squatted next to Morgan, watching her with a curious but intent expression. “Yes,” she nodded. “I can find them. And kill them. And whatever else they might deserve.” And from what Mercy had gathered from this very odd conversation, the person that woman on the pole was looking for deserved all that Mercy had to offer. And then some. 

She idly wondered if people knew what a Blood Eagle was anymore. Perhaps she should find out. 

But the dream was ending. Mercy stood, the bloody glass on the pavement crunching beneath her feet, glinting like rubies in blinking of the traffic light. Mercy could only smile softly - and a bit sadly - as it all faded away. The burned woman and the impaled… the dead and the dead again… all gone as Mercy too, was swallowed once more by the dark. 

~ 

[moirai-au]

Timeline: first chapter of arc 2 - Outside. Mars and Ollie meet for the very first time.

Taglist: @immabethehero @bupine​ @tabbynerdicat @i-maybe-exist @its-ethan-bro @sandinthetardis @taikeero-lecoredier @idkwheresanti @thebluejaysworld @chainsthatbindthisrouletteofmine

*****

The young man awoke sluggishly, the wooden ceiling of his living room slowly coming into focus above him. He groaned in discomfort, his clothes and long, dark brown hair damp, beads of sweat rolling down his temples and neck to fall on the couch under him. 

The air was too warm, the kind of humid, heavy heat that made you want to crawl into a freezer and stay there for a few hours. Mars shifted, turning to lay on his side, the crick in his neck from the awkward position he’d fallen asleep in the day before making him wince- he hated summer.

From the way orange light shone through the living room window, it couldn’t have been later than seven in the morning. Yet it already felt so warm and stuffy, like a mischievous giant had trapped the property under a glass dome.

When had he fallen asleep? What had he been doing? He could barely muster the energy to remember.

The young man usually prided himself on his strict daily routine, but there were times where he just… gave up on it. Waking up one day feeling like nothing he’d do really mattered, and that he’d rather just stay in bed until the sun went away. Those times could last from just a few days to entire weeks.

Now was one of those times- waking and sleeping at the oddest hours, staying prone on his bed or the living room couch as the light shifted and his stomach protested... He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent in that foggy state, the days always started to blend together after the first two or three.

When had been the last time he’d done anything? Other than the usual pattern of wake-bathe-eat-read-eat-read some more-tend to the garden-eat-bathe-sleep?

It felt like years. It probably had. He was getting sick of reading the same books over and over again. So tired...

 He blinked- the garden. The heat. The greenhouse had an automated watering system, but…

He struggled to push himself up, groaning as his bones cracked. He set his feet on the carpet under the couch and stood up, his tall frame looming and swaying. “Wow,” he mumbled as his head spun and his knees almost buckled, blood slowly flowing up to his brain again- his stomach growled and ached. Okay. Maybe… maybe he’d eat something later today. There were still crackers in the pantry, right...? Not now. Greenhouse. Have to check on them...

Oh stars, how long had it been? He’d never left them unattended for so long, and in the middle of a heat wave- he felt guilt and anxiousness claw at his chest as he half-stumbled down the corridor leading to the back entrance, walking by mirrors covered by thin white sheets.

 ***

 Early morning light bathed the greenhouse in a warm orange glow, the sounds of sprinklers working away mixing with the chirps and caws of the various birds that called this place home.

Mars strutted down the garden, passing through the rows of colorful flowers and lush green plants- four, five- ah, here’s the one with the chipped beak… visiting ravens and crows, robins, a lone cockatiel he suspected must’ve escaped from somewhere the month before… all seemed calm and healthy, despite the intense heat. Now for the latest residents.

He reached the end of the glasshouse and entered a little fenced-off area, breathing out a sigh of relief as he watched three young parakeets play around a sprinkler, pecking and flapping at the water flying out of the jet.

 Looked like everyone was accounted for.

 The biggest one -Blue, as Mars had called him in a burst of nonexistent inspiration- tilted his head as the human closed the entrance behind him and approached, spreading his spotted, dark grey wings to jump and fly up, landing on a shoulder. He then proceeded to nibble on a lock of brown hair that had fallen out of Mars’ messy bun. “Hey- ow! Okay, okay-” the human chuckled, gently pushing the offending beak away from his face and guiltily eyeing the almost empty food dispenser hanging from the wall. “I know, I know… Haven’t been the best caretaker lately, have I.”

The young man sighed, sitting down on the grass as Blue, Soleil and () all made themselves at home in his hair and on his shoulders. “I’ll order you guys more food today, I promise.” Actually…

He peered around- bird food wasn’t the only thing on his plate it seemed. Some of the plants had started to grow in places they weren’t supposed to, some needed serious trimming or looked droopy and dry, dead leaves were littering the pathways… Mars groaned- he’d really left the area go to the dogs, huh. He was usually very diligent about maintaining it, keeping everything neat and healthy… it made him feel like he was doing something right, and good, making all this life flourish. 

 Instead of damaging it. Hurting it. Destroying it.

 Mars shook his head- he needed to pull himself out of that state, if only for their sake. He’d done it plenty of times before, he could do it again! This time was just... lasting a bit longer than usual. It was fine.

He gently shooed the little menaces away, getting back on his feet- there was work to be done.

***

He plopped down on the grass gracelessly and let himself fall backwards, laying in the shade- he was flushed, panting, his limbs trembling from the exertion. He let out an annoyed huff- true, he’d never been much in shape, often sickly and bedridden- but this was ridiculous. If Cecil was here he’d probably berate him for neglecting his physical activity, or something of that caliber.

The sun was higher now- most likely around ten. The heat was getting more intense, and it would only get worse from then. Well, at least he’d made good progress: the greenhouse now was free of weeds and stray leaves, plants trimmed to the best of his ability… he’d even discovered a nest full of tiny, newborn shrews somewhere in a patch of tall grass. He’d left it untouched, setting up a few reflective disks on strings to hang around it to ward off potential predators. Like Lune, the brown barred owl that sometimes paid the greenhouse a visit during the night. No baby mice for you Lune, sorry about that.

Mh. His nose scrunched distastefully- he was drenched in sweat, in clothes he’d been wearing for several days if he wasn’t mistaken, and the smell wouldn't get any better with time. He brought a hand to his face to wipe his brow and upper lip, reflexively cringing when his fingers brushed against the uneven skin around his eyes. Maybe he’d take a shower after ordering the bird’s food. Maybe the cool water would wash this sticky, heavy fatigue away. Maybe-

A loud crash snapped him out of his thoughts. He yelped in startled surprise, sitting up in a panic as the one of the glass panels above him exploded, glass flying everywhere and in his direction.

 Mars curled in on himself, teeth clenched and eyes coming alight- violet lines flared on the skin around his eyes, strands of hair floating up and swaying as if submerged in water. Everything seemed to slow down ; glass shards glimmered in the sun, now unmoving. Something red- a figure? It was screaming, why was it screaming- came into view, coming closer and closer to the ground- and then the scream was cut off abruptly when the figure landed with a dull thump, right in his poinsettias.

Then suddenly, silence. Heavy, so thick you could’ve cut the air with a knife. The constant chatter of the birds, gone. The glass shards, previously frozen in midair, now scattered in the grass. 

 And there, in the middle of a perfect circle of untouched ground, Mars slowly let the situation dawn on him.

 The young man stood up shakily, the scarred skin on his face now free of glowing lines. His gaze set on the red-clad figure laying a few meters away, he took a few hesitant steps forward then stopped right in his tracks, dumbfounded. That… was most definitely a person.

A person. A person. He hadn’t seen another human being in so long, let alone interacted with one in any meaningful way- Cecil didn’t count, the doc barely emoted anything beyond mild annoyance and disappointment. 

Why was there a person here? Why had they crashed through his room and what was he even supposed to do or say in a situation like this, what if they were dead and he now had a dead body in his home and then the police would get involved and oh god he was hyperventilating-

The person groaned, hissing in obvious pain before opening their eyes, blinking dazedly. Then their head rolled to the side, and frightened, slitted golden eyes met a pair of dark green confused ones.

“...Uuh.” they croaked out. “Hi.”

“Putain de nom de dieu !”

[burning-clutch]

A Garden Variety Ghost

Category: Gen,

Pairings: Jack/Maddie        

Author: @burning-clutch (Team Ghost)

Characters:  Danny, Jazz Maddie, Jack 

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, and drug like effects           

-.-.-.-.-.-

 Ding Dong!

 The doorbell ringing in the Fenton household was always an event for many different reasons. One main one being that Jack Fenton was like an overly excitable guard dog that could actually open doors to launch out into the streets at the wayward delivery personnel. So when a hapless U-ship worker came with a collection of boxes he was met with the Fenton Foamer and a number of prolific apologies from Maddie.

 “So what did you order?” Jazz asked from her spot at the kitchen table, looking up from her book only briefly to eye the cardboard package hoping to discern something from its inconspicuous form.

 Maddie placed the box on the table in front of Jazz while Jack bounced excitedly beside her. “We were checking old references in my old Fenton-Nightingale book and we found a few things detailed we wanted to try out!” he boomed excitedly giving a giddy chuckle as Maddie opened the box.

 “Okay… and that means what for us exactly? Should I stay at a friend's for a week?” Jazz asked nervously peering into the box only to frown when she saw nothing but packets of cushioning.  

 “No no. It’s fine.” Maddie said with a wave of her hand pulling out the air cushions to get to the prize. “We’re just looking into the details of ghost plants.”

 “Yeah! There were a few in here that said they did stuff to ghosts! And the main one was blood blossoms, but they’re practically extinct, and we weren’t able to get those, but we got all these other ones to experiment with! Now we just gotta catch a ghost and shove them onto it!” Jack said, pulling out a small package of seeds.

 “As soon as the plants grow,” Maddie added with a laugh. “I suppose gardening can be fun too,” she mused. “Come on hun, let’s set up a Fenton Grow-op”

 “You know how that sounds right?” Jazz sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Seriously it sounds like you guys are getting into illegal ghost drugs or something…”

 The Fenton parents exchanged a look before shrugging. “Well if it only affects ghosts it’ll be fine.” Maddie waved off flippantly.

 “Yeah Jazzy! It’ll give us a good insight into how they think then! If they think at all!” Jack added, his grin threatening to split his face.

 “So you’re going to see if ghosts can trip out?” Jazz asked incredulously.

 “For science!” Jack boomed, seeming to disregard his daughter's look of disbelief.

 “Well not just that, we don’t really know the full effects these may or may not have. There are plants that attract, repel hurt and soothe ghosts.” Maddie explained gently taking the seeds that Jack was threatening to take off with. “Come on sweetie, let’s get these planted.�� Maddie urged her husband to go down to the lab.

