#towards the end of the dream i remember it changing to me struggling to draw leone

[47crows]

Can you pleeeeease talk about your beautiful priest OC? :3

OF COURSE I CAN (°▽°)/)

(Rp partners read no further bc slight spoilers)

His name is Father Nicolas Leone, and he came to me in an actual dream that i had after a vtm larp.

(Baby’s first drawing!!)

During the larp, our prince recited the prayer to St. Michael the archangel and it was such a rad moment that i guess it followed me into my dreams lol. the prayer goes shockingly hard, and i included part of it in the description of the piece I did.

In the dream tho there was a blonde priest in red robes facing off against my lob corp oc Griffin (weird but he also has biblical references so i cant blame my brain for the connection) and during it they were both reciting the prayer of st michael as they moved in to fight. I just kind knew the priest was a vampire?? And when i woke up i was like I GOTTA MAKE HIM and my wonderful friends were like lets rp out his embrace and i was!!!! So delighted!!

So, his story thus far is that he’s a young and very aspirational priest who was given his first orders to revitalize the church in an unnamed city. The previous priest was Not a good person and so the whole thing was seen as needing a facelift after that guy went to prison.

Leone is a little bit of a stick in the mud and very dedicated to the church, perhaps a little too wanting of a grander position but very protective of his flock and over all a good man. To the point where he was actually being scoped out as a possible SI witch hunter. This boy has a level of true faith!! The church orders were sort of a test to see if he could manage his position before they introduced something to awaken him.

Then a couple of Sabbat vamps showed up and it all went down hill. They start remodeling the church to suit their own needs (plans to kill as many of the Camarilla court in the area as possible by using the church) and they start manipulating Leone and forcing him to break vows. It gets to the point where he cant tell what’s reality and whats a dream because of how they’ve twisted and hurt him.

His imbuing was a painful and extended trauma that broke his mind and severely tested his faith. And when he came out of it, he came out as two separate identities and two different hunters. Nicolas the Wayward and Father Leone the Martyr.

His story will end in tragedy, as many stories in the world of darkness do, with his church and his sense of self destroyed. The drawing is a representation of the manipulation and trauma he’s suffering. He’s looking up to heaven for help but in that moment, he recognizes that there is nothing there for him.

[moonlightgrisha]

Ride on

Ch. 4 When you meet the Black General during your morning ride, challenging him to a race, you are not expecting to face a life changing consequence. [Masterlist] Previous - Next

You need a distraction. You go riding at first light, up to the hills on royal grounds. You don't care if the tsarina has given you permission as long as you have a chaperone - you go all alone and you ride as fast as you can, until dawn breaks in.

The moon is no longer in the sky and you sigh with relief. The dream still lingers on, though. You just can't stop thinking about it.

You almost don't believe your eyes when a rider emerges on the other side of the hill. It's a black rider.

It's him.

As he comes closer, you have to believe it's a coincidence. It's too scary to think that he's following you. It's even scarier to think that he had the same dream as you, last night.

"A morning stroll", he says, half smiling, instead of a formal greeting. But he doesn't forget his manners and bows his head. "Milady".

You do the same, happily avoiding his glare. "We seem to share this habit".

"Indeed, we do".

"Well, I'd hate to keep you, General", you mutter, your heart beating fast and not for the ride. "I shall-"

But he doesn't let you go. "Allow me to apologize for last night".

For a moment, you think he's speaking of the dream. But he couldn't actually have had the same dream as you, couldn't he? You look at him, harshly, and you wait.

He continues. "I could see I made you uncomfortable. Forgive me".

"I shall forgive you", you say, abruptly. Your horse is restless, he's struggling to go, and you feel just the same, so you get bold; too bold, as usual. "I shall forgive you if you reach the top of the hill, before me".

He looks puzzled.

You continue. "Oh, c'mon, General. You wouldn't think you could lose?"

He smiles, now, slightly amused. "And if you win?"

You smile back. Too bold. "I will not forgive you, then".

Your horse takes off and you leap forward, eyes on the hill, not even bothering to look if he's coming or not.

He is, of course, galloping straight towards you, so you spur your steed even faster, so much it feels like flying.

He could easily beat you, you are sure of it, but he doesn't, and now you're running up the hill side by side.

You realize it's more fun to ride together, than to ride alone.

"You didn't win on purpose", you say once you reach the top. You're out of breath, so you sit under a tree. He dismounts too, but remains standing, and you feel relieved he doesn't come to sit next to you. You almost laugh thinking of what the tsarina would say, if you told her you eventually had a chaperone, on your morning ride, and that it was the Black General himself.

"I also didn't lose", he replies. "Sometimes, a draw is the wisest result to be achieved."

He's clever. You like that. You also know you can't trust him.

But the dream you had last night lingers in your body and makes it difficult to keep a straight face.

You wonder how it would be if you told him everything.

No more hiding. You could blend with the moon every night, if you wished so. Your eyes fill with tears just thinking about it.

"There is something I must tell you", you suddenly say. The thoughts so fast, they escaped your mouth.

He tries not to look too interested, but he is. He's trying to hide it. "No need. It's a draw, isn't it? A truce".

"I must", you repeat, mostly to yourself. "I..."

Then you remember that Grisha are weapons, around here. That war is not a symbol on maps and books, and that you are no fighter. That's what you had been told, over and over, and it scares you.

"I... sleepwalk".

"You... sleepwalk?"

"That's how I ended up on Little Palace grounds. An incident". That's not even a lie. It's fine. You didn't lie to him. Nothing to hide. "I trust you will keep my secret. I should get back, now. Thank you for the... ride."

You raise your eyes, to meet his. He is bending over you, offering his hand. "Of course I will keep your secret".

Those words make you shiver. He's just helping you up, there's no reason to refuse. Still, you hesitate.

"I could never go with you", you think. "No matter how I wanted to".

But you do want to take his hand. That's the point.

You place your hand in his, and he pulls you up.

But he doesn't let go.

Instead, his grasp grows so strong it almost hurts.

Right in the moment your bare hand has touched his, you have started to shine. Moonlight runs on your skin, in your eyes, on your hair, and you look at him in shock. You didn't even know you could summon in the daytime. What is he doing to you?

You feel naked. You feel free. You feel terrified. You feel powerful.

The Darkling looks at you like he knew all along. Your faces are so close, you could just lean over and resume were the dream has ended.

Instead, you pull away, abruptly, freeing your hand.

Like a signal has been cast, his shadows come out from everywhere. You have never seen them before. They run towards you like wolves, they crawl like dragon tails, and you respond.

Beams of moonlight spur from you, glimmering and glistering, pure ferocious night light in the middle of the dawn, chasing the shadows away.

But they are not really gone, they are hiding in the grass, observing you.

The Darkling has said nothing yet.

You turn away, get on your horse, look at him - just staring at you, and a million things unsaid in that stare - then you leave.

The Darkling doesn't even bother to come after you. He knows that you are not running away.

There's no running away, not anymore.

Are you having fun with this, yet? I'm having a LOT of fun. Feel free to leave a comment, if you appreciate this pastime and want to know what happens next.

[dreadfutures]

I have this whole fic idea for what Emily and Corvo are doing during Death of the Outsider and wrote this on my phone just now. sorry it's rough shsjdkdkdj

Corvo is having nightmares, which then turn out to be actually memories of himself in another timeline where he was the one facing Delilah. That Corvo did a high chaos run, but this Corvo is horrified by the dreams and the implications of who he was and what he did.

Emily notices her father is growing agitated and isn't sleeping well, and she figures the Outsider might have something to do with it.

-:-:-

"It's not her."

Emily whips around, time slowing as she prepares to dodge an assassin, or clockwork soldier, or none of those things at all because the voice registers in her mind half a moment later, and she knows he is no threat. She knows it in her bones, knows it like the certainty of her next breath: he is not harmless, but he will not harm her himself.

So when she sees the Outsider leaning against the pillar behind her, she does not draw her gun.

The Outsider does not move his eyes from her face, though she knows this only in her gut and not from looking at him. They stare at each other in silence, in the wan Dunwall afternoon, and the forlorn cries of gulls fade away in the distance as he draws her mind into the Void, even while awake.

The sky is suddenly dark, and sunlight is cast in pale ripples across the whole world, a that is when he tilts his head slightly toward the grave.

"It's not her, I promise that. You saw to it--the true end of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. I thought that might give a sense of finality to it, and yet, here she haunts."

Emily's jaw tightens. "It was final," she says, wary and angry all together. "For *me.* But he's...struggling. The world changed so much while he was in stone, and... He didn't get to say goodbye, like I did."

"That's because he wouldn't have," the Outsider said with a shrug.

The Empress clenches her marked fist at her side. "How do you know? Do you dangle it in front of him in his dreams? That hardly--"

"I don't have to," interrupts the Outsider calmly. "Dear Corvo's nightmares are all of his own making."

A shiver runs down her spine at his cold words, and a memory resurfaces of the clammy nightmares she had long ago in the Hound Pitts Pub when she'd put a whalebone rune under her pillow. Chilly dreams of the Outsider surveying the political players of the day, examining them as they examined her from every angle and finding them wanting just as they found her. They had jeered at her: too young, too fickle, too impetuous. Of course, the Outsider, old as he is, could say the same for all of them.

The judgement in his black eyes was never cruel, but it was never kind, either.

"So you're not toying with him?" Emily asks, shaking the vision of the looming Outsider in her memory and glaring instead at the one in front of her. It was good to remember he was shorter than her, now; a boy frozen in time who was far less menacing now than when she was ten.

"Your father always asks me that. From a certain angle, I can't blame him," the Outsider says, circling her slowly. The air moves strangely around him, thick like water. "But the strings that pull him and his blade aren't mine, and deep down, he knows it. And you?" A mirthless sound leaves him that might be a laugh, if he were amused by much. "I dont control you like chess pieces on a board. Never had the chance to learn. And if you're thinking of cats and mice..."

The Outsider is suddenly very close, floating at eye level with her so she can see the grimy streaks left on his face as if his black eyes had shed tarry tears.

"Sorry to disappoint. I'm not interested in eating you."

"If you're not playing with him, then what's happening?" she asks, batting him away like the smoke of a noxious cigar. "Something has upset him. It's making him waste away, I can feel it, but he refuses to talk to me."

"Oh, and he just loves talking to me, does he?"

This does genuinely seem to amuse him, and Emily is secretly relieved. Entertaining the god seems to be the surest way to coax good will from him, and for her father's sake, she needs some.

"Fortunately for both you and dear Corvo, I did not stop watching you, not even now that your throne is secure and your name washed clean of dishonor." The Outsider is *definitely* amused. "Do you remember the crack in the slab of reality you slipped through, splinters of past and present needling into your forward path at Stilton's manor?"

Emily rolls her eyes as the Outsider waxes poetic. "I'll never forget your little inventions," she replies. "Giant dragonfly wings on a... whatever organ that 'timepiece' was."

The Outsider crouches behind her mother's headstone now, hands dangling over his knees, and looks up at Emily with a cracked squint as if she is too bright to look at.

"Time is wounded still, wrapped around you both like waves breaking against the two statues you were in both Dunwalls," he says, studying her. "Just keep your heads above water for now, and let the experienced sailors navigate this storm."

Emily considers this non-explanation and isn't sure what to do with it. At its heart, she knows he's telling her--for some gods damned reason--not to worry about it.

It's not good enough.

Emily hopes her mother would be proud of her as she lunges over the gravestone and reaches for the Outsider. She knows Corvo would be, as her hands close around the boy's scrawny wrist and yanks him upright.

"I want to know what's happening to him," she says, enunciating each word with deadly patience. Up close, he really does just look like a half-drowner beggar boy, and she isn't scared of him. She isn't.

"There's darkness inside everyone, whether I tether them to a piece of the void or not," the Outsider says, dangling from her grip without any indication of discomfort. Perhaps he recognizes it as a fair trade for the time he pulled her into the Void and straight off a cliff.

"The urge to jump off the bridge when you should pull back from the edge--or to push someone else... It's in each and every one of you. Even your father."

The Outsider's eyes gleam in the dying light preserved here in the Void, each wet pinprick of light part of some larger, unknowable constellation.

"Tell me," he says, tilting his head, "did you show such compassion on your road back to your throne because Corvo raised you to be such a good little girl? Did you aspire to have as gentle touch as he did long ago, even when he was a weapon in the hands of the dirtiest schemers in the Empire?"

Emily grits her teeth and prepares to reiterate her demand to the Outsider, but he continues quickly so that she does not have time to waste her breath.

"It's okay, I know you're not a philosopher," he says, sneering harmlessly. "I'll tell you the answer: every choice was your own. Because what I've seen is that put in your shoes, dear Corvo would disappoint--me, you, and himself most of all."

Emily knows despite the insult in his tone, the Outsider has thought her to be a clever one. And she strives to live up to that moniker, as much as she would be embarrassed to admit it. So presented with the same puzzle now from several opaque and poetic angles, she does her best to piece things together.

The Outsider smiles, almost dotingly.

"You have the same frown on your face as when you're planning your route across a ravine full of Howlers," he says.

"You are about as annoying as a pack of Howlers, if I'm being honest," she replies, toothless with distraction. "Are you saying there was...another past, where Corvo faced Delilah? Did he come back in time and change things and I don't know about it?"

"Not quite," the Outsider says, "but very, *very* close, Your Majesty. An alternate timeline spins away, just out of reach from this one like the hands in a clock--but for better or worse, they are about to cross."

Emily feels like the blood has drained from her head too fast, and, dizzied, she releases the Outsider. He remains floating at the same level as before, to humor her.

"And in the alternate timeline, he--"

"Ask yourself, Emily Kaldwin, if you really know what you're asking," the Outsider says, and the amusement is gone. The warmth in his chilling voice has vanished. He may think she is Clever, but he has the knowledge of the field and she is woefully blind, and he is growing bored of steering the two of them through this conversation. "I have never had an interest in preserving your father or even you. That instinct is shared between the two of you alone. Let it serve you, while Billie Lurk learns whether she cut the instinct out of herself or not."

And like that, the shrieks of seagulls pierce the air. The Outsider is gone, and Emily Kaldwin is left with more questions than she began with.

[monsterkissed]

i know you have shared snippets of fics and ideas with me and i am just sat here like wait wait wait which one is bad end and which one is worse end. i am gently asking for a little bit of "bad end" to orient myself. also, unrelated: lotd2 heehheehehooo (<-not a request, just excitement)

responding in reverse order, i have definitely already shared this part of lotd2 before but it's one of my fave openings to anything i have ever written so We Shall Read It Again:

Bruno Bucciarati was dead, so Giorno did not get to see him as often as he’d like. 

Little flashes, sometimes. Little moments. A word or two. A look. A sigh. A smile. Once or twice a month, if he is very lucky. He likes the smiles best, but they are by far the rarest, because Vinegar Doppio hates Giorno more than Giorno has ever hated anything in his entire life, and Vinegar Doppio is the one living in Bucciarati’s animated corpse.

it is to my eternal shame and frustration that "bad end" and "worse end" have absolutely nothing to do with each other. i think "worse end" actually predates "bad end" because there is something wrong with me as a person.

let's unearth a bad end under this cut and see what we find...

The creak of a footstep woke Doppio out of his dreams with a start. He tried to get up, before remembering that of course he couldn’t and going still again. He could barely even tell that his eyes were open in the darkness, blinking only changing the texture of the shadows, but he could hear well enough to count the footsteps. If the one that had woken him had been the first, there would be ten more. He counted them out, one after the other, his heart beginning to beat harder when the sound of them softened as they crossed onto the carpet. 

Doppio held himself very still, breathing as quietly as he could. Making any sound would make the footsteps stall, and every second already felt like an eternity as it was. He was usually safe, though, all bound up in cuffs and blankets. 

Apparently he would sometimes jerk or twitch in his sleep. It didn’t surprise him; he still dreamed of knives and hands and growths sometimes, especially when he had dozed off alone. Better that he be kept safe. 

The footsteps stopped and Doppio held his breath, not letting it out until he felt and heard the thump of weight settling on the floor. The soft hush sound of the carpet being pulled back. That let the light in between the boards and Doppio flinched away from the brightness of it, even as the sight of the shadow blocking out parts of it made his breath try to pick up again.

