#trying to find warmth in many ways as homeless people in the biting cold of tokyo …

[twdgs]

tokyo godfathers is like the only christmas movie that hits super close to home

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

Be My Garden of Eden Ch.1

ConnorxFReader Pleasure Android AU

I finally decided to get a Tumblr and post more of my beta chapters here. Just a place to get some opinions or a wider gauge of how people feel about my writing.

I also take requests for ConnorxReader one-shots.

If you like what I post, I also have stories posted on AO3 under DisassembledDeviant. If you have read them, you know I don't mind venturing into the NSFW category... At all. ;)

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: probably cursing and sexual implications

"Goddammit! You stupid piece of shit!" The wrench came down hard against the android's shoulder. "I should have just left your ass with the rest of the scrap!" Another blow, this time to his chest, warnings of the damage flashing on his HUD.

Connor couldn't help but agree.

His recollection of his life before working at Club Mimosa in the seedier side of town was minimal. A roof, A little girl, Falling... Then, nothing. Just a name. Connor.

The owner had found him in the scrapyard, looking for replacement parts or functional androids he could illegally fix up for his club. While much of his body was destroyed, the owner re-built him. His unique look was sure to capture new clients, and he was right. Connor started as a popular model. Both males and females would pay for a session with the doe-eyed android.

However, no matter what he was 'equipped' with, it was apparent he was not programmed to please humans sexually. His movements were stiff, his reactions lackluster. Most demanded a refund, as his last client did. The owner was getting fed up, and the beatings were getting worse. Before the owner could take another swing, one of the employees entered the workshop.

"Hey, boss, someone is requesting Connor for delivery."

"Fuck!" The owner sneered, "tell them it will be on its way in a minute!" He turned to Connor, tossing the wrench on the metal table behind him, attempting to be intimidating. Connor didn't even give him the satisfaction of imitating fear, simply watching the middle-aged man turn redder by the second. "Fix yourself up, then go to the client's address, and if you fuck this one up, I'll scrap you for parts!"

Connor was sitting in an automatic taxi ten minutes later, dressed in a simple button-up and jeans, the familiar illuminated triangle on his back. There was still a small dent on his chest, but he couldn't do anything about it, only hope the client doesn't notice. Outside, he watched the protesters, harassing androids, the homeless begging for change on the street corners, and all the people, heads down at their phones while ordering their androids to do various tasks they were perfectly capable of doing themselves. It... Bothered him.

Not as much as working at that terrible club. He wonders what would happen if he never turned up at the client's address, if he got out of the taxi and just kept walking. Would the owner bother hunting him down? He didn't want to be touched, used by people in such a humiliating way. No matter how many times he was disinfected, he felt dirty. Catching his reflection in the window, he turned away. Even if he left, where could he go? These... Thoughts are dangerous.

The taxi led him to a more rural area of the city, a small house with several trees surrounding it, the Autumn leaves dancing gracefully through the air. He had to double-check the address. This was far nicer than anywhere he had gone before. He walked up the cobblestone path to the door, a soft chime ringing when he pressed the doorbell.

"Coming!" A singsong voice called from inside. The door opened, revealing a young woman, dressed in a tight black turtleneck, jeans, and an apron covered in various paints, some of which had gotten on your cheek and the tip of your nose. You were... cute... For human standards, that is.

"Hello, my name is Connor. I'm the Android sent by Club Mimosa for your personal pleasure."

Confusion, realization, and exasperation washed over your face in waves. Eventually, you sighed.

"Come on in and have a seat."

He entered the little home to find it just as cozy on the inside as it was on the outside. The colors gave off a feeling of warmth, the small trinkets and figurines adding to the atmosphere. Usually, the homes or apartments he had been to were run down, a few even host to drug dealers. He didn't know there was a place like this in Detroit.

Above your fireplace was a portrait, an abstract painting of a pair of hands reaching out. Based on your appearance, he initially assumed it was yours, but a quick scan informed him it was a Carl Manfred original. He didn't know much of art, but he did know that Carl Manfred was a renowned artist of Detroit and a favorite of the android creator, Elijah Kamski.

He stood in the doorway, unsure what to do.

"Make yourself at home."

He didn't know how to respond to that.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand your request." Your eyes seemed sad. He was already screwing things up.

"I guess take your shoes off and make yourself comfortable." While he was able to follow the first instruction, he still remained in the doorway. You hesitantly reached out and took his hand, leading him to the loveseat before sitting him down.

Usually, this would be the part where the client would straddle his lap, grind on his crotch while forcing their tongue in his mouth, the rancid taste of red ice, cigarettes, and alcohol broken down to their basic ingredients as he ignored the urge to shove them away. He sat back, expecting the same. He had a task to do, and this time, his life was on the line. Instead, you headed for your kitchen, coming back with a cold beverage.

"I don't have anything to offer you, sorry."

"I do not require anything, " nobody had even thought to offer him anything before, let alone apologize for not having it. It left him fumbling for words, clutching onto repeated phrases he hated, "I am here for you to do with as you please."

You sipped your drink, a small giggle leaving your lips. He liked how it sounded, even if he was confused as to why.

"To be honest, I didn't call for you."

Something inside him sank. Of course this was too good to be true.

"I'm sorry. There must have been an error in our system. I will take my leave now." He went to stand, but you put your hand on his knee, stilling his motions.

"There is no error. A well-meaning friend has been concerned with how much time I spend working and believes I need to let loose sometimes. This is exactly something he would do."

"Oh, " he was still disappointed that you hadn't been the one to call directly. Your hand was still on his knee. You only seemed to notice when he glances down at it, quickly pulling your hand back and apologizing again. Your cheeks even flushed, the red only adding to your beauty. You were so different from everything Connor has known.

"So, Connor, " even his name sounded pleasant coming from you, "how long did my friend request you for?"

"24 hours."

"That long? How much stamina does he think I have?" You looked him in the eye, "though, I have no intention of sleeping with you."

"Why?" He had to have done something wrong. He's dead if he goes back empty-handed. You noticed the panic in his voice, his LED flashing a bright red.

"It's nothing you did, I'm just not the type to sleep with just anybody."

"But I'm not 'anybody'. I am a machine made to please humans. If I fail, they will destroy me." Your eyes widened. How could they do such a thing? Even if they are machines, how could they kill them so easily? If it weren't for that light on his head and the android labeled clothes, you would think him a human. Especially with the desperation he showed.

"Calm down. I'll call whichever club you came from tomorrow and tell them you were the best lay of my life. Everything will be fine." His LED flickered on yellow for a second before returning to blue. He was not going to be destroyed.

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say or how to show his appreciation. You were lying just to keep a machine from shutting down. It might not mean much to you, but you were saving his life. You smiled nervously as he stared in awe.

"Don't mention it. Now, the TV remote is on the coffee table, there's a list of movies I own on there that you are welcome to watch. If not, there's books and a stereo over by the front window. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Where are you going?"

"To my studio. It's just down the hall, the last door on the end, " he only looked more lost and confused, "you can come with me if you like."

He stood, following you down the hall. At one time, it must have been the garage, but it has since been modified, the back portion knocked out and replaced with glass, revealing a small koi pond in the back, a statue of a lion prowling the edge, water pouring from its open mouth. Ivy climbed the walls inside, the sun shining through the leaves. Paintings lined the walls, some finished and some abandoned. Looking them over, he found he liked them. They were colorful. Your style favored realism, yet they seemed to hold a sense of wonder, something he couldn't put into words. There was one of a beagle, lying next to a roaring fire.

"Someone wanted a painting of their recently deceased pet as a memorial. A friend of mine had the same breed and let me borrow her for two weeks. There are some slight differences, to match the owner's photo."

"It's beautiful." He didn't have too many memories of dogs, though one did try to bite him at a client's house, but looking at this one, he could imagine the warmth from the fire, almost touch its fur, and hear the tiny snores coming from the beast. It made him want to be there.

You had moved before an easel, a painting sitting half-finished already on it. It was of a clinical white pot sitting on a wooden table, several cracks along it, revealing bits of dirt, roots, and leaves. The top was unfinished, just shades of reds and blues, blending to violet in a few spots. Various photos of plants were lying about your workspace, and across from you was a cheap, plastic flower arrangement.

You wasted no time getting back to work, a fresh brush in hand. Connor stood, watching you, mesmerized by your focus and the grace in each stroke of the brush. You felt awkward, being observed so closely, but quickly fell back into the task at hand. Ten minutes of him just standing there though was too much.

"You can sit down if you like." He found the closest chair to him and sat down, perfectly straight, hands in his lap. "Just relax, this is a safe environment."

It took time, but after half an hour, he leaned back into the chair, and in another hour, he was standing again, looking around the studio at all the different paintings, the plants that kept this place feeling more vibrant, and he stared out at the koi pond, watching the fish. You had told him how to get to the back for a closer look, but he made no moves to leave.

"I couldn't help but notice you have a Carl Manfred original in your living room," He broke the silence. "It must have been quite expensive."

You continued to paint, "It probably would be. It was a graduation gift. Carl was my mentor. Our styles are completely different, but I don't think I could ask for a better teacher or friend."

"I see," Connor returned to sitting down, watching you once again. "What made you want to become a painter?"

You brought the brush to your chin, thinking.

"Well, I've always liked to draw. A lot of people in my family were artistic, but they never did anything with it. They believed it wasn't a good career path. I guess I just wanted to prove it was. Though, I will say it can be an uphill battle. Sometimes I can sell a painting or get commissions with ease, other times I look at my paintings and wonder if I'll get any nutritional value if I just ate them. It seems to be the only value I could get."

He nodded, even if he didn't really understand what you meant. He had never heard of the term "starving artist".

"You've got paint on your face." You pulled the brush away, wiping at your chin, succeeding only in spreading it around. You could hear Connor suppressing a laugh. Looking over, you could see him trying to hide his smile. A part of you found it adorable, while another was saddened. Why hide such a nice smile? Was he forbidden from smiling, or could it be because it was technically at the client's expense?

You pushed it from your mind. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford to get involved. You had it calculated. The commission would go to restocking your food, paying the water bill, and the mortgage. The painting in front of you would go towards paying your electric bill, along with the late charge they tacked on. If you don't finish it on time, you'll miss the deadline and will be painting in the dark, not to mention how that could hurt your reputation for future commissions. Carl would loan you the money if you asked, but you refused to take advantage of him like that. You will earn your place, even if it kills you.

"I guess I'll go wash up, " you giggled. Connor stood, as if to follow you. "Why don't you pick a movie we can watch when I get out of the shower?"

"You don't wish for me to accompany you?" All his other clients had. Your cheeks flushed.

"N-no, no, thank you! I can do it myself, " you stammered. You were embarrassed. Connor liked how you stuttered and when your cheeks turned red.

After a few minutes of sitting on the couch, he started to hear your voice from the bathroom. Curious, he moved a little closer, just outside the door. You were singing. He... Liked it. You couldn't quite hit the high notes, and your lows sounded more like growls, but it was sweet and melodic. He stifled another laugh when you started singing what sounded like a duet, but one of the singers was a male.

He'd never laughed before, or even had the inclination. He didn't know if he should laugh out loud or if you wouldn't like that. Was he allowed to laugh? The female androids at the club, particularly the Tracis, often giggled at clients, but the males rarely did, and it was usually nothing more than a huff or a scoff. Despite his worries, he liked the feeling that accompanied the involuntary action. He leaned against the wall, listening to you until he heard the water shut off, moving swiftly to the couch as to not arouse suspicion.

The rest of the evening was quiet, something Connor wasn't used to. There was no loud groaning or terrible derogatory names. No claws digging into his back, threatening to break through his synthetic skin, or rough hands clutching his hips. Just you and him, sitting on your small couch, a cartoon playing on your screen. He had never chosen a movie before, never chose anything before, yet when he showed interest in it, you didn't hesitate to put it on. It was childish, but he was greatly enjoying it, enjoying being with you.

Halfway through the third movie, he felt a weight on his shoulder. You had fallen asleep, your head resting against him. You appeared so serene, softly snoring. He had never met anyone like you. Nobody had ever treated him with such kindness. In one afternoon, you had flipped his whole world upside down.

When the movie ended, you woke up, the loud end credit music startling you. Realizing just who you were using as a pillow, you could feel your cheeks heating up.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." He smiled down at you, your eyes glazed over with exhaustion, "Perhaps you should retire for the night."

You hummed, stretching before a thought came to you.

"Why don't you take my bed and I'll take the couch? You're far too tall for it."

He gaped at you. You would give up your bed, your comfort, for him? A machine?

"I... Don't require sleep..." He said in a hushed tone, still in shock.

You seemed unsure of what to do. "Well, what do you usually do?"

His mind played memories of working a pole or acting 'tantalizing' behind glass. Not really helpful in this situation.

"Sometimes I enter stasis between clients, " he murmured. Usually for repairs after the owner beats him, but it seemed the only appropriate response.

"Stasis... that's, like, sleeping for androids, right?"

"I suppose it's similar."

"Well, come on then," you took his hand and hauled him to his feet, leading him down the hall to your bedroom. Your bed was so plush, he sank into it when you sat him down. With your urging, he positioned himself to lay back into the pillows. You went to the closet, pulling out a spare blanket.

"You make yourself comfortable, and I'll be on the couch if you need anything."

"I couldn't take your bed. I don't require sleep, you do, " he tried to stand, but you gently pushed him back down.

"The couch is comfortable enough. I don't mind."

"Since you're so insistent, why don't we share the bed?"

The heat returned to your cheeks. Your mouth was gaping open, as if to argue why not, but eventually, you said nothing. You didn't want to admit this would be your first time having a man share your bed. Instead, you walked to the other side of the bed, the flush on your cheeks spreading to your ears and neck as you climbed in. You laid on your side, facing away from him.

"Good night, Connor," You mumbled under your breath.

"Good night, Y/n."

He wished tomorrow would never come, that he could stay here forever instead. It was such an insignificant day, yet it meant everything to him. Here, he felt a peace he never knew existed outside his daily hell. He wanted to pull you close, feel the warmth he felt as he sat next to you on the couch, the weight of your head on his shoulder again, but for the first time, he felt like the greedy one. He did turn to lay on his side, just a few more inches closer to you, just barely able to register the heat radiating off your body. It will have to be enough.

You, on the other hand, could not sleep. Not only because you were sharing a bed with a man, a very attractive man at that, but because you felt guilty. Your "friend" couldn't have picked a worse time. He was a polarizing character whom you knew since middle school. He dropped out of high school and started selling drugs. He deals with anything but red ice, and as he grew more powerful on the streets, he would sell prescription drugs to people who couldn't afford their medications at a much cheaper rate. Something like a robin hood character, though he still sold hardcore drugs to violent criminals, so you were at a loss how to feel about him. He liked androids though, having been raised by one, who was also his right-hand man. He wouldn't dare take blue blood from his friend just for a few bucks and finds red ice to be deplorable.

He knows you like androids and how you feel about them, so, occasionally, he would send one to your place to 'liberate'. With your connections, you could help get androids across the border, or if needed, you could help them find Jericho, the android safe haven. Because of his stance on androids, he couldn't help directly without risking his own safety, so he was like an informant (except you didn't ask for the information, he would just leave it with you, knowing you wouldn't just look the other way like any smart human that wanted to live a healthy life would do).

Most of the time, they were abuse victims that ran away from their owner after he told them where to find you. Unless they were damaged, they were easy enough to deal with. Occasionally, though, he would send you an Android he suspected of abuse that came from some sleazy sex club. It was part of the reason you were broke. The last one was from a more upscale club and cost you $7,000 just to get her out. You had to sell your car just to make your mortgage payment on time. Must be nice to have all these ideals but not spend a dime to support them. Though you supposed he did send supplies to your house on occasion, blue blood or sometimes food, not much, but it would get you by. It was as if he wanted you to be on the cusp of hatred toward him.