 Jazz sighed before sending off a quick text to Danny, to avoid the lab for the next few weeks as much as possible.

 Of course, that only worked for so long before Danny was told to clean the lab or else his parents would retaliate by taking away his computer for a week... And with the new Doomed update on its way it was a risk, he was willing to take.

 He crept down into the lab cautiously, hovering in the doorway for a moment before making note of the potentially dangerous flora that was innocently hanging out beneath a plexiglass barrier and a bright sun lamp.

 He double checked the mask on his face, a gas mask he had found in the garage, it had Duel Jack Fenton faces on either side of the filters but if it worked he would suffer from the embarrassment of wearing this stupid thing for a few hours.

 If any of those plants were half as potent as the Blood Blossoms were he would be in trouble if even the pollen were to hit his skin… let alone if he were to inhale something like that…

 With a shudder, he took a hesitant step into the preverbal lion’s den. “Why do both Sam and Tuck have to be busy today…” he groaned to himself as he finally landed on the lab’s floor.

 He crinkled up his nose behind the mask and moved along the wall of the lab, always keeping his eyes on the plants as if they were going to come to life any second and attack him. Though in this household you never know…

 When he finally made it to the shelf he pulled down a box of disposable nitrile gloves and snapped on a pair. Next, he reached for a pair of goggles, popping those onto his eyes. "Right," he said aloud to himself, now as protected as he was going to get without opting to wear a hazmat suit, which he hated the feel off on his human skin.

 He stared at the plants across the lab a moment before deciding it would be best to start there first. Deal with the area most in danger then work outward.

 He frowned in concentration as he began to clean the plexiglass. this was going well so far, good… this will work go-

 "Danny boy!" Jack boomed as he entered the lab causing the teen to jolt in surprise. The action caused his arm that was holding the squeegee to be thrown upwards popping the sealed box open and releasing some sort of purple pollen from the container.

 Danny winced seeing that, infinitely thankful for the mask he had on.

 "Hey, you found the Fenton anti Ecto Gas mask!" Jack boomed, pulling the device free with a wide grin. "I've been looking everywhere for this baby! Now we can have taco nights again! Your mother refused to make them, cuz -a what happens at night after… well, you know how it goes'' He chuckled, giving his son a slap on the back in gratitude.

 Danny just stared wide eyed at his father, there were so many reasons why he didn't need to know about his father's nighttime emissions, but moreover, he had just stolen the gasmask! the one thing that was stopping the… the…

 "You're doing great Dann-o Just remember the gear isn't to play around with… Now I gotta show Maddie this babyˋs back!” Jack boomed leaving his glassy eyed son to stare off into the void, a dopey smile crossing his face.

 What was he so worried about again? Danny blinked slowly as he stared down at the purple pollen. Right that… but why? This was relaxing… it was as if everything just melted away into the background. The scent from the pollen was intoxicating…

 Wait… He blinked his eyes rapidly a few times to clear them. "What?" he stared down at the floor again. That had felt incredibly relaxing! and he felt rejuvenated and energized now!

 He resolved then to figure out what plant it was that did that. it was like a ghostly energy drink! Maybe his parents had flubbed up again like with the ecto-dejecto? He smiled and looked towards the first flower that he could suspect the purple pollen came from.

 The flower looked like some sort of purple pinkie sunflower, with a red tinted centre. Carefully Danny lifted the glass and poked the greenish leaves, before poking the centre of the plant. "Hm…." he stared at it blankly for a moment.

 "Nope, nothing…" He mused this flower was a dud it seemed.

 Moving on he found something that looked like a deep purple tulip, with blood red leaves. He found himself enraptured with this one even before he opened the glass. it was beautiful and he couldn't think of anything more lovely….

 He had to have it.. it was… calling him…

 without even thinking he shifted into ghost mode and phased his hand through to pluck the delicate flower from its stem. He stared at it perplexed a moment before stuffing his face into the plant's open petals, breathing deep and savouring its sweet scent.

 He felt a bit like a cat when he was finally snapped out of his bliss and found himself rubbing his face all over the petals sticky bits of pollen now covered him.

 He wrinkled his nose as he pulled off the sap like pollen onto his glove. It wasn't burning or hurting him so that was something at least… Something that Sam had once told him about plants sparked into his mind. Something about plants attracting certain things for pollinators?

 Great, he was reduced to a but brain now… Though it would make sense if these things were probably grown in the ghost zone before having their seeds dispersed through the human realm

 He glared at the remainder of what once was the tulip, a moment vaporizing the flower pulp to ash in revenge for his idiocy before moving on to the next one.

 Curious now, he opened up the next plant in the line of the trays. This one was a large white flower with a lime green innard and as soon as the teen stuck his head in to examine it he recoiled in disgust.

 It smelled awful! "Nope!" he shut the lid in such a hurry on that one.

 Next to that was a ball shaped cluster of flowers that just seemed to make him angry more than anything. He shook his head and quickly moved on from that.

 On and on he went examining the various plants, with varying degrees of nothing or something with such a small change that he couldn't even really decide if it was really the plant or not.

 it was when he came back around to the mushrooms that his parents were growing that things got a little more… Recreational…

 When he opened up the container to poke at a weird curling mushroom it exploded it's white and blue spores at him.

 Danny grinned brightly a second later and found the world looked as if it suddenly had taken on a deeper saturation, and lights had large star trails following them.

 including the ghostly glow that was on his body… That was simply fun to watch. how his fingers curled and flexed, then turned to mist and back to solid again. Why was this so fun? And since when did the lines in the floor turn to water? how did his parents get them to ripple like that?

 Danny poked the floor with a toe and giggled as he can see the soundwaves from the clack, incredibly loud on the floor, ripple out in the pond that became of the metal. The portal to the ghost zone spinning became still the longer Danny stared at it, it was lucid and wondrous and well… trippy.

 Danny hardly noticed when a grumbling Maddie entered the basement lab holding the infernal Gasmask. The last thing she needed right now was her husband's- "Wh-What's...?" She trailed off, blinking in confusion as she stared at Phantom.

 The ghost was logrolling, though staying perfectly still otherwise in the air, all the while staring at the ghost portal.  

 While the huntress's first instinct was to toss a net at the infernal ghost to catch him, she hesitated upon noticing some of the flowers she had been cultivating had been messed with.

 Well, then this was a potential scientific breakthrough that she probably won't get another chance to have… A lucid highly human like, and sapient ghost had taken some of her plants for seemingly recreational purposes….

 “Phantom. Why are you here?” Maddie asked in the most authoritative voice she could muster with the smirk pulling at her lips. the Famed and controversial hero, Phantom. high as a kite and spinning madly at the ghost portal like he was trying to find an end to the endless swirls.

 The ghost startled at her voice stealing his endless spinning to stare at her upside down. The ghost's pupils were glowing brightly, and the iris had grown wide enough to be seen within the glowing orbs.

 "Mom!" he gasped out, mouth falling open in his shock, as he blinked his wide eyes, and clicked his green tinted tongue as if he'd suddenly tasted something utterly foul.

 Maddie raised an eyebrow at the comment. There wouldn't be any way Phantom would or should remember his human life to any capacity… It was most likely a result of whatever plant the creature had gotten into… Still…

 She figured she could use it to her advantage.

 Without disputing or reprimanding the ghost for his claim she simply moved onto more important matters."What on earth did you get into?"

 Phantom stilled at that, he stopped his movements and did his best imitation of a statue, somehow, incredibly, it still had some sense that forced him to keep up a compulsion that made it look like he was breathing.

 "I- um… I," he stammered staring at her with wide wild eyes. "I'm sorry Mom! I wanted to tell you!" He called, his eyes were starting to water now.

 How did she find out?! Did she see him transform? Actually, when did he transform? Why was everything moving? How… How did she…

 Maddie tilted her head watching the ghost curiously. He did remember his mother than to some degree it seems…Was he still around only because he was looking to confess to his family?

 Actually, now that she was able to see him up close… He really looked like a child… She took a couple of steps forward towards the ghost, who sniffed and wiped his face on his sleeve.

 Despite herself, she asked him "Is that the only reason you're still here? because you never got to tell your family you'd died?" What a horrible thought? A child taken and killed, the parents and family left behind not knowing what happened to him.

 “Not exactly… I mean I always wanted to tell you guys... But I just… There were so many ghosts attacking… Then you were saying Phantom was no good… And I tried to be as good as I can!” he sniffed. He was very much not in the right headspace for this to be happening right now…

 Maddie seemed to shift and shimmer stretch and bend. The teen suddenly found himself tunnelling in on the jumpsuit Maddie was wearing. The teal colour that bled into the black accents. The smooth rubberized feel and slight crinkling as she moved and shifted. It squeaks…. He could just barely make out the zipper under her neck tucked into the collar jostling slightly as she breathes. He remembered being held as a kid and staring up at that zipper… she would cradle him on his back and he would stare up at it and…

 “Phantom what-” Maddie never got to finish as the ghost slammed into her. He curled around her. like a dog jumping into her arms. His ghostly tail wrapped around her arm and around her waist, as he looked up at her with bright green eyes, and overly enlarged pupils.

 “I- I’m so sorry mum…” Danny sniffled out before burying his face in her shoulder tightly squeezing her as he sobs.

 Maddie was trapped by the ghost now, unable to move her arms from the hug, or legs without tripping herself up in his tail. She stares incredulously down at the white mop of hair that was just under her nose… so lifelike and soft, like real human hair…

 Though now that she was right up to him like this, she noticed other oddities too. The texture of his suit and the skin that she could see from his face was incredibly detailed. He had freckles even! She could see every individual hair on his head unlike other ghosts that had more of a blanket effect, whispy and fuzzy but not really hair…

 The thing that really drew her eye, however, was the jumpsuit. Or more specifically the clasp at the back of the ghost's collar… An emblazoned F a distinct design that she knew all too well. One she herself helped Jack to design… This was undoubtedly at one time a proper Fenton jumpsuit…

 Which means this child… this child who was no older than Danny, he was probably one of his friends! In a borrowed jumpsuit no less! But if someone had borrowed a suit and got killed in it somehow surely she’d have noticed…

 The ghost shifted allowing her to move and giving her freedom of her one arm. His core seemed to buzz in his chest as he held her ever tightly. “This is .. nice… I … was so worried about how you’d take this all…. I… I was stupid…” he shuddered as he spoke each word coming out with rapid and haggard breaths.

 “It’s fine... “ Maddie offered, though her mind was a million miles west as she pondered over the clasps. She needed answers… Reaching over into the plants she pulled out something that looked like a queen's Ann’s lace but with bright blue flowers.

 She stuffed Phantom's nose in the flower and watched with mild relief as the ghost’s eyelids drooped and closed. She sighed again as his tail loosened up around her and she slumped against her. “Well, at least I know that one works” She mused aloud.