The click and scratch of screws being removed. Careful, slow, methodical. It must be a good day. Doppio allowed himself to move, still blinking back the light but trying to turn towards it regardless, and then with a heave and a thud it all washed over him at once, blinding. 

For a second or two that was all. Doppio’s eyes struggling to adjust and the shadow looming over him, letting out a soft sigh.

“Oh, Doppio.”

The shadow scooped him up with only the slightest effort, pulling him out of the dark, warm space under the floor to huddle on the carpet as his hands were unbound and his limbs freed. As soon as they were loose he reached out and crushed himself close, ungainly, awkward angles, clinging there and being clung to in turn. When they were so close that he could feel their breath synchronising he let his hands drop, running down the arms loosely wrapped around him until he found the hands at his waist. 

Sometimes that was as far as it would go, at least for a while. The hands would be stiff, tight, shaking, and Doppio would sit where he was and patiently stroke the tension out of them, keep drawing rough and fractured breathing back to his own steady pace and try not to listen too hard to the words being mumbled into the crook of his neck.

But today was a good day, so after only a few minutes the hands went calm and still in his own and he allowed himself to look up and see the Boss smiling down at him. 

“You look tired, Doppio. Did I wake you?” When he shook his head he smiled again, very gentle, indulging the lie. He glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the shuttered windows. “We… have a little time, I think. There is some work to do, but… I think I would like to start with you.” He ran a thumb over Doppio’s lips, so gently that he could barely feel it catching on his stitches, and then kissed him so firmly that they hurt a little when he pulled away gasping. 

And the Boss kept smiling at him, as beautiful and awful as the first time.

[doomxdriven]

DRABBLE: Birthright

"You said you knew em', so what was he like? My father?"

Bansui looks up from his desk, toward the young brown haired man sitting across from him. Outside of their hair color, this young man in front of Bansui was truly the spitting image of the person he was envisioning in his head right now, the former head of a Great Noble House, and a dastardly soul who was now remembered as a villain for their actions years prior.

"…Hmm, thy father was… a, wretched, greedy individual," Bansui continues, his gravelly voice eking our from underneath his mask, "a cruel beast, if ever there was."

"Urhm," the young man frowns widely, "damn, really, nothing good 'bout the dude?"

Bansui let's out a low, guttural laugh, before replying with, "Forgive me, young master, I meant… those things, in the most, positive ways, imaginable," Bansui also embodied many of those things after all, "thy father was, a visionary, and his vision was, grand, and commendable; had he succeeded in… his goals, he could have, changed everything."

Bansui may not have wholly agreed with the motives that drove this young man's father to try and usher in that change, but he respected their attempt at breaking this flawed joke of an existence that stemmed from the Soul Society's Original Sin.

"Ah, but how… darkly, the dark hand, met his fate," Bansui orated, while remembering that fatal moment when an assassin's blade plunged through the back of this young man's father, ending their life, their dream, and the providence of their Household…. though, perhaps the latter could now be rectified, thanks to the discovery of this young man's lineage.

"A shame, among shames, to be sure," Bansui continues, "but a shame, capable of… reconciliation, by thine hands."

The young man let's out a nervous chuckle, and then continue with, "Woah, I don't know that I wanna fix anything, I only came here to learn 'bout my father, that's it-- not trying to get wrapped up in any weird noble shit, that ain't me."

Bansui smirks beneath his mask, and immediately tries to assuage th young man's doubts, and objections, "The affairs of… the nobility, are a bother, indeed-- I personally… dislike, dabbling in such, matters, myself, but it is an… evil, of necessity, I fear, and an… opportunity, of grand proportions for thee."

The young man runs a hand up the back of their head, still looking unsure of what Bansui was getting at, but they are curious, leading them to ask, "Urhm what, kinda opportunity are we talking 'bout here?"

"Ye see, thy father… left, their House, thine House, in shambles, " just about every one in the main line of this Great House had been put to the sword by this young man's father, "and upon his, death, every…. distant, relative, of thy family who… still lived, fashioned themselves, heirs."

It was almost comical, but more-so pitiful, how every backwater branch of this aforementioned Great House had come out of the woodwork once they saw a meager chance at power-- truly a representation of how shameless the nobility could be with their thirst for power, in Bansui's opinion.

"This has…. bequeathed, a power struggle," it was actually a small civil war going on in the shadows, one that has ended up drawing in the other remaining Great Houses as well, but Bansui didn't think this young man had to know the true scope of this ordeal, not yet, "that continues, to this day, one which… would have, been the… destruction, of thine house, had I not, discovered thee."

The young man, somewhat wide eyes, nods his head and then quizzically asks, "Mmkay, got all that, but I'm still waiting to hear 'bout this opportunity you mentioned for me?"

Bansui lazily gestures toward the young man, "There are, many, contenders at play," a few who could possibly be trouble, due to their support from the Shihoin or Kuchiki, "but as the, only son, of the former head, thou possesses the, only proper claim-- with my, sponsorship, the nobility would be… pressed, to recognize thee as, true heir."

Bansui didn't imagine that the other claimants or Great Houses would rollover so easily and accept this young man as the rightful heir, but Bansui still had a few 'friends' in Central 46, and with that, along with a few strategic killings, he knew the road for this young man's ascension could be paved.

"Thine fortunes would… change, overnight," Bansui continued, while slowly rising from his seat and shuffling around to the young man, "thou would be, head of a, Great Noble House, one of the most… important, powerful, and…. wealthy, individuals, in all the Soul Society."

The young man watches as Bansui makes his way over, pondering their words all the while. The young man still didn't like the idea of getting involved in all of this nobility business, but thinking about the status and money it could bring them is immensely tempting.

"Wooahh, that would be all nice, I could really help out a ton of people in Rukongai with a position like that," the young man replied, one hand tucked under their chin, looking deep in thought but simultaneously excited, "I could finally have enough money to buy all those cool instruments from the World of the Living too, start that band with Shuhei, and oh oh, maybe I can get Captain Yadōmaru to finally notice me, or one of those Quincy gals, or maybe even that librarian lady in the World of the Living!"

Bansui stops and stares at the young man from behind his mask, he stares at them in silence for a good while in fact, holding back the urge to give a very disbelieving 'what?' to their comments.

"……. Yes, Ye could… commit, to such scenarios, indeed," Bansui flatly says, finally breaking his silence, "it would be, within thy right, as a…. member, of the, Greater nobility."

Bansui thought that everything this young man had just mused on was ridiculous, but if that's what they wanted to do with their future status and wealth, that was their perogative, so long as Bansui got what he wanted out of the situation-- a powerful ally among the Great Houses, or more specifically, an alliance between the young man's house and his own, to check the influence of the Shihoin and Kuchiki Houses.

"The heads of the… Kuchiki, and Shihoin, may prove, antagonistic, to thine ascension, not to… speak of, the dreams thou possess, but, if ye take this… chance, and claim thy, rightful place, thou shall… always, have a, staunch supporter, in me, and my family; provided, of course, that the…. support, is returned."

The young man looks up at Bansui, raising an eyebrow and grinning at them in a bubbly though knowing manner, "I getcha, I see what you're on 'bout, what this is all 'bout-- I might not be the noble type or, the very smart type," the latter was something the young man heard very often anyway, from his former and current Captain's, "but I knew there had to be something shifty you wanted outta this."

The young man lets out some high spirited, vibrant laughter, before wiping a tear from his eye and adding, "I was worried you were gonna ask me to sell a limb or drop some crazy catch on me last second, but that doesn't sound too bad; you just want a friend!"

Bansui…. stares at the young man in silence once again, for a few moments, long enough for the air to get a little awkward, but after holding back a bothered sigh and refraining from denying the young man's suggestion, he tries his best to amiable when he answers, "Why, yes, that is correct, young master, a….. friend, in thee."

Bansui would suddenly wave his hands around, a Kido incantation having been spoken long before, and in front of him, and the young man, a Zanpakuto would appear, encased within a transparent, violet-hued box.

"Urhm…" the young man stares at the Zanpakuto Bansui had brought forth, looking a little confused, "what's that?"

"This," Bansui replies, a wide grin forming beneath his mask, as the container around the Zanpakuto began to fade away, "is thine birthright, young master, take it, and then ready thyself, for next, we go to address… the nobility."

The more they stared at the Zanpakuto before them, the more this young man began to feel…. a pull, strange as it was. The young man already possessed a Zanpakuto of their own, that very blade currently fixed at their side, but staring at this other Zanpakuto, he began to feel a similar connection, somehow.

"My, birthright?" the young man questioned, reaching out to grasp the Zanpakuto, and the moment he did, the moment they wrapped their hands around its tsuba, they felt a jolt of spiritual energy flow through them unlike anything they had ever experienced, and in their mind, a name came to fruition, a name they would then speak aloud with awe,

"Enrakyōten."

[sorryiapologized]

Keep my hand in yours

I fell in love as the world collapsed around me and nothing else seemed to matter.

Four years later, and much of the start of the end feels like a blur. I wonder if historians will call the pandemic that -- the beginning of the collapse. I grew up reading dystopian romances, dreaming about falling in love while trying to survive as though that would be the most romantic thing in the world. As a child in an abusive home, falling in love while trying to survive was the only way I'd ever fall in love.

In the early days of the pandemic, after all our other roommates had left and it was just the two of us in a creaky old house, we filled our days by watching movies. The films sparked the same feeling for both of us, that we weren't main characters. Hollywood didn't write stories for people like us. At best, we'd be the first to die in the horror movie, too trusting and not ruthless enough to even harm the villain.

We'd been friends for a few years, and roommates for nine months. Though we didn't talk about it, there was a silent understanding that we shared a connection through our emotional scars that the others just didn't get. Maybe it was that shared experience of fighting every day just to survive that made a global pandemic feel more like a vacation than a death sentence. We woke up every morning thinking about death, this was nothing new.

Without much to do, we'd go for drives. It was our code if one of us was struggling. We didn't have the right words to outright ask for help or companionship, but we knew how to say, "Wanna go for a drive?" We'd loop through the small downtown (if you could even call it that), climb toward the lookout over the rich neighborhoods. We'd order fast food and listen to sad songs in a mutual solidarity.

The signs of collapse were all there for months in advance, we just didn't see it. Just as the signs of our own fall outpaced our ability to understand what was happening between us. News outlets reported over the strange disease, but we never really thought it would cause a global shutdown. A flush of red would heat my cheeks whenever our legs brushed against each other on the couch, but I never really thought we'd take that risk, go beyond just friends.

Then, like a meteor crashing toward the earth, one sudden impact changed everything. Our lips met, our bodies intertwined, and nothing would ever be the same.

Everything was confusing in those early days.

What were we to each other? Did they feel the way I did? Was this just an end of the world fling? The worries raced through my head as I fell asleep each night.

Then, one day, a piece of paper slipped under my door. A drawing of two worms on a leaf, and in that moment I knew.

We're four years into forever now. The world is still in the process of collapsing, but for the first time I'm living beyond survival. Wherever I go it's with their hand in mine.

Neither of us can remember how those old apocalyptic books ended. It doesn't really matter who Katniss chose. All that matters is who we chose. We're writing out the pages of our story with our hands clasped together.

Someday the historians will write about this time. Will they call it the collapse of society? The end of our nation? None of that matters to us. The only thing that matters to me is holding on to this beautiful person I found though it all.

Someday they'll find our bones. Will they know how deeply we loved one another? How we grew together? Or will they simply see our bones for what they were before the world ended -- roommates. best friends. None of that matters to us. Our love was never for them, but in spite of them.

[jack-bytez-genuine-corner]

Dear Tumblr diary

I'm still scared of sleep and it's a hard act to do. My brother bullying me my entire childhood sadly still sticks with me I guess.

Brain fog sucks. I sometimes lose track of time and it's absolutely terrifying. I'm trying to adapt in my own way but the next time I see a doctor I guess I'll see if there's anything that can help. I don't like the realization of me missing time. I'm being a bit overdramatic as it only happens for short bursts but it's just awful as it is never consistent in how bad it is.

I don't understand why I write these as I don't even know if I want a response. I guess it's calming to send my thoughts into the empty void that is the Internet.

I wrote a letter to myself while delirious from sleep deprivation on how I can make a tech fairy outfit for cons and for fun. I don't remember what is in the letter I wrote two+ hours ago. I hope I was nice to myself in it, I think I was. If the outfit turns out bad or good I'll be happy, I deserve to fail or succeed at sewing, a thing I used to do as a wee lad. It'll be fun, period.

I cried a lot thinking about games that sincerely changed my life today: The World Ends with You when I was a depressed teen that helped me relearn how to like other people and even be vulnerable with them. That game helped me to expand my world, appreciate others even if I don't know them or share any similarities with them and that the world truthfully does end with you. Then Hi-Fi Rush now which honestly helped me realize that it's ok to be a loser with low / no prospects or accomplishments, because living your best life and struggling towards a dream, any dream is important. If I get a tattoo I'm getting Mr Mew and 808 cause simply remembering those games makes me all emotional. I need to not feel like a failure just cause I'm still in college at 25 years old and still a loser, cause I have people who care about me, I have a lot of the world to learn from and listen to their noise, I can still let people in. Basically it's ok to be a loser and to fail.

I helped some med students get ready to draw blood today. My husband is going there as well, but he got all his arm pokes in so I was just there to make sure others got theirs in as well. I talked to a lot of them but I don't think people feel that comfortable when I'm so honest and forward with stating what I'm feeling. I used to use a mask for every social interaction, but now I try my hardest with everyone to make sure I'm being authentic, so I'll just flat out state that I'm grateful for talking to them, that I'm excited for them, that this or that thing of them is brave, that their clothing or mannerisms are cool. I try as hard as possible to be so overtly kind cause I don't want to "Fake" it anymore, I just want to be that way. To me, I know I mean it, but I worry if I'm coming off as not genuine. I don't need them to say "Oh thank you for being you" but I just don't want to be seen by others as a loser even if my outlook of myself is that. Side note but I'm extremely thankful for the students bringing home cooked, authentic food to the potluck as a thank you for friends and family getting poked. Some of it is clearly home recipes passed down in different cultures. I'm only regretting the fact I didn't question them for a history lesson on the food they made as I really want to know the story behind the food.

I do that online too and I don't know if people like it or get it. When I got that art commissioned I went out of my way to tell the artist repetitively how much it meant to be, and how pretty their art is, and I meant it 100%. They deserve to know that info and l, btw, think the model is practically perfect and I've never been so happy to see something that I could only describe in my brain be real. I need to change my profile pic on here and the blog title, but it feels different or wrong to do that at this moment. Similarly if I reblog your art with those types of compliments, please know I mean it. I don't want to lie and I want to be an honest man, and every single person deserves kindness and honesty from strangers.

I hate that US society is so dehumanizing and selfish centric. We ignore other cultures to an extreme, are extremely paranoid and it's always about me - me - me, but never we. I really wish I got to live in a society that's more level headed, a little more kind, and a little more stable. I often have to fight myself because of this: When I get real disillusioned at the state of things and can't see the good in people I just revert to edgy, suicidal teen me that views everyone and everything as a falsehood and a threat. Person walking their dog down the street? Will actually kill you for fun. Happy couple? Complete lie, happiness isn't real. That "Me" wasn't healthy and still isn't, but when I see how the US treats minorities , treats the poor it just kills my want to live and experience life. It's like I just want to become a hermit who experiences nothing. Thank goodness I was fortunate enough to be in a position for therapy, because I don't want that to be my outlook: I want to live in a world with hope and I want to believe good things will happen because I think they can and will, it just sadly takes time. That disillusionment has been happening more recently, but I try real hard to make sure I remember that good things can still happen and that I can be good for the people in my community, I can be their hope like they are mine. The strength of Trans people, Black people, Natives, women, progressives, etc, is awe inspiring to me and they're what gives me hope that things can be better. And if anyone not in the US is reading, you also give me hope, cause I can always look elsewhere and see good people doing good things just to do so.