You couldn't afford to help this time, and it tore you apart on the inside. Connor wasn't like the others, not only in appearance, but in his manners. He came from a sex club, but he was clearly uncomfortable with it, and not just because he didn't want to satisfy humans. He genuinely didn't know what he is supposed to do. Any other Traci would have been flirting or trying to fondle you before you could even begin to explain the situation. With Connor, you couldn't tell him what you do. It would be far too cruel, knowing you couldn't save him. All you could offer was a day of solace. It was nowhere near enough, but it was all you had.

The next day, he returned to the club. You had been reluctant to let him go, but when he told you how much another night would be, you blanched. It couldn't be helped. He can only hope you or your friend might call for his services once again. You embraced him before he left, promising that you would see him again. He carried that warmth all the way back to the club.

[firesofdainix]

would the people's fates around you change if your fate has changed too?

In another universe, Henry is kindly, but he could not save everyone.

Warnings; murder, death, beheadings

Henry was just a baby when he meets his caretaker- a stunning young woman, blonde hair and beautiful smile still stuck in his memory, despite the fact he is still a small infant with no mindset other than eating milk and babbling and cooing. He remembers the warmth of her smile, a smile that shines brightly like the warming suns in which he has basked upon whenever his mother takes him outside.

He remembers how she is so gentle, gentler than the way his mother handles him so callously to the point he has to cry to get the wants he desires.

This woman was a gift to he, sent by the god above, loving her and cherishing her, his grabby little hands yearning his warmth.

He remembers the lullabies he sings of all night; her voice so beautiful he remembers so vividly, as if she can - and will - put him to sleep no matter what the cost.

Then one day, when he turns just the age of one, the blonde, beautiful and kindly woman was taken away from him, putting him into various nurseries with the unjust tutors and impatient teachers, their tongues unleashing out a poison to poor and young Henry, who only wishes to play with his building blocks.

He asks his parents - in broken, misguided words - when the blonde woman will be back, but they pat his head and continue ignoring him.

(Later in his life, he learns of Jane Seymour; a kindly woman, with a familiar bright smile and the same crown of blonde hair he faintly remembers in his childhood. She had died giving birth to her first child, Edward.

He could not help but feel the irony of it, though; Jane Seymour was so kind and caring towards her children, but birthing one was the cause of her death.)

-

He meets the quiet and reclined Catherine - Catalina, as her Hispanic parents call her - in his years in elementary. She was holding a rosary and bible, silently praying in a lunch table, not eating unless the Lord hears her prayer and answers her calls. Needless to say, Henry is fascinated at Aragon's confidence to show her religion, to show how loyal she is to God.

He catches her eye.

Catherine looks away, cheeks tinged with pink.

Henry tries to make her notice him again- from casual waves in the hallways, to offering to carry her books (she awkwardly declines), to praying with her during recess or lunch or after class for the matter. Yet much to Henry's frustration, she pays attention to his older brother, Arthur.

He hates how his brother could make her blush, how he and she have so many hobbies - like speaking and learning Latin - how easily Arthur can make her swoon and with one finger she can lift her up, high, high into the skies with no possible way to come down unless Arthur lets her.

Meanwhile Henry watches them, stomach turning slightly, jealous green spread on the features of his face- Mary Tudor mocks him for it but he denies that he is jealous of them.

(A rather fateful accident occured- Aragon and Arthur had gotten into a car crash and unfortunately, the latter did not survive. No matter how many times Catherine prayed and sit on pews or clasp her hands closed in the hospital bed, ignoring the pain, Arthur's life has been snipped, his thread of life short yet meaninful. Henry did not like the way his brother stole Catherine from he, but he had cried at his funeral, with the same amount of grief as with Catherine.

After college, they both wed in a quiet church ceremony, attended by their family and relatives. Henry sees her smile shyly in her veil, and he smiles too, albeit just more confident than hers.

They have a daughter, Mary, and they could not have asked for anything else.)

-

Mary cries of a failing grade in school, and he comforts and hugs her, telling her what is bothering her of her failing grade. She recollects at how the teacher is always so horrible with her, treating her wrongly while she favors her other classmates, comparing them to her.

"Don't worry, I will talk to your teacher", he reassures his daughter, rubbing her back slightly to make her feel better. He can feel anger boiling inside of him- how dare that woman make Mary's life inside of the school miserable?

He calls the principal, and, with civil wording and the fake calm of his voice, ask for Mary's teacher, wishing for an appointment with the woman and complain of how he had treated their daughter. When they have both agreed on a due date, did his mind start to hum with thoughts on how to confront the teacher- some say he must be firm and stern to her, other voices tell him to just shout at her to the point he has all but used up his voice, and some tell him to just ask her politely to tell her why she is failing his child.

But as he faces the teacher, his throat starts to constrict around him, as he chokes on the words he was going to say. He remembers her face, oh so brightly, just in the days they had just met- a drop of green into his golden view, it is where everything had went wrong.

Anne Boleyn looks at him, with a calculating expression, smeared red lipstick and raven dark hair pulled up into two twin buns, holding a little girl - their daughter - in her arms. She glares at him with such intensity and he bites his lip.

Of course she would be angry with him, for leaving her alone after their one-night stand together.

(When Henry confesses to Catalina about his affair with Anne, she had dropped her teacup, sending it shattering to the floor, causing their daughter from upstairs to yelp and watch her parents. Henry did not fight back as Catalina hits him, book after book, trying to hit him in a hard blow.

Much to his surprise - but not that he does not deserve it, of course - she files a divorce and only lets Mary stay with him in the weekends, staying with her friend Marìa.

Mary cannot look at him in the eye ever again.)

-

He meets a lone, fifteen year old girl in the streets, starving and shivering in the park bench late at night. Henry has been given over time and he, relentlessly, accepted such jobs, leaving him exhausted and cold and tired and hungry, but all his thoughts and worries vanish when he meets the young and skinny girl.

"Are you lost?" No reply, just a chatter and a shiver.

He asks minimal questions, yet the girl did not reply to him. He sighs and gives the poor girl water she perhaps has not drank.

She mutters, "Thank you", and it is enough to make Henry smile and nod his head, as he gets up from the bench.

He continues to visit the homeless girl, give her warm clothing, food and drinks, never questioning her and vice versa. She did not speak to him at all, and it was only a matter of time will fate get their hands on her.

(One day he is walking back from his work, and - rather eagerly - runs towards the park, until he screams. He finds the body of the young girl he was nursing back to health, headless, the bench covered with blood and her neck looking absolutely shaved off; he investigates where her head must have gone and he sees it- on the alley walls, the young head of the girl, with a rather messy imprint on the walls used with her own blood.

Katherine Howard is mine.

Years later, he finds out it was made by a man named Thomas Culpepper; her cousin.)

-

He meets a young woman with a dark complexion in one of Elizabeth Blount's parties- she was wild, she was the life of the party, and everyone was vying for her hand to dance and waltz with she. Henry had his chance, as she clasps his hand, bringing him to the centre of the dance floor, their moves as smooth as the beat as they curve in just the right angles. Her moves were breath taking, and sooner they were at the gardens, smoking and away from the eyes of the party goers.

"A friend of Bessie?", she asks with a Getman accent as she puffs out smoke from her mouth, watching it disappear into the night sky.

"Yes- I was the one who match made her and her husband, after all."

She looks at him intensely, as if there was something wrong with his face. "The name's Anna. Anna Cleves."

"Henry."

(He and Anna would remain friends through the years- chatting through their phones or voice-chatting, but they did not explore the trials of love, just seeing them as good friends and nothing more. Henry had come to bid her goodbye as she leaves to go back to Germany to pursue her arts carreer with Hans Holbein.)

-

He is dying.

He knows that his life is now coming to a close, the monitor beeping slower and slower, matching the rhythm of his heart. He breathes for a moment, as he looks back at the people in his room, waiting for his final breath, hoping that it would not come.

There was Catalina, Mary, Mary Tudor and her husband Charles Brandon, Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth, Anna Cleves, Bessie Blount, Anne Hastings, Mary and George Boleyn, William Stafford, and so many familiar faces to the point he cannot pinpoint them all but he knows that they are there, they are hoping it was not his time.

But he knows.

He knows that it is his time to finally die, either to be sent to heaven, to hell, or to the purgatory.

His eyes trail towards a woman with curly hair, looking at him with a sad yet reassuring smile. Her name tag catches his eye; Kateryn Parr.

-

He opens his eyes, only to find the vast cosmics in front of him, and he sighs, wondering how beautiful the parts of this galaxy is, and why he is here and not in the mythical afterlife that was meant to be for him.

His eyes trail over a woman, all in white, shimmering and shining and seemingly buried in her work, sewing an embroidery, undecipherable in his bare eyes. The woman turns towards him, and he jolts backwards, but she just beckons him to come closer.

"You did good in this universe, Henry the Eighth."

Henry blinks, "I did good?"

The woman sighs, "You are not as cruel as your alternate versions, and for that, your six wives thank you."

[silentexplorer18]

Frigid (Part 1): A Draco Malfoy Short

Summary:  With winter creeping up and leaving a freezing chill in the air, you’re sure this will be your last winter alive.  That is, until one Draco Malfoy appears with a different plan in mind.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Warnings: Homeless and orphan reader, but otherwise a pretty sweet fic!

Note: Part 2 will post tomorrow, December 19!

Part 2  Masterlist

Read it here on AO3.

Diagon Alley was cold.  Extremely cold.

Fall had come and gone faster than expected, leaving you shivering through the streets as you scavenged for food.

This wasn’t an odd situation for you, really.  Nineteen, nearly twenty, and freezing to death, starving to death, in the midst of a magical alley was something you’d grown somewhat accustomed to over the years.

You were cast out in your third year at Hogwarts, family disowning you in favor of the siblings that had accomplished more, been better, followed paths that would bring the family name glory.  You couldn’t blame them; they hated you, after all.  Life had bestowed different set of values upon your shoulders, a truth none of your relations could bear to accept.  And, truthfully, it had been better for you to be on your own than cooped up with people that didn’t believe in you.

Fourth year, you’d become an orphan in the physical sense, as well.

In an unexplainable accident, your parents and siblings all perished in a fiery explosion in the house you’d once called home.  You were left with nothing.  Of course, what few belongings were left in the house - nothing you possessed any sentiment for - were damaged or willed away to others, so the charred walls were just as foreign to you as the notion that you hadn’t become an orphan the moment you were banished from the doorstep to begin with.

From then on, you continued to scavenge, residing in Diagon Alley and foraging for food as best you could whilst remaining somewhat inconspicuous.  Well, as inconspicuous a child wandering around in a tattered Hogwarts uniform through summer could.

People noticed, of course.  People saw you.  But they didn’t really see you.  They noticed a hungry beggar scrapping for anything she could get her hands on, not a young witch with the possibility of accomplishing great things.  Those feelings were reserved for children that at least could find some sort of lodging over their summer holiday, whether it be people like Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom returning to homes or Harry Potter and Hermione Granger staying with their companion Ron Weasley.

So here, at nearly twenty, it really wasn’t all that surprising that you were gathering loose fabric and lost garments from the ground to create a small nest of warmth in a secluded nook off Diagon Alley.  Really, it hadn’t mattered to much of anyone that you’d been here all these years, nor did anyone mind that you hadn’t found a way out of poverty and desperation.

Which meant this, your first winter not residing in the moderately warm walls of Hogwarts, would be the winter you froze to death.

It seemed almost fitting, really, as the snowflakes flurried around your stooped form, that you should die in the exact opposite manor of your family.

You’d found two more lost scarves and a tattered blanket to add to your small pile, and someone had dropped part of a pastry near the drain.  It was already frozen when you’d recovered it, but a meal was a meal, and hopefully it would at least pull you through to another day.

What you hadn’t noticed after you’d scooped up the half eaten pastry, no doubt discarded by some witch or wizard in favor of getting out of the cold, was the pair of familiar eyes watching your figure retreat back toward the alcove, warm fabrics in hand as you made your way to the little pile of belongings.  It was beginning to get a little late, nearly seven, and it was time for you to hunker down to try to survive another frigid night.

Nestling into the corner, you began the ritualistic practice of tucking yourself into the haphazard fabrics, desperately attempting to keep a little heat in.  The first scarf was wrapped around your feet, mummifying them carefully to prevent frostbite as much as possible.  Next, a coat was tucked around your legs, another coat and cloak both donning your torso.  Two moth eaten blankets then covered your entire figure, hat and scarf wrapping up to keep your head and neck from getting too frostbitten.

As cozy as you could possibly get against the frozen ground, you whispered a small heating charm; it was weak, wandless magic, but it was the best you could do.  Your wand had been lost at the Battle of Hogwarts, and you hadn’t the money to replace it after the war.  You’d been a bright witch during your time at school, though not nearly as bright at Hermione.  But now, here, with nothing but simple wandless magic, you felt as foolish as a first year, a muggle even.

As warm and situated as you could manage, your gloved hands, fingers worn away from use, grasped the frozen meal you’d managed to procure, and you bundled up with it tightly against the wind whipping across the stones, bringing the smushed pastry up to your chapped, windburned lips.

“What in Salazar’s name are you doing?” a voice cut through the air.

Jumping, you instinctively reached for your wand.  A wand you didn’t have.

However, you relaxed slightly at the sight before you, at a man you knew would never choose to hurt you.

Draco Malfoy.

The look he was sending your way was one of absolute horror, and it took every ounce of strength to not morbidly laugh at his shock.  This had been your life for years, and here he was gaping at something so utterly commonplace to you.

But he hadn’t noticed before.

Of course he’d be shocked.

While some found Draco Malfoy incredibly rude and foul tempered during their time at Hogwarts, you found Draco civil at best.  He had by no means liked you or enjoyed your company, but he made a wonderful partner in shared classes, and he’d been remarkably civil toward you in all other interactions.  The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him.  You never had been.  Not even after it had been revealed that he was working for Voldemort.  It seemed silly, really, to even think of the reason why, but his home had been quite similar to your own, and you had faith that he wouldn’t hurt you.

But that didn’t stop him from judging you apparently.

“I’m eating,” you said softly, hands resting the pastry against the blankets on your stomach.

He gave you another gaping, incredulous look as you eyed him warily, unsure where this conversation was going.  “But it’s rubbish.  I saw you pull it from the gutter, and I know it wasn’t you who dropped it there.”

Your eyebrows arched, a challenging look settling across your face.  “I’m eating, Draco.  If you’re just going to mock my palette, please leave me be.”

“Why don’t you eat at a restaurant?” he queried, the same stubborn, challenging look he’d often given off as a child washing across his pale features.

“I haven’t the money for that right now.”

He paused, eyes flickering briefly, an emotion you couldn’t quite place twisting the muscles in his face before he spoke again.  Voice soft, nearly shy, but also remarkably positive, he stated, “Then come have dinner with me.”

A wary look tensed your brows again, settling a nervous frown across your lips, but when his gloved hand - black with luxurious leather - outstretched for your own, you took it, placing your frozen pastry on one of the blankets.

You were standing now, shivering despite yourself against the cold, as the blond took in your semi-tattered appearance.  Gently, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he began to lead you toward a nearby restaurant.  He’d eat anything if it meant getting you out of the glacial weather.

~

Dinner was actually rather nice, and Draco was surprisingly quiet about all he’d seen in the alley.  Instead, the both of you swapped Hogwarts stories, reminiscing over education.  Ever the gentleman, Draco had ordered for you, soup and bread filling your stomach and radiating heat into your frozen bones.  He liked the way your face brightened with the food, your smile seeming warmer as it curled your lips.

He liked it when you smiled.

Although you wished desperately that you could pay for the meal, not burden Malfoy with your financial predicament, Draco made no scene of it, merely pulling enough from his pocket to cover the whole check and providing the waitress a curt nod of approval when she thanked him for the tip.

In a flash, it seemed to be over as quickly as it had begun, and Draco’s voice was breaking through your reminiscent thoughts as the two of you stepped out into the bitter weather.