 Not even a second later Phantom sighs deeply and a bright ring flared at his waist, causing Maddie to yelp and drop the ghost on the ground thinking an attack was building.

 Instead, she was mildly perplexed as it continued to wash over Phantom, bathing the ghost in light as he changed. Everywhere the light washed over, the colours of the ghost seemed to invert until it passed over his head.

 “D-Danny?” Maddie whispered out in surprise. She was thinking of all the experiments she could run but now… her mind stalled as she stared down at the prone form of her son. What happened to make him like this? Was it even really her son or was phantom somehow still awake enough to pull a trick like this? Making her see her Danny instead of…

 Instead of Danny Phantom.

 “Oh-Oh God…” Maddie gasped and slid next to her son, scooping him up into her lap.

 When Danny next woke up it was to a bleary bliss that he wasn’t quite too sure what to make of. “Mum?” He mumbled out as he blinked his glassy blue eyes up at her. Why was his head so fuzzy? It was like he was underwater... “You cryin’?” He asked softly before his eyes widened and he jolted. His core fluttering in his chest. Had something hurt her?

 “It’s okay baby, I know you were so scared before but you don’t have to be any longer… I know… I know I’ve made some terrible mistakes against Phantom… against you… but I promise I’ll do what I can to make you feel safe here…” She sniffed and curled her form around his burying her face into his shoulder.

 Danny’s muddied thoughts spun out to a halt as his memories caught up with him. That’s right! She knew! she knew! And apparently accepted him!

 “Y-You have no idea how much that means to me…” He sniffed too, tucking his chin over her shoulder. And squeezing her tightly just as he had only an hour earlier as Phantom. “I love you so much…”

 “I know hun… I love you too… and I promise I’ll make this up to you any way I can.” She responded in kind. Tomorrow she’ll look into the plants that can help to cure her son, but for right now? She would be content to offer the love and comfort they both so dearly craved.

 -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 Complete

 Word count: 3281

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457526

[tardis-ghost-blog]

The Master’s Game (5 - Voiceless screams)

  << Prev - Next >>

Something had woken her up. It was still dark and at first Roka had trouble remembering where she was. But then memories of a long and rather complex discussion about human literature creped back into her mind. That really had been weird, but somehow actually fun. Although the Master had some unsurprisingly twisted views on lots of topics.

There it was again. Roka couldn't identify it at first. It was like a vague indistinctive feeling of no origin. But as she woke up more it became clearer and clearer. It was a very faint sound inside her head. Like from everywhere at once. A low humming of some sort.

When she sat still and concentrated on the sound it got louder. An increasing and decreasing hum, or rather... a voiceless singing? She shook her head and snuck out of the room.

No one was there.

For a moment she was tempted to take a look at the Master's files, but the sound seemed to get a tiny little bit clearer and now it was like she could make out a direction.

Down... it came from below her. Roka was sure of it. Was it... calling her? It sounded so strange. Right inside her head and outside of it at once. Maybe she went crazy. Maybe the Master had poisoned her in her sleep, maybe... she shook her head. Whatever it was, there was no one around to stop her right now.

So she followed the sound through the halls. Through the darkness. The whole building seemed to be dark. She also couldn't see any guards. How strange. Maybe she should try and find the Doctor. Right now they probably could just sneak out and... No. She didn't have the keys. And those doors were thick and heavy. Even if she were able to find the place in this eternal darkness, she wouldn't be able to actually open the door.

After a while she stopped thinking about where she went. Maybe she was long lost. But a vague feeling told her she was heading in the right direction. Going down whenever she could.

Left... left again... right. Down again. Would she ever find the way back? How far into the ground did this building even reach? It felt like she was moving endlessly, right into the heart of the planet. Into the unknown, the abyss...

The sound got louder. She could hear it clearly now. Something was singing. Singing without a voice. Just humming a tune insider her head. A sad and lonely tune.

There was a glow in the distance. It felt like an eternity since she had last seen the corridors around her. Now she could make out the walls. They were made of thick metal and almost looked like the hull of a ship. Was she below the water? They were near the sea. It could be possible. It would also explain the strange lights that came from before her.

A door... or an opening. The light got brighter, the singing louder. There was a wall made of glass and behind it water. Dark and murky water filled with plants and rocks. Who would build a window to face rocks?

Someone was standing there, leaning his hand against the glass, watching the outside. A dark and foggy being. Like it had no substance. She couldn't make it out very clear. Her head was spinning from the sound inside. But still she had to get closer. It was calling... calling for her.

Roka reached the room and stood still. This wasn't a figure, it was the Master. He hadn't noticed her arriving. He probably couldn't even perceive her right now. If she just stayed quiet she could wait until he would be leaving and then... then what?

He turned around and faced her. Could he see her? Or was it just instinct? Sometimes people got a vague feeling of being watched, but still couldn't notice her. But no, it wasn't like that.

"How did you get down here?" His voice sounded surprised. "You can't have followed me. That was hours ago. How..."

"The voiceless singing lead me." Roka's head was spinning. She felt dizzy. It had gotten so loud it was hard to hear anything else. Her gaze got foggy. "It was... calling. I... I..." She stepped closer into the room. Towards the wall of glass, feeling the Master's eyes on her.

"You can hear it?"

"Of course I can. How could I not? It's so...loud. My head hurts. Where does it come from? What is this? Where... are we?"

"Below the sea. I tracked down a strange signal. The building was abandoned. And down here..." He looked back to the glass. "I can't hear it."

Roka looked surprised at him.

"Maybe you can only have one thing constantly ticking inside your head." He turned towards her. "You... don't look good. How does it feel? Does it say anything?"

"What? No... no it doesn't." She saw him stepping towards her, lying his hands around her head, but she was so dizzy, she couldn't fight it.

"Let me hear it."  He put his forehead against hers and for a while stood still, completely silent. Was he reading her mind? Could he actually hear it now? Whatever he did, it felt weird and the singing slowly got accompanied by a strange rhythm. Like a faint drumming in the back of her head.

Then he let go of her.

Roka couldn't stand anymore and sank to her knees. It still got louder. Now it was resonating through her whole body and she could feel her heart pounding like mad. And now there was also the drumming.

"What did you do? Why did you...?"

"I was just listening. I can't hear it myself."

"It's driving me crazy. It gets louder and louder. What is it? Where does that rhythm come from?"

"What rhythm?" The Master crouched down before her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Did it just appear? A rhythm of four? Does it sound like a drum?"

Confused she looked up to him and nodded. "It just appeared when you..."

He let go of her and laughed. "No... no. That can't be. You can't hear that." He looked almost as confused as Roka. "It's just an echo. Even if it were real. You're not psychic, and just a human... you can't... "

"What? What is it?"

"A curse." He stared at her. "Constantly, constantly in my head. It never stops, always calls."

The Master pulled her up and turned her towards the glass wall. What was she supposed to see? There was just rock and some plants and... Did the rock in front of her... move? It definitely did. And that... that wasn't a crack. It slowly opened and Roka gasped out of surprise.

It was a huge eye.

Now she could make out more details. What she had thought was a rock was actually skin. Thick gray... no, white skin. And there were veins. Bluish glowing veins were crossing the whole giant body, illuminating the room.

"Is that a... a whale?" The singing suddenly got louder. Painful, desperate. Now she understood. The creature was trapped down here. And it was screaming for help.

Roka felt rage boiling up inside of her. "Let it go." Her voice was cold.

"No."

She spun around and grabbed the Master by his jacket. "I don't care what your stupid plans are. Let it go!" The singing, the drumming, the pain in her head. It made her so angry. "I swear, I don't know what I'll do to you, if you don't."

A big grin spread on his face. He bowed down to her, staring directly into her eyes. "Careful little human." His face came even closer. "What will you do, eh? Staring me to death?"

Hear head was spinning. Why was he so close? It made her mad. Her heart was pounding like it was about to explode. So close... She just wanted to... He grabbed her hands and loosened them from his jacket. Then he stepped back.

"I can't. Literally. I tried since I found it, but the glass is too strong and there is no god dam lock."

She was shaking. Everything was spinning. The Master turned back to her and came closer again.

"Promise to be nice and I will get rid of the signal for you."

"Just so? For what price?"

He grabbed her head, pressing his forehead against hers again. "This one is free. It would just make you mad. And then you're useless." He grinned meanly. "Focus on the sound... on both." She did. And after a few seconds they faded away. Slowly getting quieter until the silence pressed against hear ears. She felt the hands letting go of her head and she stumbled back a few steps.

Roka stared at the Master for a second. He turned to the glass again. "Just in case you haven't noticed... it's alien. This kind of whale lays eggs that are filled with chemicals so deadly... It's fascinating how they can hatch out of that stuff."

Roka laughed suddenly. "For a moment it almost seemed as if you wanted to free the poor creature. But you just want to use it."

"Hey, I will set it free afterwards. There is no fun in killing creatures that can't think. Also, those are extremely rare. Whoever caught it probably was after a lot of money. I could sell it."

Her head was still hurting. She looked into the big sad eye and stepped to the glass, lying her hand and forehead against it. "It was crying for help... poor creature. I can't help you."

"You can." The Master stepped beside her, laughing softly. "I bet the Doctor would love this. In helping me freeing the whale you will also grant me a terrifying weapon. What a dilemma. I should tell him."

"I told you, I don't care about earth as much as he does. But this singing. This cry. It was so... sad and lonely. I can't leave it here." She turned around to face him. "Fine, I'll help. But we're still enemies. And I will still find a way to free the Doctor."                

He bowed down to her. "And the moment you think you triumphed... I will fill these eyes with true fear. That's a promise."

[aestheticmaria-blog]

a short story i wrote:

Your broken leather boots plunge from puddle to puddle, the droplets of rain providing shiny solace from the dirty, grey streets you’ve been walking for what feels like eternity. A fat pigeon breaks your pensive mood. You drop the cigarette you can’t remember lighting into a puddle. Looking up, you notice people surrounding you, rushing hurriedly up and down the street. The smokey, charred walls of the city begin to glow with bright neon colours, and flowers bloom from potholes. As you gaze intently at a now emerald cathedral, it grows into a quadrilateral obscenity. Your surroundings turn to abstract shapes and you look with panic at the pigeon, hoping to find familiarity in its wings, but it has contorted into a plane and glides away through the sky full of figures.

Your legs have been moving without your permission and as you look down you realise you’ve been tirelessly trekking on a treadmill, whose screen has symbols you can’t comprehend dotted all over it sporadically. As you lean to peer closer at the hieroglyphics you trip and fall, melting into the screen like a droplet into an ocean.