I finished my classes this semester, my Python programming class I got over 100%. I should feel really accomplished but I just don't feel that. I love programming, don't get me wrong, but I still hit a roadblock daily on allowing myself to feel good about myself. I just remember things I've said to random strangers online or things I've done in person and I put myself at below where I would situate others: I can forgive people for those things, but I can't forgive myself. Maybe it's trauma from my bro, maybe it's my illogical brain, but I really should try to take pride and joy in doing good at things. If others deserve that, don't I as well?

This post keeps getting longer but I just have more of my guts to spill I guess. I really dislike the feeling that the body I always wanted is pretty much permanently out of reach and was never in reach to begin with. It's dysphoria but I'll never be a thin shouldered Twink and that's ok. I like my beard, I don't mind balding at 25, i think my wide shoulders and heavy weight are tactical advantages. Still, I hate being 250~ pounds permanently. My weight hasn't changed for such a long time and my build has always been the same. It doesn't matter what diet I try or what years long lifestyle changes I make, shedding down the pounds might as well be impossible. Other than my fibromyalgia and post COVID brain fog I'm healthy as an ox so I'm very grateful for that. I'm also thankful for that doctor and therapist who aided me with my eating disorder crap, without them I might be dead and that's no good. Maybe that's why I'm a furry? Who knows.

The other day I got to call a beekeeper to come and save a swarm of bees. It's was very exciting and I got to learn a lot about the process as I saw her vacuum up the whole swarm. A junior beekeper tagged along and brought her kid. The daughters name started with a T, she has her 13th birthday and she was having trouble with her Spanish teacher who is really busy business focused, likes gymnastics and her favorite insect is the honey bee with her least favorite insect being the killer bee. I talked to her and hopefully helped her to not take out her frustrations with her teacher on the idea of learning / speaking Spanish. From what I gathered I think she understood it. To me, language is extremely precious and unique, with any and every single one being worthy of preservation and respect so I'm glad it seems like she won't let one stern teacher stop her from learning Spanish. I am very grateful I got to see a kid be very excited about bees. Side note but if my situation was better / more stable I'd love to adopt, it's a travesty that many kids just get tossed around the foster system and don't get a loving home. And if I do adopt, I really won't be picky as all kids deserve a loving home. If we adopt a Black kid or Native kid I'll have to figure out how to make sure they aren't denied that cultural heritage as those are extremely important things, and perhaps the right answer is not too cause I'm not a white savior so to speak? It's honestly a complex moral question to me.

I feel at odds with my close friend group. In my eyes, their family and come first but I think I'm viewed more as an afterthought. Regardless of that I still need to remember to send them love. When it isn't 3 in the morning I'll make sure to send them a nice message on discord as they deserve it. Is a cat meme too cliche?

My cat is a little space heater, and even though he annoys the crap out of me he cares for me to such an extreme degree that I should always remember him for being there to watch my back, to comfort me when I cry like a baby, and the fact that he basically discusses things with me.

I still don't understand blogging but I don't think I want too. Similarly I don't understand mutuals but I'm glad people have them on here. Closing message is to remember to be kind to yourselves, that you don't need a reason to live past being alive, and that you have value innately. You matter.

(Why did I even write this for an hour?)

[tavarillasgalen]

I feel like in my journey to rediscover myself, I'm rewatching all my old favorite shows from teens/childhood. Bunheads, Dollhouse, and now Redwall (the first fandom I was ever part of and wrote fanfic for!) The 3rd season is still my favorite because it is the darkest. It's been healing, in a way. I already have Dollhouse on DVD, but I want to see if I can get those ones too. I was also super into Supernatural, so will probably rewatch that next.

It's been, Idk. We moved my horse, so I've been able to see her every day. I'm drawing regularly. I have a 55 day French streak on duolingo. I'm into the month of April's work at my job. I've been moving my body on a regular basis and eating far more healthily than not. I've lost 6 lbs this year, and my clothes that aren't oversized are starting to fit again! Still have a ways to go to get to my pre-pandemic weight, but healthy changes are getting me there. I've been reading a bunch. Rewatching makeup and hair tutorials and started making myself look pretty just because.

Generally, since the breakup, I've just felt... So much lighter and happier in general. I'm slowly starting to feel like me again. And it's been lovely. Which isn't to say my ex is bad or the relationship was bad or anything - he is a wonderful, wonderful person and he showed me what it is to truly be loved by someone. I know what healthy relationships look like because of him. But you can be in a relationship with a wonderful person and still lose yourself and it can still not be right. Different priorities, needs, wants, and communication styles. I lost so much of myself in running away from my problems into his arms. I lost so much of myself trying to be there for him and constantly compromising for his needs that I lost sight of my own needs. We tried so hard to make it work - I stayed so long because if we were able to make it work, I could see a life partner in him. But staying together would mean constantly struggling with communication, and all this other stuff. And I put my life, my dreams, my needs on hold for year after year for him. For... God. 5 years. 5 years, I put my life on the backburner for him to be able to pursue his dreams and to try to support him. This year was going to be the year that changed, then he said no, but maybe next year. And I couldn't do it anymore. Someone can be a fantastic person, but not right for you, even if you both try. And ultimately, we just weren't right for each other.

And it's only been 2 weeks since I officially ended things. And in those 2 weeks, I just... I have this newfound love and appreciation for life and what I have. I can't remember the last time my relationship with my family was this good. I'm actually starting to chase after my own dreams again. I did work towards them here and there in the relationship, but I was always held back by his, one more year, one more year, one more year. Now that I'm free, it feels like the world has opened its arms to me and that the opportunities are endless.

I feel like I'm getting to know myself again. Like I can really make something of my life, if I try. And it's so beyond freeing and happy.

[beautifulbows924]

A Waking Dream, A Dreadful Nightmare

Morpheus, Dream of The Endless x Gender Neutral!Reader

Masterlist 

A/N: I’m really excited about this part! Thanks again @darkened-writer for continuing to beta read this series for me (they have their own series for him, everyone should go check out)! And as always, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any feedback you have in the comments and if you like my work consider leaving a tip! Thanks:)

Rating: Teen (Series: Explicit)

Word Count: 900+

Warnings: Angst, No Spoliers, Miscommunication, Bad Dreams: darkness consuming everything in its path, fluff if you squint.

Previous Part: A Single Dream, A Thousand Realities

Next Part: An Endless Dream, A Ghost of a Smile

People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes. - Neil Gaiman

“Lord Morpheus, that dreamer you asked me to keep an eye on. They’re having another nightmare.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“But Sir”, Lucienne continues, stopping him in his tracks, coat swishing at his heels, “No nightmare has been assigned to them”.

The smell of fresh dewdrops lingers in the air. Cool grass grazes over your cheek. A heavy breeze shifts the picnic blanket beneath you.

You smile, staring up at the bright blue sky, absent-mindedly picking at the grass, enjoying the way it tickles at the palm of your hand.

It’s beautiful here. Endless peace.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting the serenity of the scene wash over you.

What a wonderful dream.

Something stirs deep inside you, a tense feeling, an indication, a premonition. Your eyes snap open.

Furrowing your brows, you take in your surroundings again.

The clouds have shifted, a darkness overtaking them, rapidly changing from sunshine to twilight.

A loud crack echoes across the sky as the ground begins to quake below your feet.

Your stomach twists into knots.

The leaves shake. The flowers tremble.

And you’re no longer alone on the picnic blanket.

A man now sits beside you, an indiscernible look on his face as he watches the darkness roll in. The shadows twist and consume everything in their path, leaving only emptiness behind, a nothingness so vast you can’t see where it ends.

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, “What’s happening?”, you ask, your voice wavering a bit, “Who are you?”.

The man doesn’t answer, instead he grabs ahold of your hand and stands, pulling you up with him in one fluid motion.

“We have to go”, he says, already beginning to walk away.

You try to dig your heels in, to ask him what’s going on, but he doesn’t budge, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

The ground continues to shake, the darkness draws closer.

Tendrils reach out, twisting and pulling at your exposed skin.

You have no choice but to follow him, heart thudding against your chest, blood rushing to your ears. You can’t see, can’t breathe, can only feel the man’s strong grip on your hand as he drags you through the darkness.

“Tell me your name?”, you plead, struggling to keep up, “You owe me that at least”.

As if angered by your words, the man suddenly releases his hold, allowing you to stumble forward.

You land on your knees with a groan, “What was that for?”, you hiss, annoyance seeping into your tone.

He huffs, ignoring your question, “Do you know where you are?”, he asks, taking a step toward you.

His voice is familiar, but you can’t remember where you’ve heard it before.

You shrug, still catching your breath as you stand on unsteady feet, “Why should I answer any of your questions when you continue to refuse to answer any of mine?”.

“And what questions would those be?”, another step forward.

You rub the dirt from your hands on the front of your shirt, “Who are you? And what are we-”, your words catch in your throat, you hadn’t looked at him, not really.

He’s beautiful. All sharp edges and messy hair, with an aura of dark mysteriousness that seems to shroud over him entirely.

The corners of his lips raise slightly in amusement, noticing your stare. “I’m Morpheus, Dream of The Endless and the king of this realm”, he says, his airy voice filling the space around you, waiting for your next question.

“You’re the king of my dream? Dream… I’m dreaming?”, you ask, suddenly more aware of your surroundings and the lack of darkness closing in. Everything feels different, clearer, like the plastic film has been peeled back ever since he arrived.

“I am the king of all dreams and nightmares”, he clarifies, the power radiating around him ripples in confirmation, “I apologize for the intrusion, but I needed to make sure you weren’t a threat to The Dreaming”.

You, a threat? “A threat?”, you step toward him, “You were controlling the darkness that whole time? For what, some sort of test?”.

Morpheus blinks at you for a moment as if shocked by your reaction, with how much you were able to put together with just one word of his intentions. “So far it seems to be contained, and no I wasn’t controlling it”, you were, he wants to add, but doesn’t.

You frown, “...If you truly are the king of this realm, are we not under your protection? Am I not?”.

Your gaze falls to the ground, “Would you have controlled it, if it hadn’t stopped- or would you have just let it take me?”, you ask, your voice lower than a whisper.

He allows the question to hang in the air, the silence heavy.

“No”, there’s a finality to it, “I wouldn’t have”, he says, so low you’re not certain if he truly intended for you to hear it. The words stilted, painful like he isn’t used to telling people what he’s thinking.

Feeling.

“I-”, you start, looking up.

But all that’s left behind are a few glittering pieces of sand.

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged or un-tagged down below <3

The Sandman Taglist:

@alice-the-nerd @leg0city123 @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass @dark-night-sky-99 @mm2305 @luciamajer @nerdy-wierdo @lizajane2 @thegreatestsandwich @hyper-half-blood @layla2-49 @raylan-carver @shit-post-things

[justfandomwritings]

By The Norns (Part One - Soulmate!Loki)

Pairing: Loki x Reader, Soulmates AU

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Nobody was harmed in any way in the making of this story... but there was some arson.

Summary: She wasn’t a goddess. She wasn’t even an elf or a dwarf. She was a mortal, a Midgardian, a human. To Odin, she was a curse. To Loki, she was a second chance.

Notes: Don’t worry. Despite what the chapter and the description may make you think anyone whose read my stories before will know I am not a fan of soulmate aus that take away the character’s choice. This chapter is set up. Stick with me on this. I promise. Posted in honor of @muna1412​ being very excited at the prospect of another soulmate au.

This is not related to Loyalty in any way... I just have an unhealthy obsession with Soulmate aus. 

Fate was a funny, fickle thing. Loki knew that much. After all, he’d met her. 

Them, to be more precise. The Norns.

Urdr, Skuld, and Verdandi were their names: Past, Present, and Future, as they should be known.

It was they who watered the tree, and they who grew its leaves. The task fell to the Norns to write, shape, create, and control the fate of every being under the branches of Yggdrasil. 

A poor, dwarven craftsman working on the surface of Nidavellir, a beautiful, golden elf living on a hill in Alfheim, a meager, puny human scurrying around the surface of Midgard. It was they who made the dwarf rich, who killed the elf in his sleep, who let the human sow the land. They did not exchange the gold; they did not wield the dagger; they did not draw the plow. But it was by their hand, by their grace and mercy, that the worlds turned, that life waxed and waned, that the Realms drew breath. 

Every birth was through their will. Every death was by their hand, and everything in between was because they decided it would be so.

All fell under the gaze of the Norns. The kitchen cook, Andhrimnir, who served the Aesir’s table at night, owed everything to the Norns. They allowed his birth into Asgard. They raised him above the station of a lowly tavern boy. They gifted him the family he cradled so dearly to his chest.

Odin, King of the Nine Realms, Protector of Asgard, owed everything to the Norns. He was born by their choice. He survived a thousand battles because they said he would do so. He married Frigga because they put her on his path. His sons… 

Well, one of his sons.

Loki knew the exact moment Odin stopped looking at him as a son, the exact moment Odin chose Thor over him, the exact moment Odin turned his back on him, the exact moment his father marked him disappointment.

It was, like all things, the doing of the Fates. The Norns.

Fates were theirs to command from the highest branches of Yggdrasil down to its very roots. From king to beggar, slave to master, aristocrat to pauper, farmer to merchant, sailor to soldier. From Loki to her. She was their doing.

Love was an inevitable part of life. Not even the Norns, with all of the power of the gods and then some, could stop that. Humans, Aesir, Elves, Vanir, the sentient beings of the Nine Realms felt an overwhelming urge towards emotion, and one of the strongest, one of the most inevitable, was love.

They couldn’t stop it, but they could direct it.

It fell under the purview of Fate to decide who one loved. People, god and mortal alike, fell in and out of love all the time. 

Sometimes, though, every now and then, the Norns would reach down and touch two beings. The Norns would take two souls in two bodies and braid them together, weave them together, mold them together, as if they were one.

Those who knew magic well, those like Loki, could see them, watch them, doing this. 

They could see Urdr floating, invisible amongst them, deciding the pair. They could see Skuld, plucking up their souls. They could see Verdandi tying them together.

Loki watched them when they took his soul.

“Mother, Mother,” Loki tugged on his other’s silk skirts and pointed up into the rafters of the Grand Hall. “What’s that?”

Frigga followed her son’s gaze and gasped. Magic was not her proficiency, though what little she had she wielded well. She had enough to see the Norns, floating ghostlike in the air over her younger son. She had enough to see his soul in their hands, and another at their side. 

In the old days, before that fateful night, it was considered an honor to be chosen by the Norns. It was a guarantee of a great, powerful destiny in the future. It was a promise of passion, understanding, and respect on the horizon. It was the mark of one who would know true love. 

The Midgardians called them soulmates. The Aesir called them the destined. 

“The Norns have touched Loki,” Frigga whispered to Odin at her side. “They are gifting him a match.”

“With who?” Odin asked because he could not see them for himself.

Frigga squinted in the direction of the apparitions tying together Loki’s future. “I cannot tell. She appears to be…” Frigga’s eyes whipped around to Odin, “Midgardian.”

Odin turned up his nose and sniffed.

Midgard. The word, the world, that had sentenced Loki to a lifetime of second best. 

His ‘destined’, his ‘soulmate’, his curse.

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It was centuries before the soul tied to Loki’s found the body it would spend its own life in.

(Y/n), her parents named her. 

They weren’t sure why they named her that. When asked, they said they saw the name once in a book. Or was it on the tv? Or in a dream? 

Neither could really remember. All they knew was that, as she grew, the name suited her perfectly. Almost as if fate itself had chosen it for her.

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

For centuries, millennia even, her soul had been lingering on the edges of reality, existing but not quite feeling. She floated through time and space, following the ties that bound her to existence, waiting.

By the time her soul entered her body on Earth, she had existed longer  than any other Midgardian ever had or would in all of history. She had lingered for years just out of reach of one of the most powerful beings on Asgard, her soulmate. Lifetimes had passed her by in the blink of an eye, and though she didn’t remember any of them, they remembered her.

Her soul hovered above its mate, basking in the magic that dissipated into the air around him like smoke. She breathed it in, soaked it in, drew it in.

In many ways, even subconsciously, she showed her age, her mate.