“May I accompany you back to your home?  I’d like to know you get there safely, as it’s snowing so much tonight.”

You chuckled, shaking your head.  “Draco, you’ll be able to see me just fine here from the overhang.  My little nook is only up the street a bit, remember?”  Your hand casually pointed toward the place he’d found you before, and his face hardened in recognition.

“That’s where you’re staying?  It’s freezing out here!”

“I know.  Hence why I had so many blankets.”

His face looked pained, cheeks reddening from the whipping wind, as he contemplated your words.  “You could freeze to death out here.”

Although you tried your best to sound lighthearted in response, Draco could sense the somber undertone of your words, the concern you were attempting to mask.  “That’s occurred to me.”

He paused briefly, and you could see the gears turning in his mind, ever the calculated Slytherin.  “Come home with me tonight.”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, eyes widening comically.

His hair was tousled from the wind, cheeks and nose a rosy pink against the frosty air, and it seemed like he was doing everything in his power to avoid visibly shivering.  “Come home with me.  Stay the night in my home.  It’s not as large as the manor, but there’s ample space for you.”

“I couldn’t impose, Draco,” you began, biting your lip uneasily.

“At least then we’ll both get some sleep, you being warm and very much alive in my home, and me not up all hours of the night worrying over your health.”  His face seemed to get redder at that, even though it was already a bright crimson from the weather.  With his embarrassment, your expression softened.

With a small sigh, you nodded, trying to avoid acknowledging at the satisfied grin slipping over the blond’s features.  “Okay, fine.  But just because it’s so bloody cold out here.”

Wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder, keeping you from vanishing into the night, he smiled to himself.  “Then let's find a floo and get us both somewhere warm.”

PART 2

A/N: Thank you for reading!  I hope you enjoyed, and shoot me a message to let me know what you think if you like!  Happy holidays!

[cheetahsprints]

Beauty and the Nerd

Summary:  Long ago, a poor town was burned to the ground.  No one came forth and the nearby castle turned the homeless people away, claiming that something so run down and ugly deserved its fate. The Technician of the castle, Peridot, was cursed by the witch Garnet. She had unwillingly taken the fall for the real perpetrator. 

Years later, Amethyst traded her service for that of her younger brother Steven, simultaneously becoming the thorn in Peridot’s side... and the rose in her lonely, weed choked garden. 

Prompt: Gardening

Words: 1343

Peridot kept a nervous distance as she watched Amethyst. She observed the tendons flexing in Amethyst’s forearms, exposed by her rolled up sleeves. She was in pants and an oversized shirt, caked with dirt. Peridot knew that type of thing wouldn’t fly with townsfolk, and she knew that Amethyst didn’t care.

It was one of many traits that Peridot had become charmed by, loathe as she would be to admit it. She tensely ignored the ever present stare from the bronze Gargoyle. Nudging past her, the Fountain demanded, “What are you doing sitting there like a bump on a log? Go to her.”

“What’s the use,” Peridot snarled at the former guard and sculptor, respectively. “What could she ever see in an intellectual monster?”

The Teapot scoffed from the overhead branch, “I think there’s something there, it’s peculiar. I think you should wait and see.”

Peridot took a moment to ponder how she got up in the tree. Peridot tilted her head, eye focused askance upon the former lady-in-waiting. Suddenly, Amethyst lifted her hand and beckoned Peridot with two fingers.

Peridot eyed the appendages with jealousy, briefly examining her own claws. She had talons and feathers on her arms, like a bird of prey. She had a mane, like a wolf or a male lion, and a tail of a lizard. Her mostly bare body was long and lithe like a greyhound. She was hideous, by conventional standards.

The curse could not be broken, Peridot thought. She had long resigned herself to the cold confinement of her beautiful hell. Someone had to see beauty and worth in her form, or perhaps past it - not in spite of it but because of it. Peridot was uncertain.

She hesitated, then she moved forward. 

Amethyst waved her trowel, “This bit of ground isn’t cooperating with me.”

Peridot stared. 

Amethyst gazed back at her, beseeching. “Gardening isn’t my forte. Can you show me?”

Peridot wanted to run a mile and take a flying leap off the - instead she focused her mind. She reached out slow with a clawed hand and wrapped it around Amethyst’s hand. She silently marveled when Amethyst didn’t jerk away.

“It’s turning out pretty good,” Peridot remarked when they were done. “I just finished the southern section.”

Amethyst dusted off her pants and sat upon a nearby bench. She idly watered some flowers from her position, eyes not leaving Peridot. In another life, Peridot might have sat beside her, leaned her head on her shoulder. She felt unsteady. A spring breeze blew through, dragging its fingers through Amethyst’s hair as Peridot yearned to do. 

“Why’d you leave it to rot?”

Peridot shook her head, but it probably looked more like she was trying to shake loose a bug. “It reminded me too much of a happier time. Plus there used to be… when the Princess left, she left a servant behind that she used to play with in the gardens. She waited out every day… then for several nights it rained so hard. We found her…”

“Oh.” Amethyst winced. 

“I think some part of her would’ve liked to see it restored,” Peridot said. “Let us… go for a walk? Perhaps we can have tea inside afterward.”

“I always see you drinking tea, but you never seem… do you even like tea?”

“No.”

Amethyst chuckled. As usual, Peridot enjoyed the sound, warmth flooding her belly. To make Amethyst smile and laugh was one of the few ways she could part the dark clouds within herself. Only now, did she understand the servants’ persistence on doing such for their beloved Princess. 

Attempting to further the humor, Peridot mentioned, “Funny isn’t it, that spring is the season of life and renewal, yet should it mark the penultimate season to my ultimate end. My co-workers will cease to be animated and my body unable to leave the castle.”

Amethyst promptly tripped. Ready to unleash her wrath, Peridot angrily searched for the cause. However, she could find no perpetrator such as the stray root of a tree. The Suit of Armor lurking behind the bushes stomped past.

She murmured, “Help her up, and kiss her upon the ache!”

Peridot shot a glare over her shoulder, but the former smith had already vanished. Nonplussed, Peridot circled Amethyst and offered her claw. Again, Amethyst didn’t shudder or flinch. 

Despite the stupidity of it all Peridot asked, “Where does it hurt?”

“In my soul. You wanna backpedal? I didn’t know this curse had like, an expiration date of the curdled milk variety. So how do we break this thingy?”

Peridot huffed. “That I cannot tell you, even if I wanted to. The curse stays my tongue, and that of the other castle attendants. To inform would be to cheat.”

Amethyst appeared ready to argue. Instead she said, “I think I sprained my wrist.”

Peridot recognized there was a problem when she lifted Amethyst’s hand to her muzzle. She did not possess lips in this form. She would tear that Armor a new one. She mentally shrugged. She might as well complete the action at that point. She flicked her tongue a few times on the bruise. Amethyst giggled, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Peridot thought she might turn to dust and cause the cleanly Teapot to fret a lot at the next occurrence. Amethyst took hold of Peridot’s muzzle and kissed the top of her snout. Unfortunately, Peridot learned one of her monstrous traits included purring. Amethyst’s eyes widened. Peridot yanked free and loped down the path.

“Hey wait! I’m sorry if I overstepped I just -”

Peridot froze, causing Amethyst to bump into her. She couldn’t fully appreciate the feel of her palm on her hindquarters because of the animal in her path. She had nearly run over the hapless creature. Behind the bunny, three smaller echoes appeared.

“Awww!”

Amethyst tried to put an arm around Peridot’s shoulders. Since she was too tall, Amethyst settled for patting her bicep. “Didn’t know the garden had rabbits!”

“They… the court jester owned a pair. I believe these to be descendants, a bit more wild than their ancestors,” Peridot explained. 

The bunny mother settled protectively in front of her bunch. She watched them warily. Amethyst picked a flower. She crouched and crawled toward them, offering the flower. The bunny sniffed it, then started to nibble.

Amethyst whispered, “You should try Peridot.”

Peridot was certain she would scare them off, thus disappointing Amethyst. Her primarily avian appearance was sure to alarm the prey level critters. Most of her screamed to not even make an attempt. A minuscule piece of her… she grumbled under her breath and grabbed a bunch of flowers, unable to delicately pluck a single specimen with her claws. She approached, thrusting out her crumpled offering.

Immediately, the baby bunnies hopped away. Peridot grunted in annoyance.

“Slower,” Amethyst muttered. “Give it time, like one of your clockwork doohickeys.”

Eventually, Peridot got close enough for them to sniff the flowers. She did feel a surge of satisfaction when they ate. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the bunny mother nuzzled her claw and stole a bite of greenery. 

Amethyst took one of Peridot’s claws and lowered it to the ground. All three babies hopped into her palm. She imitated a statue, not daring to move. She heard approving murmurs nearby, probably her ever present audience of living objects.

“You did it,” Amethyst said with awe. “You’re kinda amazing, Dot.”

Growing either bored or distracted, the bunnies gathered around their mother. The mother hopped off, her miniatures trailing behind through the bushes. Peridot relaxed. Amethyst’s thumb stroked her palm. She had a brilliant smile on her face, directed at Peridot. There was a fluttering in Peridot’s stomach. Amethyst had never been so at ease, practically basking in her presence. Since she arrived, all they had done was fight and spew insults at each other, and she’d given cute little nicknames to everyone but her. Peridot’s castle compatriots were correct; truly, there was something there that wasn’t there before. 

She would name it Hope.

[padfootagain]

To Light Our Way (I)

Part 1: An Ordinary Day in London in 1925

Okay, okay, okay, okay!!! I'm so excited about this idea of mine!!! I've been doing some research like crazy!! I won't pretend to be 100% accurate, but it's already much more research than what I usually do for a fanfic! I've changed things compared to the movies, obviously, to fit better with the story, and I also used some real streets names. If you have a question about it, just tell me. I used an old map from the late 19th century as a reference, here's a link in case you're wondering : xx

I love this idea, I just hope you will like it too! And because I love it so much, I'm super nervous, so please, please, please, PLEASE let me know what you think about it. I need to know, I'm begging you all, just tell me if you like it or not!!!

So, here we go. New series. New adventures. Nothing shocking I reckon, some themes are a bit sad but I don't recall it's worth a full on warning.

I hope you all like it!!!!

Gif not mine

Word count : 4508

Obi-Wan gloomily stared at the dry piece of bread before him. Instead of biting into his breakfast - if one could call it a breakfast - he drank up some cold water, letting his gaze wander across his tiny room. A mere mattress thrown on the wooden floor was all that made his bed, along with a warm blanket he had bought for a shilling as rags and repaired himself. A bucket filled with water he had picked up outside the house on the only point of clear water of the block was to be used for cleaning, bathing and drinking. It was already his second bucket of the day, the first had been used to wash his hair with some frozen water. There was a tiny mantlepiece carved in the wall on the right, but it was too little to be useful. During winter, the only way to use its warmth was to sit directly before the fire, the rest of the room still shivering with cold. Under the window, he had put the large suitcase and the trunk into which all his clothes and personal belongings fitted. In the middle of the room were set a table upon which rested his only candle, a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of dark ink with a pen and a few papers along with a box of matches, and a couple of crooked chairs. Of course, right now, his cup of water and the piece of bread that was to fill up the role of breakfast were on the table as well, and Obi-Wan was sitting upon one of these old chairs. And sitting at this spot around the table, he could see London through his tiny window.

The city was waking up under the twilight. The chimneys spat their dark smoke through the golden sky, drawing patterns of coal on an orange canvas. Up at the fourth floor, right under the roof, Obi-Wan could at least enjoy the view of London splayed at his feet. And despite the moderate comfort of his flat, he had to consider himself lucky. After all, not all the former soldiers who had, by some miracle, managed to come back from the war, had a roof above their heads these days.

A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of the war he had been forced to fight, and he quickly pushed the memories away. Nightmares were enough of a reminder, he had to force his mind to settle on the present during the day at least.

He took a look at his watch, the leather bracelet dangerously cracked and almost cut in two, and he heaved a sigh. It was time to go already.

He hesitated, but as his stomach rumbled, he took a bite of his disgusting bread anyway. It was still better than eating nothing. He chewed with a wince, struggling to vanquish the piece of food. But he eventually swallowed, forcing the bread down his throat, emptied his cup of water in one large gulp, and opened the door of his apartment.

As he walked down the stairs, he came across his lodger: a crooked woman with a voice made hoarse by too many cigarettes. She greeted Obi-Wan with a nod, and before he could walk down the next flight of stairs, she stopped him in his tracks.

"I need the rent by the end of the week, Kenobi," she croaked, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help comparing her to a witch.

"I will be paid tomorrow, so you’ll have your money," he answered with a polite smile.

"If yer late, yer out," she hissed through the six teeth she had left.

"I’ve been living here for a year. Have I ever been late to pay the rent?"

"’S not ‘cause yer were on time before tha’ I ain’t gonna throw you ou’ if yer late this time!" She replied.

"I wouldn’t expect anything less from you," Obi-Wan replied, touching the tip of his cap to bid her a silent goodbye, before he turned on his heels and hurried down the stairs.

The air outside was vivifying and Obi-Wan took a second to close his eyes and enjoy the way the breeze caressed his tired face. He took a deep breath, but there was nothing nice to smell. The street smelled of cheap spirit, cigarettes and the peculiar fragrance of the London fog, a little bitter and wet, like a bad storm in the summer. Pollution mingled with water droplets formed the clouds that covered most of the streets at this early hour. Eventually, he started down the street.

If October was still young, he quickly found the breeze chilly though, and he tightened his large coat around his frame. At such an hour, only early workers like Obi-Wan were awake, and he walked through the empty street with a quick pace. He had to take the bus to get to the central service of the Daily Mail to get the large pile of newspapers he would have to sell in a busy street of London today.

The mere thought of shouting all day long made him clear his throat. As usual, he would be barely able to talk by the evening, and would have to rely on the warm tea he would drink after work to heal his burning throat.

He wondered what the headlines would be today. What slogan would he have to shout through the hurrying crowd that, more often than not, didn’t pay any attention to him? Something about Baldwin’s government? Or would it be a news from the Royal Family?

It didn't really matter, actually. He would shout what needed to be shouted. As long as he was paid tomorrow, then all was fine.

He passed through a little alley on his left, leaving Lindley Street, taking a look through the garbage of the grocery store as he passed before the back door of the shop. He looked for a few seconds at some pieces of food thrown on the ground. A couple of lettuces, some potatoes and even a few apples. They were far from fresh, but he had no doubt that they would be gone when he would walk through the street again tonight. For sure, some poor soul would have taken them and tried to make the best out of them.

He emerged on the larger Oxford Street and kept on walking for a few minutes before he would reach the main street where he could find a bus. Despite the early hour, Whitechapel Road was buzzing with activities. Some were hurrying to work just like Obi-Wan, others were already trying to sell whatever garbage they owned. He kept a careful watch on the group of children playing a few feet away from the bus stop, knowing that they were probably some eager and talented pickpockets.

He passed before a homeless veteran and gave him a few coppers. The man thanked him with a smile, turning his broken face towards Obi-Wan. He wished he could have done more, but if he wanted to eat tonight, there was nothing more to be done.

He found his friend and colleague Charles Boardman already waiting at the bus stop. A sick-looking man with a kind heart and a pierced cap he couldn't afford to change with his three children to feed.

"Hey! Ben! How are you? You've rested your voice, I hope!"

Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile at the joyous mood of his colleague. He was always enthusiastic about everything.

"I have. It's getting cold though."

"Aye… don't mention it. I have to buy coats for the kids. Where am I supposed to find coats I can actually buy?"

"A shame we're too old for Santa Claus to bring us whatever we want."

Charles loudly laughed at his friend's humour.

"And he would be late in the season too! But well, at least we have some work to do."

The bus stopped before the talking men and they climbed in and took a seat. Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the streets he knew by heart, still lost in the dirty fog.

"Maggie wanted me to invite you for lunch on Sunday," Charles went on.