Tumbling down and down, your head spins and twists, the walls of mud around you become more apparent. Veins of roots adorn the tunnel. You land with a thud. A glass table sits in the centre of the room and you notice a heart shaped sweet on top. EAT ME is engraved on its surface. As you lift it, you are hit with a not-so-distant memory.

Loud music plays as you stumble into a dimly lit room with a stranger. She kisses you and hands you a tablet. You grin and swallow it dry. The little source of light in the room is quenched and the memory ends.

You place the heart shaped sweet in your mouth, following its commands, and chew. The world goes black again.

Opening your eyes, you groan. Your muscles are cramped from lying in one position for too long. You try to stretch and fail. A cloak of darkness covers whatever claustrophobic container you’re trapped in. Always a quick thinker, you reach into your pocket for your cheap plastic lighter. Lighting the flame, you realise how suspiciously coffin-shaped the box is. Fuck, you think, what did that girl in that one movie do? You grab your trusty blade from your pocket, probably one of your only belongings with real value. You set to work carving a fist sized hole in the ceiling of the coffin. You hit it until your fist bleeds and it begins to give way. Dirt falls on your face, covering your eyes and it cuts to black.

Sick of opening your eyes to new horrors, you feel around first. Soft. Warm. Smells like home. Home. That word doesn’t seem to belong in your head. Certain wires aren’t connecting. Giving in to curiosity, you look around. Sure enough, it’s your childhood bed. You roll out of it, staying vigilant for your next mission. In your eye-line is the top of the radiator and the bed frame. You notice how much lighter you feel. You remember the broken mirror that used to be in your landing. Jumping to reach the doorknob, you enter the hall and look in the mirror. You sigh a defeated sigh. Just my luck, you think to yourself, I’m a fucking six year old. Having learned from the absurdity of this world - or whatever is it you’re experiencing, you touch the mirror. It moves like mercury. Of course, you think, why wouldn’t it(!) A gust of wind pushes you through and the pool of silver-esque mirror gloop clears to become water.

The streets around you are grey once again. The dirty puddle still holds your cigarette and you ponder whether you’ve imagined it all. You stand under a nearby building to shelter yourself from the rain.

Once again, the fat pigeon waddles by. It cocks its head at you. You move your head in response in a fairly pathetic attempt to intimidate it. In return, it intimidates you. Opening its beak, it speaks. “I can fix this.” A rather towering voice for such a blob of a pigeon. It hops forward and pecks you. Memories rush in.

Laughter. The room explodes after you make a snide comment. Someone slaps your back as they wheeze. The faces of the people around you light up. A familiar warmth fills you.

Hurt. You gaze down at your wrists in disbelief. Blood oozes and yet you can’t feel a thing. You collapse back into your bed and let out a raspy sigh.

Excitement. A grin is etched on your face as you hand over a wrapped box to a woman with blonde hair. ‘But first,’ you beam, ‘your card!’ Passing her an envelope covered with glitter, you feel yourself being embraced.

Loneliness. You pull your head up and look yourself in the mirror. Wipe your nose. Sniffle a bit. Finally a kick; the words echo in your head. Music reverberates through the bathroom as the band begins playing next door.

These images flash through your mind, only glimpses of moments, never full memories. They feel like clothes that don’t fit anymore. You’ve grown too high and too wide for such fanciful things. Realising what just happened, you look to the pigeon for answers.

“I can take you home or free you,” the bird says. Consumed with confusion, all you manage to utter is a weak “Who are you?” The words feel too small for such a heavy question. The pigeon, now gazing into the puddle, replies.

“I am everywhere. Omniscient. Ever-watching. Never stopping. I take form as whatever I wish to. I am Death, pleased to meet you.” Noticing your hesitation, he continues. “I have taken pity on you, which I rarely do. But your soul is built with material too highly coveted, I couldn’t take you without asking. I can take you home or free you.”

The doors to the building behind you swing open. One emanates a strong perfume of roses and dry ice, or fog.. You don’t know which. Inside is a bed laden with black linen and covered by a veil, accessorised with mesh pillows and white petals. Following your eye-line, Death says; “this is the doorway to death. I prefer the term ‘eternal peace’.” Curious now, you look through what you assume to be the ‘Life’ doorway. A rough frothy ocean and a shoddy rowing boat. Sounds about right, you think, glad that you’ve kept your sense of humour. “Over the horizon is Joy and Laughter,” the pigeon seems to examine each word carefully before committing to speaking it aloud, “but you’ve got some Loneliness and Hurt to navigate first. But that’s Life.”

You let your heavy heart and aching bones collapse onto the floor with you for a second. “No time like the present,” you begin, and the birds proverbial face lights up, hoping to see a sliver of resilience in you,“for a cigarette.” Not what the bird expected to hear. You pull a slender cigarette from your bruised packet. It’s seen better days, you suppose, but so have you. Lighting it with your almost broken blue lighter, you laugh, realising you still don’t know where you are. Purgatory, maybe? God knows. If God’s even real. After a couple minutes of painfully tense and overly long pulls of your cigarette, you stub it out on the wall beside you and throw it into the puddle.

God, life is pointless.

You stand up and glance between doors. The sea spray hits you and the sickly sweet roses implore you to choose them...

You kick off your shoes. “When you’ve lived the life I have,” you say to the bird, your eyes still darting from door to door, “you learn pretty quickly how to swim.”

Memento mori.

[writtingfiction]

The Ocean’s Wave

pairing: Mermay!Noctis x Reader

genre: fluff, action

words: 3.4k

summary: Life as a scrapper is difficult when MT’s are chasing you, with guns.

 Curses fluttered from your lips as you ran with your bag strapped tightly to your back. Black boots heavily hitting the ground as you ran through the rotting and collapsed buildings. Bullets hitting the fragile structure as you took a sharp turn, hand grabbing the wall to have more control as you turn. Loud orders were given to the MT’s chasing after you. It was times like these that made you wonder why you did this as a living, scrounging the fallen robotic soldiers for parts as a way to scrounge through life with enough cash to buy food. However, more often than not, it was easy, unlike today, they had just to be around looking for someone to shoot.

When you finally had breached through the maze of failing buildings, you made a beeline towards the forest on the other side of a field. How fortunate, you thought, can never catch a break. You had them by a few seconds, making it easier for you to cross the grass field before having the onslaught of bullets spray around you. But the large shadow that had appeared over you made you pause, but not stop your run. Eyes going wide upon seeing the ship inbound. Your feet picked up your pace, eyes forward, foot in front of the other reaching the woods.

It was a bit harder to not trip and fall in the woods in any hope of losing them. The large roots that stuck up from the ground and the fallen trees blocking half your path, forcing you to jump over them. Your lungs felt as if they were burning, legs aching from all the running. However, your life was on the line, you would gladly run a little farther if it meant you were safe. Finding the MT heart was a miracle of a find, the fact that it was still intact, and it wasn’t in pieces; it felt like you had won the lottery. You were prepared to cry right there and then, well, you would have if it weren’t for the party crashers.

There was a loud crash behind you, sparing a quick glance behind you to see a flash of red. Assassin magiteks. Sadly, the glance behind had costed you. There was a particular large root that your foot caught on, due to the fact of not raising your foot high enough. You fell hard, kissing the ground as your skin scrapped against the forest floor, body rolling through bushes. Although, the bushes had slowed you down, it wasn’t enough. The ground was underneath you, and then you felt nothing. Your hand reached out, grasping at any poor bush at the edge. You could feel your stomach drop to your knees, breath coming in sharp.

The quick reflexes had saved you, but it was only for a moment. The branch was slipping from your hands. You tried to even your breathing as you looked below, it was a steep cliff leading down into more woods before the ocean fanned out farther. You made quick note that falling from this height, you could break a bone or two, but then again, your cousin had broken his arm tripping on air. A sharp gasp escaped your lips at the feel of the branch starting to give away under your weight. You had to get back up, you weren’t going to let this sway you from your original course. However, you thought twice after hearing the magiteks come closer. Climbing now had triple more times the risk.

If you could pull yourself up, you’d have to fight off those pesky magiteks. That was if the branch would hold, and even if it did, could you fight off the magiteks with how exhausted you were. The branch was slowly giving away, pulling away from the dirt that once held it secure. Curses left your lips, two hands holding tightly, straining to pull yourself closer to the edge. Nevertheless, your attempt to save yourself was in vain. You looked up to the edge of the cliff to see the magitek there, sword in hand. It was too close for your comfort, at the root of the bush where it could cut your little saviour at any moment.

“Not yet, she still has what I want.” You couldn’t be angrier, seeing his ugly mug was not the thing you wanted. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite scrapper. Hanging around, haven’t you?” God, you would have laughed if it wasn’t your life that was hanging on by a thread, branch.

“Don’t you have more important things to attend too? What about terrorizing innocent lives Loqi?” You hissed harshly. Your arms were straining to keep the tight hold on the branch, the added wait of the MT scraps were now taking a toll. Loqi only shook his head.

“We’ve been over this. You don’t take what is mine, and I won’t bother you.” Loqi stared down at you. “And right now, you have something that belongs to me.”

“And that would be? From what I know is in my bag it’s scraps.” You barked. Loqi only sighed.

“Only you would think it would be scrap, but it is not. In fact, I know, because it’s in your pack.” Loqi said, keeping an even tone with you, dangling dangerously, hands slipping from the branch. “Give it to me and I’ll help you up.” He extended his hand forward, but you didn’t trust him. You’ve done dealings with him in the past, but he always finds a loophole. You gave him a death glare, decision made.

“Over my dead body.” Your hands let go of the branch, body falling freely for a few seconds before it hit the side of the cliff, body sliding down the rest of the way. Loqi’s screams of frustration were distant as you felt the rocks and dirt cut through you clothing and tearing away at you skin. Your thoughts were focused on trying not to hit a tree when you reached the bottom, seeing as it was quickly approaching you.

You were lucky, so, so very lucky as you tried to push yourself of the cliff and towards the grass at the bottom. Barely getting enough air to have the chance to roll against the grass instead of crashing against it. However, things were balanced out, you pack was lighter now, losing most of it in the ride down. You were lying face down in the grass, breathing heavily, body aching and in pain everywhere. You were sure that you were bleeding in multiple places, your left leg was wet, most likely with your own blood. You didn’t want to look but checking your bag was necessary.

You groaned in pain as you fixed yourself, raising to sit back on your knees despite the pain. Your fingers weakly pulled off your bag and opened it. Inside there was barely anything, a few low pricing parts that would get you barely enough to keep your spot in that one good building in town. Your eyes landed on the heart, you were hoping, wishing it wasn’t crush too badly. Your hands cradling it, hoping but your hopes were quickly crushed. It was flashing a slow red; it was going to explode.