Even as a baby, she never woke her mother up screaming, to the jealousy of her mom’s friends. She was the model toddler, even through her terrible twos. She almost never cried and rarely threw temper tantrums. They called her a prodigy when she started speaking in full sentences before time doctors even expected her to be learning her first words, and they called her a genius when she learned to read full children’s books while other kids were still struggling through their first alphabet flashcards. Even though she ran around playing in the mud or splashing in puddles, somehow her clothes were always pristine. She taught herself faster than the teachers could and skipped two grades in elementary school alone. She was suspiciously charismatic for such a little girl and made, literally, hundreds of dollars off her lemonade stand. She listened to a family speaking another language in the store once and ran up to them to answer a question they had; when her parents asked her how she’d learned to understand or say that in another language, she had no idea what they were talking about and seemingly hadn’t even realized she’d done it. 

And yet there were other things, darker things. 

When she was born, the nurses didn’t question the little shock of static that jolted through them as they held her. No one commented how, in the right light, the baby’s eyes could look terrifyingly aware. She lied as easily as she breathed and almost never got caught. A girl made fun of her friend's hair once at school, and that night ended up being rushed to the hospital by her parents with all the signs of a heart attack in a five year old child. She liked having things her way, and even when her parents refused her, they always found themselves oddly compelled to do whatever it was anyways. She had an affinity for snakes that often found her letting them in the house. The pranks she pulled on her little brother sometimes got out of hand and often resulted in loud crashes and screams, though by the time any adult arrived nothing ever seemed broken. Her father used to joke that she must be some kind of shape shifter because he swore that, from day to day, her eye would change their color. Sometimes, when he looked in them, he swore they weren’t his daughters, but when he blinked and looked back they always returned to normal. 

Most of it was written off as the simple oddities of a child or exaggerations of first time parents. 

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

Superheroes did not exist when (Y/n) was a child. 

It would be another decade before Tony Stark would stand on a stage and proclaim before the world, “I am Iron Man.” It would be even longer still before Peter Parker would put on a red and blue jumpsuit and call himself, ‘Spiderman’. Bruce Banner hadn’t even begun his research into the serum that would be his ultimate undoing. Dr. Stephen Strange was finishing up med school. Thor hadn’t made his presence known. Wanda had just been born. Hawkeye and Black Widow were still assassins working in the shadows. No one outside Wakanda had ever heard of the Black Panther. Vision hadn’t been built yet, and Captain America had been dead for decades. 

Even if they did exist, it wouldn’t have helped (Y/n). Most of them weren’t born super. Most of them became so by lab experiments or radioactive insects or training or technology. 

In the world (Y/n) grew up in, there were no superheroes. And if there were no superheroes... then what was she? 

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

She was 12. 

It was her big day. 

Not her birthday, she didn’t particularly care about birthdays. Something about them just felt off to her. When she turned 11, she asked her mom if she could have two of those candles that were shaped like the actual numbers, and she’d put them pressed against each other on top of the cake. She ran around all day telling everyone she was 1,111. Some people laughed, but mostly to humor her.

That was why she hadn’t had a birthday party when she turned 12. She didn’t like people fake laughing. It felt like lying. She didn’t particularly mind lying herself, but she hated thinking that people were lying to her. Especially because she could always tell when they were. 

No, instead, she had this. The Science Fair.

She’d won first prize the night before. She knew she had because one of the judges had told her she’d won.

That morning, they would be handing out the awards, and she was so excited for everyone else to know the secret, to know that she was the best, even better than the older kids in her class.

The judges were walking up on stage, and any moment, once they got past the category winners they were going to call her name.

“In third place we have Jesse Martin with his project in the biology category!” 

A cheer went up that, judging by the pitch, absolutely must have been from Jesse’s mom. The other parents in the room clapped while Jesse ran towards the stage, turning red in the cheeks from his family’s overzealous encouragement. 

“Congratulations, son,” the Dean smiled as he bent down to shake the boy’s hand. The mike picked up a small bit of Jesse’s anxious thanks before he ran to join the line of winners.

“And in second place we have, (Y/n)! With her wonderful….” 

Second place. 

But Mr. Sellers, the science teacher had told her she won. 

Was he lying? Did he honestly think second place was winning? Was he just saying that to shut her up? Or was he being mean? Did he want to laugh at her when his real favorite won? 

The parents were cheering her, including her own. Her father was nudging her towards the stage, but she didn’t at all appreciate the gesture.

No. They told her she was going to win. 

Her face screwed up in pain, and she balled her hands into fists.

At the back of the room something exploded. 

A scream went out. 

“Fire!” Someone shouted. “Fire!”

The poster boards up and down the hall were catching fire. It jumped easily from paper to paper. It didn’t help that there was no smoke, for some odd reason. That the sprinklers, that the fire alarm, didn’t turn on.

Someone grabbed (Y/n) by the waist. Her father no doubt. 

(Y/n) barely noticed. She was still upset staring at the trophy on the stage over his shoulder. 

Slowly, before her eyes, it began to melt.

She smiled. Good. If she couldn’t have it, no one could.

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

“She caused the fire.” He whispered, staring down at the floor in front of him with glassy eyes. 

“Wayne, that’s crazy; you know it is.” 

“I saw it with my own eyes, Elle. She clenched her first and suddenly Christina Danvers poster exploded. She gets second, and the first place project explodes the moment she throws a fit?”

“Our daughter doesn’t throw fits.”

“Not normally, but she did today. She was about to, and then everything caught fire.”

“Wayne, you can’t be serious about this right now.”

“She was smiling.” He whispered. “When everything burned down, she was smiling.”

(Y/n) listened silently from the hallway as her parents talked.

She loved to eavesdrop on her parents late night. They never knew she was there. It was another one of those odd coincidences of her life that (Y/n) was the only person in the house who never made the steps creak when she walked up and down the stairs. 

She was old enough to know what they were saying, what they were implying. It should’ve bothered her more than it did.

(Y/n) walked back upstairs, silent as the grave, and opened her closet.

She needed the duffle bag her father kept tucked away in the top of her closet, but she was nowhere near tall enough to reach it. As the door slid open, the bag teetered on the edge of the wire shelf and fell to the floor. 

“How convenient,” (Y/n) mumbled to herself. 

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

“Hey Kid,” The man shouted at her out the window of his semi-truck. “What’re you doin’ out here at night? It ain’t safe!” 

(Y/n) shrugged. “Not safe at home either.” 

The man gave her an understanding look. 

(Y/n) watched him carefully as he opened the door of his rig and offered her a hand. 

Her mother had always told her not to talk to strangers, but (Y/n) had found she could always tell what people wanted. Besides, she was pretty sure she was a greater danger to them than they were to her. 

“Where ya’ headed?” The man asked.

“West.”

“I can take ya’ as far as Texas.” He offered. 

(Y/n) hopped off the curb and grabbed the man’s offered hand, hauling herself up into the passenger seat. 

She didn’t know where she was going or why she was going there. But something inside of her told her she had somewhere to be.

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Next Time On.... Part Two

Thank you very much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed. I have just come back from a hiatus and a great deal of why I went on said hiatus was the stress of managing ‘added features’ for lack of a better expression. I like writing. I don’t like formatting or managing the blog side of things. 

As such, no taglists. Please don’t ask me to be on a taglist. Keeping track of it stresses me out too much. I don’t feel like doing it. I don’t appreciate being pressured into doing it. In the olden days of tumblr, people used to follow each other, and I promise you that feature still works. If you follow me you will see part two when it’s posted. 

[mcyt-imagines]

I loved your "dating tommy includes" hcs! Could you do a dating ranboo includes hcs please? 💓💓

This request was super fun I got a little carried away with it though! Hope you enjoy regardless :)

Ranboo Dating HCs

This boy is an absolute cuddle bug! (Once you guys have dated for a little while first, of course, he needs a little bit of time to feel comfortable enough) But once he’s decided he’s comfy enough around you, you won’t be able to pry this lanky boy off of you. However, every once in a while, he’ll distance himself a little, as if he’s worrying he’s being too clingy. But with some convincing and reassurance from you, he’ll be back to begging for cuddles in no time.

He adores both being the big spoon and the little spoon. The idea of you feeling safe in his arms when he’s the big spoon always makes him feel strong and confident. But feeling so content and relaxed in your arms when he’s the little spoon is something he loves just as much.

This boy isn’t great at remembering dates. So whenever your anniversaries come around, if you don’t remind him, he will forget. So his usual methodically planned out dates are cast aside when he’s on a time crunch, he instead finds himself on BuzzFeed's Top 10 Romantic Destinations In Every City’ or some other dodgy/trashy teen website. They’re still fun because you’ll be with Ranboo, and the spontaneity of them is a welcome breath of fresh air for you, Ranboo not as much, but you do your best to reassure him and curb any of his fears.

Ranboo is the kind of boyfriend who has you at the forefront of his mind, most of the time. This leads to him bringing home countless little trinkets or articles of clothing that reminded him of you. It’s never for any special occasion, he just thought you would like it and so he wanted to give it to you. He will also gift you any sketches he draws that he actually ends up liking, that’s usually only like a fifth of them but he will always cherish your compliments and critique. Mainly because he actually cares about what you think, and knows you’d be honest with him if his drawings were as bad as he sometimes thinks they are.

If you and Ranboo ever fight while you’re together, which seeing as how non-confrontational he is, I can’t see it happening very often if at all. But if you do, he is likely to apologise first, and very shortly after the initial argument. It’s not that he’s a pushover and can’t stand up or himself, he just doesn’t see the point in arguing about something stupid or unimportant, so he’ll encourage you to hash it out with him quickly and with little fanfare. However, if the argument is over something important like morals, he will use his apology to try and reach a middle ground with you. By letting some time pass since the initial argument, he knows both of your minds are clearer and less clouded by emotion, allowing for the two of you to come to a peaceful agreement or disagreement.

Ranboo likes to have you in his stream room whenever he is streaming. If you’re busy with something else he won’t stop you and drag you into his stream room, but you do notice his demeanour change when you’re there or not during streams. He is always quite upbeat but the cute way he looks back at you every few minutes always guarantees a blush to rise to your cheeks. His happy grin contagious even as he looks away and back to chat. You usually will make Ranboo something to eat whilst he’s streaming, especially for lore streams as they’re usually longer. He has accidentally announced it to chat several times having meant to mute himself before speaking, he always gasps too. “You made me lunch! Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that. How about I make dinner tonight for you, huh?” His chat will race by as you press a kiss to his cheek, and he takes the plate from you. “Guys my partner made me luuuuuuunch. I bet you guys are all super jealous.” He smirks, the chat hears your soft laughter in the background as you return to the comfy spot you had been occupying before you left to grab Ranboo some food, munching on something you’d grabbed for yourself.

Ranboo always insists that you do chores together, even if it isn’t the same chore. You can see him vacuuming from across the house as you’re emptying the trash. And of course, loud music is playing during this, chores must be done whilst jamming out. Ranboo is a strong believer in that philosophy.

Ranboo also tries to get hands-on in the kitchen whenever he can. He cooks most of the meals simply because he can be a bit of a picky eater, and thus you both decided it would be easier if Ranboo cooked more often. But there are days where you must cook and you try your best to make the meal as inoffensive as possible for Ranboo, he knows it’s a pain and always thanks you profusely for it. He’ll usually hover whilst you’re in the kitchen asking if he can help dice the carrots, mash the potatoes or stir the bubbling pot of pasta and you usually end up having to dance around the gentle giant as he fumbles his gangly self around your very small kitchen. This has led to some small accidents in which both of your outfits have gotten completely ruined, but you’ve never held it against him no matter how much he blames himself for it. The first time an accident like that happened Ranboo baked cupcakes for you the next morning as an apology and almost burnt down the place because he was so lost in his sulky and broody thoughts, he didn’t hear the oven timer go off.

Ranboo isn’t the kind of boyfriend to get jealous or possessive. This isn’t because he doesn’t care, it’s simply because he trusts you. He has no reason to worry, even though he does, but he refuses to let that interfere with you having some fun with your friends. However, if some person is making unsolicited advances towards you, and you’re looking and obviously feeling very uncomfortable he will not hesitate to step in. This boy may not be confrontational, but he knows when he needs to step up to defend someone, he knows you can defend yourself, but if he can stand in between you and that person he is more than willing to.

At parties together Ranboo sticks to you like glue, he’s not a huge fan of the combination of loud music, flashing lights and crowded people. You know this, and so you keep to the outskirts determined to keep your boyfriend feeling content and make sure he enjoys himself a little too. You don’t go to parties often with Ranboo simply because he doesn’t adore them, but if it’s an important event for you or himself he will begrudgingly go. However, he never dares to complain only pleading with his eyes to leave after a few hours. And usually, by that point, you’ve shown yourself around to the host and whoever you needed to see, so you usually just slip out the entrance with little fanfare. Eager to get home and into your pyjamas for a late-night movie, some cuddles and then passing out on the couch.

Ranboo talks in his sleep. Mostly gibberish, but sometimes he will string a couple of sentences together. They’re usually questions directed at you or part of conversations you’ve already had with Ranboo the previous day. They rarely wake you up, his voice being quite soft, barely mumbling. However, every once in a while, you will humour him, and yourself in the process. Continuing a full conversation with him whilst he sleeps, and sometimes you directly impact his dreams. One night you mentioned cinnamon to him as he slept and the next morning, he said he had been craving Cinnabon’s in his dream, and now that he was awake, he wanted one 100x more. Thus, the two of you made some that afternoon to cull his craving. You made a mental note to keep your effect on his dreams a little secret to yourself.

Ranboo can have difficulty conveying his emotions to you the way he wants to, struggling to find the right words. But when he does, he screams them from the rooftop. Once he confesses to loving you, you hear it often. Whether it’s just a ‘goodbye love you’ on the phone or a heartfelt ‘I love you’ as he holds your face in his hands as you lie awake late at night in each other’s arms. This also is the case with compliments. This boy showers you with compliments, if you’re insecure about a certain part of your body you best bet, he will be putting plenty of focus into making you love that part of yourself just as much as he does. Which is a lot. In turn, it leads to him simply talking about you a lot, you’re on his mind almost 24/7 and he makes sure everyone in his life knows it. Seeing as his family and friends adore you, they don’t mind it too much. This boy adores you with his whole heart and he wants to make sure every single person he ever runs into, knows it. No matter how long you’ve been together, that will never change.

~Requests are always open!~

[bruhlsbees]

paradox burning ; 1/5 || ernst schmidt x fem!reader

summary: after the fight between volkov and schmidt, you comfort schmidt in his quarters

pairing: ernst schmidt x fem!reader

warnings: over the clothes touching

word count: 4,666

taglist: @itsametaphorbriansblog

a/n: if you haven't read the preview i would suggest reading that first to understand the vibe of their relationship better!! chapter two will be up tonight!! just wanted to get this out as i've been lacking content these past few days since i've been celebrating my birthday. hope you enjoy and as always if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

“TAD throttle control, 8636. Line secure.”

Mother Mary be with us...be with Mama and Papa and sissy and Joe.

“Accelerator system status?”

Father give us the strength today, for we have dove into the depths of space to restore humanity as we know it.

“It’s holding for pre-ignition.”

Look after everyone down below on Earth - for times are dark and the sun does not appear to be rising anymore.

“Shepard team, you are go for countdown.”

I pray that you forgive all of our sins, Father, as we have learned our lessons and strive to move forward in honoring thy.

“We’ve all got our fingers crossed here at Mission Control. Let’s make this first one count.”

And help guide us through these troubling times and help everyone remember why we are up here.

“Status boosters?”

Is this Hell, Father?

“Go.”

Have you damned us all to Hell?

“The GNC?”

To pay for our sins?

“Go.”

Tell me, Father...

“Power up.”

Are we damned?

“Commander, Shepard team standing by for your go.”

Perhaps we are and this is where are days will end.

“On my count…”

Among strangers and empty.

“Three…”

Away from family...

“Two…”

Away from friends…

“One…”

Alone in our own thoughts.

“Mark.”

God, help us all.