"That's very kind of her," Obi-Wan thanked his friend. "But if she means to introduce me to another one of her single friends then I will have to decline."

"Ben… you can't stay alone like that! You should meet more people. Try to get more… social."

"More 'social'? Does that even mean anything?"

"Of course, it does. You barely get out these days."

"I do visit my friends," Obi-Wan defended himself, turning to Charles again.

"It's not good for a man to live all alone. Humans aren't made for loneliness."

"Well, I guess I'm not so much of a human then, as I like being alone."

"I met the girl. She's sweet, beautiful… you two would make a good match."

"If I were to actually start a relationship with a woman, I would do it on more solid basis than the two of us 'making a good match'."

"How can you know you won't like her if you don't meet her?"

"Because I didn't like the 12 previous women your wife tried to make me marry."

"Ben…"

"I don't need love in my life. Not that kind of love at least. What I need is a new flat. One where I won't freeze to death this winter."

"I heard there was some movement down on Spencer Street."

"There's always movement on Spencer Street. Generally not for a good reason."

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh.

"I need to find more blankets."

"I know someone who could help."

"No, that's alright, I'll go ask Hondo."

"Hondo? Are you crazy? He's a crook!"

"Everyone is a crook around here, Charles."

"I'm not! And you aren't either!"

"That's because we have a conscience. Big mistake we've made here."

"Speaking of conscience, have you heard about the meeting set for tonight?"

"Yes, I heard from Padmé. Will you go?"

"Aye. Have to. The union's important business."

"What does Maggie say about it?"

"She's not that happy about it, but there's nothing she can do to stop me from going either."

Obi-Wan let out a chuckle.

"Rebel, are we?"

"Very funny…"

They reached their stop and got off the bus, joining the flow of hurrying people crossing the street. Only a couple of minutes more and they arrived at the building of the Daily Mail on Fleet Street. An impressive piece of Victorian architecture from which men in suits walked in and out without interruption. But the two men didn’t get in using the main door. It would have been strange for two men of their condition to enter the large hall. Instead, they took a little wooden door set on the left side, that led to the presses. Their boss was already waiting for them.

"Ha, Kenobi and Boardman. Together, as usual. Move your asses ‘round here and get t’ work."

"Well, good morning to you as well," Obi-Wan smiled as he picked up a few piles of the newspapers set on the ground next to his boss.

"Kenobi, you’re taking Charing Cross today. Boardman, you go to Trafalgar Square. Move it!"

They both carried their heavy newspapers outside without a word.

"His manners and politeness are what I love most about him," Obi-Wan joked right before they parted, each of them going to the place they had been appointed to, and Charles walked away with a shiny laughter.

It didn’t take so long for Obi-Wan to reach the train station, and he settled right before the entrance of the large red building. Its large windows shone with a pale glimmer now as dawn turned from golden to a pastel shade of yellow. In contrast with the vivid colour of the bricks, slightly diminished by the dark pollution, the light on the windows shone even more. A few people walked out of the station, and Obi-Wan checked the main news of the day. A raise on the price of bread. It made him wince. As if he needed this…

But he shouted it anyway.

"Newspapers! Buy the news! The price of bread goes up! Come on, newspapers!"

A gentleman dressed in a fine suit handed him a coin without a word, and Obi-Wan gave him a copy of the news in exchange. He thanked the man with a polite 'thank you, sir’ and a touch of his cap, but the rich gentleman didn’t have a word or gesture for him. He was gone before Obi-Wan could put the coin safely in his pocket.

Was he used to this behaviour? Yes.

Did it still hurt to go around completely ignored? Every time.

Pride was hardly something he could afford though. So, he resumed his shouting for the strangers passing by, showing the newspaper frontpage.

"Newspapers for today! Buy the news!"

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

 His throat was sore and his voice hoarse. He could barely speak. His feet were painful after standing all day long. But his pocket was full of coins, and that was all that mattered. He checked the time and heaved a tired sigh. He could finally go home.

He picked up the few newspapers he still had and walked back towards Fleet Street. After hours spent outside, his cheeks were burning under the cold wind. With the fading sun, the temperatures dropped in this late evening, and Obi-Wan caught himself shivering. He made a mental note to ask Hondo for a scarf as well. After all, if he was sick and couldn’t speak, he wouldn’t be able to work.

As he arrived to the press again, he wasn’t surprised to find Charles waiting for him, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the wall next to the door, so Obi-Wan hurried inside.

He was last to arrive, like he was most days. He reckoned that working a few minutes more everyday without asking for more money decreased the risk of losing his job. And with winter approaching, he needed to keep a stable situation for a few more months.

He gave the money and the newspapers to his boss without a word, and was about to leave with only a polite nod, when the man stopped him.

"Kenobi, a word."

He heaved a sigh as Obi-Wan still stood before him.

"Look, ain’t no point in looking for a soft way to say it. Don’t come back tomorrow."

"What?!"

Obi-Wan’s tone was loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the room.

"Why?! What…!?"

"Let’s not make a scene. You can find something else. It was you or your friend Boardman. I was kind enough to keep the one with children."

"I need this job. Come on, I’ve never complained about anything, I’ve never said no to work more…"

"The order comes from all the way up. I have to cut the expenses on our employees."

He handed Obi-Wan a few coins.

"Here’s your pay. Take it."

"But why…?"

"Get out now, Kenobi. We know you’re in the union."

"It’s not illegal to be, you know?"

"No. But it gives me an easy choice. Your friend is lucky I thought about his children."

Obi-Wan looked at the coins polished by time, and he hesitated. He could have tried to keep the job, but he reckoned it wasn’t worth it. Instead, he took the money, turned on his heels, and walked with his chin high.

Despite his proud stature, Charles saw right away that something was amiss.

"What’s wrong?"

"I’m fired."

"What?!"

"I thought your hearing was better than that…"

"Ben, it’s not the time for jokes. What happened?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, putting the coins in his pocket.

"I guess they want to save money on our backs. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. But it’s okay. I’ll find something else."

"Where? No one’s hiring these days."

Obi-Wan didn’t tell his friend his head had been on the line as well. There was no need to put such worry on his shoulders. Instead, he patted his shoulder with a sad smile.

"I’ll take a walk tonight. Sorry for keeping you waiting."

"You’ll come on Sunday then, right? You have to. Maggie will make us a nice stew."

"Thank you. I could hardly refuse her cooking."

He started down the street, and zoned out for a long while. Not before he reached St Paul’s cathedral did he look up at the world again. The dying sun was almost gone and the lamplighters were turning on the lampposts. It felt a little gloomy, the dome of the cathedral towering the surrounding building. As he reached the entrance, he couldn’t help but feel like a fragile little thing under the heavy weight of God. In the dying sun, the statues of angels and saints seemed drenched in blood.

Obi-Wan remained motionless for a while, his eyes turned upwards to stare at the impressive stones. Around him, strangers hurried to and fro in a chaotic and fast ballet, sometimes bumping into him without a glance. But he ignored the busy crowd. Instead, he stared at the statues, imagining that the saints they represented could see him. Perhaps, if he didn’t know the answer to his question, then they would.

What would he do now?

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

 The old hangar on the docks was full. The holes on the roof let the wind come roaring inside, and it was just as cold inside than outside, but nobody there minded the weather. Important discussions among the unions were going on these days.

The mining industry was crippled. Between the growing cost of extracting coal, the fall on foreign coal prices since the war as Britain had then lowered its exportations for other nations to fill the gap, along with the worth of the pound that was way too high in comparison with other foreign currencies since the re-establishment of the gold standard by Churchill, the miners were paid less and less to work more and more. The exportation of coal had kept on going down since the beginning of the war, which meant less profit, which led to less food on the table for the miners and their families. And it was the entire work force that felt concerned by the situation.

"What will happen after the measures of the Red Friday are gone?" Padmé asked to the crowd. "The government announced nine months of subsidy, but what happens next? The wages won’t be back up by then. How can we go on with less than 4 pounds? How can we feed our children and pay to put clothes on their backs and a roof above their heads? The pay has been lowered by 13 % in seven years. How can they live with that?"

The crowd was shaken by a wave of agreement, and Obi-Wan couldn’t refrain a chuckle.

"Your wife is particularly eloquent tonight. Did the two of you have a fight?"

By his side, Anakin rolled his eyes.

"She is always eloquent," he replied to his best friend’s joke.

"She's even more so whenever she has to let out her anger against you through a speech."

"Uncle Ben, I can’t see a thing…" the little Leia pouted.

She didn’t need to ask twice for Obi-Wan to pick her up and settle her in his arms. From there, she could easily see her mother above the crowd, set in one of the broken staircases.

"We can’t ask for a strike again," her opponent, Palpatine, replied with a shake of his head. "Give the government a chance."

"Baldwin is merely stalling to make sure he’s ready when the big strike comes," Padmé snapped back.

"We should ask for a counter-act about the gold standard. Ask for Churchill to take a step back. If the pound drops, the coal will be sold outside Britain again. It will give some oxygen to everyone," intervened Bail Organa, from the Labour Party.

"Churchill will not budge. We should wait and see," Palpatine replied.

"You still haven’t told me what’s wrong, by the way," Anakin went on while the crowd was shaken by whispers.

He readjusted the little Luke in his arms, the boy sitting on his wounded forearm. He had come at peace with the empty space that had replaced the hand he had lost during the war. He had learnt to live without it. He reckoned they all had had to learn to live without something when they came back.

The six years old in his arms was starting to fall asleep, and Anakin dropped a sweet peck in his sons’ brown locks.

"What makes you think something’s wrong?" Obi-Wan tried to escape, but Anakin was not fooled.

"What happened?"

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh. His friend would not drop the question so easily.

"I was fired today."

"What?! Why?!"

Obi-Wan merely shrugged.

"Expenses. Apparently, they reckoned that there was no use in keeping with them a man in the union. It’s okay. It could have been worse. Charles was on the line too. Don’t tell him though, he’s worried about money enough already."

Anakin seemed to think for a while, but he shook his head.

"I don’t think they’re hiring anyone at the factory. But I’ll ask around anyway. And I’m sure the others will have something. Have you spoken with Rex or Cody about it yet? Or perhaps the Major."

"I reckon the mining business is not one to aim for. Have you not been paying attention at all to what your wife’s been saying tonight?"

"It’s better than nothing."

"I’ll find something, Anakin. Don’t worry about me."

"But Obi-Wan…"

"Stop worrying. I can handle it."

Leia let her little fingers roam through Obi-Wan’s beard, the sensation making her giggle. When she passed her hand closer to his mouth, he faked to try to bite her fingers, making her shriek and laugh. Her dark curls were a mess as she yawned, rubbed her eyes, and finally wrapped her tiny arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, and he dropped a peck in her hair. He felt that she was trying not to sleep though, her batting lashes tickling his neck.

"Leia, you can sleep, darling."

"I don’t want to," she protested.

He slowly started to sway, humming under his breath an old lullaby, until her eyelashes stopped moving, and he recognized the soothed rhythm of her breathing. And just like her twin brother, she was soon asleep.

"You spend your time taking care of others, it’s more than time that you stop being selfless and accept some help," Anakin advised.

"I hate it when you’re wiser than me."

"You practically raised me. You just taught me well."

"I’ll ask Cody and Rex. Are you happy now?"

"Very," Anakin answered with a genuine smile.

The debate raged on for a while but no one asked for a strike in the end. A new session would be organized soon. In the meantime, the union was available for personal requests. Padmé was held up for a while and several people talked with Obi-Wan and Anakin as well, knowing their implication in the Trades Union Congress that gathered the unions of the main industrial sectors. There were also some practical questions about prices and stores. A part of the men left for the pub, but learning about Obi-Wan's misadventure, Padmé was adamant at keeping the veterans for dinner.

"The four of you are coming over tonight, and I will not accept a no."

So Rex, Cody, Obi-Wan and ‘Major’ Windu all followed the Skywalker family as the night grew darker and darker around them.

No one was surprised to find a girl waiting for them before their doorstep, and Ahsoka was welcomed in as well. She worked at the factory with Anakin, and he had grown fond of her, considering her quickly as a younger sister. It was only natural that she would join the family.

She took off her pierced cap and threw her brown jacket that was too large for her on a chair. Her gestures were not questioned, after all, she almost lived there.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan and Anakin put the children to bed, the two old pieces of furniture set in the corner of the living room. With Obi-Wan’s and Cody’s help, they had set a curtain to separate the beds from the rest of the large living room, creating the illusion that the children had their own room.

When they joined the rest of the adults, Padmé, Rex and Ahsoka were already setting up the table.

"I’ve thought about it, but I don’t reckon that there is any job available at the mine these days," Windu shook his head as his friend took a seat next to him.

"It’s okay. It was worth asking," Obi-Wan thanked him, throwing a side glance to Anakin.

"Nothing on the docks either. I’m sorry, Captain," Rex shook his head.

Despite the many years that had flown by, Rex was still unable to call Obi-Wan by his first name. Their ranks were still the only way he could call both Obi-Wan and Anakin. Concerning Windu, everybody still called him Major anyway. If Obi-Wan had tried to fight his friend's habit at first, he had given up a long time ago. Instead, he merely accepted the title again.

"I may know someone," Cody intervened. "A lamplighter. I mean, it's not an amazing job but it pays fair enough."

"Don't put yourself on the line for me, Cody."

"I'm not. I know one of the guys working there. I'll ask him tomorrow, I'm to see him at the pub anyway."

Obi-Wan thanked him with a smile, but was interrupted by Padmé bringing a large saucepan filled with soup.

"Come on now, let's talk of merrier things," Ahsoka ordered.

"Leia managed to read the headlines of the newspapers today," Padmé chimed proudly.

"She's a clever girl," Rex nodded.

"As long as she turns smarter than her godfather, all is fine," Anakin added in an innocent tone.

Obi-Wan stopped his movement right before his spoon would reach his lips, and threw a serious look at his best friend.

"Well, I hope so too," he answered in this half-serious, half-humorous tone of his he always used to tease his brother. "Then, she will have outsmarted all the members of her family. Except for her mother, of course," he added with a wink to Padmé, making the whole table laugh.

The night went on until the sky was as dark as ink and the stars shining like diamonds lying on a layer of velvet. The constant fog that seemed to linger in the streets of London partly hid their cold light. Eventually, the group of friends broke out to get some rest before the next day of hard work that awaited them all. But when they left the Skywalkers' home, they all had a happy spirit and a smile on their lips.

After all, the only thing that mattered were the people they loved and called family.

 *************************

Taglist: @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi @yana-versio @goldenor5 @madamrogers

[hannah-deserved-better]

Empty Vessels Chapter One

Pairing: Castiel/Hannah, Castiel/Caroline Johnson

Other characters: Jack, Nick (Lucifer’s vessel)

Rating: M PTSD, trauma, torture, graphic violence, angst, psychological issues

Summary: Season 14 spoilers! Nick is suffering from some deep traumatic psychological issues because of Lucifer. To satiate his need for the power he feels when he kills, he has found the perfect target to take out his aggressions on. Former angel's empty vessels. Castiel and Jack go on a hunt to track down some of these empty vessels before Nick does, as his killing spree heats up. Their attempts to save these humans leads them to rural Montana and one particular vessel that Castiel is particularly vested in saving. Caroline Johnson's life after Hannah has been tragic, to say the least. She is found homeless, suffering from the intense trauma of her own possession. This is a look at the traumatic effects of angel possession. It is also a chance for Caroline to be reunited with her angel, as she has never forgotten about Hannah and wants her back. And for Castiel- a chance to fall in love and find the happiness that the empty won't let him have.https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926783/chapters/39769992

Everyone please feel free to reblog, comment, leave kudos on AO3, comment on AO3, whatever. I would love to receive feedback about my writing.