You stood, almost collapsing to the ground. Everything hurt so much, it hurt but you had to press on despite the blood flowing freely. Your leg was painted red, along with other limbs. Your hands were scrapped, elbows, torso and you could feel the warm liquid drip down your face before you saw it out of the corner of your eye. You made a quick limp forward, the mechanical heart in hand, almost slipping from your hands with your blood spilling.

You could hear the ocean; it was closer and closer and closer. However, your vision was also getting darker. Everything was starting to blur as you had finally breached the treeline, dirt slowly turning into sand. You found it harder to keep your poor balance as you needed to get far enough. You were losing the war with your own body though, collapsing to your knees once more, a few meters away from the ocean waves hitting the beach. You threw the heart, which was now flashing a faster red, a rhythmical beep pounding its way through your head before it disappeared into the salty water. There was a moment of silence with the crashing waves before the heart actually exploded, water shooting upwards. You blacked out after seeing the water crash once again against the beach.

---

You gasped awake, pain surging through your body. It felt like your wounds were burning, you couldn’t stop the pained scream that left your lungs. Eyes closed shut as you tried to calm yourself.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” Someone was near you; you couldn’t care less. You were in so much pain. “Hold on, shit, where is it?” They were panicking whomever it was. You sucked in a sharp breath, thinking of how to ease your pain. The last thing you remember was the ocean. The ocean, oh boy, the tide must have risen while you had passed out. It was most likely late at night and the ocean water had risen. Cleansing your wounds but causing extreme pain in return. Your eyes opened finally; the ocean water was in fact touching the open wounds. Half of your body was soaked. A sharp tinge of pain surged through you. You cried out once more.

“Ah!” Your hands twitched from the sudden pain. Getting the figure beside you to flinch. Your gaze immediately looked towards them. His skin was pale, his hair a dark midnight, eyes like the night sky glittering with stars. He was handsome, pretty even. Your body flinched again as pain became stronger, closing your eyes tight as you tried to keep your screams at a minimum.

It was as if a switch had been turned on, the man beside you moved at a quicker pace to try and find what he was looking for. In a bag, most likely, you didn’t have the chance to look. There was a small cheer coming from him when he found it, you think.

“Hang in there.” His voice was soft. You also heard the sound of glass breaking just above you, but you couldn’t feel any shards that would have fallen. Instead, there was a rush of ease throughout your entire body. The pain had faded into a dull ache, nothing that could cause you too much pain unless you were to poke your wounds. Your eyes open, breathing easily for once instead of having to chase after it. You take a look over at the worried man. There was concern written all over him. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” Your voice sounded like sand, if it was possible. Your throat was dry, you were need of water. “Do you have water?” You looked up at him hopefully, but all you got was a nervous look.

“Uh, no, no I don’t.” You merely nodded, moving to sit up but his hands came towards you. Gently holding onto your arms. “Wait, wait. You shouldn’t move. I may have given you a potion but that doesn’t mean you can stand saying you’re cured.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his words. Although, you do as he says, going back to lay on the wet sand. That’s when you take note that he is shirtless, and that he has atail. The colour almost a midnight black but glimmers in the moonlight.

“You’re a mermaid?” You blurt it out quicker than your mind can process it. Yes, you knew they existed; you could just barely see the lights as the sun went down. However, it was a rule, never to venture out at night. Daemons ruled the night; walking, taking a leisure night swim was sure to end in your death. That’s when you realised, truly realised it was dark out. The only light being the moon itself, your heart picked up its pace.

“Mermaid?” The young man, repeated confused. He looked absolutely heavenly in the moonlight as he looked at you confused. “I’m a merman, there is a difference.” He said it so seriously, that you thought you my have offended him. “A boy, a man. I don’t have the features of a woman.” But the way he continued assured you he wasn’t.

“My apologies, merman.” You said, a smile showing on your lips, but it was short lived. You were still laying down on the beach, soaked to the bone at night. The merman gave you his own sweet smile.

“Have you never seen one before? We’re quite common.” He says. Sitting on his tail so comfortably. You wondered, pondered if he knew of the dangers being out at night.

“No, never have. I don’t hang out by the ocean often. Knew they existed though, can see your lights as the sun sets.” You said quickly. Now, wanting, needing to sit up and look around. The daemon’s couldn’t be far.

“That’s fair. Hey, wait! I said– “ You cut him off.

“There might be daemons.” He only looked at you surprised; jaw dropped. Like this is the first time someone told him that he could jump off cliffs  withoutbreaking anything. You struggled heavily just to sit up, grunting as your muscles ached. You don’t think you’d be able to run if daemons did appear. You felt hands gently hold onto your shoulders and push you back into the sand.

“I can protect you, just rest at least until sunrise.” He said firmly. You gave him a quick once over. He didn’t exactly look muscular, never mind that but he had a tail. It’s not like he could suddenly sprout legs and run after the daemons. When your gaze locked with his, you could tell he wasn’t impressed. Scoffing at the way you looked at him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” His sarcastic tone was hard to miss.

“Sorry…” You mumbled, but what could you think? This is the first time you’ve seen a mermaid, merman. You knew that they existed, but you had no idea what their abilities were. Did they have magic? What did they wield as weapons? You had many questions, ones he most likely wouldn’t answer now.

The two of you stayed on the beach, listening to the crash of waves against the sand as your saviour of a merman looked out for daemons. Your eyes were locked on the sky above you. It was beautiful, a black purple canvas dotted with white stars. You could see the edge of the galaxy in the sky with how dark it was on the beach. You’d never be able to see this back in town, too much light to see anything. You never knew how breathtaking it was, being out here and enjoying the night air, despite being cold and wet. Perhaps, there will be a time when daemons didn’t take the night as their home and instead cowered and feared the light and dark because of what lurks in their own shadows.

“What’s your name?” His soft voice was heard. You shifted your eyes from the fathomless sky to him. He wasn’t exactly looking at you, keeping his eyes on the woods in case any daemon dared to come close.

“Y/N.” You said. He took a quick glance at you, before they looked back at the woods. “What’s yours?” You could see his brain work, debating whether or not to give you his name.

“Noctis.” He spoke softly.

“You have a beautiful name.” You said. You hear him whisper out a ‘thank you’, and the faint blush on his cheeks but that could just be your imagination.

The rest of the night continues on with the crashing of the waves and your quiet conversation with Noctis. The ocean swallowing your conversation, so no other being could hear you. You learned many things about him and his kind in general as the hours passed by. You learned there’s a large city under the water, Insomnia. You had giggled to yourself at the name, what a name for a city that seemed to thrive during the night. Insomnia seemed to be too big though, from Noctis’ description of it. Perhaps there was too much going on for him in the city, maybe that’s why he left it to explore so often. However, you couldn’t fail to mention your own life as well. You told him of what it was like to run on two legs from friends and enemies; to how busy and lifelike your own cities were. You figured he didn’t have to know what your living conditions were. Especially after what had happened earlier that day, running with those bullets almost hitting you. Nights like tonight, you wondered why you hadn’t been hit by one yet.

However, Noctis and you shared stories like old friends. Giggling and laughing about your friends’ antics as they did something stupid, or incredibly dumb. It was a nice feeling to have the chance to talk to someone that didn’t know what your world was like. So curious about a place they’ve never been, having hopes that it might be a nice place.

“Ah, here comes the sun…” Noctis said, shifting in his spot. You watched him shift closer to you, head facing the ocean and cliffs to your left. You only had to wait a longer as the sky started to shift to a yellow orange as it made a slow transition to a light blue. Your eyes were glued to his face, watching as the new sun rays hit his face. He was almost like a cat, sunbathing in the sun. Eyes shut as he breathed easy. Silence for just a little longer before he pulled away from a moment, to look at you. He smiled gently. “You can stand now.”

And stand you did, slowly as your muscle still ached in protest. You’d have trouble walking for the next few days. You wouldn’t be able to scrap over the next week most likely from healing. You stretched carefully, flexing a little, as if to test if they were still there. Noctis only watched in a slight awe. You were his first human, interaction and everything. When he was told that the beach, he often visited had an explosion by its’ surface, he was worried, upset. So, when the night had fallen, he left the safety and comfort of his home. Much to his shock, he found you, covered in your own blood. Your wounds looked horrid. He had to bite down on his own lip as he poured the salt water over the wounds, your body flinched when it touched you wound subconsciously. So, when you came too, he was, well, worried and quite flustered.

“Will you be okay?” He asked, as you reached for your toes. You hummed.

“I’ll be okay. I can make it home from here.” You said, fingers now reaching for the sky. “If the path that leads down to the beach is still where I remember it…”

“I see… I wish you save travels.” Noctis said, grabbing his own pack.

“Thank you.” You said, but you felt as if it wasn’t enough. You hadn’t properly thanked him for keeping you safe and giving you what he called a potion to help heal your wounds. “Noctis, thank you, for everything. For keeping me safe and… helping with my wounds.” He had a wide-eyed look before he gave shy grin.

“It’s no problem, see you around…?” He said, hopeful.

“Only if you’re here during the day.” Your comment caught him off guard, a blush rising to his cheeks before laughter spilled from your lips.

“…I wasn’t suggesting that you risk your life to meet with me again…” Noctis mumbled.

“I’ll gladly hope to see you again…” You said, regarding him with a smile. You could only hope to see him again. Home wasn’t far, but home wouldn’t be home any more if you didn’t keep the cash rolling in.

“Until we meet again.” Noctis said, waving before he left with the tide that escaped you.

“…Until we meet again…” You whispered to yourself. You could only hope as much as him to see him again as you trailed back home slowly. However, a smile pulled at your lips. There will definitely be a next time and that made your heart flutter happily.

[docholligay]

Prompt: Rin, the day after the final duel

Sorry, this was going to be a shitpost and then it wasn’t. 2,100 words and mostly my feelings original character do not steal ahahahah. 

The world had snapped back. She couldn’t explain it any other way. It was as if reality had been stretched and stretched and stretched, a tight rubber band almost to its breaking point, and then suddenly released. Loose. Free. At one time, Rin might have said that such a thing would be relaxing, that she could not quite define why everything in her life, in the school, felt so tense, but it clearly was, and she was looking for relief.

Instead, she felt the world’s elastic contract, and was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea as she stood next her tea kettle, waiting for it to boil. She bent over and took a deep, slow breath, trying to bring herself back to calm.

“Rin?” Ayaka’s voice was soft and worried as she sat at their little table in the corner of their tiny apartment, the pancakes and salted salmon laid out on the table in front of her. She liked them to start their day together. Rin liked it too. It was nice. “Are you alright?”

Rin shook her head briefly, but then brought herself back to standing and nodded, her still-wet brown hair flicking drops down onto her glasses. The nausea rose again.