TWO YEARS LATER

You awoke with a start. Gasping for air as you tugged at your tank top, as if the thin material was suffocating you. Not giving yourself time to process what had happened, you threw your legs out from under the warm covers and let the cool air hit your bare legs, your elbows resting on your knees with your head in your hands, catching your breath.

This was the second week in a row now that you’ve woken up from a nightmare. Drenched in sweat and tears spilling from your eyes. It was always a reimagine of the previous one. If you dreamt of your father dying one night, the next it would be your mother. This night, it was your own life that you dreamt slipping away. Your finger pads swiped away the tears that fell down your cheeks before sliding onto the cool flooring, clasping your hands together to begin and pray.

“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…” You began, crossing yourself as you settled on your knees, eyes closed and hands squeezed together tight. “Heavenly Father I ask that you watch over Mama and Papa...sissy and Joesph, and all those back home,” You cleared your throat, choking down the tears as you continued on once more. “We have been onboard for over two years and I miss everyone dearly. I hope to speak with them soon as Joesph is teaching Mama and Papa how to use video call.”

Even with all the photos that you had around your room, all the videos that you had programmed in to watch whenever you pleased, you were beginning to forget simple things - like how they smelled, the warmth of their hugs, and how they always tried to pawn your younger siblings onto you. You were always so mad babysitting them, losing out on time with your friends, but now...now you wished that you had the chance to babysit them, to be with them once again.

“Father, I ask that you forgive me for my sins, guide us through this mission, and take us home. All of us. Let this mission go well, and we can save Earth. Amen.”

You crossed yourself a final time, bringing your cross necklace from your chest where it sat and to your lips, kissing the gold piece of jewelry before standing up from the floor.

This was an everyday routine for you. Waking up, saying your morning prayer, taking a shower, and being down for breakfast by 08:00. It was early, you knew that, but you enjoyed having the calmer moments before everyone else woke up.

When you entered the bathroom, you went straight to the shower, turning the handle to let the warm water spute out. You were tired, swaying gently in your stance as your eyes grew heavy. The sudden spitting of water struggling to get out woke up, making you jump as you watched the water pressure went from weak to strong.

You pushed down your shorts from that night, pulling your tank top above you, and stepped out of your shorts, dropping the tank top on the floor before stepping into the shower. You were pleasantly greeted by the hot water, sighing as it hit your back and began easing the tension in your muscles.

Morning showers for you were always dangerous - either it could go very well and you’d be out in minutes, or it could go bad and you’d end up falling asleep leaning against the wall. On this particular morning, after dreaming of your own death, you did not wish to fall asleep again, scared of what could come from your slumber. You quickly washed yourself off, massaging your scalp as you washed your hair before taking the toothbrush you kept in the shower, opening up the tube of toothpaste, and began brushing your teeth.

It was such a mundane routine - almost finding it boring the longer you were onboard. Perhaps it was your schedule that was down to the second of when you did things. You never were one to be so particular about your schedule, having one so precise, but after a year of pure chaos on board, a mundane routine is what kept your little sanity still hanging.

When you were finally ready for the day and changed into your suit, you slid on your shoes and pulled your hair back into a low bun, tucking some of the loose pieces of hair behind your ear before heading out of your room and down the hall, going towards the common room to join the others for breakfast.

By the time you made it down to the common room, you were only the third to arrive - Mundy and Acosta beating you to it.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up!”

From your spot at the bagel machine, you looked over into the game room where Mundy and Acosta stood playing foosball, Mundy looking all too proud - indicating that he perhaps was winning. On the other hand, Acosta looked tired, almost too tired to be playing a game of foosball so early with Mundy.

Letting out a laugh, you shook your head and turned your attention back to the bagel, sighing once it finished before pulling it out from the machine and placing it on your plate. You truly didn’t understand how half the stuff you consumed was edible, but you supposed it beat other things you’ve seen those in space eat.

Taking a seat in your spot at the table, your back facing Mundy and Acosta, you brought the bagel to your mouth and took a bite, maybe a little bigger than what was more polite, but you didn’t care, you were starving.

It was the Commander who came in next, greeting everyone with a morning as he got his own breakfast before sitting across from you at the other end of the table. When the two of you locked eyes, you nodded, continuing to chew your bagel before looking down, not wanting to draw too much attention to the fact that you had a shit night.

You were pleased when Commander didn’t seem to notice, glancing occasionally into the lounge room where Mundy and Acosta continued to play foosball, Acosta finally gaining the upper hand on Mundy for once.

One by one the rest of the crew began to show: Volkov, Tam, Schmidt, before eventually Hamilton joined as well. When Schmidt came in, walking beside Tam speaking in Mandarian about what you assumed to be something related to the Shepard power accelerator. As the two sat down with their breakfast, Schmidt looked over your way, his mouth twitching into a smile before his attention fell back to the screen pad in front of him that Tam was holding.

You listened in on their conversation, picking out what you could understand through the technical language the two spoke on. As a medical crewman, you weren’t familiar with all of the technology onboard, only the ones related to the medbay that you primarily worked in. You went to school for medicine, exceeding expectations in your classes, and found yourself working for military hospitals since. It came as a surprise to you when they asked if you’d like to be a part of the Cloverfield station. What business did you have going up in space?

When you told your family about the news, they were proud, no doubt, that their eldest child would be going into space to directly help with the ongoing energy crisis. It was evident how proud they were of you, but also how worried with you going into space. You lived with your parents and younger siblings your entire life, leading up until your departure for the Cloverfield station. Separating from your family was hard, and having them not understand how to work even something as simple as a video call hurt more.

Your sister, Mila, would be sixteen now - learning how to drive and preparing for her final days in school before going into higher education, if that’s what she wanted. Your brother, Joseph, would be twenty-three now, doing who knows what with his young man mind. You hoped he wasn’t getting into trouble, or knocking some girl up...although the idea of having a little niece or nephew to come home to didn’t sound all that bad.

But your parents, how were they doing? They were older, growing slower as the days went on. Were they still making it through all of this? You assumed Papa was still running the family shop downstairs, selling candies to the little children of Lapovo - whatever children were left in Lapovo that is.

Mama though, how was she doing? You couldn’t imagine how worried she was, probably baking her troubles away in the kitchen. You missed waking up to her cooking, smelling the sweetness of baklava and sarma. She always wrote you letters while you were away either at school or on the military base that was outside of Lapovo where you worked. Now that you were in space though, sending letters just didn’t happen.

Perhaps tonight you’d try and see if Joseph was online and able to chat.

Everything had been going peaceful that morning, which you enjoyed after the sleep you poorly had. That is until Volkov finally spoke up.

“Six hundred and ninety-four.”

Looking up from your bagel and to your left where he was at, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as Volkov screwed the water bottle back closed, making his way over to the table to join the rest of you.

“Six hundred and ninety-four days I’ve kept our O2, CO2, N2, hydrogen, water vapor and methane at optimal levels.”

Congrats, what did he want, a fucking cookie?

You watched as Volkov stood on the other side of the table in front of Schmidt, almost directly talking to him. There was always something going on between the two of them, and quite frankly it annoyed the living shit out of you. You felt like a mother some days, scolding Schmidt for clearly egging Volkov on - him and his damn anger issues.

It was no different today, as Volkov began his tangent on whatever it was he was about to lay into you all, Schmidt was sitting across from him, a smirk on his face.

“You know how many pressure leaks we’ve had? Not one. No microbe overgrowth, nothing. You know why?”

“This is a long speech, Volkov.” Schmidt quipped, reacting in you rolling your eyes and pushing your plate forward, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest, wondering where this would be leading to next.

“Because I disinfect the decks every seventy-two hours.” It was Acosta to interrupt Volkov this time, stating that he was actually the ones to disinfect the decks. He was right, you couldn’t remember how many days you spent helping him, on your knees scrubbing at the decks.

It seemed finally everyone was growing annoyed with whatever Volkov was getting at, Commander Kiel finally stepping in and stating that if he had a point he wanted to make, he should make it now.

“There’s one part of this station. One part that is not working. This is interesting, do you know what part that is? The Sheppard Accelerator.” Volkov continued, not seeming to be in any rush to get out what he wanted to say.

In Mandarian, Tam finally intervened, claiming that eight billion were counting on us and asked what his point was. You could agree, what was this all about?

It was then that Volkov stated that he didn’t have a problem with Tam, but with Schmidt - ‘her German boyfriend’. You couldn’t help but snicker at the comment, clearing your throat just as quick, hoping nobody heard. But someone did, and it was Schmidt, giving you a look that screamed ‘you’re not gonna find that as funny later’.

Everything began to really go downhill from there, nobody seemed to be able to get to Volkov and stop him before he said even more that he would regret. Hamilton directed him to go back to his quarters only for him to snap back that she wasn’t his mother. Commander and Mundy even jumped in, trying to calm him down, but nothing worked.

“Two years on this ship, and this man has delivered nothing,” Volkov pushed on. You hadn’t noticed it until then, but Schmidt had moved from the table and was now standing only feet away from Volkov. You felt your heart begin to pound as you watched the two men. Two men with strong anger issues at only breakfast time, something more than just a disagreement on the way to erupt.

“Volkov, enough!” Schmidt snapped, glaring forward at him. “You need to think very carefully about what you’re saying.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you thought maybe, just maybe Volkov actually shut up for once. But that brief moment of silence was just that, and he was back to speaking, this time more quiet than before.

“We’ve both heard the reports,” Making his way closer to Schmidt, “Germany is preparing for war, Serbia taking alliances with Germany, and everyday that goes by more and more Russians are starving.” The comment made your heart stop for a moment. That was just a rumor, in all of your messages with Joseph, not once had he mentioned going to war alongside Germany to be true.

You didn’t know why you felt the sudden urge to cry, but you did. Bringing your fingers to your mouth, you began to bite down at the skin around your nails, chewing away at the flesh until you tasted the iron of your blood. Nobody outwardly spoke badly to you, besides the occasional poorly landed joke from Volkov, but you couldn’t help but feel like an outcast, wondering if people really thought you were what Volkov said you to be.

By now Volkov was in Schmidt’s face, the two men radiating their own heated anger off one another, tension filling the room, making you feel like you did in your nightmare, suffocating. You pulled at the collar of your suit, taking the zipper and unzipping the front enough to get yourself feeling less trapped.

“Maybe you’re not in a hurry to get the Shepard working. Is that it? Are you stalling us to help Germany get the upper hand? What about you? What are you doing in the med bay alone, mixing something up for us to take? To slowly kill us?”

He laughed, he actually laughed when he looked at you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. When Volkov turned back towards Schmidt, it was only half a second before Schmidt’s hand wrapped around Volkov’s throat, pushing him back before sending a punch across his face. Volkov was quick to regain his posture, grabbing at Schmidt’s own throat and shoved him back towards the corner, both men trying to pin one another against the wall.

When the scene unfolded, you stood up in shock, mouth gaped and you took a step to the side to try and do whatever you could to help, but felt someone grab your wrist. Turning, you looked down to see Tam’s hand before looking up at her, watching her shake her head ‘no’ and to just wait. And you did, it took everything in you to stick by her side, but you did wait.

Commander was the one to grab Schmidt, pinning him onto the table with his face squished onto the glass. Mundy, on the other hand, held Volkov in a choke hold, keeping him restrained while the Commander lectured the two men - one of which was still trying to get the last word in.

“Keep your mouth shut, Volkov!” The Commander finally boomed, causing the room to come to a standstill. “We have a job to do.”

The room finally fell silent, both men seeming to be relaxed enough for the Commander to think they were free to be broken from their restraints.

“Now, can you two get along for just one day without us having to pull you off of one another?” Moving back, you watched as Schmidt laid on the table for a moment, almost debating on if he wanted to go at it with Volkov again. He decided against it and finally stood up, fixing his shirt before shooting a glare towards Volkov, knocking past him and out of the common room.

You gave it a moment, smiling over at Tam when you felt her squeeze your hand. You nodded her way, squeezing her hand back before you quietly slipped away, moving down the hall quick to go and find Schmidt.

It took a while for Schmidt to really calm down, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if the Commander didn’t rush the test that you were all supposed to conduct that day. It was bad enough everyone was stressed, but having someone be stressed and pissed off just wouldn’t work. You could almost bet that the reason the outburst that morning even happened in the first place was because of the high tensions on board, especially leading up to the next test.

If this test failed, they only would have enough for three more tests. After that... well, they could kiss humanity goodbye.

It didn’t take long for you to find Schmidt, in his quarters struggling to get his suit on as the zipper seemed to be stuck. He was mumbling something in German and you couldn’t piece together what he was saying other than the occasional ‘fuck him’.

When you stepped inside his quarters, the door shutting behind you, he paused his moments, his hands on his zipper, not wanting to look at you. You took a hesitant step forward, not wanting to be on the other hand of his outburst, before stopping once you were only a foot away from him.

“If you’re here to tell me that I was an idiot, don’t bo-”

“I’m not here to call you anything, Ernst,” His cheeks grew red at the sound of his first name, his gaze glancing up at you, watching as you stared back - only instead of something angry, like he expected, your gaze was more somber, worried even, “I just came to make sure you were okay. Here, let me.”

You gently moved his hands away from the zipper of his suit, taking another step forward to pinch at his suit, tugging the fabric down to help the zipper not get bunched in the fabric. You could feel his ragged breath hit your forehead, his chest heaving as the zipper moved higher until your hand stopped above his heart.

His mouth twitched into a smile, feeling your head fall forward to rest against his chest. You felt his arms wrap around you as he pulled you in tighter for a hug, as if you could get any closer to him. His lips sat on your hairline above your temple, kissing you sweetly.

“You trust me, right?” Schmidt suddenly asked. He could feel you tense up in his arms and he pulled back, his hands resting on your arms, squeezing them, “I just, don’t want you to be wrapped up in the middle of whatever feud Volkov has with me. Tam already gets it enough and I just don’t want you to have that on yo-”

You stopped him with a kiss, smiling into it before pulling away, seeing his own smile on his face.

“I can handle myself, Schmidt...I’m not worried with what Volkov has to say,” You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling him wrap his arms around your waist, “Volkov likes to get a rise out of anyone who gives him the time of day. It’s how he keeps himself busy on board.”

The joke seemed to land well with Schmidt, earning a laugh before you felt him begin to rock you both side to side. “But what’s this about Tam being your girlfriend?” You teased.

You grinned at the sight of him rolling his eyes at you, “You don’t have to be jealous about Tam, you know that she’s-”

“Who said I was jealous?” You asked, a smirk toying on your mouth. The two of you often were fond of teasing one another, poking at one another until the other grew red - then you’d smother the other in kisses to make up for the relentless teasing. “Do I need to be jealous of her? Is that why it takes you so long to come to my room at night, are you seeing her before you see me?”

You had pulled away from him midway, now seated on his cot. He was red in the face and gaping as he tried to intervene, but you kept talking.

“I mean, wow, Tam? I didn’t realize you were the type that liked to be dominated-”

It was your turn to be cut off, giggling when he moved across the room, pinning you down against his bed. You felt your heart begin to race, your own cheeks turning red as his face sat merely inches away from you, his large hand squeezing your wrist down beside your head onto his bed.

“You really like to get under my skin, don’t you?” He asked, squeezing your waist. Behind his glasses, you noticed his pupils were blown, his eyes dark. “Do you like seeing me mad, liebling? Does it get you hot and bothered when you see me wrapping my hand around Volkov’s throat? Do you wish that was you?” You felt his hand moving up your side, groping at you until his hand wrapped lightly around your throat.

His thick German accent, mixed with the sultry tone that was dripping from his tongue, made your stomach flip, the heat between your thighs pulsating. Biting down on your lip, your free hand moved up to grip at the collar of his suit, panting slightly.

“Maybe it does.”

Your simple quip seemed to do it for him. Feeling his body shift slightly, Schmidt hummed in though, his hand moving from your neck and down, pressing into your lower stomach, pawing almost at your body before squeezing his way down to your thighs, pulling one up so he laid in between your legs.

By now you were hot and bothered. Feeling him grab at you, call you the sweet German pet name adored to call you. You felt his breath against your neck, shivering slightly before letting out a sweet moan when his lips pressed against the side of your neck, his teeth nibbling at the sensitive spot he knew of.