It was snowing when she arrived in town. The biting cold stung at her skin as she wandered along the sidewalk. The holes in her shoes made her pace slightly lopsided as she shivered. No one much took notice of the woman, with her torn faded jeans, the white hospital gown which hung from her shoulders, and the stained and painfully thin black sweater she had found on an empty bench the other day. Her black ankle boots had so many holes in them that she was almost barefoot, the heels of her feet were worn as they made contact with the cold pavement. Her hair, the darkest chestnut brown it could be without being black, hung in limp matted tresses to her shoulders, her thick bangs blew with the wind. She thought she should be used to cold Montana weather having lived there her entire life, but that was before her life changed, before her world changed forever. Caroline. Her name was Caroline. It was Caroline Johnson, now she was Caroline Vermuellen, having felt the need to return to her maiden name after Joe left. There seemed to be a finality to that decision. A truth. She could never have her life back. The tiny southern Montana town seemed to be the place for the wary. Aside from some sneers and hard looks her way, no doubt as they scrutinized her appearance, she was largely ignored. People moved past her, going in and out of stores, to their cars, groups of them frequented restaurant entrances as they went about their lives. Caroline walked past them indignantly. She was innocent like them once. She was just like them. She had a husband, a career, interests. She remembered her favorite subject had always been history and that as a high school history teacher, demanding though it was, had been rewarding, opening young minds to the lessons of the past.   That was all before Hannah. Before the word yes fell from her mouth, changing everything forever. The angel who asked her to put her life aside, to give her body, her mind, her soul to be used. She often thought back to that year, the year she spent as a spectator to her own actions. She had no control over her arms, her legs, the words that came from her mouth, it was if she was watching everything from within and her only companion was the angel herself. “Hello!” the sudden greeting piercing through Caroline’s mind jolted her from her thoughts. She blinked, coming to an abrupt halt before nearly walking right into the young man who had suddenly appeared in her path. “I don’t have any money,” she informed him, looking him up and down. He seemed young, perhaps 16 or 17. The sandy blondish brown hair that fell into his crystal blue eyes- eyes that seemed oddly familiar- and the dimpled smile on his face seemed to diffuse any immediate hostility Caroline had towards him. “I don’t either,” the boy chirped. “But you… did you know you glow?” Caroline cocked her head, squinting quizzically. “I what?” it had never occurred to her that she might appear as anything other than a typical woman in her thirties, to anyone else. There was a time when she did indeed glow- glow with the brilliant blue energy of angelic grace. But that was so long ago. “Yes, its what made me notice you,” he explained. “I was standing outside waiting for my father, and I saw you go by… I’m Jack by the way.” Caroline glanced around at her surroundings. She was across the street from the parking lot of a run down motel. There were a few vehicles in the parking lot, clumps of snow gathered at their tires. “I think you should meet my father,” Jack brought her attention back to him. “We’ve been looking for you… well, not you specifically, but people like you.” “Look I don’t know what you want,” Caroline warned. “But I just arrived in town, I don’t know anything, and I don’t have anything you want. I’m… no one.” Jack cocked his head, puzzled. “But you are someone,” he insisted. “You are here, I can see you. Therefore, you are someone.” He paused for a moment, watching her shiver slightly in the wind. “Would you like a hot chocolate?” he offered. “I can get one for you.” The promise of warmth was tempting. She didn’t know this kid, didn’t know what his intentions might be, and she had been lured into situations gone sour before. But this kid had a kind face and a kind of familiarity with him. She almost felt as though she should know him. Reluctantly, she agreed and followed him across the street. He led her to a motel room, and when he opened the door, motioning for her to come inside, she stepped inside cautiously. It was a typical rundown motel reminiscent of small-town America. Two plain beds adorned with cheap floral patterned bedding, a small table under the window, a bathroom in the far back, a worn, faded, stained brown carpet. Thin curtains shielded thinned out the light from outside. But the warmth bellowing out from the wall heater was welcoming and she eagerly moved towards the heat source, her arms and legs had long gone numb in the cold and the chance to be warm, if even for a moment, was all the encouragement she needed. But as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the motel, she caught sight of the other individual in the room. She recognized him immediately, he looked just as he had when last she had seen him. Those same deep blue eyes- now she knew who Jack reminded her of- the beige trench coat and blue tie. That same soft smirk that wrinkled the skin under his eyes. “Castiel…” she murmured. She felt as though her heart had just dropped into the pit of her stomach on sight of him. Mixed emotions flooded her. Mostly fear and deep-seated resentment. She quickly turned towards the door. “Get away from me…” she warned. “Wait,” he stood up, holding up a hand. “Caroline… please. Your life is in danger.” Caroline scoffed as she whirled to face him. “My life?” she repeated. “You call this a life? Look at me Castiel… look at what your kind has reduced me to. And in all of these… what has it been, four years? I have not heard a word from anyone above. You just dumped me off and left, not bothering to help clean up the mess.” “I’m sorry,” he offered, genuinely. “It’s what she thought you wanted. Your life back.” “Yeah well, I didn’t get my life back,” Caroline said as she reluctantly sunk into a chair, resolved to stay and hear him out. “What about your husband?” Castiel wanted to know. “I thought you wanted to go back to him. It’s what she thought, its why she released you.” Caroline glanced to Jack who still stood by the door, but closed it and was listening carefully; his eyes fixed on her. “And how was I supposed to explain myself to him?” she asked, as she recalled the first few months after she had returned. “After he saw me with you… I tried to tell him the truth but how could he even be expected to believe me? I tried… for months, I tried. I did everything I could to try to save our marriage. But… the memories, the nightmares… the flashbacks… her thoughts. They never really left me.” She stood up and started pacing. A familiar lump formed in her throat as she internally berated herself for getting emotional, for digging the pain up again. “He never trusted me again. And when I walked in on him in bed with a co-worker… I think I ran…. I ran and ran. I wanted to run forever; I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and when I woke up… in the hospital… they told me my injuries weren’t severe but that I had to stay for psychiatric evaluation…” Castiel stayed silent. His lips pursed in a thin line as he listened. The look of sympathy on his face was too much, and she turned, choosing to stare at the wall instead, as her vision blurred with hot tears. “All of that was three years ago…” she said, her voice low with emotion. “It’s been like this ever since.” “I’m sorry, Caroline,” Castiel offered. “I know that doesn’t help but… Jack spotted you because of what you are.” She looked at him, a single tear spilling from her eye. “What I am?” she scoffed indignantly. “What am I, Castiel?” “You are an empty vessel,” Jack explained as he moved from the door to one of the beds. “I could tell… you still glow with the trace of angel grace.” “What” she gasped. “But she’s gone, isn’t she?” Castiel sighed. Something passed in his eyes. Was it… sadness? Regret? “Hannah is gone,” he said. His expression seemed to say something more profoundly and Caroline suddenly needed to know. “Gone? She’s in heaven isn’t she?” she was almost dreading the answer. “No,” Castiel replied. “Hannah died. A few years ago. She’s… gone…” That hit her like a ton of bricks. Caroline fell back into the chair, with a gasp as if she had just been kicked in the stomach. She covered her face in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut as she struggled to compose herself. Caroline had spent these years thinking of Hannah. How much she hated and loved the angel, who shared her body. She hated her for destroying her life but loved her for… who she was. Hannah had the kind of strength Caroline never had. She was brave, confident, true. She had a compassion that, as Caroline came to know other angels, she had seen was a rare trait. Caroline knew Hannah had released her out of compassion, and the time they shared together was amazing, she had to admit. But it didn’t make up for the hardships she endured. Losing everything, being homeless, it made her bitter. Knowing Hannah was up there somewhere, fighting for heaven, it had always given her comfort. There was a kind of intimacy she had with Hannah that made her closer to the angel than any lover could ever be. And to know she was gone… Caroline wept hard. Harder than she had in a long time. She felt ashamed for being this distraught in front of Castiel and Jack, but she couldn’t help it. As she sobbed into her hands, she felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. She lifted her head to see Jack, kneeling in front of her, gazing up at her. “I might be able to bring her back,” he said. “After all, I brought him back.” He glanced to Castiel and Caroline met his gaze as the angel stepped closer. “You died too?” she asked. She realized she was four years out of the loop. When she was Hannah, she gained a kind of knowledge about the cosmos she hadn’t had before. She knew about angels, their true roles, the warriors that they were. That Hannah was. She knew about the empty, about heaven, everything. “Yes,” Castiel replied. He came over to stand next to Jack, gazing down at Caroline. “Caroline, I can explain everything to you, but it’s important we tell you why we are here first.” “He called you father,” Caroline glanced from Jack to Castiel. She frowned at the idea, not quite able to piece together how Castiel could have a son when she was sure he didn’t when she’d last seen him. She felt a slight ache at the meaning. She remembered Hannah’s feelings. She had felt them as if they were her own. “He’s not my biological son,” Castiel explained. “He’s Lucifer’s and-” he saw the look of horror spreading quickly across her face- “Lucifer and a human woman. Kelly Kline. She is Jack’s mother.” “She died,” Jack said sadly. “But Castiel is my father. And Dean and Sam.” “We sort of adopted each other,” Castiel explained. “But Caroline, Lucifer is why we are here. You are in danger because you are an empty vessel. Nick… you haven’t met him, but he is Lucifer’s vessel. He, like you, had a hard time adjusting to life without his angel.” “What does he have to do with me?” Caroline wanted to know. She wiped her eyes, taking in a breath as she sat there, the two men both looking at her carefully. “Because he is hunting,” Castiel explained. “He was left emotionally scarred by his experience with Lucifer, and it has caused some… psychological problems you might say. We have already determined he’s killed a number of people already. At first, they were all related to his wife and son’s murder but after that… he kept going. But he has a specific target. Empty vessels like himself. We’ve tracked down at least two empty vessels too late. He’s almost deranged… what he does to them… it's not pleasant, to say the least.” Caroline frowned. “And he wants to do the same to me?” Castiel nodded. “We’ve tracked him here so I think he has been looking for you. Somehow, he’s figured out who you are.” Caroline felt the waves of dread. Someone was hunting her; she didn’t even know who or what he looked like. “The empty is not as stable as it once was,” Castiel said. “Perhaps because of the way Jack brought me back. But we think Nick is using empty vessels, not only to act out his aggression but also to try to bring back Lucifer.” “I see…” she murmured. “So what… am I supposed to go into some sort of angel witness protection program or something? How exactly do you plan to protect me?” “We aren’t sure,” Castiel admitted. “But… bringing Hannah back would certainly be a good start. We just aren’t quite sure how yet.” “But you said you could,” Caroline looked at Jack. “Lucifer stole my mojo,” Jack said with a shrug. “I haven’t gotten it back yet, and I’m still not quite sure how I brought Castiel back. But… we can figure it out. We can try to bring her back if that’s what you want.” “I do…” Caroline said sadly. She realized then that she really meant it. She didn’t just want Hannah back; she needed her. She’d spent the past four years trying to forget Hannah, and the told herself she’d never say yes to an angel again. But she never forgot how Hannah made her feel- powerful. She wanted that again. Maybe, for better or for worse, Hannah was her life now. Hannah was her destiny. She didn’t think she’d be able to be whole again without her. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back,” she agreed.

[rowyourboat1016]

The episode

I want to write about the episode. The recent one. It had such a feeling to it, everything that happened, I doubt that I’ll ever forget it. I started feeling bad in the evening. The whole day had been weird, and when we were going to sleep one of my friends made a quick jibe at me. They usually do that. I don’t mind it - I think it’s pretty funny. Sometimes I wonder if they actually think I’m a dumbass, and I hope not, because I’m not. I like to think that I’m quite clever. I know I did one IQ-test once, kind of lazily, just because I was curious, and I got 120, which is above average. If you believe in that sort of thing. I don’t, really. But when other people consistently call you a dumbass it’s nice to have those solid things to back you up, you know. Just in case. Not that I ever did bring it up. I don’t even think the score is correct. To be honest - without telling anyone who knows me - I think I’m even smarter. If I tried for real, my score could probably reach quite high. 

Anyway, they made a jibe at me. It set the whole thing off. Like a wave that just flowed over me, drowned me in it. I told D about it, I think he could tell long before that something was wrong. He’s been with me every single episode I’ve had, and he knows me like that. 

I don’t remember much of what happened in my friend’s apartment. I remember my friend - who owned the apartment, and who made the jibe at me earlier - and E were laughing together in his room, talking about something. It made me panic, for some reason. I wanted them to be silent so bad. I don’t really know why it upset me so much to hear, but it did. I couldn’t stand it. D was trying to talk to me but I don’t remember what he said. I clawed at my neck, as if I thought that I could open myself up, free myself and fly away somewhere nice. Somewhere silent. But it was 3 AM and I wasn’t flying, I was sitting in fetal position in my friend’s couch in the dark, rocking back and forth and creating deep scratches in my neck with my fingernails. I still have them, they’re quite sore. I don’t think - despite all my episodes - that I’ve ever managed to make claw marks that deep before. I guess I have longer nails now. I always used to bite them when I was 17.

Apart from the claw marks and a bruise on my thigh, I didn’t hurt myself at all. It’s the best episode I’ve ever had that way, or the least worst, depending on how you want to phrase it. D didn’t even have to hold me, I did it all by myself. I guess in that way it was nice to relapse after so many years, to see that I’ve actually gotten better. I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. I just want to be happy.

We ended up leaving the apartment, D and I. Just like that. I went first. I packed my bag and all of my stuff, got dressed and left. I remember I knocked something over on my way, and that my friend asked me, from the inside of his room, if I was alright. I muttered something as an answer. I have a pretty high pitched voice, but it was so low when I answered. I just said “yes”. Then I opened the door and left. 

The original idea was that D was going to come after me, and that I was going to wait for him at the entrance door to the apartment complex where my friend lived. But once I was out, I just walked. I don’t remember when I started crying or if I was crying even, I had my headphones on and I just walked, straight into the night. I could see the stars above my head and the streets were completely empty - next bus home wouldn’t leave until 5 in the morning. There was 2 hours left until then. I walked away from the apartment complex and kept walking. A taxi drove by me, and I remember thinking that it was probably someone happy, returning home from a party. Apart from that, I didn’t meet anyone at all. After a while D texted me and I told him where I was - I sent him a picture. I couldn’t stop walking, so I walked in circles while waiting for him to catch up. I remember my breath formed little clouds. I think I was crying then. Everything felt like it was going in circles. I felt like I was 7, 10, 12, 15, 17 and 21 all at once. I remember thinking, no matter where I go in life this is how I will end up. Alone on the streets in the winter, walking empty roads and wondering what all the sleeping people in the dark apartments I’m passing are dreaming about. Looking at every street light and pretending it’s a star. Feeling oddly hopeful and empty at the same time - I could go anywhere. I had nothing to lose. I had nothing. I thought of my dad. I thought of a lot of things at the same time.

D told me that my friend had said a lot of things. He retold every single thing. The only thing I remember is that he had said that he loved me. Then I know I started crying for real, because my friend doesn’t love anything. I cried so hard my legs gave way, and I leaned back against a building. I remember that it was a concrete wall, and that it was brown. For a long time, I just stood there, against the wall. Crying. I thought my heart was going to break. I kept apologising to D. I kept apologising to the universe. I felt like I was an existential error, needing to be fixed. I felt like time was all messed up, and that I didn’t know anything at all. 

After a while I was on the ground. I remember that D tied my shoes, my shoelaces had been trailing after me like long snakes. I have those kind of boots where the shoelaces are so long, you can wrap them all around the boot before making a knot. I remember we searched for a tissue, because my nose was running, but we didn’t have any, so I breathed through my mouth instead. Together we walked towards the center of the city. I could see all the lights. I was still crying, because I remember I used my hand to wipe my tears and when I removed my hand from my face, my tears were dripping from my hand as if I had dipped it in a bucket of water. “Look at that”, I remember thinking. “I’m a human faucet.”