“Think I just need ginger tea this morning.” She gave a sideways smile to Ayaka. “Maybe you got me pregnant.”

Ayaka gave a huff of a laugh, but relaxed and turned back to her crossword and her salmon.

The beep of the tea kettle signaled its rolling boil, and Rin’s mind exploded. There she was, in front of the classroom, again and again and again. There was arguing, and a stage, somewhere, that she knew and she didn’t know, and there she was, watching Maya and Claudine take the leads again and again, and they blended together, faster and faster, a carousel gone wild, the horses no longer seen and the music of it louder and louder. She felt the vomit rise in her throat.

“Rin?”

We will all do Starlight! Her mind screamed.

The world went black. She felt herself fall deeper, deeper, into the darkness and the heat, and though she couldn’t open her eyes, she saw the bright red words, “I Am Reborn” written across the blackness of the sky, and felt the strong thump as she hit the floor.

There was the scrape of a chair against the floor, the tumble of someone next to her.

“Rin!!”

She felt Ayaka’s hand on her neck, and then nothing at all.

That was eight months ago. The official diagnosis had been, effectively, ‘we don’t know but she seems fine,’ a diagnosis which had given Ayaka no small amount of rage and disbelief, but which, as the months passed and nothing else seemed to arise, she seemed willing to accept, even if she looked at Rin with a careful eye even now.

The world had come back to itself, and after a few days at home, Rin had come back to school to find Hikari Kagura standing in her office, waiting, a look of sad resignation on her face. Yoshiko, who sat across from her in the office, either didn’t notice Hikari or didn’t seem to care, and Rin bit her tongue.

It wouldn’t be the first time she and Yoshiko had argued about the way to treat students.

“I hope you are feeling better, Miss.” Hikari said seriously, flat a look of disconnect on her face as she neatly folded her hands in front of her.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about…” Rin walked over to her desk and sat down.“What’s the matter? You all fighting over rooming again?”

Rin was more or less used to the general problems that plagued Seisho after hours, and she was more or less happy to be the one to take care of them. Sometimes the other teachers didn’t seem to remember what it was like to be that age, in such a pressure cooker, and, Rin felt, they didn’t give them enough in the way of quiet empathy. Sometimes it was just enough to listen.

A sudden flash of realization came to her that Hikari might want to talk about something that she didn’t care to discuss in front of Yoshiko, and was about to stand up against and suggest they go sit outside, when Hikari had presented her with a piece of paper.

“I am withdrawing from Seisho. Everything should be in order.”

There was no hesitation, no room for argument, as she gave Rin the papers. Rin glanced over them, that same strange feeling coming over her.

“Kagura, I–did something happen? I’m still a little foggy, but I’m sure we can–”

But Hikari was already heading for the door, and turned only to look at Rin one last time.

“Thank you for everything, Miss.”

Karen had been just as confused, and had wasted no time grilling Rin in the most polite way she could manage. Rin didn’t have the words to tell her that she didn’t understand either, that she had seen plenty of girls drop out of Seisho but she had never seen anything quite like this, and that there was something she felt was happening, something she could almost remember, but every time she touched it, that nausea ran through her, and she could hear the music again, so loud. Like something was trying to keep her out.

“I must have looked like I didn’t care,” Rin had said that night, lounging on the couch in a pair of loose pajama pants and her undershirt as Ayaka embroidered an edge on a costume she was working on, her dark hair softly curling against her shoulders, “But I just…I don’t know either, Ayaka. I know I got handed paperwork and she left. No forwarding.”  

“It isn’t really your problem, Rini.” She did not look up from her dress.

She’d forgotten she had managed to get sick at the least convenient time for her love, who was knee deep in final measurements and embellishments for her show, and Ayaka had not brought it up. It was sometimes a shock to Rin, still, how beautiful she was, how talented she was, and that one day backstage, in a show she had perhaps fifteen lines in, Ayaka had looked up at her while she hemmed her pants and given the most radiant smile Rin had ever seen. That she had loved Rin, who never really made it on the stage, was a miracle and a mystery.

None of this, of course, made Ayaka even the slightest bit right.

“It IS my problem, though!” Rin sat up and leaned toward Ayaka. “I have never had a kid just LEAVE like that, there’s usually something,” she tugged at her hair and flung her hand into the air, “and I can’t figure out what it is. I’ve asked around, and it’s making me, and the girls–”

“You should lie down.” Ayaka said brusquely, eyeing her seriously.

Rin closed her eyes and shook her head. It was like she wasn’t even listening. “Oh my god, stop babying me,” she huffed, “I’m an adult, and I’m fine, and–”

“Rin Miyamoto,” She set down the dress in her lap and looked at Rin fully, her voice firm as stone, “You do not remember what I remember, in the kitchen. You did not have to watch yourself crumple to the floor, and you did not have to call your name, over and over, to no response. I have been with you for seven years. Seven. If something happened to you, I’m not sure what, or where I would–”

There was a small crack in the stone of her voice, and Rin’s eyes softened. It was easy to think of Ayaka as unshakable. Part of what Rin loved about her so much was her strength and her fierceness, the way she dominated a room even with her small stature and flowing dresses. She was like an empress everywhere she went, but she could be hurt, and looking her now, her eyes gently misting with tears, Rin realized that she had frightened Ayaka. That she wasn’t the only one struggling to find footing with the events of the past week.

“–You are the softest part of my heart,” Ayaka did not look away, and Rin felt her own eyes begin to water, “I need you.”

Rin took her hand and squeezed it softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled over at her. “I’ll take care of myself. I won’t push it, I promise,” she put her hand on her chest and laughed, “I promise to remember I’m an old woman with limitations and responsibilities to Princess Ayaka.”

Ayak laughed and squeezed back. “Queen Ayaka, thank you.”

Eight months ago, huh? It seems shorter. It seems longer. HIkari came back, and that was good, right?

That was two months ago. Two months ago, in Rin’s office with no explanation but some paperwork, but with a bright smile on her face, hand in hand with Karen. No explanation but that she was ready to enter the doors again, and the world seemed to move to allow her to be the lead with Karen. They were wonderful. Excellent. The girls fell into place around them, and Rin was surprised that Maya and Claudine seemed so at peace with playing the supports to a girl who had never shown much drive and a usurper from London.

And she felt that touch again, that something had happened, the nausea and the spinning and something just beyond her reach.

She hadn’t told Ayaka.

Standing backstage at the production of Starlight, the one Nana had presented to the class with a new ending which was received with delight by the girls, Rin had to smile. It didn’t really matter if this had been a strange year, and if her nausea only flared up occasionally, and she hadn’t fainted at all, then there wasn’t much to worry about. The girls all seemed happy and content, and the show was better than it had ever been before. Rin had a new suit in soft grey windowpane check that Ayaka had lovingly made her for the premiere, blue vest tucked beneath it. She looked rather handsome, she thought.

Things could keep going on like this, as far as Rin was concerned. If she could get another class out the door, ready to face the world and full of hope and optimism, she’d be happy enough. She didn’t wish for much else for herself. Maybe she’d campaign the school board again that they should have an alternate uniform, she was getting tired of seeing poor little Futaba in a skirt.

Another wave passed over her, the lights on the stage, even standing in the back, too bright, and she gripped onto a piece of scenery tucked away backstage to steady herself.

But things can’t stay this way, a far away voice whispered, audiences get bored when things are too bright. Light means nothing without shadow, and the shadow must come to the stage. You understand.

I understand. She’d heard that voice before. The world became a carousel again, and Rin could not, would not, refused to look away, just kept pressing deeper and deeper on the thought until she felt it break through.

The giraffe. The duels. The never-ending lust for brilliance that kept the girls slaving at the stage.

Rin looked back to the stage, where the girls where draped across the stairs, Karen greeting her Flora with tender and expressive eyes. They were all so young. They were all so happy. The giraffe had let them believe it could stay this way.

Her girls. This wouldn’t be the first of her girls he’d tangled with. He preyed on those fresh buds, barely bloomed and so sweet. He never came for those who bore the scars of the stage, those who had seen what it was to rise and fall and who were ready to not only parry but also block a blow.

Rin Miyamoto, who never made it on the stage, who was only a teacher and who would never have a big apartment in a nice neighborhood, who loved her job and her girls and her life with her love, was tired of it. 

She rushed out of the backstage, the hold it had had on her all these months finally broken, and stormed toward the space where that elevator would be. Where she knew it must be.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Let’s see how tough he is facing an adult.” She growled as she sped down the hallway, already feeling the sword form in her hand.

“I’ll take care of myself. I won’t push it, I promise,”

“You’re gonna get the hell out of my school.” She shook her head angrily, the cape beginning to drape across her back. “You’re not going to touch any more of my girls.”

“I promise to remember I’m an old woman with limitations and responsibilities to Princess Ayaka.”

She slammed her hand down on the button, and felt the ground begin to shake.

“I’m sorry, Ayaka.”

The floor dropped, and the lights came up.

[fandomseverywhereassemble]

Hi! What about 'Traumatic touch aversion' for Klance from the show Voltron for your Bingo? It would be nice if the team didn't know about it and Keith was the one to accidentaly trigger a response from Lance. Have a lovely day :)

Anonymous asked:  I would love to see you write Lance with Touch Aversion (O5). Thank you!

Anonymous asked:  Hey darling, could you do Traumatic Touch aversion?

So, I really wanted this to be my thank you for 100 followers, but as you can see, that didn’t happen.  Then I really wanted this to be Lance’s birthday present, but as you can see, that also didn’t happen.  So happy belated birthday to Lance, and thank you all for 100 followers!

Also, sorry if this isn’t what you wanted or had in mind for Traumatic Touch Aversion, it’s more PTSD, but I really hope y’all like it!

Light peeked into his cell.  The first light he had seen in what seemed like forever.  It pierced his eyes and had him curling in on himself instinctively.

“Oh, Lance.”  A soft voice spoke above him.  He knew that voice, didn’t he?  He tried to open his eyes only to shrink back immediately after.  Were those eyes purple?  Dry, calloused hands reached for him and grabbed his biceps to pull him up.

He curled in even further on himself and a small whimper escaped him.

“Shit.  Hey, I found him, but I’m going to need some help getting him out of here.”  There was a pause, “It’s bad.”