But you knew now wasn’t the time. Right now you two needed to be with the other crew members to initiate the next jump. The last thing you needed was for someone to walk in and catch you and Schmidt doing, well - that.

“Schmidt...моја љубав...my love, we need to get back.” You withered your hand from his wrist and to his chest, pushing him back until he was staring down at you, a disappointed frown on his face. You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head at how childish he was acting.

“Oh, Ernst - come now, I’ll make it up to you later.” You leaned forward and pecked the corner of his mouth, rolling out from under him before standing up, smoothing down your suit as you walked to the mirror by his closet, looking at yourself in the mirror as you began fixing your appearance.

It wasn’t that you two were embarrassed of each other, no you two were smitten for one another and it was truly sick. You just knew that given the dire of your work, what everyone expected out of the two of you, flaunting your attraction could be seen as distracting.

But that was just it, you two weren’t even dating. You weren’t sure how it all started, but one day the constant pinning became more - and now a year later you were where you were now. Sneaking off at night to see each other, to lay in bed and hold one another. Once this was all over, you knew that you’d return home, would Schmidt go with you?

By now Schmidt was standing behind you, obviously aware of your state of mind, deep in whatever thoughts you were having. When you caught glances with him through the mirror, you blushed and looked away. At that point, you heard him laugh and move forward to help you fix your hair, smoothing the parts that stuck up and tucking the longer pieces behind your ear.

“You look beautiful as always,” He pecked your cheek and wrapped his arms around you, holding you in an embrace, “Do you want to go out first, or me?” He asked against your ear, letting the silence sink in between you two.

You wanted to suggest why not the both of you just leave together, but you knew now wasn’t the time to let a potential argument break out, especially given how sour his mood already was - and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“Why not you?” You finally said, reaching your hands up to squeeze his, “After all, you need to be down there more than me. Acosta and I are just there for moral support.”

Turning in his embrace, you looked up at him and smiled, leaning into his touch when he held your face, “Yes, well, I’d like to think of you as my good luck charm.”

You scoffed, shaking your head at his comment, “If that were true, we’d be off this ship by now.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Schmidt leaned forward and kissed your temple, “Maybe,” He mumbled against you, kissing you once more before pulling back, beginning to make his way towards the door, “Maybe you’re my good luck charm in the sense of keeping me from really doing something stupid.”

Your mouth twitched at the comment, not into a smile, nor a frown, almost like you winced. Besides Tam, you were probably one of the only people on board that completely trusted Schmidt. His temper left him to be rather difficult to be around at times, but perhaps he was right - maybe you were his soft spot, his good luck charm as he liked to say, because never has his temper ever gotten to you.

But there was still that sinking feeling in your stomach, as he headed out of his room and down the hall to meet with the others, leaving you standing alone in his quarters.

If this test were to fail - would Schmidt truly snap? Would you finally feel his wrath?

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hiiii! Here’s part two of my Katniss and Peeta Taking Of Each Other bookcomb! It’s pretty long so … sorry 😬. There was a lot I didn’t include and a lot I wasn’t sure about including, because so much of Catching Fire and Mockingjay is about them wanting to protect the other but I tried to narrow it down to actual acts that were caring, or times they at least tried to care for the other.

-

Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg — and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

-

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers follow a pace or two behind us.

-

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment.

-

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

-

When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily.

“Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tailbone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion.

My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?”

“I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now.

-

My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there.

-

Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.”

I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale.

“No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today.

-

Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television.

-

Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

-

“Why would he paint a picture of me, Effie?” I ask, somehow annoyed.

“To show he’s going to do everything he can to defend you. That’s what everyone in the Capitol’s expecting, anyway. Didn’t he volunteer to go in with you?” Effie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

-

I lock my fingers tightly into his and say, “Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step.” It helps. We seem to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels.

-

Peeta and Finnick and I position ourselves in a triangle, a few yards apart, our backs to one another. My heart sinks as my fingers draw back my last arrow. Then I remember Peeta has a sheath, too. And he’s not shooting, he’s hacking away with that knife. My own knife is out now, but the monkeys are quicker, can spring in and out so fast you can barely react.

“Peeta!” I shout. “Your arrows!”

Peeta turns to see my predicament and is sliding off his sheath when it happens. A monkey lunges out of a tree for his chest. I have no arrow, no way to shoot. I can hear the thud of Finnick’s trident finding another mark and know his weapon is occupied. Peeta’s knife arm is disabled as he tries to remove the sheath. I throw my knife at the oncoming mutt but the creature somersaults, evading the blade, and stays on its trajectory.

Weaponless, defenseless, I do the only thing I can think of. I run for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with mine, even though I know I won’t make it in time.

-

While I help Peeta coat his skin with the ointment, Finnick deftly cleans the meat from the shellfish.

-

I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek on the grass mat, staring at the thing in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

“It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers.

-

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

I can’t protect him. I can’t move fast or far and my shooting abilities are questionable at best. I do the one thing I can to draw the attackers away from him and over to me. “Peeta!” I scream out. “Peeta! I’m here! Peeta!” Yes, I will draw them in, any in my vicinity, away from Peeta and over to me and the lightning tree that will soon be a weapon in and of itself. “I’m here! I’m here!” He won’t make it. Not with that leg in the night. He will never make it in time. “Peeta!”

-

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

-

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

Off camera, Snow orders, “End it!” Beetee throws the whole thing into chaos by flashing a still shot of me standing in front of the hospital at three-second intervals. But between the images, we are privy to the real-life action being played out on the set. Peeta’s attempt to continue speaking. The camera knocked down to record the white tiled floor. The scuffle of boots. The impact of the blow that’s inseparable from Peeta’s cry of pain.

And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

-

I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave.

-

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers.

“Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

-

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

-

It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.”

Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to . . .”

I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”

His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.

I help Peeta up and address Pollux.

-

While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta’s wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs.

-

By the time I make it back to the fence, I’m so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people’s cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light.

My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he’s real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He’s come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn’t stand it there without her, so he came looking.

[…]

Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. “She’s dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. “She’s dead, you stupid cat. She’s dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won’t go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he’s there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night.

-

Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup.

-

I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway.

-

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver.

-

[justinewt]

Does It Ever Get Better - TWD Rewrite Chapter Nine

[TWD FANFICTION-MASTERLIST]

Previous chapter / Next Chapter

Summary: Things never get back to the way they once were. They all had learned this the hard way. But you can make something good out of nothing, with people’s heart. Anna is haunted by her time at the Sanctuary and it eats her alive, but maybe, it could get better for her and maybe she could dare dream of her father, surviving by her side instead of counting the days within the walls of a small cell.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: Season 9 spoilers (episode 9 and 12 specifically), daddy issues, mention of past toxic relationship, nostalgia, angst, fear of stray dogs, dwelling in the past, motorbyke accident (but no blood, just bruises), guns, overall it’s a pretty safe chapter shouldn’t be triggering I think

Anna followed Judith through the field in Alexandria as the girl walked toward the newcomers. Gabriel and some other survivors were helping them getting ready. The now young adult didn’t pay much attention to what was being said around her as she didn’t care much, to be honest. Judith had asked her to come along and since, when she was asked, she wasn’t doing anything in particular, she couldn’t say no to Judith Grimes as she had no real excuse. Arms crossed, standing behind Judith, she stared at the strangers. She wasn’t a cold person at all but right now, she didn’t want to be here and was just tired. Luke approached Judith to thank her for her help and Anna nevertheless gave him a friendly smile, which he returned, glad to see there weren't any hard feelings in the end. They all led them to the gate and Michonne arrived toward them on horseback.

“Change of plans.” She said, throwing a little figurine at Judith, which the little girl catched easily. “There’s another place like this one. The leader might take you in. I’ll escort you personnally and talk to her.”

“You’re gonna take them to Hilltop ?” Siddiq asked.

“With you.” She pointed at the asian woman with the bandage around the head. “You gotta keep an eye on your patient ‘till we get there.” Judith exchanged a few words and signs with the deaf young woman in their group. She and her friend laughed lightly when Judith did the sign to say "Good luck" wrong. Anna had fun watching the little one every now and then, she really reminded me of her when she was little. Her father was right. And that made her way too nostalgic. Anna understood why he seemed to like her and to be able to kind of bond with her, Judith took him over a decade back. When everyone was gone, she turned to Anna.

“I see you train all day in the back of the house. Why do you always train on your own ?”

“You ask yourself a lot of questions about me.” Anna stated.

“Well, I’m trying to understand you better.”

“All right. Come with me, we’ll train together.” Judith nodded and followed Anna back to the house. On the way, they both grabbed a long branch stick to use as training weapons and Anna spent her afternoon, having fun with Judith, teaching her sword fight. She wasn’t a professional herself but the girl seemed to held her in high regards, wanting to learn things from her. Anna knew that her father would hear them making noises in front of the house and would watch them train. After a while, they stopped and went inside the house to rest. Judith filled herself a glass of water and looked at Anna.

“Anna, could you do another drawing of my dad and Carl, please ? You draw really well.”

“Sure. I’ll start know.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at Anna and went outside again, to do who knows what in the camp. After she got a pencil and a piece of paper she could draw on, Anna focused on making the portrait of Rick and Carl Grimes. The little one had only pictures and sketches to remember her family now. In the evening, she went to drop him the black and white drawings in her room, writing "For Judith Grimes, Anna".

As Anna wandered around the house, struggling to get to sleep, she stepped out onto the porch. A tall figure, alone in the camp caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes and recognized her father's stature. She didn't know if she was imagining things or if it really was him. In doubt, she drew her knife, and walked through Alexandria's compound, to follow the person from behind. He walked over to a perimeter wall, to get out surely. She eventually broke the silence.

“There’s nothing out there.” She put her knife back to her belt as he turned to her. He was just about to throw a shovel over the wall.

“If you wanna come with me, come. I know that if I go, you won't stay on your ass and wait.”

“Hey, you know me well actually.” She joked.

She took the shovel from his hands and climbed up the wall, making sure not to fall back down. Once on top, she let the shovel fell on the other side, passed her legs and jumped. As she stood up, she heard Judith’s voice from the inside of Alexandria, through the wall. After a minute, her father finally joined her. Anna held the shovel out to him and he grabbed it. They then walked away from Alexandria and crossed the forest in silence. The fresh air and quiet of the nature was really enjoyable. She watched her father looking up at the sky, closing his eyes for a second and smiling as the sun licked his skin. After walking for some time, they decided to stop near an abandoned building and crashed in a rusted van. Negan pulled out a zucchini that he surely had taken from Alexandria plantations, and handed a bottle of water to Anna, as he took a bite of it. She drank a little before handing it back to her dad, exchanging it for the other half of the fruit. She almost devoured what was left of the sweet and grassy emerald fruit. A low throat rattle rose from the other side of the van and they looked behind them. A walker was tapping on the glass, staring at them. Anna glanced at her father in silence as he stood up, his small burlap bag and the shovel in hand and walked around the van, baiting the walker to come to him. He threw the bag on the ground and gave the latter a first blow with the shovel but she didn't shudder, still standing up, growling at him, the face bloodied after her skin was pried off by the blow. He hit her hard on the head and finally the rotting walking corpse fell to the ground. He stepped back to the trunk of a pick-up and another walker, completely charred, grabbed him by the shirt

“Shit.” He cursed before he stepped forward for the dead man to let go but he held on and was dragged to the ground, crashing on the bag, torn apart from his legs. He started crawling to Negan as the tall man turned to him, lifting the shovel up in the air and cutting off his head. 

“Eww.” Anna winced, seeing it rolling on the ground. He sighed as he looked down at it and walked away, motioning Anna to follow, which she did. After a few hours, as they walked through the forest and eventually came across a river bed. A dirty river bed.

“You definitely shouldn’t drink that.” He ignored her and drank from it anyway and then he stood up. She pouted doubtfully as they resumed walking but as expected, soon after, he crouched back down, making Anna stop suddenly, wondering what was going on until he started to puke, getting everything he had swallowed out. She kept herself from telling him she had told him so, cause it was kind of bitchy and she wasn’t like that. Panting, he ripped off his shirt, cracking the buttons and let it on the floor as he got on his feet. His grey T-shirt was soaked in sweat. Anna looked at the thing he had around his neck. “What’s this ?”

“A compass.”

“Since when do you have a fucking compass ?”

“It’s Judith’s. She lent it to me.” He just said as they started walking again.

“Okay.” She simply nodded without commenting further on it. No, she was not jealous. At least, she wanted to think so. She liked Judith. She was a kind but tough little girl, and the poor kid was an orphan on top of that. Fortunately, she had her mom Michonne. She wasn't all alone. 

They both ended up in a sort of ghost town after getting out of the forest. All the buildings were abandoned, blinders down or windows barricaded by wooden or tin planks. Looking around, she saw her dad entering a man’s clothes store and followed him even though she didn’t care. He knocked on a wall with the shovel to check if there were any walkers in the store but luckily, there weren’t any, meaning the place was currently quite safe for them to wander around so Anna immediately did, walking around the clothing displays while he looked if he found anything. There wasn’t much left so she quickly turned around and watched her dad heading to the leather good section of the shop. She smirked, knowing why he went there and what he was looking for. She heard him picking up things, dropping them to the floor and surprisingly, randomly spinning a dynamo lamp. Or at least what she thought was probably a dynamo lamp, because of the noise. She wasn’t with him at the moment so she didn’t really know but once again, she did not really care about it and meander around, zonning out. She got snapped out of her thoughts when she heard growls coming from the street. It wasn't walkers, that much she was certain. It was a bunch of stray dogs for sure. Ever since he told Anna the story he told Judith, when his daughter was younger than Grimes, she had been more or less afraid of stray dogs, especially those that growl at you as soon as they see you or even before, and he knew it. She rushed over to him, noticing that he had returned from the back of the store. He stopped her with his hands and she turned around, realizing that the dogs in question were facing her and her dad.

“Stay calm.” He breathed out, not moving for a few seconds before starting running away all of a sudden, pushing Anna in front of him. They got over two metallic shelves and lied down on top of it while the dog roamed around the furnitures. He rolled his head to the side to check on Anna. She was staring at the ceiling, fidgeting her fingers. They jumped down once the dogs were gone. He grabbed her by the wrist so she would stay close to him and he led her down a corridor, running toward an exit door. Shaking, she grabbed her knife, just in case, as he hrew his shoulders on the door to force it open as fast as he could, before the dogs got to them. The moment it opened, a walker showed up and he grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him inside after dragging Anna outside with him, pressing on the door with his hands to keep it closed. Anna winced upon hearing the dogs gave high-pitched squeals, probably getting attacked by the dead man. She eventually walked away a little to not hear the nasty noises and she twitched when her father put his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was shaking as much as her whole body, and he hugged her. She felt so weak to be so disturbed by the chase with these dogs. She let a sudden cry out and tried to calm down, clearing her throat. “Sorry.”

This hug was the most comforting thing Anna had been given in a long long time, and the fact that this hug involved her father made her inner child happy. He did care about her. He did love her. They eventually went back into the woods, walking across the forest untill they found the Sanctuary. In the meantime, her father had found a rusted metal bar that he was holding like he used to hold his old bat. The Sanctuary hadn’t changed that much. The only difference was that now it was only an abandoned building. A dull, and dilapitaded place inhabited only by walkers, ghosts and memories. Anna looked up to the shattered windows of the floors. She knew where was her room’s window and it made her nostalgic. She had spent so much years of her life in this place. At some point, she though she would never leave and here she was, coming back willingly even though, given the state the Sanctuary was in, they would surely not be staying long. She sighed and followed her father inside. He seemed content to be back, a remembrance of his golden but dark hours. Inside, he whistled a couple times but there was no one left. It wasn’t so surprising, to be honest. Like, what was he expecting?  To be given a warm welcome and revive his personality cult ? Anna walked around with a shuffling step and turned to the stairs. She climbed them up in silence.

“Be careful up there, Anna.”