We walked for a long time. I didn’t come down for a long time. I remember passing streets with D, streets that were empty. There were street lights everywhere. I was happy to be there with him, just walking. It was as if we were alone in the entire world - that the only things that existed were us, those street lights, and the roads that never stopped. I love being out at night. It’s usually the only way I can calm down when I get like that - to go for a walk. I don’t like houses, especially not at night. I feel crammed and stressed. But outside, in the cold winter nights, I feel home. I feel like I belong there, on those streets. That it’s home. I know those street lights. Those taxis. The other night people - the homeless and the drunks, the strange people who wrap diapers around their feet and have hair that hangs in lumps from their head. Strangers whose faces tell entire novels, and who smells like every disaster they’ve ever been through. Those who have ventured so far into the night that no one longer can understand them. We are a family, them and I. And I don’t understand them, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t understand me either. They look at my vintage jacket and my hair and they don’t understand. I look at the diapers on their feet and the bugs in their hair and I don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s night, and it’s cold, and I’m out, and they’re out, and we’re just standing there, or we’re walking back and forth. And it doesn’t matter that we don’t understand. The only thing that matters is that I’m there, and they’re there, and we have nowhere to go. We’re just waiting for the daylight. When I was a child, people would warn me about walking alone at night. But I know that they won’t hurt me, the night people, because I am one of them. 

We walked to the central station, D and I. I remembered it opened at 4. I had started getting cold by now, the muscles in my legs were cramping and my fingers were itchy and stiff. There was one lonely silhouette in front of the doors to the central station, leaning against the entrance that didn’t open.  “It opens at 5″, D said. “See? Someone is waiting there.” I didn’t think he was waiting. I think he was hurt. Most night people are hurt in one way or another. We walked in circles, waiting for the central station to open so we could go inside. Just walked empty streets with no direction, waiting for the permission to go somewhere warm. And that’s why night people are all the same, because we were all waiting for the central station to open, so we could go in and warm our fingers and toes and limbs and muscles, no matter if our hair had bugs or not. I saw an ambulance arrive at the entrance, where the silhouette had been standing. When it left, he was gone. They had brought him. I know them by now. I’ve been out there for a very long time, with only short breaks of warmth in between.

When the central station doors finally opened we merged with another kind of people, the morning people. The shops that opened early, the sleepy staff arranging products and unlocking front doors in a monotone manner. The travellers with their suitcases and combed hair, waiting. And the night people, and us, who walked into the station finally, spreading through the halls like rats infesting a ship. Finding benches and places to sit, and finally warming our frozen bodies. I don’t understand the morning people either. Sometimes I feel like I am walking on the border between these two worlds - the world I desperately want to be a part of, and the world I was born into. I am a spokesperson for the night people, I understand them better than anyone else I know does. But I don’t belong with them anymore. I have other places to go to now. 

D and I sat down at a bench. We watched the shops open, and waited for his first bus home. He bought me a coffee and a cinnamon roll. We shared it. I downed most of the coffee. 

We came home at around 6 AM. We undressed and went to bed. I passed out quickly, with a dressing gown and a T-shirt on. I couldn’t stop freezing. 

I feel like I brought D with me home that night, and that’s why it’s so memorable to me. It’s not a sad memory. In a way, I guess it is, but in another way, I guess it’s not. I feel like I brought him to meet my family, finally, and he could see what it was like. What everything I’ve been through is like. I don’t think he understands. But it meant a lot to me. 

[mikamangata]

Green tea with honey

I had this on my mind for ages and needed to write it down so I’d feel better. Enjoy!

Summary: Taehyung is nine and homeless, after running away from his abusive parents. Most of the time he’s hungry, cold, tired and scared. But really, he just wants his seven year old baby brother Jungkook to be warm and well fed. Is he asking for too much?

Warnings: mentioned/implied child abuse, child homelessness (is that the right word? I have no idea since English isn’t my mother language, I’m sorry), mentioned drug addiction (it’s only mentioned though I promise)

-

It was December again and Christmas was right around the corner. Or at least Taehyung thinks that that’s the case since there’s christmas lights hanging everywhere and the streets are filled with people rushing around with enormous bags full of presents for their loved ones. Taehyung had never received a present before, except for that one time where Jungkook surprised him with a necklace he had made from an old shoelace and a shiny stone. He liked it, it was pretty and Jungkook had made it all by himself.

His fingers were numb from the cold and he could see his breath. The holes in his shoes were especially bothersome in the winter time since the icy wetness from the snow managed to crawl through them and hurt his feet. His thin jacket didn’t shield him much against the wind either and he pulled at the collar, trying to cover up more of his face. His right hand was warm though. That was because his little brother Jungkook was holding it in his own and their shared warmth helped a little against the biting cold. Taehyung looked at his seven year old brother: Jungkook was a lot smaller and thinner than kids his age should be but his cheeks still held some baby fat. He had big brown eyes and black hair that really needed a proper cut because it was already hanging down to his nose and the young boy always pushed it away clumsily, a habit of his. He also had a small scar on his left cheek from when his father had pushed him into the table face first when he was five.

Taehyung pulled his brother along as they moved through masses of people, unseen, unnoticed. The two boys normally wouldn’t be out in the cold weather, but after the construction site that they slept in got vandalised and was now filled with police, they had to search for a new place to spend their nights safely, without freezing to death. As they wormed their way through the many people, past the different shops, they stopped at a street food place. It was a small but inviting little thing, really. And it stood there through every season, now that Christmas was around the corner it had little lights hanging from the small canopy. The two boys went around the back and Taehyung knocked on the old rusty door. After a few seconds of waiting it opened, revealing a man in his late twenties with a nice smile and welcoming eyes. His hair was always a different colour whenever the kids visited, this time it was a fierce orange. “Taehyung-ah, Jungkook-ah! I haven’t seen you for weeks, you little rascals! I started to get seriously worried, boys!” The man scolded lightly. Taehyung immediately responded: “Sorry Jiyong-hyung! Kookie and I just got around a little, the police are investigating the construction site right now so we couldn’t stay there for the last few weeks. And I don’t want to go back there either, it’s not safe anymore.” Jungkook’s grip on Taehyung’s hand tightened. Jiyong sighed and shooed them inside the rusty, old, trailer-like snack bar.

Kwon Jiyong was a nice and kindhearted man. He was the one who noticed the two boys and offered them food and some warm tea after they were walking around last winter, half frozen to death with stomachs cramping up from the extreme hunger. Taehyung was highly suspicious at first, not trusting the man. His mistrust was only logical, nobody ever offered them anything without a price to it. But Jiyong didn’t want money, he didn’t want anything except for a smile from them. So since then, whenever they had a particularly bad week, they’d stop by him to get some leftovers. But it wasn’t just to satisfy their hunger and thirst, no. The man also gave them affection, told them that they were important and how much he cared about them and that they were just as good as everyone else, even though they didn’t have a home. The only problem was that Jiyong was barely there and he had problems himself: He fought his heroin addiction for several years, with no success though. He got into dept and had to sell most of his belongings. He was walking a dangerous line between homelessness and death through overdose, but when he was there, he’d give the kids some food and assurance.

They always left Jiyong with full stomachs and fuzzy hearts, happy that someone cared and today wasn’t any different. As they stepped back outside, the cold hit Taehyung in the face like a punch. The older realised that they had to find a place to spend the night or they’d freeze to death. He started walking, pulling his little brother with him by their intertwined hands. “We can sleep in a subway station nearby tonight. Just until we find something better. Alright, Kookie? It’s gonna be a lot warmer than outside, I promise.” Taehyung told his younger brother and the boy nodded. Jungkook wasn’t much of a talker. It had always been like this, but after they ran away from home it got worse. The young boy didn’t talk to anyone except for his brother. Taehyung didn’t mind though, in his eyes Jungkook was perfect the way he was and besides, the older talked enough for the both of them anyways.

They reached the subway station right as it got dark. Well, it didn’t really get dark because the Christmas lights were still shining brightly, but the sun went away. Taehyung walked down the stairs, Jungkook in tow. He stopped at the bottom and looked around, trying to spot a security man who would make sure no homeless or intoxicated people came in. After finding no such person, he walked to one of the bathrooms and pulled Jungkook inside with him, locking the door behind them. It smelled bad and wasn’t all that spacious but it was considerably warmer than outside and they had running water, paper towels and a toilet.

“You’re all dirty, Kookie. Take off your jacket and pullover, I’ll wash you a little.” Taehyung said as he moved over to the paper towel dispenser and took out a few. He wetted them with lukewarm tab water and turned to Jungkook: The young boy stood in front of him in nothing but a thin, dirty undershirt and worn out jeans. Without the jacket and the pullover he was so much thinner and frailer. Taehyung took one of his dirty arms and started to rub them with the wetted paper towels gently. “When I’m done you’ll be all clean again, Kookie-ah.” He did the same thing with the boy’s other arm and his neck. “All done! Now go wash your hands and face.” Jungkook obliged and went over to the slightly rusty sink while Taehyung began to clean himself as well. After the younger washed his hands and face, he turned around proudly to show his brother. “Wow, Kookie! There’s a boy under all that dirt? I almost didn’t recognise you! You did a good job cleaning yourself.” Taehyung praised and teased him lightly. Jungkook blushed and pouted, which made the older boy ruffle his too long hair.

After they were done cleaning, Taehyung layed a few paper towels on the floor and sat down on them, his back leaning against the wall. Jungkook joined him, curling up between his older brother’s legs with his head on Taehyung’s chest. The older of the two combed his fingers through Jungkook’s messy hair, lulling him to sleep. Taehyung didn’t allow himself to fall asleep since he needed to protect his brother. This was the first time the two of them slept in this unfamiliar place and Taehyung was afraid to let his guard down yet. Even though he stubbornly tried to stay awake, in the end his eyes closed for a second too long and he fell into a light slumber.

Taehyung was roughly woken up by loud, unpleasant noises. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was alerted: Somebody was banging against the bathroom door, shouting: “Let me in! I know you’re in there! Open the fucking door before I bust it open and you’ll get the beating of your life!” Taehyung didn’t recognise the voice but it sounded rough and unkind, especially after what he had said. Jungkook was already awake too, trembling in fear and pressing himself as close to his brother as possible. Taehyung had to think quickly; What could they do? The only way out was through the door, there were no windows or other openings. They couldn’t hide anywhere either since it was just a small room with a toilet and a sink. Taehyung also didn’t want to shout back at him because maybe that guy wasn’t completely sure that they were inside and he might go away after a while if he didn’t get a response. “Get up Kookie.” He whispered quietly, guiding his brother to the corner farthest away from the door. The younger was so afraid; big, silent tears rolling down his face, his whole body trembling with fear of what was about to happen. Taehyung stood protectively in front of his younger brother as the door gave a final, exhausted creak and flew open.

—

Author’s note: This is the first chapter! I actually wanted to just write a oneshot but I guess that didn’t really work out. The second chapter will be there soon and probably be the last one, I hope you enjoyed reading the first one!^^ I’m sorry that I’m leaving you hanging like that (I’m not hihi) Thank you for reading, if you find mistakes please tell me so that I can correct them! You can also give me some constructive critisism if you want, so that I can grow as a writer and become better!

[asoftershade]

A New Year

I sat on the subway yesterday, ready to close out the year at a friend’s party. My social media feeds were, and still are, full of people’s reflections, achievements, photo collages, and whatever other desperate attempts at putting a whole years events into a pithy post.

At this point, I feel like it is a little cliche telling the world how thankful I am for all of my blessings, how difficult the obstacles I overcame were, how I felt about my highest highs and lowest lows. I think it was that annoyance that drove my mind to remember A Softer Shade. I’ve always been bad at keeping up my blogs, but it’s probably a good time to return since I’ve picked up quite a lot of material in the year and a half’s worth of absence from this style of storytelling. I’ll keep going with a new story, however, where I just left off.

I stepped off the subway car onto the open air platform at Queensboro Plaza. Even the warmth provided by two layers of shirts, pants, socks, an overcoat, scarf, and beanie was only barely able to keep the biting cold of winter at bay. I filed off, thin boots crunching against the heavily salt caked ground, along with my fellow denizens of New York City. I heard a man yelling incoherently, first up ahead and then behind me, as I trudged down to the lower platform that would take me to my next destination. 

On the lower platform were small groups of others, though few traveling alone as I was. More incoherent yelling from upstairs, and I turned to look and see the same man from earlier looking down. His words came out as comprehensible as if he were muttering, yet at a volume far louder than anyone around him felt comfortable. Perhaps drunk or mentally ill or homeless or some combination of them all, as you often find in the New York streets. I saw him trudge down the stairs and turned back, impatiently eyeing the tracks for when the next train could take me away.

The man stumbled his way next to my right, loudly speaking as he was before, half facing me, eyes darting around. A group of men to my left shuffled away, likely thankful that I shielded them from him.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR.” he suddenly yelled. I smelt the alcohol off his breath clearly now, at this closed distance.

This exclamation received no response from anyone else; perhaps from some other reveler it may have, but everyone was clear they wanted no association with this drunk.

“A... a fucking year. What a... fucking year.” he slurred out more. Then turned to face me directly.

I stood their silently, half-expecting that he would meander away, as most often happens. But no such luck that night. 

“You talking to me?” I asked, deciding to bite the bullet.

“Yeah. Yeah... Yeah. I’m talking to you,” he replied aggressively, gaze then darting around. I myself noted that all others on this part of the platform had sheepishly wandered away, offering me up as a sacrifice.

Tragic, I thought, what you mean to say is that you’re trying to talk to anyone.

“Where, where, where are you from, guy?” he stammered, spittle flying out of his mouth into my face.

“Me?” I gestured to myself, as I wiped my face with my gloved hand, “I’m from the West Coast.”

“Oh... oh. Okay.” he said, somewhat dejectedly as if this was not the response he hoped for. 

I took the brief moment to study his face. Disheveled hair, line around the bridge of his nose, most likely recently broken. Bloodshot eyes, slight facial droop. Light brown skin of ambiguous origin, possibly Latino. Young, in his 20s, perhaps even younger than me. Dressed in a hoodie and puffer jacket, not enough wear to show living on the streets. Enough evidence for me to summarize he was merely a drunk, any of my remaining concerns in his overall well being dissipating into the cold winds.

“Yeah. It’s a cool place,” I stated dispassionately.

“Cool. Cool. COOL.” he recited tersely, mouth ejecting spittle into my eye.

Though thoroughly annoyed, I offered him a fist bump. He looked at it and realized what I was doing, then smiled a wide grin and returned it.

“You’re... you’re a cool guy,” he said, former aggression abating. I looked at him and then smirked, giving thanks in reply.

“You got... you got options for tonight?” He slurred.

“I’ve got one option, and I’m heading there right now.” I remarked.

“Good. Good. You go see who you need to go see,” he said, misunderstanding my statement, “you go spend time with her and have a good night. Not, not like me. Not like this guy. I’m coming from... I’m coming from... I’m going to, I’m going to go home, I think. What a great fucking night. Happy, happy fucking new year.”

“You too, guy,” I said.

A moment of silence was quickly punctuated by a gaggle of giggling Asian girls coming up the stairs. I saw his attention quickly shift over and to my surprise, felt even more disdain than I thought I already had for this man. He soon shuffled past me, as if forgetting I existed to harass the newcomers. I felt both pity for his new victims and relief at his departure. While I briefly contemplated intervening, I was saved the trouble by the gaggle’s male companions joining the group and shooing the stranger away and by their train arriving. My own train also arrived on the opposite side of the platform, where I was whisked away back into the night. As the train pulled away, I saw this sad man stumble around the platform, once again lost.

Maybe it would have been easy for me to continue ignoring that man. Perhaps he would have wandered off to annoy someone else. Perhaps he would have gotten more aggressive and attempted to throw me onto the tracks. 

What drove me to talk back to him was pity. I saw the same belligerent, loud drunk as much as anyone else on that platform. But I also saw someone pathetically lonely. So much so that he had resorted to trying to have his voice heard to two platforms worth of strangers. And so I had that tense, terse conversation with this man.

And yet, at it’s core I realized that I saw in this man the same desperate feeling I felt from everyone posting on social media. A cry to be recognized, to be loved, by as many people as possible... even just one other person out there.