More hands grabbed his arms and and they weren’t familiar hands.  The purple hands gripped his arms and pulled him forward into another room where they would do who knows what to him again.  He didn’t want to go back in, couldn’t go back in.  He-

“Don’t worry, Lance.  We’ve got you.”  Who’s got him?  They have him.  They have always had him.  Hands grip him around his chest, and he’s back on the table.  He feels the strips of leather constricting his breathing.  He can’t move.  He can’t breathe.  He can’t-

He’s being carried.  Carried to the room.  They’re going to-  “Lance, stop moving.  I don’t want to drop you before we can get you into a healing pod.”  The voice was warm and inviting and familiar, but Lance couldn’t help but wince away from it.  They’re not here to help him.  They’re taking him to the room again.  He won’t be able to move.  He won’t be able to breathe.  They’re going to stick him full of needles and drugs again and-

He risked cracking his eyelids open briefly and was almost instantly blinded by the sheer amount of light that flooded his pupils.  He forced them to stay open though.  There was bright white light.  He wasn’t on his way to the room.  He couldn’t be on his way to the room.

He was placed in a healing pod, and his eyes managed to follow the people that had placed him there.  They were looking at him, concern on their faces and in their expressions.  It was familiar, almost too familiar almost like there they were, watching him for any reaction.  He was just some experiment for them.  How would this drug interact with human anatomy?  How much could we get him to scream this time?

He closed his eyes, but sleep offered no respite from the nightmares.

When he finally woke, the room was dark.  He caught himself before he could stumble to the ground and he sighed at the almost foreign sensation of walking and holding himself up with his own two feet.  He needed to use the side of a table to keep himself up, but he was standing.  On his own.

“Lance?”  A voice called from the darkness.  He started and turned towards the voice.

His blood ran cold when he saw the mound in the corner.  From the middle of it shone two eyes that reflected yellow light straight through the darkness and shot fear right through his heart.

They’re here, they’re here, they’re here, theyreheretheyreheretheyrehere.

“We weren’t expecting you to come out for another day or two.”  The mound rose and so did the fear in Lance’s chest.  I’m not free, not free, not free.  I can never be free, they’ll follow me everywhere, and they’ll always come back for me.  I’ll never escape.  I’ll never be free.  Never be free, never be free, never be free.

“Are you okay, Lance?”  The mound seemed to slide away and reveal a vaguely human shape.  It was like the mass of a monster just melted away to reveal the inky black skeleton underneath.  The fear continued to rise.

The skeleton moved towards him, and Lance tried to move away, but his feet were rooted to the floor.  His muscles were locked in place.  A Galran soldier standing at the end of the table, looking down at him.  He was strapped to the table, cold metal under him, sapping the warmth from his body unforgivingly.  He was so gaunt, he looked like a skeleton.

His vision flashed between the two images until they almost blended into one.  One figure, one enemy, one fear.

The lights flipped on, and suddenly Lance could move again.  He could breathe again.  The mound that had melted off of the Galran monster -not a monster, Keith- was nothing more than a pile of blankets that had fallen from his shoulders when he woke up.

Tension dissolved from his body.  Keith was fine.  He knew Keith.  There was no way that Keith would hurt him.

“Lance, I asked if you were okay.  Is there anything I can get you?”  Keith asked, “I can go and get the others if you want.”

The blue paladin shook his head, he didn’t trust his vocal cords after all they did was scream.  The red paladin looked worriedly at him before picking up a small plate and glass of water from beside where he had been sleeping.

“We didn’t think you were going to wake up this soon, but I couldn’t eat earlier, so you can have it.”  He slid the plate on the surface of the table so that it came to a stop right in front of Lance’s hand.  He smiled slightly at it.  “Are you impressed?  I’ve been practicing for the day when we get back to Earth, and I can be one of those bartenders you see in movies.”

Lance quirked an eyebrow at him before looking down at the food.  It was just the normal green food goo that they had as a team, there was nothing special about it, but he heard his stomach rumble nevertheless.

Cautiously he raised a bite to his lips, already tasting the spoiled food, half decomposed.  Who knew what it was?  Was is vegetation or past prisoners?  Maggots crawled through his grimy fingers, the only utensils he was allowed-

The fork fell to the plate with a loud clatter.  Despite nothing being in his stomach, Lance felt contractions as if he were going to throw up everything in his gut.  Bile rose in the back of his throat and keep it down, keep it down, keep it down, you don’t know when the next time you’ll get to eat is-

Lance shook his head clear of the images of decomposing food and lifted the forkful to his mouth again.  He forced his lips closed around it and slimy, greasy, rotten it tasted like normal.  Like the first months that he had been in the Castle.  He couldn’t help the tears falling down his face.  It tasted like home.

“Are you okay?”  Keith asked.  He was biting his bottom lip, and his eyebrows were furrowed together in concern.  He reached up a hand to wipe Lance’s tears away and Soldiers taking swings.  One, two, one, two, one, two.  Impacts throwing his head into the wall behind him.  Hands holding his head up to look at their handiwork right before-

Lance didn’t think he could move as fast as he could in his condition, but he did.  He was away from the soldiers, the enemy, the people who would hurt Keith.  

But he was also away from the table, and his legs gave out beneath him.  The red paladin reached out to steady him hands grabbed at his arms, pulling him roughly to his feet.  Raucous laughter surrounded him as his head was thrust underwater again.  He’s the blue paladin, why is he drowning?

Keith a soldier kneels in front of him, worry hatred on his face and Lance flinches back.  Hands touch his shoulder where fire explodes across his skin.  The brand fresh from the hearth hissing angrily as it burns through layers of skin.  Sweat breaks out on his skin, and he screams.  He had never felt pain this intense before, and he felt a hot poker on his other shoulder where Keith was shaking him awake, back to reality.

But he was being held up again, the cold was almost too much for him as he shivered in the Galran’s grasp.  His nose was dripping considerably, and his teeth chattered against each other.  He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to.

“Lance, look at me, please,”  Keith begged, his hands gripping the sides of his face gently painfully.  He couldn’t move anything but his eyes which flitted around the room looking for something anything that wasn’t just a shadow in the dark.  Glints of silver caught his eye, but not for long.  Then they were getting closer and closer to his eyes.  “Look at me and hold still, otherwise this is going to hurt.”

But this is Keith.  Keith and his violet Galra eyes which would never always hurt him.  ”Look at me.”

“Please, Lance.”

Lance closed his eyes.

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 19

You discover Xiumin, and Murphy’s Law takes over.

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You always had a plan for what you’d do if you ever met a member of BTS. You just never expected you’d need it.

|mlist|

<–– Prev   Next ––>

Xiumin.

He’s... what? No, no. You shake your head, your mouth suddenly, uncomfortably, dry. There has to be some mistake. He wants you. Why would he cheat? Have you bored him? Are you not enough? Your heart is being squeezed, twisted with every squeak of the bedsprings and thump of the headboard.

With trembling fingers you reach for the handle to the front door. If you confront Xiumin now, you’ll break down. Instead you quietly close and lock the door behind you, shove your hands in your pockets, and begin the walk home. If there’s anything you’ve gotten good at after lying to Yoongi for so long, it’s trapping your feelings— locking them up and ignoring them for as long as possible. That’s what you’ll do. Who cares that it hurts, it hurts so much that you might explode, you’re getting hit by a train, shoved off a cliff, why does it hurt so much?

You’re a block away from your apartment when you can’t take it anymore. You grab your phone and call Lisa.

“The number you are dialing has been turned off or disconnected-”

Is her phone dead? You hang up. Being alone isn’t so bad. You live alone. Xiumin has joked about moving in so that you had someone to talk to— you always reply that you hate roommates, but maybe you’d tolerate him. Now that you think about it, being alone is great. Right?

But, you realize, you’ve never needed a hug so bad. Being alone now... Almost unconsciously you call another friend.

It rings and rings and rings...

“Yo, this is Yoongi. Leave a message.”

You bite back a sob as the recording starts. “Yoongi, I- I need you. Please, something happened...” your lungs are empty, you’re practically choking out the words- “I don’t want to be alone.”

After hanging up, you trudge numbly up to your apartment. Yoongi doesn’t call back, which is fine— he’s busy and his time is valuable. You tie up your hair and begin running the water for the bath. The best feature of your tiny apartment is that it miraculously fits a bathtub.

You sigh, settling on your bed. You can’t get the sound out of your head— the bedsprings, the girl moaning in pleasure, and...

“You’re so beautiful, fuck...” how many times has he told you the same thing? Is she the only one?

God, it hurts and the suffocating, empty silence of your apartment only makes it hurt more—

Your phone rings next to you and you jump at the noise.

“H-hello?” Your voice nearly cracks from the tension in your throat.

“Y/n, where are you?” It’s Yoongi, and he’s speaking urgently.

“At home.”

Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief. “Alright, I’m hanging up.”

“Wh- wait, what?” You stare at your screen, having heard the click of the line going dead. So that’s it? Right, of course. He’s busy. He just wanted to make sure you’re safe, you’re in bed, you’re alone-

A knock at the door startles you, and you draw your blanket around your shoulders as you answer it. As soon as the door is open you find yourself enveloped in the familiar sea breeze scent, arms tight around you, so tight that you’re being squeezed but you still manage to take your deepest breathe since you left Xiumin’s place and...

“Y/n,” Yoongi murmurs as though he’s saying your name for the first time, and that’s when you break. You bury your face into Yoongi’s shoulder and suddenly you’re sobbing, loud choked cries that tear from your throat, and your chest is heaving because it hurts so much.

“Shh, sh...” Yoongi rubs circles on your back. “Y/n, would you like to come back with me? The car is downstairs, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

Unable to talk without hiccuping, you can only nod and let him lead you to the car. You feel helpless, useless, worthless, why are you so damn weak?

You shake your head once you’re in the car with Yoongi next to you. You’re not weak. You’re fine. You’re fine.

“Four months isn’t even that long,” you croak, forcing a smile. You need to be strong.

Understanding dawns on Yoongi’s face at your words. “Did you break up?”

“I don’t know.” You swallow thickly. “You’ll have to ask the girl he was fucking.”

Yoongi’s expression goes from cautious sadness to a dark, terrifying fury. “Bastard.”

“I know, right? I-“ your words are cut off by Yoongi squeezing your hand.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” he whispers. “You’re allowed to cry. You don’t have to be strong.”

His words are a punch to the gut; you don’t have the energy left for the loud, chaotic sobs of your apartment. Instead you rest your head on Yoongi’s shoulder, quietly letting hot tears stream down your face. Yoongi spends the rest of the car ride mute, allowing your muffled sniffles to be the only thing breaking the silence.

“I can tell the guys to go to bed,” he murmurs as the car parks underneath the boys’ luxurious apartment. “You don’t have to see anyone.”

“N-no, it’s fine.” You wipe your face on your sleeve. “I want to see them. And,” you add as an afterthought, “Hobi still has my shoe.”

Yoongi snorts at your comment. “Right. Man, that was so funny. Last night was a blast.”

You shake your head. “I’ll take your word for it. Any drunk is blackout drunk for me.”

“I figured— someone had to carry you home.”