“Yes, dad.” She said, walking away. With her knife in hand, she proceeded with cautious, as her father advised her, and advanced in the floors slowly, to be sure there wasn’t any walkers stuck in there. Yes, she was immune to their bites and scraches but she could still bleed to death or get hurt. She wasn’t immune to pain so she prefered not to tempt fate by playing tough. Luckily enough, she didn’t cross path with any undead. She didn’t linger in the floors that didn’t interest her.

She arrived in the corridor leading to her room and she stared at the door. She entered. The room was dusty, abandoned like the rest of the Sanctuary. Everything was upside down, the dresser’s drawers were thrown on the floor. She had spent so much time dreaming of leaving this room, but this had been her home for most of her life and seeing it like this made her heart ache a bit. She was overwhelmed by the memories this place reminded her of, the feeling that came to her the most was the loneliness she had been affected by. This emptyness that persisted within her and that the sole attention of her father could momentarily fill. Now that she could look back at it with so much more life experience, she could see how toxic it was. Her father never noticed. He was so much into his leader act that he never realized how she was doing. She kicked the drawers to the side to clear the way and approched the window, to glance outside. The bullets that had shattered the windows were no where to be seen. She walked to the shelves. The books were the only things not out of place. Anna grabbed one book after the other, casually throwing them on the floor, for no reason but the pleasure of messing around. After letting a book fall, she heard something slip beneath the bed. She kneeled down and stretched out her arm, grunting softly. She narrowed her eyes as she grabbed an enveloppe. She stood up and opened it. There was a bunch of sheets of paper with small sketches and notes such as “taking Anna’s to her friend’s, be back around 4pm”. It was her mother’s handwriting. A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away and folded the note, she wanted to keep this one. She stepped out of her room and walked to Dwight’s.

After she walked in, she closed the door and held the handle. She saw herself being with Daryl the day he escaped. She remembered the whole interaction. And she remembered what happened next. She followed him, saw Jesus for the first time and ran away from the Sanctuary. She spent weeks on her own, in the wild before being rescued by Rick and Carl. Rick was reluctant to help her at first but she would always be grateful for the trust he put in her afterwards. He was a brave and strong man and from what she had seen, he was a good and just leader who always tried to do his best for his community. He welcomed her in his home and she would never forget it. He gave her the chance she had been waiting for. She breathed out at the thought. She got herself out of her mind and back to reality and looked around in the room. She saw some of the wooden figurines Dwight used to carve back then and she grabbed a couple of them. As she did so, she wondered whether or not he kept carving them. Anna missed him. His voice started to fade in her mind as time passed. She was forgetting the voice of the man that was like a father to her, but the memory of his face was still vivid in her mind. After a moment, she went downstairs and walked to her dad. He was standing near a motorcycle. He raised his eyes at her when she approached.

“Let’s go.” He declared. She nodded and followed him while he brought the vehicle outside. He got on the motorbike and she followed suit, sitting up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest to cling to him and stay in place during the ride. She rested her face on his shoulder, staring ahead of them. After a while, she narrowed her eyes, noticing a small figure standing on the road in the distance.

“Who the fu–” She was cut off by her own cry when the motorcycle slid on the side, trapping their legs against the concrete. She grunted, wincing as she tried to sit up. Her father managed to free them from the two-wheeled vehicle and she sighed in relief, no longer feeling the sore pressure exerted by the machine on her leg. She remembered that she had taken the small figurines Dwight had carved and she forgot all the pain she felt and rushed her hands inside her jeans pockets. She felt them with the tip of her finger and smiled sligthly. She hadn’t lost them. Looking up, she saw Judith walking over to them and Anna frowned, not knowing what the young girl was doing here.

“All right, slow down, kid.” He asked of her as she walked closer, holding her gun at him. She wasn't aiming at Anna, only her father. “I know you said you’d shoot, but…” He paused, wincing in pain, seated on the dirt. “damn.”

“Whole lot of people are out lookin’ for you.” She glanced at Anna for a second. “You two. But especially you, Negan. Told you there was nothing out there.”

“You sure as shit did.”

“Language !” She exclamed. “I’m a kid, asshole.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.” He nodded, smirking before standing up, letting out a grunt. Once on his feet, he held out a hand to his daughter and she grabbed it, wrapping her fingers around his palm and standing up, grunting loudly as well. It was certain that she would have bloody bruises all over her body. And it hurt just to think about it. “What can I say ? I like to swear in front of my friends. People that know some shit.”

“Bet you taught your daughter well then, cause you swear a hell lot in front of her too.” She noted quietly. Anna smirked at her remark.

“I sure did.” He joked, briefly glancing at Anna. He then slid the chain of the compas off his neck and handed it back to Judith. “Thanks for lettin’ me borrow that.” She grabbed it, holding the gun in one hand, still aiming firmly at Negan.

“You’re goin’ back to Alexandria ?”

“Yep. Cell and all.”

“Why ?” She inquired.

“ ‘Cause you were right. I got a good look outside my 10x10, and there’s nothin’ here for me. And even if I decided not to go back, Anna would stick around no matter what I say, and I don’t want her not to have a safe place to be, cause… there is nothin’ left out here. At least, if I go back to my cell, she gets to have a roof over her bed and a comfortable bed to sleep in.”

“So you go back.” She was staring at Negan. “Then what ?”

“I will let you know when I know.” He replied, shrugging. Judith lowered her gun, looking him up and down and shrugged with one shoulder as she turned around and walked away. Anna watched her father smile, amused by the child's strong temper.

Standing on a stool, Anna looked out of the window's cell while her father read, sitting on the mattress on the floor. She had been put in with him because if they couldn't keep her from getting in there, they would keep her from getting out as long as they said so. After all, she had escaped as well. After a long moment, she descended from her perch, catching her father's eye.

“Michonne’s coming.” She said as she sat near him. Michonne walked through the basement door within the minute.

“Welcome home.” Michonne sighed. “I’m surprised it took so long.”

“As of right now, I’ll say a word to your daughter, then it’ll be your turn. I want answers. And I’m told you’ll only give them to me.” She walked out of the basement, waving to the man standing there, as a guard, to open the cell so Anna could follow Michonne outside. She swallowed as she passed the door’s cell, glancing at her father from the corner of her eye. He gave her a worried look when she disappeared on the other side of the wall. “Why would you follow him ? Why did you have to follow him ? I’ll have to beg the concil not to consider you a threat, Anna.”

Her tone was angry and somewhat annoyed by all this. Anna sighed and raised her voice unintentionally. She was tired of repeating the same things all the time and people not understanding her view of things, how she could feel about everything.

“It’s always been only my father and I. It’s how it always worked since, you know… I have nothing left, beside him and wherever he goes, I'd rather be with him than wait for someone to let me know whether or not he is fucking dead.” She paused, trying to gather her wits. Her father was a sensitive subject for her to talk about and this was the only reason that could make her explode and go crazy. Michonne looked away for a second.

“I want to help you.” She breathed out. “Carl… Carl and Rick wanted to help you. I– We thought you finally fit in.”

“You know what I think about 24/7, huh ? My life before all this shit, my life at the Sanctuary, everything that involved either my dad, mom or Dwight but that’s it. Everything I’ve lived here, for the past few years, it’s always the same old routine. Without my dad in it. And it’s such a big deal to me ‘cause everything has always revolved around my dad and now, I’m alone, and he is down there.” She pointed at the basement, pissed off. Anna then walked away suddenly, rushing to Carl’s grave next to what was formerly a church. She sat on the grass and bent her head over, passing her hands on her face in a sigh. Life was so shitty and boring.

[To be continued…]  

Previous chapter / Next Chapter

Published (01/30/2022) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405​ @kika64

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (March 12/2021) - Exiting the Vault

After Sam finally checks the cell and discovers that Tommy is alive, Tommy exits Pandora’s Vault at last. Everyone on the server starts coming to terms with Tommy’s return, while both Tommy and Ranboo are set on a new goal:

To kill Dream for good.

---

VOD LINKS:

Foolish

Tubbo

Fundy

Tommy

Jack Manifold

Ranboo

Eret

---

- Tommy is in prison. Still there.

Dream: “I’m starving! Can you give me that? Can I have that?”

- Tommy throws him a potato.

Tommy: “I only have one.”

Dream: “Oh, well you can have it then.”

- Tommy eats some potatoes.

Tommy: “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why do you look like that?”

Dream: “It’s a mask.”

- They talk about Dream face-revealing and Tommy concludes that it must be sewn onto his face.

Dream: “Sam has not visited us in like a week! He hates me!”

- Tommy throws him the last of his potatoes. There’s no way of knowing how long time’s passed in the cell.

Tommy: “I’m still...I can’t believe you did that.”

Dream: “You were the one pushing me to do it! You were basically begging me to!”

- Tommy throws an item frame, a book and two potatoes into the lava.

- He boasts that he hasn’t cried 

- Tommy sees Sam’s nametag by the lava and rushes over. Sam tells Tommy to run to the corner and Tommy gets out via damage pot. Tommy confronts Sam about letting him die. Sam is just shocked to see him alive.

- Tommy flicks the switches to let the lava down, wanting to look at Dream. He says a last “fuck you” and walks after Sam to get out.

Tommy: “Suck it, green boy.”

- Tommy tells Sam off for failing at his job again, as they go through the security measures.

Tommy: “Sam, you kept me in this prison for thirty-two days!”

Sam: “Tommy, I didn’t even know you were here -- I haven’t even gone to feed him!”

- He tells Sam that Dream is going to escape.

Tommy: “You are now the most powerful man on this server -- not Dream, you are, ‘cause you withhold him! And you can’t even stop him from killing me! You’re not qualified to run this prison, Sam.But that’s beyond the point, alright? Look at me -- Dream is going to escape, he told me that he’s planning on escaping, alright? Technoblade owes him a favor, Technoblade owes him a favor -- I’ve seen everything!”

- Tommy tells Sam that he can’t have any visitors ever. He tells Sam about the revive book, that that’s how he’s back.

- Tommy exits through the Nether portal. The first thing he sees when he gets out is the giant penis statue.

- He starts walking down the path and sees Tubbo working on Bee ‘n’ Boo. Tubbo sees him and runs away initially. He doesn’t believe Tommy is real.

- Tommy points out the bench where they listened to music after defeating Dream -- but they didn’t defeat Dream, and now they need to kill him and also probably Technoblade.

- Tubbo tells Tommy about the inn and also getting married.

- Next, Tommy speaks with Sam Nook and sees Jack Manifold at the desk. Jack is outraged.

Jack: “No, you’re dead, you’re dead! You died, I grieved for you! You’re not back! No one comes back, I mean -- oh -- MOST people don’t come back!”

Tommy: “No I’m alright. Anyway, um --”

- Jack is furious. He tells Tommy he’s been trying to kill him for two months.

Jack: “That’s the problem. All the time, you belittle me, you dismiss me, you drop me in a pool of lava, I’m the only person who tried to visit you when you were in exile, and you forget me! Like I’m nothing! And when I try and finally get my own back, I launch NUKES at you and you didn’t even care!”

- Tommy talks about Moana. Then they argue some more.

Tommy: “Jack, what you’re doing here is creating a villain for yourself, alright? And when I was gone, you didn’t have that. You’re so glad I’m back, you need to stop -- you’re just creating a villain out of nowhere, alright?”

- Tommy tells Jack he’s changed, he’s seen things in death, he’s trying to hold himself together like it’s still the old him, but he’s struggling.

- Jack draws his axe. Tommy tells him to put it away.

Jack: “You died and you think you’re all that, you think you learned everything. I died! We died! I died because of you!”

- Tommy leaves the hotel, telling Jack he can keep the hotel for now while he deals with bigger issues.

Jack: “This isn’t the end.”

Tommy: “It probably is.”

- Tommy sees Tubbo watching him from on top of the McPuffy’s.

Tommy: “He’s staring at me like I’m not even real. And he’s got a new best friend -- a new husband!”

- He sees all the statues by his house. Connor is inside, freaked out to see him. 

- Tommy tells Connor to move out again, and Connor gives him his diary -- Connor misses Schlatt, wants to solve mortality, knows Karl’s secret (thinks he should see a doctor) and missed Tommy when he died.

- Tommy tells Connor what he went through. Connor says they need prison reform. Tommy tells Connor that Sam isn’t fit to run the prison, and Connor moves back into Ninja’s house. 

- He takes a quick look at L’manhole.

Tommy: “I fuckin’ miss when times were simpler, and all I had to worry about was defeating one big green guy. And all I had to do was follow someone else’s lead. And now it looks like I’m gonna have to follow my own lead. So the server seems to have changed a lot.”

- As he walks down the stairs, Antfrost stares at him and backs away. Tommy wonders why no one’s treating him normally.

- He finds Ranboo by the ice cream shop, Tubbo coming along as well. Ranboo asks about what happened -- did Sam lie? Tommy doesn’t want to talk about dying.

- Tommy asks if Tubbo is Ranboo’s best friends. Ranboo says he’s one of them and hands Tommy an allium. Tommy burns it.

- Tommy continues along the path and notices the Therapuffy office. He drops a book in the chest. He also notices the Red Banquet posters.

- Tommy feels like even though he’s back, he’s not. People celebrated his death.

Tommy: “This server was -- this server wasn’t about this, it was about me and Tubbo fighting Dream! I’m still dead to most of these people...They��re looking at me like I’m not even alive.”

- He finds Quackity by the Community House. Quackity thinks it must be some sort of sick joke. Tommy reminds him of the heists they used to do to convince him that it’s actually him.

- Tommy tells Quackity that Dream used the revive book. Quackity is overjoyed at his return.

- Tommy leaves and goes up towards the Nether portal. He decides that he needs to kill Dream, and soon.

- Jack is upset that Tommy came back. It took him dying for Jack to remember Tommy as a friend again, but when he came back, it all came flooding back.

“But when he came back today, he said a couple things that have stuck with me. The main one being...a simple word. He turned to me, looked me dead in the eyes, and he went ‘anyways.’ Anyways.”

- Jack decides he’s done with starting again. 

“But the day he died, the day he was killed by Dream was not the day I should’ve grieved. I lost my friend a long, long time ago...I lost my friend a long time ago, the day he decided those discs were more important than any of us. The day he got rid of L’manburg, the day he sacrificed absolutely everything to take back those discs! That’s the day I lost my friend.”

“Him coming back today doesn’t bring back my friend. It doesn’t fill the empty void I felt when he died. All it has done is given me a new purpose.”

- Jack decides he needs to kill Tommy. His friend died a long time ago. He talks about how even when Dream is locked away, Tommy isn’t satisfied and is still going after him.

- Jack came back because he had a purpose. And that purpose was to take Tommy out.

“I’m glad I grieved my friend, and I’m still sad and hurt that he’s gone. But my friend didn’t come back. Dream didn’t bring back my friend with that book, he brought back a monster.”

- Dream brought Tommy back out of cowardice, fearing the server without him. Jack is better than Dream. 

- Jack heads into the underground city and speaks with Niki. Jack tells her Tommy’s alive again. Niki isn’t sure she wants Tommy dead anymore.

- They start talking about government and anarchy. Niki says her underground city isn’t a government, while Jack disagrees with anarchy. 

- Niki says she’s started baking again. She says she’ll give it time to think about it, whether to help Jack. In the meantime, he’s free to stay in the city.

- Jack returns to his hotel, still upset.

- He makes his way to the prison, thinking. Tommy coming back took away the satisfaction of him being Jack’s villain. Jack came back because he had one goal, one purpose, and that was to kill Tommy. Why not take the same from him?

- He tries to enter the prison portal but it doesn’t work. Jack is infuriated and walks to Tommy’s summer home, where he encounters Quackity.

- Quackity wants him to leave the property. He hid some things there a while back that he doesn’t want people finding. 

- They talk about Tommy being alive again. Quackity is happy, but wants to know what Jack’s plan is regarding their business.

Quackity: “Tommy is a complex business partner, and I have to come to terms with that fact.”

- Quackity points out it seems that Jack lack’s power over this hotel business venture. Jack tells him Tommy said he could have it for now. Quackity says he’s made great progress on his business, and they’ll continue to talk later. He leaves.

- Foolish says he looks poor and hands him two diamond blocks.

- Jack says he needs funds anyway and has an idea...what if he became a prison guard?