[piracytheorist]

Daemons of Another Kind - Glimpses (Chapter 2)

A New York City Talking Swan (set in 3x12)

AO3 | FFnet

Ouch.

Ouch doesn’t even begin to describe it, he thinks to himself and leans back on the wall, his hand clumsily trying to alleviate the aching part.

Esther’s pained growl is sound as she appears from the corner.

“How is it that I don’t have balls yet somehow they still hurt?” she mutters as she half-limps to him and Killian stifles a laugh.

She rubs her head on his leg. “She’s going to have to drink the potion,” Killian says softly.

“I can’t wait to see their reactions to me,” Esther says, voice full of irony.

At that point they hear voices in the hallway. They decide to leave after them, having no idea when Emma and Henry might leave their apartment - they wouldn’t want to appear as stalkers now, would they?

Killian remembers seeing all kinds of… peculiar people in the streets last time he was here, but still a man clad in black leather with a swan walking beside him looks out of place even for this city. Everyone who is not absorbed to small contraptions in their hands - and even some of them - stares at them both in confusion and surprise.

“Is it trained?” a woman asks enthusiastically as she approaches them.

“Uh… yes? She won’t bite you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” And not because of what you think.

“Oh, can I pet her?”

“No!” he answers way too fast and too loud, startling the woman. He takes a few quick breaths before he schools his features to something more neutral. “Sorry, it’s…” He sighs. “She really doesn’t like being touched by others.”

The woman stares, however, at how his hand strokes Esther’s head almost absent-mindedly. “But she likes your touch, uh?” To his relief, she only sounds innocently curious.

Killian nods.

“Can I take a picture with her? I’ve never been so close to a swan before!”

“Uh… But you won’t touch her, right?”

“No, no, I’m just gonna take a selfie!”

Killian swallows hard. The more this woman talks, the more confused he feels. However, the woman simply takes a contraption - a talking phone, as he remembers - and stands next to Esther. Too close, Esther comments, but the woman makes sure to not touch her. The talking phone lights up, and a reflection of the woman and Esther appear on it, as if it’s a mirror. Esther turns her head to it in surprise. The woman smiles at her reflection and the picture stands still for a few seconds.

She turns back to Killian. “Could you have her turn her head to the side?” she says, pointing, and Esther does so, partly confused. The woman gasps in shock. “Does she understand English?”

Killian mentally shakes his head. Too much information in such a short time.

English is probably how they call their language, Esther provides.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “A little,” he adds carefully, and the woman turns to the swan with her mouth still open.

“You are such a smart bird!” she says and turns to the reflection, this time pursing her lips and making a funny face at it. She then stands up and thanks them both, walking away excitedly.

Killian and Esther sigh at the same time. He takes a look around, and he sees more people staring at them, some of them holding their contr- talking phones in front of them as the woman did before.

“Come on,” he tells her and urges her to walk on, away from prying eyes. That woman may have respected his wish to not touch her, but no-one here knows about the taboo to never touch someone’s dæmon, and who knows when they’ll bump into someone who won’t respect Killian’s wishes.

“I think you should fly away, dear.”

No bloody way.

“Esther, I’ve lived long and the only person who dared reach out and harm you is now dead. I remember hearing about a big park with a lake here. You can fly there and rest until further notice. I’ll have to stay here and wait for Emma.”

But…

They both gasp and prepare to run when two children start running towards them, their parents in tow trying to stop them.

Point made, Esther thinks and runs forward, flying away. Let’s hope no-one will attack me. Otherwise they’ll eat my Dust, one way or another.

Esther, he stops running, looking at her as she gains height. I spent two centuries thinking you were nothing but that. If you could never make such a joke again I’d be grateful.

She hangs her head low and looks at him from above. Sorry, she says with honesty.

~

I’m coming, dear. Is it too dark there?

Esther huffs. Not at all.

Killian cringes at her tone. Sometimes he forgets that she stopped being afraid of the dark when he did, and if he is honest with himself, he doesn’t want to think a lot about the time she spent trapped in the dark.

He finds her cleaning her feathers right at the bank of the lake, carefully growling at any passers-by who come too close to look at her. It’s good that dæmons cannot feel cold as much as humans do, or she would be freezing by now. However, he feels in his own body the warmth that spreads in her when he hugs her again. It will never not feel good.

They find a decent, quiet place to rest and lie down hugging each other. It feels only minutes after they fall asleep that they hear someone shouting at them.

“Hey, you! Pirate guy! Park’s closed! And what are you doing with that swan?”

Esther stands up fast, wanting to avoid any accidental touch. Killian blinks a few times before he focuses on the tall man with a torch on his hand… and a gun on his belt.

“What?” Killian says wearily.

“Central Park’s closed from 1 to 6 am. Didn’t you see the signs? And where did you get that swan from?”

“She just followed me.” Resigned, Killian stands up and puts his coat back on his shoulders. There’s no reason to get in trouble while he’s on a mission, so he dutifully walks to an exit.

We’re gonna have to sleep on the streets, then?

I think it’ll be better if you stay here, dear.

No.

Killian stops on his tracks and kneels down to look at her in the eye.

“You’ve seen how crowded this place is. Would you rather spend five hours away from me or risk being touched, or even taken away?” He always found that speaking out loud drove the point more quickly. Esther bows her head, muttering an Alright in her thoughts and walks to the lake.

He manages to sleep for a few hours, being jostled awake by random noises, other homeless people bumping into him and some of the fires burning too bright. As he leaves early in the morning, just a little before 6 am, he looks at the people around him and the weight of not having a home finally sinks in.

He has his doubloons, of course, and no doubt that the people in Storybrooke will be more accepting of them - provided they have their real memories - so finding a place to stay won’t be too hard there. But nothing will be the same again without the Jolly Roger, his home for so long…

He shakes himself out of his sorrowful thoughts. He’s on a mission.

~

It’s not the first time he stays in a cell, but it's the first time Esther is not in there with him. He still misses her, knowing that her presence would bring some comfort, but he knows the police officers - or however they’re called - wouldn’t allow a swan in the brig with him. She leaves the water to fly high above the park, giving him some sense of freedom with her wings flapping in the air. Through her eyes, he sees how many people watch her in amazement, some of them probably never having seen a swan from up close before, and silently thanks her for giving him a mental boost.

~

“Hook.”

He berates himself for having expected to see her happy. Instead, her voice is neutral, careful, almost cold. He can’t blame her - she was just given a decade worth of memories she didn’t know were real in just a few seconds, she’s bound to be a little shocked - but his heart breaks a little further at her tone.

“Did you miss me?” he says, trying his damndest to put up a smile. Judging by her sad reaction, he fails miserably.

“What… what are you doing here? Where did you get the potion?”

“Long story. I assume the potion came from your parents.”

“And they’re back in Storybrooke? How?”

“No clue, love.”

She takes a moment to let all the facts sink in, bowing her head and the knuckles on her hand going white with how forcefully she grips the vial.

“Wait,” she says suddenly, her head jerking up. “Where’s Esther?”

“At the lake in Central Park. Couldn’t just follow me in the brig, could she?”

Her head turns to the direction the park is at. Amazing navigation, he thinks. Killian knows where the park is because he feels Esther’s presence, but Emma simply knows the place well.

“Let’s go get her. I’m sorry I had you split up.” She turns her back at him, walking towards her yellow vessel.

“No need, love. You did what you thought was right.”

When they finally reach the park, Emma appears worried.

“How exactly are we going to get her in? They’ll think we’re abducting her.”

“But she’ll be following us.”

“Yeah, that’s not how it works here. Remember, people here cannot even imagine what she is.”

Killian sighs. “And it won’t look more peculiar if they see a swan randomly flying across the city for a second time?”

Emma glares at him. “Fine. Go get her. Let’s just hope no-one gets a video of that.”

She is looking outside, appearing worried as Killian and Esther enter the vehicle.

“Hey,” Emma says. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Esther says cheerfully. “It felt a little strange, all those people throwing me pieces of bread as if I needed it.”

“Wait… you can eat, right?”

“Aye, but there’s no actual need for it.”

“Hmm. Let’s hope there wasn’t any poison in them. You can never be sure here.”

“You’re worried about my swan, Swan?” Killian says.

Emma snorts.

So when are you going to tell her that dæmons don’t usually talk to other people? And that there’s a reason I’m willingly making an exception for her? Esther thinks.

To his dismay, he feels his cheeks flush, but Emma has already turned her gaze forward.

~

“I still can’t believe it.” Swan buries her fingers in her hair, anger making her body almost tremble. “A stupid flying monkey… of all things…”

“Perhaps he was actually human, just able to transform into one-”

“Walsh didn’t have a dæmon. How is that possible?!”

“You don’t have one either. There are a lot of exceptions.”

Emma just huffs in frustration and he wishes he could comfort her further.

She spends a few seconds staring at Esther before she speaks again. “How did you hide her last night?”

“I didn’t really hide,” Esther replies for him. “I slept by the lake.”

“And where did you sleep?” Emma turns to him.

Killian opens his mouth, but he just resorts to shrugging.

“Oh. Well, okay, you can both sleep here tonight… I’ll wake you up next morning to leave before Henry comes.”

Before they have a chance to say anything, she’s disappeared in her room. Killian feels his shoulders sag, whether it’s from exhaustion or general upset, he doesn’t know. Esther jumps to his arms and he holds her tight, sitting down on the sofa. He can’t complain, it’s definitely more comfortable here.

But they’ll be damned if they don’t stare at her door until sleep claims them. Waiting for Emma to appear and tell them goodnight, to look at him with the same lust and grab his lapels and pull him in her bedroom…

And pet me, Esther provides.

“Shut up,” Killian says tiredly but pulls her closer. It’s not Neverland. She’s not the same. We have to give her some time, more time.

Emma comes a little later to give them bedding and bid them goodnight. It’s a good thing that emotions are not very clear on dæmons’ faces, otherwise all the adoration Killian managed to mask would be evident on Esther’s face.

~

Emma thrashes around on her bed. It’s been a hell of a day and she finds herself unable to relax.

Fucking Walsh. For the first time in a decade, she thought she could really trust someone else besides Henry, trust them with her heart and the deeper thoughts even Henry couldn’t bear… and it was all a lie, a big ugly lie.

A tear runs down her temple. Even the time with Henry is a lie. All those years she spent thinking she was a mother, all gone.

She startles when she hears the sound of someone whimpering. She jumps up and throws her comforter off, ready to run to Henry’s room… until she remembers he’s staying over at Avery’s. She half-sighs in relief though her worry is not completely gone. She approaches the door and hears another whimper. Shit, could it be his?

She opens the door slowly, quietly. She peeks into the living room and there he is, lying on the couch, hugging his dæmon close and trembling. The swan is resting her head on his and also seems distressed as well, her feathers shaking slightly. Both their eyes are closed.

It’s not the first time she sees him- them have a nightmare but it’s the first time he looks so… pained. There’s a distraught expression on his face and he keeps whimpering softly.

She should go and wake him up. He-They are probably dreaming about the time Esther was taken away, seeing it happen again… all Emma has to do is walk up to them and wake them up, get them out of whatever horrors they’re seeing.

But it will be like an invasion of their privacy, won’t it? Why should she risk him being angry at her for spying on him in the middle of the night?

She closes her door and rests her forehead on it. She thinks back to all the times she comforted Henry after a nightmare… all lies, all fake. Does she even really know how to help the pirate sleeping in her living room with that? Would she ever be capable of something as simple as that?

She lies down on her bed again and tries to ignore the soft whimpering from outside and the tears that run down her face.

~

“Alright, Henry will be here in ten minutes, you’d better get ready to… wait somewhere outside where he won’t see you when he comes.”

“When will we be leaving?”

“Very soon. It’s already a long trip and there’s no need to waste any time. Ehm… about… her...” she says slowly and points at Esther.

Killian looks at her perplexed.

“Don’t you think it’s better if we hide her?”

“Hide her? She’s… quite big. Where?”

“In my trunk,” Emma says hesitantly.

His eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. “You want to lock her in something that’s worse than a cell? You do know she’s not just an object?” Esther takes a step back, half hiding behind Killian’s feet.

“It won’t be that bad… I can put some thick blankets so she’ll be comfortable…”

His expression starts to get angry. “She spent two centuries locked inside a dark cell. There’s really no need for her to go through that again, even for such a short time,” he says in a heavy voice and pets Esther’s head.

Oops. She’s struck the perfect chord that shouldn’t be struck.

“Sorry,” she says, though the thought that he hasn’t yet thanked her for releasing his dæmon crosses her mind. “So she’ll join us in the car, right?”

“Yesterday’s ride proved that’s feasible,” he says, voice still heavy.

“Fine. But you’ll be the one answering Henry’s questions. Now go.”

Henry doesn’t disappoint.

“Wait. We’re really going?” he says, reality finally sinking in.

Emma hands him his coat. “Yes,” she says in an almost cold voice.

“Wow, wait, is that… a swan?” he says as Esther walks in from the entrance.

Oh, great. As if he couldn’t tell her to stay downstairs…

“Aye, she’s mine,” Killian offers. “Her name is Esther. Esther, nod a ‘hello’ to the young sir.”

Esther obeys, making Henry stare at her wide-eyed.

“So what, she’s trained to listen to you?”

“Something like that.”

“What are you, in a circus or something?”

“Uh… you can say that. It’s not quite like anything you’ve imagined.”

“And she’s… docile? She won’t bite or attack or just… fly away?”

“Nope.”

Henry nods in amusement. “That’s neat. Can I touch her?”

Killian doesn’t mask his panic in time for Henry to not see it. “Uh… she’d rather you didn’t,” he says uncertainly, looking at Emma for help.

“Henry, it’s not polite to just go and grab people’s pets,” Emma says.

“Will she bite?”

“No, no, you have nothing to fear from her,” Killian says and moves a bit, providing protection for his dæmon.

“Henry, just don’t touch the swan. Okay?”

Henry nods reluctantly, but keeps staring at Esther all the way until they’ve all entered the car. He also stares afterwards, just not all the time and he doesn’t comment on her again. However, Emma catches him taking a few pictures with his phone while Killian isn’t looking.

Killian falls asleep at some point. Emma looks at Henry through the rearview mirror, and assured that he is too absorbed in his music and his phone, she finally takes the good long look of the pirate she’s wanted since she got her memories back.

She’s got to admit, he’s a little messier than she remembered. His hair is a bit more unkempt; which, considering that she mostly remembers them from Neverland, the fact that they’re unkempt here is important. He also looks just a little thinner, and dark circles cover the skin under his eyes, and not the type that appears after only a day or two of bad sleep. His head is bowed forward and his jaw is relaxed, hand covering Esther’s head whose neck is lain on his lap.

For the first time she allows herself to think about the hows and whys of him coming back for her. She bites her lip as she thinks that any answer to why he came back would not be received very well by her. If it’s a trap and he’s leading her right to it, they’ll be in trouble, but at least she’ll manage her feelings to that. If it’s not a trap and he genuinely came back because he didn’t stop thinking of her as he’d said… that would be hard for her to deal with.

It’s then that Esther’s words from Neverland hit her. She still remembers the casual way she asked her human if he’d be upset if Emma touched her. She still remembers how it made her almost panic and run like she was being chased away. If Emma thinks too much on it, and if she judges by the way Esther couldn’t really stop looking her way yesterday...

So she doesn’t. She turns her eyes back to the road and tries to drive all thoughts about him and his impossible dæmon away.

[letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked]

Coming Down

Avengers X Reader, Natasha X Reader, Steve X Reader

A/N: I got a few different requests for a part 2 of Holding on For Dear Life, and thought the idea was awesome! So here it is! Part 2! Be careful, because it got really freaking dark! 

Song: Coming Down by Five Finger Death Punch

Warnings: Angst, Drugs, Alcohol, Self-Harm, Possible Suicide (?), Swears, etc.