“I didn’t mean to inconvenience anyone.”

“S’alright, it was cute.”

You fall silent during the elevator ride up to the apartment. At some point Yoongi’s arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you against him, but the comfort the contact offers is minimal compared to the cold, numb emptiness radiating through your chest.

“Guys,” Yoongi says, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “I brought y/n.”

He must’ve texted ahead, because rather than the members’ usual rambunctious greeting you see the six of them perched in the living room, watching you cautiously.

“How are you, y/n?” Namjoon asks.

“Fine.”

A pause.

“How are you really?” Seokjin says, eyeing you carefully.

“I said fine.” They’re looking at you, they’re worried and you hate it because if they act like you’re made of porcelain, then you just might shatter. “Quit walking on eggshells.”

“You heard the woman,” Hoseok announces, thankfully distracting everyone’s piercing gaze from you. “We’re not here to tiptoe. Jungkookie, grab whatever liquor we’ve got left after yesterday.” He winks and waves you over. “I still owe you your shoe, by the way.”

You follow him down the hall to his room. “Do I want to know why I didn’t go home with it in the first place?”

“I don’t really remember,” Hoseok admits. “I was teasing you about something... I think you tried to hit me with your shoe?”

“I really hope you’re wrong,” you tell him, “but drunk me sure wanted to write it down.”

Hoseok cocks his head. “What?”

“Yeah, I woke up to a note from my drunk self. I nearly forgot, because—“

“You’re so beautiful, fuck...”

You shake your head. “I just forgot.”

“Wait, you wrote yourself a note?” Hoseok scratches his head. “How?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong, last night is kind of blurry, but I’m pretty sure you were completely gone. Hyung had to carry you to the car, you couldn’t even walk.”

“Who?”

Hoseok ducks into his closet, missing your query. “Gotcha!”

He emerges triumphantly, clutching your black stiletto. “C’mon, let’s get back before the maknaes finish all the vodka. You deserve some fun!”

You follow him. You still can’t crack a genuine smile, but it’s a bit easier to keep your tears from falling. Dammit, why are you so weak? You thought Xiumin loved you. You thought you loved him, but apparently not.

Fake love indeed, you think ruefully.

“Took your sweet time,” Jungkook says as you and Hoseok appear in the living room. “What were you two getting up to?”

“Stuff it, Kook,” Yoongi growls.

You settle on the couch between Yoongi and Seokjin while Namjoon lines up shot glasses.

“Y/n, planning on partaking?” he offers.

“Nah. I don’t want to feel like death tomorrow,” you reply. You don’t say that you need to spend some time wallowing, processing— Xiumin doesn’t know that you found him. What are you going to do?

While Namjoon is pouring the shots, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

“Start without me, guys,” you call, wandering into the kitchen as you answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Miss l/n?” You recognize the voice of your landlord.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not at home, are you?”

“Uh... no.”

“Right.” There’s a pause before he speaks again. “I don’t quite know how to say this. I’ve... well, I’ve gotten some complaints from the apartment below yours. Their ceiling —that is, your floor— is leaking. Do you know anything about this?”

“L-leaking?” What? Wait, wait, wait... oh. Fuck. The bathtub. Did you... god, what kind of idiot would leave the tub running?

Fuck. You quickly tell your landlord what must’ve happened.

“Could you please go in and turn it off?” You plead. “I’m sorry, I’ll pay for damages, it can’t be that bad—”

“I’ll check it out and update you, miss l/n, but I wouldn’t be optimistic.” With that, your landlord hangs up and you’re left waiting, staring anxiously at your phone. You feel tears well up— god, how stupid can you be? Your distraction just cost you... what, a year’s salary?

A few minutes later the landlord calls again and you jump, answering your phone with a trembling hand.

“Miss l/n–”

“Please tell me it’s okay,” you interrupt him, crossing your fingers.

“Well, your computer is alright, but not much else. The water’s gotten everywhere...” he sighs. “I think you’ll need to find a place to stay tonight. Girls your age shouldn’t live alone anyways.”

“Thanks for everything,” you manage to reply. Your throat feels constricted, you’re being choked by your own idiocy. In a daze, you wander back into the living room, where the members have already begun with the raucous laughter you’ve grown to love.

“Everything okay?” Yoongi murmurs as you slide into the seat next to his.

You wipe your eyes. “Fine. I just need to call Lisa.”

“How come?”

“My, uh... my apartment is getting renovated.” You fumble with your phone before standing and making your way to a corner of the room to call your friend.

It rings once, twice, and—

“Y/n! Hey, sorry, I saw that you called but my phone was dead.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

Immediately Lisa zeroes in on the stress in your voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I need a place to stay tonight. Do you have extra space?”

“Ugh, I don’t,” Lisa says regretfully. “Wendy’s got a friend on the couch and you know I’m barely squeezed into a twin bed. Is it urgent?”

You don’t know what urgency means anymore. Xiumin, your apartment— it’s suddenly as though you can’t feel anything.

“Yeah, it’s not a huge deal,” you say. “Thanks anyways.”

After bidding her farewell and hanging up, you turn around and gasp. Yoongi is standing right behind you, and he’s staring at you intensely.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. Yoongi clenches his jaw.

“For fuck’s sake— y/n, you’re lying.” He grips your shoulders tightly, his gaze boring into you. “Please, for me... for once, just tell the truth.”

His earnestness makes your lip tremble, and you can’t help but take a deep breath.

“I just need a place to sleep tonight,” you mutter, blinking furiously to hold back unshed tears. Everything’s going wrong.

Yoongi cocks his head in confusion. “That’s it? Jeez, I thought there was an actual emergency,” he says with a sigh of relief.

“W-what do you mean?” It is an emergency, you’ll have to rent a hotel room or something—

Yoongi shrugs. “You’ll just stay with us.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re already here. You can take one of the members’ beds... oh, and you’ll finally get to taste Jin hyung’s hangover soup.”

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi smiles and turns to the others. “Hey guys, can y/n stay for the night?”

The request is greeted by roars of approval, and you shake your head in wonder. “Yoongi, I couldn’t impose.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: you’re always welcome here.” He leads you back to the couch, where Jimin is clinging to Jungkook like a koala and Hoseok is already slurring his words.

“Did you guys play a game or were you just straight chugging?” you ask incredulously.

“Flip a coin,” Namjoon says, tipping a bottle at you. “Feel like drowning your sorrows?”

Xiumin cheated and the apartment flooded and I’m so, so stupid...

“Pass me a glass,” you reply, plopping yourself on the couch. Namjoon pours you a shot and you down it before slamming the glass back on the table.

“Another,” you gasp as the liquor burns your throat.

“Don’t be reckless, y/n.” Taehyung mumbles, leaning over until he’s lying across your lap. “Mm, you’re comfy.”

You smile before raising your gaze once more. “Joon, another.”

Namjoon smirks. “Yes ma’am.”

By the third shot, you’re crying on Seokjin’s shoulder.

“I th-thought he loved m-me,” you whimper. “Why does nobody love me?”

“I love you, y/n,” Hoseok announces dramatically.

“-and my apartment is flooded because someone dragged me out,” You continue, glaring daggers at Yoongi. “Min Suga... no wait, Agust...” you scratch your head. “What was I talking about?”

“You were blaming me,” Yoongi reminds you.

“Right! Yeah, it’s all your fault.” You point at him. “I’m mad at you now.”

“Whatever you say, y/n.”

Some time later, with Yoongi still frustratingly sober, the conversation turns to where you’ll sleep. You think you’re sitting on Namjoon’s lap but to be honest you’re not sure of anything anymore.

“You can have my bed,” Seokjin offers. “That is, if you don’t mind rooming with Yoong–”

“Don’t worry about it, hyung,” Yoongi interrupts. “She can sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch.”

“You’re both– hic– wrong,” Jungkook says, gesturing with his glass at the two eldest hyungs. “Why– hic– doesn’t she take my bed? I’m not rooming with anyone.”

Muting the dull buzz in your brain, you force yourself to speak. “I’ve already said I’ll sleep on the couch, and I’ll throw my shoe at anyone that argues with me,” you announce.

“You already did, y/n,” Yoongi says gently. “Twice. I dunno if you’re getting those back tonight.”

Through tilted vision you can see Hoseok asleep on the floor, cuddling your nice black pumps. 

“Aw...” you pout, hiccuping. “Anyways, I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight!” 

With that proclamation, you shove the remaining members off the couch, roll over, and pretend to be asleep. After fifteen or so minutes, Seokjin and Yoongi leave for their room and Jungkook does the same, albeit with a sleeping draped over his shoulder. The lights are flicked off and you’re left in the dignified silence of nighttime once more. There’s a blanket and pillow next to the couch so you’re plenty comfortable, but your brain still isn’t letting you pass out. With all the alchohol you consumed you know you should be out like a light, but sleep refuses to take you. 

With a sigh, you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and sit on the floor, eyes stretched wide to adjust to the darkness. It’s quiet, peaceful. You’re alone, yes, but with the boys so close by you’re hardly lonely. It’s... nice. 

A soft creak startles you and you turn to see a silhouette you know all too well. 

“Yoongi.”

“Hey,” Yoongi whispers, sitting beside you. “You’re awake? How are you?”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m– hic– sad. Is that allowed?”

“Of course it is, y/n. I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” Yoongi replies. 

“You’re so nice,” you sniffle. “You really are the best, you know that?”

“Of course I am,” he says. “I’m the best at being furniture, apparently.”

You snuggle further into him, blinking slowly. “You are. You’re like a soft floofy couch.”

Yoongi stares straight ahead and when he speaks you have to strain to hear him. “That’s good, y/n.”

“Yoongi?” you sit up. “I feel weird. Like, I’m sad, but I– hic– don’t feel sad for the right reasons.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sad that I’m not sad,” you whisper, turning towards him. “And I’m not sad because I have you.”

“Y/n, you know you’ll always have me.”

What happens next seems so natural, so right, it only makes sense when you lean forward ever so slightly to press your lips against his. He tastes like mint and sweet liquor, an unconventional combination that feels nothing short of addictive on your lips. 

Yoongi sits frozen for a second before wrapping his hands around your waist and drawing you in closer and kissing you back passionately, heatedly. While neither of your mouths open, the feeling of your lips moving against his lend to every one of your fangirl fantasies coming true. 

At last you separate, and you smile sleepily at him. “You’re amazing, Min Yoongi.” 

Yoongi flashes you a gummy grin. “You’re pretty great too, y/n.” 

You’re going to say something else but before you can, the world tilts to the left and everything goes dark.

A/N You’re amazing if you’ve stuck around after my lil hiatus. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. As always, my inbox is open and any feedback is welcome and appreciated. Please feel free to drop me an ask with your thoughts!