- He wonders how to go about it. Who would suggest him?

- Jack looks at the ruins of Ze Haus. He’ll stick to the motto:

Be Worse.

- Ranboo starts off in his house, his Memory Book open

“He’s alive!”

“He’s alive?”

- Ranboo thinks to himself. It’s incredible, but…was he even dead to begin with? Did Sam lie? It doesn’t make sense. Once something is dead, it’s dead, right?

- Tubbo’s not handling it well, but he’ll come around eventually. But Tommy’s alive now, that’s awesome! That’s a good thing…right?

- Ranboo isn’t upset at him for burning the flower. If someone died and came back and everyone still thought they were dead, of course they’d be hesitant to things.

- He goes back to the confusion about death. People can be revived.

“And if death isn’t permanent, then people are gonna be living a lot differently.”

“If death isn’t permanent…if death isn’t permanent, then nothing is. Then that means that…anyone can just die, decide ‘no,’ and just come back. And…if…people live with no fear, then they’ll be put through so much pain.”

- Tubbo was so ready to fight the Egg despite being on one life. Imagine if he found out that he could die and come back if he got hurt.

- Ranboo heads through the Nether to the portal to…Dream’s mountain vault

“What is this place?”

“I’ve been here before?”

“Why am I here?”

“…Step away from him, Dream.”

“Everything everyone’s ever loved is right here. If I can control that, I can control the server.”

“Dream was…he was trapped in here when we all came through. Wait, I’m — you can’t kill him because he’s the only one who can bring Wilbur back…what? Dream could…Dream could bring people back?”

“Was I here?”

He moves towards the elevator. “I walked over there.”

“The Enderwalk. That entire time. And they all came to save him…that entire time.”

“You should’ve paid him more.”

“The only reason they kept Dream alive was because he could revive…people. Dream has the power…to…bring people back. No matter…when…who…where…”

“He needs to go, or else…death won’t be permanent, and then, if we get rid of someone because they’ve been causing problems this entire time…then we can never get rid of the villains in this story. We can bring back the villains in the story, when they were supposed to be written out.”

“He needs to go.”

- Ranboo leaves. 

“We should be able to get rid of the villains, even if it means not being able to keep the good guys.”

- There’s a reason he was able to pick up blocks slowly throughout time. Things start to manifest. There’s something going on with the Enderwalk. The Enderwalk isn’t a different version of Ranboo, it’s still Ranboo, it’s just more…wild

- Ranboo heads to Snowchester and sees Michael.

“Cause I don’t wanna hurt him…so I gotta make sure I get rid of any possibility.”

- Ranboo is scared of doing something that makes things worse.

“I don’t hurt people. That’s not what I do, I have to keep it that way. However…”

He looks towards the prison. 

“There is one exception.”

“Do I even have to be careful? I mean, I still have my three lives. I mean…I’m one of the most safe people on this server. But…I don’t even have to be. I can afford to be reckless.”

- Ranboo writes in his book.

“He’s alive. But hopefully soon Dream won’t be.”

- Ranboo goes into his house. He surveys his riches in the vault. He has a lot of supplies, but he’s not ready to do this yet.

“It’s time to train.”

- Puffy finds Tommy’s book in her Therapuffy office and reads it. Does this mean he’s alive?

- Puffy watches the VOD and decides she would lose all her canon lives just to escape the possibility of solitaire.

- Puffy is happy that Tommy is alive. But how, and why? Why would Dream resurrect Tommy?

She wonders if there was a tiny part of Dream that cared, or if that’s just the duckling perspective talking.

- She goes back to her office and writes a response letter, going to leave it in a chest at Tommy’s house.

What Tommy needs right now, she says, is support.

[no-pucks-given]

ADAM BOQVIST | SPILLED LOVE

Warnings: Oral (female receiving), protected sex.

Word Count: 2.7K

 You’ve been friends with Adam for almost 6 years now, and every free Friday night is spent the same. The two of you bundled up underneath some blankets on the couch, countless glasses of wine, and some random movie playing on the screen. Every single Friday night is spent like this, but you can’t help hoping that this one will be different.

You can’t remember the exact point when your feelings for Adam changed, your feelings just simply changed over time. There’s nothing you’d rather want than telling Adam how you feel, but the fear of losing him holds you back. His friendship is the one thing that keeps you going, his smile, his humour, everything. You can’t even think about the possibility of losing that, it’s way too valuable to gamble with. So once more, you push your feelings aside, having Adam as just your friend is better than not having Adam at all.

Today is another regular Friday night, Adam laying on your couch, a blanket covering his body. His favourite movie playing on the screen, a bowl of popcorn sitting between the two of you. Mindlessly you grab your glass, only to find it empty. You groan, you’re so damn comfortable right now. You nudge Adam with your foot across the couch. He flinches, grabbing your foot with his hand. “What the heck? What do you want now?” he whines.

You try to give him your sweetest look, but Adam looks deeply unimpressed. “Can you get me something to drink? I’m sooo comfortable here,” you ask him softly. 

He chuckles, before shaking his head at you. “Fuck no, I’m comfortable. Go grab your own drink, y/n.” 

You grab the bottle of wine, pouring yourself another glass. You sigh to yourself again, you should’ve checked if he needed anything as well. “Adam! Do you need anything?” you yell out, keeping your fingers crossed that he heard you yelling his name. You don’t hear any noises coming from the living room, so you grab your glass of wine and walk out of the kitchen.

You sigh loudly, before climbing off the couch. “Ugh, you suck, Boqvist,” you tell him while passing by.

“Oh, fuck off,” Adam laughs, flipping you the bird.

The moment you round the corner you collide with a solid chest, spilling the contents of your glass all over Adam’s white shirt. “Shit, Adam. I’m so sorry,” you say, looking between your empty glass and Adam’s wet shirt. 

“Fuck, y/n. That’s so cold,” he whines, touching the wet spot.

“Stop saying sorry, y/n. It isn’t your fault,” Adam says softly. You smile, turning around to grab something to clean his shirt with. “I’ll just throw it in your washing machine, it’s easier. You probably still have some stolen hoodie here anyway,” Adam says cheekily. 

You grab his arm, pulling him inside the kitchen. “I’m sorry, let me get you cleaned up, okay?” you say, putting your glass back down on the counter.

You start laughing, because you do have some of his hoodies in your closet. Your laughter dies in your throat when you turn around, and come face to face with a shirtless Adam. It’s hard to keep your eyes off him. You knew he would be fit, considering he is a NHL player, but you’re still absolutely stunned. It’s his soft smile, the way he leans relaxed against the counter that brings you to the decision to just simply kiss him. It might not be the best moment, but who knows whenever an opportunity like this arises?

You close the small distance between Adam and you, grabbing the back of his neck, and softly pressing your lips on his. It takes Adam a few seconds to respond, those few seconds feeling like minutes to you. You start to pull away, your mind swirling with all different kinds of emotions, but Adam’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him, pressing his lips harder against yours.

There’s no fireworks, no sizzling feeling, but it does feel like coming home, like this is how it’s supposed to be. Adam’s hand cups your jaw, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip, coaxing you to open up for him. His tongue glides against yours, discovering a whole new part of you.

Desperate for some air, you break the kiss, slowly moving your head away from Adam. He brushes his thumb over your cheek, smiling softly at you. “Maybe you should’ve spilled your wine on me sooner, y/n.” 

You laugh, slightly embarrassed about what happened in the last 10 minutes. “I don’t know about that, I had no idea..” you trail off. 

“That I’m desperately in love with my best friend?” Adam says dryly, trying to keep the grin off his face. He sees the look of confusion, disbelief on your face. He turns the two of you around, backing you up against the counter. This time his lips land on yours, hands gripping your waist, and lifting you on top of the counter. You gasp at the contact between the cold counter and your hot skin, allowing Adam to deepen the kiss.

He steps between your open legs, hands sliding over the exposed skin of your thighs. You hold Adam close to you by the back of his neck, your other hand exploring his chest, his shoulders, anything you can get your hands on. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to do that, Adam,” you say, after breaking the kiss. 

“So have I, you just beat me to it,” Adam chuckles, his hands sliding up your legs, and over your waist, stopping just below your breasts.

“Tell me to stop, y/n,” Adam says, eyes locked on yours, fingers itching to touch every single inch of your body, to discover every spot that makes you moan, laugh, smile, cry out, everything. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you say, hooking your legs around his waist, pulling his hips flush against you. You grab one of his hands, placing it on your breast. “Touch me, Adam,” you tell him reassuringly. Adam squeezes softly, thumb brushing over your taut bud, drawing a moan out of your mouth. 

“Always so bossy, huh?” Adam breathes against your neck, sucking softly on your skin. “I’ll show you who’s bossy, y/n.”

His fingers grip the hem of your t-shirt, slowly pulling it up and off your body. Fingertips brushing over your newly exposed skin, while his mouth crashes down on yours once more. Tongues dancing together, exploring new territory, hands touching every inch of skin they can reach.

Adam finds your eyes once more, while his fingers toy with the clasp of your bra. “You sure about this, y/n?” he asks, searching for any doubt you might have.

“I am, are you okay with this?” you ask, determined to make sure he’s okay with this as well. 

Adam chuckles low, lips brushing against your ear. “I’m more than okay with this,” he whispers, unhooking your bra, and throwing it to the side.

His hands find your breasts instantly, gently squeezing the soft flesh. His thumbs brush over your nipples, softly rolling the buds between his fingers. “Oh, that feels so good,” you moan out. His lips trail a path down towards your breast, nipping and sucking skin on the way.

Adam pushes you down on the counter, the cold top soothing your burning skin. His lips close around one of your nipples, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth. His hands wander further down your body, slowly tugging your shorts and underwear down your legs. While his tongue swirls around your nipple, his hand slips between your legs, his fingers sliding through your dripping slit.

“Already so wet for me, aren’t you?” Adam breathes out against your breast. 

“Please, Adam,” you beg, squirming underneath his touch. He chuckles low, pushing two fingers inside of you. You moan out at the sensation, clenching around his fingers. He groans against your skin, kissing down your body, until he reaches his final destination.

He softly blows against your core, smirking to himself when your hips almost buck off the counter. One of his hands presses down on your stomach, restricting your movements. “Be a good girl for me, and lay still,” Adam says, his thumb pressing down on your clit, fingers curved just the right way inside of you.

You try your hardest to stay still, but Adam is making it extremely difficult for you. His lips closing around your clit, softly sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves, his fingers hitting you in just the right spot. You’re a moaning mess underneath Adam’s touch, your fingers tightly wrapped around the strands of his hair, pulling his face closer against where you need him the most.

“Come for me, come on, baby,” Adam simply says, before his mouth is on your core again. His sweet, yet commanding words, his mouth, his fingers, everything together pushes you over the edge, spiralling into wonderful bliss. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, fingers tightening their grip on Adam’s hair, his name falling off your lips in a never ending stream of moans and mumbles.

A sight Adam always hoped to see, but never dared to dream of. Naked before him, underneath him, completely lost in the pleasure he gave you, completely and utterly at peace. It’s a sight he slowly, but steadily finally can dream of. A dream come true, that’s for sure.

Adam gently slides his fingers out of you, keeping his eyes on your face. He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking one of his fingers clean. The smirk that forms on his face tells you he isn’t done yet. “You,” he starts, bringing his other finger up to your mouth, “taste so good,” he finishes, pushing his finger past your lips. Your lips close around his finger, sucking it clean.

You release Adam’s finger with a pop, struggling to get yourself upright again. Adam chuckles at you, wrapping one arm around your back, while his other hand grabs the back of your thigh, lifting you off the counter. Your lips brush past his ear, his fingers tightening on your thigh. “I can’t wait to taste you, Adam,” you whisper. You smirk at his sharp intake of breath, the falter in his step. 

“You will. But right now all I want is to bury myself inside of you, baby,” he counters, making you gasp.

Adam drops you on top of the mattress, a squeal leaving your lips. You look up at the gorgeous Swede before you, hands reaching out to help him out of his sweats. Adam simply chuckles at you, hooking his fingers into the waistband, sliding everything down in one swift move. His erection springs free from its confinements, smacking against his stomach. Your mouth almost starts to water at the sight before you, you desperately want to touch him, to taste him, to feel him.

Adam crawls back between your legs, claiming your mouth with his once again. His hand on your cheek, tongues swirling and twisting around the other, still getting used to the unfamiliar feeling. “Condom?” Adam breathes out against your lips. You nod your head, leaning towards your bedside table, rummaging through your drawer for a condom. You rip the package open between your teeth, gently rolling down the condom over his erection, giving him a few pumps with your hand.

His hands are everywhere when he settles himself between your legs, his cock sliding through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Adam puts your leg around his waist, giving him some more room to work with. Gently he pushes inside of you, inch by inch, making sure he doesn’t hurt you in any way. He feels you tense up beneath him, even though your face looks completely okay. Adam brushes his hand over your upper thigh, softly pecking your lips. “Relax, baby. I got you,” he says, lips brushing over yours.

His sweet words make you forget all about your tension, instantly relaxing your muscles. “Good girl,” Adam whispers against your ear the moment he’s fully seated inside of you. You move your hips, letting Adam know he can move. He slowly starts moving inside of you, letting the both of you get used to the unfamiliar feeling of being this close, this connected to each other. One of your hands tangled in the strands of Adam’s hair, one hand on his back, keeping him as close as possible.

The two of you move like you’ve been doing this for a long time, completely relaxed with each other, completely at peace, bodies moving together as one, it’s a mind-altering experience.

Adam picks up his pace, his thrust short, yet deep inside of you. His thrusts hit you in all the right places, driving you closer, and closer to your release. It’s a spur of the moment decision, but it feels right, so right. “Can we switch?” you moan out against his bicep. 

Adam chuckles, his pace slowing down to almost non existing. “We can do whatever you want, y/n,” he says, rolling the two of you over in one swift move. You laugh out loud at his move, bracing yourself on his chest. “Ride me, baby,” Adam says, hands gripping your hips. You lift your hips, gently sinking back down onto his cock, testing the waters. Adam smiles at you, his hands on your hips helping you to set the pace.

Every rock of your hips, every thrust that Adam gives to match your rhythm brings you closer to your orgasm. The groans and soft moans that leave Adam’s mouth might be your new favourite sound, his face revealing all his emotions, his feelings.

You’re so close, so close to your release, you can almost taste it. Adam’s thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing fast circles on the sensitive bud. “Almost there, almost there,” you moan out, completely lost in everything Adam gives you. The words are barely out of your mouth before you shatter around him, yelling his name so loud the neighbours probably know you’re finally more than friends.

Adam fucks you right through your high, the way you’re clamping down on him makes sure he absolutely won’t last a lot longer. Your eyes are on his when he pushes you down onto his cock, burying himself deep inside of you. The way his face twists into pure relief, bliss, ecstasy, your name leaving his lips, the groans when he empties himself inside the condom. It’s only making this experience better, unforgettable.

A chuckle leaves Adam’s throat when he comes down from his own high, brushing his hand through his hair. “What’s so funny, huh?” you smile at him. 

“I never thought this would happen, I hoped it would though,” he replies, gently lifting you off him. You roll back onto your back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his words for a second, while Adam ties the condom, throwing it in the trashcan besides your bed.

He looks over at you, shaking his head at your thoughtful face. “Come here,” Adam whispers, pulling you back on top of him. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he says softly, pecking your lips. 

You smile at him, tracing his cheekbones with your fingers. “I don’t know, it’s still pretty unbelievable that this actually happened,” you muse. “What do we do now, Adam?” Your eyebrows furrow at your own question, even though you hate that question, it needs to be asked.

Adam rolls the two of you over again, wiggling himself between your legs, cupping your face between his hands. “What do we do now?” he asks, mimicking your earlier question. You nod your head at him, not trusting your voice right now. “Now, I would like to go to sleep with my girlfriend, how about that?” Adam says, a smirk appearing on his face. 

You can’t contain the smile on your face, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Your girlfriend would like that very much, boyfriend,” you whisper against his lips. His grin tells you everything you need to know, before he claims your lips with his again, and again, and again.