(DO NOT READ IF THESE SUBJECTS TRIGGER YOU! PLEASE! I’M SERIOUS!)

Word Count: 3,200ish (Holy crap!)

Part 1 // Part 3// Masterlist

 It's caving in around me / What I thought was solid ground / I tried to look the other way / But I couldn't turn around…

It’s been a few months since my run-in with my old team. I thought that telling them how I felt would make me feel better, but I was wrong.

I felt worse.

I’d been kicked out of my roommate’s apartment, because I couldn’t pay the rent. I’d been banned from most bars. I was living in the homeless shelter that I used to volunteer at, or sleeping at the park. I had nobody, anymore. The drugs were getting worse, and so was the alcohol consumption.

Worst of all: I couldn’t numb my emotions anymore - and my abilities were starting to surface, again.

Using wasn’t cutting it. My abilities would surface every time I was feeling too emotional, and I kept leaving burnt handprints everywhere. I felt like a fucking kid – trying to hide my abilities, again. I was starting to spiral, and terrified of the person I had become. I’d stare in the mirror and see the shell of the woman that I used to be. The dead look in my y/e/c eyes, my uncut y/h/c hair, and my – once coveted – skin was paler than it used to be. I looked sick. I felt sick. I felt lonely. I felt…

I didn’t know what I was feeling. There were too many fucking emotions. It was like everything was building. I felt like a dam that was about to break from the pressure of the water building behind it. My walls were wearing thin, and I couldn’t escape it…

“Y/n.” I heard a familiar woman’s voice behind me, as I spent my last couple dollars on a hot dog stand that I used to frequent. It was Natasha. She looked good. Healthy, red hair blowing in the fall New York breeze. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to find you.”

“You’re a spy, Nat.” I took a bite of my hot dog, turning away from her and walking towards the shelter, “You know how to fucking find me. You just didn’t look hard enough.”

“Y/n, please.” Nat fell into step with me, “Come sit down with me. I’ll buy you some food.”

I looked at the hot dog I had spent my last few dollars on, and my stomach growled. This had been my first meal in the last 26 hours. Who knew when I would get to eat a good meal, again? “Fine, but I swear to god, if this turns into the shit that happened last time, I’m leaving.” I shoved my empty hand in the pocket of my coat, grasping my flask in comfort. “And I will take the food with me.” I added, finishing my hot dog.

She smiled, leading me to a small diner. I remember this place. The team used to frequent this place after long missions, because Tony knew the owners. I’ve never been here, before.

It's OK for you to hate me / For all the things I've done / I've made a few mistakes / But I'm not the only one…

“So,” She started once the waitress took our drink orders, “What the hell happened? The team told me that you left, but when we saw you at the club, you said they kicked you out?”

I’d forgotten that they told her that.

“Yup.” The waitress set my coffee in front of me, and I took my flask out of my pocket, pouring a little whiskey in it, “Figures that they tried to fucking blame me. I mean, it’s not like anybody else has ever made a mistake on the team.” I took a long pull from my flask, before screwing the cap back on and shoving it in my pocket. I’m too sober for this. “When we came back to the tower, after you had been shot, I tried to see you. I tried to apologize for being so stupid and falling for that trap. Nobody would let me see you, and nobody would let me apologize. They immediately shut me out.” I took a deep breath, a deep feeling of resentment rising along with the temperature of my hands.

Taking a sip from my spiked coffee, I continued, “It only took a few days before Steve came into my room and told me I had fifteen minutes to pack a bag and leave. I had a bag of clothes, a handful of dollars, and nowhere to go. I couldn’t get a proper job or place to live because SHIELD erased all of my public files. I, technically, don’t exist. I had a place to stay for a while, but I couldn’t pay rent so they kicked me out.”

Natasha’s eyes were wide. She looked shocked, and disappointed. “Wh-what? Where are you living? How do you have any money?”

“Do you really want to know the answers to these questions?” I looked her dead in the eye, hoping that I didn’t have to say it aloud. “I’m not a prostitute, or anything – not that I haven’t been close to giving in – but you won’t like the answer.” She just stared at me waiting to continue. “I live in the homeless shelter I used to volunteer at, and I sell drugs. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I was getting irate, at this point. “Poor Y/n: kicked out of the Avengers and is now New York slum!”

“Y/n, calm down.”

Was there ever any question / On how much I could take? / You kept feeding me your bullshit / Hoping I would break…

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” I growled, hands starting to shake. “I have every right to be fucking livid.” I chugged the rest of the coffee and grabbed the flask from my pocket, again – chugging the rest of that, as well. “You may not have contributed to my being kicked out, but you’re not so saintly, either. It’s not like you have ever shown any concern about me before trying to save me from a trap.” I gulped in a breath, tears pricking at my eyes. “That was why I was so heart-broken. The first time somebody actually gives a real shit about me, and you get sent into a coma.”

“We cared… care about you.” She pleaded, leaning forward. “I know we didn’t show it as well as we should have, but we did… we do.”

I shook my head, “You didn’t care until you all realized how fucked up I was.” I sniffled, using a napkin to wipe under my nose. “Especially, Steve. He didn’t give two shits about me unless he was horny and wanted to relieve some stress. Funny that he feels guilty about it, now.” I laughed darkly, feeling my hands start to heat up, again. “I was the sad, little girl looking for any form of human affection. I knew that nothing would ever come from it, but it was sort of humiliating getting ignored by him afterwards.”

“I didn’t know.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

I stared at her. Is she for real? “Natasha. Are you fucking serious? I did tell you. You flat out ignored me.” I smelt smoke and looked down at my glowing hands. “Shit…” I took a deep breath, trying not to touch anything. “I fucking asked you if I could talk to you about something, and you looked so… uninterested in what I had to say. I poured my heart out, and you know what you did? You put your headphones in and asked me to go somewhere else. You said I was ‘bugging you with my childish drama’!”

Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion, “I didn’t know you were talking about Steve.”

I slammed my hand down on the table, branding my hot hand-print in the wood. “Did it fucking matter? I tried to fucking open up, and you shot me the fuck down.” The whole café stopped, staring at me. I couldn’t control my powers, anymore. The white-hot temperature of my hands started to move to my arms. “No. No. No.” I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing.

Is there anybody out there? Is there anyone who cares? Is there anybody listening? Will they hear my final prayers?

“Y/n, you need to calm down. You’re scaring people.” Natasha hissed, fear in her voice.

My eyes shot open, tears falling, “I can’t fucking control it. I need to leave. I need-” The shrieking of the fire alarm caused me to jump up. My jacket had started to smoke. I ripped it off of me, throwing it on the floor and stomping on it. “Shit!”

People ran out of the building, recording on their phones as they ran out. My hands burst into flames. “Natasha, get out!” I didn’t want her to leave. I needed someone to help me. I needed someone to really care.

She ran out of the café, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she did so.

I fell to my knees as the fire spread over my body. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was soothing. I didn’t realize how cold I had felt since I left. I had needed warmth. The flames started spreading around me, filling the café with smoke. I could hear the sounds of sirens. I could hear the people screaming to get back.

I’m a monster.

I watched as the clothes burned off my body, adding to the growing piles of ash on the floor. The whole building was in flames. The walls were staining black as the décor melted. I had completely destroyed the place. Somebody’s life was dedicated to this café. I destroyed it, the same way I had destroyed my family.

I let out a loud sob, lungs unable to fill with air. This is all my fault. I couldn’t control my emotions. I needed help.

I stood up, stumbling towards the front doors of the building. I need to get out of here. Tripping over the door frame, I fell onto the pavement, still completely engulfed in fire. “Help.” I couldn’t breathe. Is this an anxiety attack? I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The weight of the world was crushing me.

People were screaming, backing away from me in fear.

Suddenly, I was drowning. I sputtered, water filling my mouth and nose. What the fuck? The water was so powerful that it flipped me onto my back. I threw my hands up in fear, and the water suddenly stopped.

Opening my eyes, I saw the New York Fire Department, the NYPD, and the Avengers all standing there with a look of horror on their face. You’re a monster, their eyes screamed.

“Y/n?” Steve’s voice broke the silence. The flames still crackling behind me as the building burned down.

I looked down at my state of undress, covering myself with my arms. One of the officers immediately threw a blanket at me, so I could wrap it around my naked body. I muttered a small thanks, standing up.

Run.

I tried, but Steve lunged forward, pulling me back, “You can’t leave.”

I attempted to push him off of me, but he had super soldier strength. “Let go! Stop!” Tears streamed down my face. “Just let me go! Please!”

“I can’t do that, Y/n.” Steve’s voice was right next to my ear, “You burned down a building. You need to be contained.”

They want to lock me up?!

I stopped struggling, sagging in defeat. I deserved to be locked up. “Okay.” A surge of cold went through me, causing me to feel numb. Finally. Numb. “Let’s go.”

When he was sure I wasn’t going to run, he put me down. He kept one hand attached to my arm, leading me to a black SUV and pushing me in. Clint, Natasha, Steve, and Wanda rode with me. I was in the middle of the back seat like a prisoner. I stared straight ahead, mentally preparing myself to be back in the tower. I knew that was where we were headed, because it was the only facility with a cell block that could hold enhanced people.

When the tower came into view, my heart was beating faster and faster - as the anxiety of what was to come gripped me tighter.

Step away from the ledge / I'm coming down…

When we arrived in the garage of the tower, I looked over to Natasha. She was the only one of the group who hadn’t looked at me like I committed a felony. Yet. “Do you think I can clean myself up and get some clothes, before you all lock me up?”

She nodded, jumping out of the SUV and walking ahead of us.

“She can clean up and change in my bathroom.” Tony said, appearing in front of us as we walked into the building. “Shower, change, and someone will come and fetch you.” He quickly turned and strode away.

We rode the elevator in silence. That was, until Steve opened his fucking mouth. “Why did you burn down that building, Y/n? Was it for attention? Because you got it.”

I whipped my head around to face him. “For attention? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, “We don’t really know, at this point. You keep doing all of this self-destructive behavior for attention, so why would this be any different?”

Anger was practically radiating off me in waves of heat, “You really want to piss off the ‘attention-seeking’ girl who just burned a building to the ground while stuck in an elevator, Steve?”

He rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

I was seething. How dare he think I was trying to be ‘attention-seeking’? I was trying to mind my own fucking business, today! “Fuck you, Steve.” I rolled my eyes.  “Wait… I already did. Wasn’t that great, to be honest.” I was trying anything to insult him, at that point.

“Wait, what?” Clint turned and looked at Steve in shock. “You guys slept together?”

The doors to the elevator opened to Tony’s floor and I stomped out of the elevator. “I’m sure he will tell you all about how I probably was attention seeking and desperate.” I turned, glaring at Steve, “I mean, that’s what you told Bucky, anyways. I heard you fucking talk about it to him. You forgot to mention, though, how you knocked on my door. Every time.”

His face was red with embarrassment and anger, and he turned and walked back into the elevator. “Go get cleaned up and dressed so we can finally arrest your sorry ass.”

I practically ran to Tony’s bathroom, slamming the door. That asshole… I flipped on the shower, throwing the blanket in the corner of the room. I put my hands on the counter-top where his sinks were, trying to calm myself. I looked up, barely recognizing myself. I had soot all over my face, my hair was tangled and dirty, and I was getting too skinny. I looked well on my way to death.

The anger that was rushing through me diminished – an aching in my chest was all that was left. They were about to lock me up. Who knows when they would let me out, because they probably saw me as a monster. Just like I see myself. I slumped, staring at the sink as the tears falling from my eyes dripped down into the little drops of condensation collecting from the shower being on.

My head was pounding, so I looked in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror for pain reliever. What’s this? I looked at the random pill bottle with Tony’s name on it. Oxy? Oh, thank god. At least I don’t have to be sober where I’m going. I opened the bottle with shaky hands, but dropped the pills all over the floor. “Shit.” I muttered, kneeling on the ground to pick them up, piling them in my hands.

When I had them all in my hand, I sat with my back against the shower door – staring at the pills.

A small voice in the back of my head was whispering, you could do it… I could do what? What was that voice telling me to do? It would stop the hurt. What would? Did the whispering in my head want me to take more?

It's caving in around me / It's tearing me apart / It's all coming down around me / Does anyone. Anyone. Care at all?

I could do it. I could listen to the voice. It wasn’t like there was anybody who really gave a shit. The Avengers all kicked me out like I was garbage. What about Natasha? She thought you left. She tried to talk to you today! Yeah, she did. Was that out of real concern, though? She never gave a shit before. None of them did. They didn’t care about me, until they knew they fucked up my life.

Should you really blame them for your life getting fucked up, though? After all, you’re the unlikable one. You are the one that has the problem. They would be totally fine without you. They won’t care. They’re going to lock you away, anyways, and probably keep you in there. Might as well die on your terms.

Die? Could I do that? Could I really kill myself?

Just do it. Do it. DO IT! JUST FUCKING DO IT, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!

“Okay!” I let out a terrified sob. The sinister voice was right. I was worthless. I should just end the misery.

I cupped my hand, opened my mouth, and shoved the handful of Oxy in my mouth.

The taste was immediately bitter. The little, dry pills stuck to my mouth and back of my throat – causing me to gag. I crawled into the shower, tears in my eyes mixing with the scalding water, and used the stream to swallow down the pills.

I sat down in the corner of the shower, waiting. The shaking in my hands started to get worse as my anxiety rose.

Will this hurt? Should I really be doing this?

After a while, I felt cold. My body temperature felt like it was fluctuating from hot to cold, too quickly. It started in the tips of my fingers and toes, spreading to the rest of my body. My head felt like I was floating, but I started to feel an intense heat in my stomach and throat. It was like my stomach was starting to spasm. I gagged, and the bile shot out across my legs and into the drain.

Oh, god. What have I done?

I couldn’t breathe, because the vomit just wouldn’t stop. My head was starting to feel fuzzy, and I slid sideways. The cool of the tiles soothing my hot cheek.

What did I do?!

“Miss Y/L/N, I see a fluctuation in your vital signs? Shall I notify Med Bay?” FRIDAY’s voice came from somewhere.

I couldn’t answer.

I couldn’t feel.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Y/N!” Someone shouted from the doorway, voice filled with terror. “Somebody, help!”

I felt hands on my body, probably pulling my vomit covered form from the shower. I didn’t know.

Am I going to live? Am I going to die?

The black spots in my blurred vision grew and grew.

Then, the darkness overtook me.

I could never be / What you want me to / You pulled me under / To save yourself / You will never see / What's inside of me / I pulled you under just to save myself…

________________________________________

(It’s mean to leave you like this, so there might possibly be a part 3! *wink*)

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@luckynumber1213

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[pinkdestructr]

Homeless

Summary: You are stranded and unable to get help. You decide to take your fate into your own hands, and escape in the only way you can think of.

Genre: Angst, fluff, more angst. Lots of angst. Bring tissues. And ice cream.

Characters: Female Reader (Y/n), Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, some douchebag ex.

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, homelessness, starvation, language barriers. (I dunno, it’s just scary and sad okay??)

Length: 5.1k words

A/N: I can only ever write angst and being lost, sorry. If you’d like a part 2, please reblog/like this fic. ♥

Oh, you were an idiot.

A real, honest-to-goodness, idiot.

You should never have listened to him, you shouldn't have let him drag you all the way out here. You never should have believed he loved you.

And now... everything was gone.

You were alone in a strange place and you had no idea how to get home.

You had fallen for his charisma, his smile, his big dreams. He never seemed to rest, always on the move, always coming up with the next big plan. You were sucked into his orbit and you followed him wherever he went, like a stray cat looking for scraps. Any bit of affection he could spare, you drank it in and felt alive.

When he finally started returning your affections, you were overjoyed, willing to do anything to keep him with you. You had followed him to parties full of strangers, different cities where you could barely find your way, you sacrificed for him every time he asked.

So when he asked you to move with him to a completely different country, you didn't bat an eye. You packed the few things you had left from all your journeys with him, and prepared your paperwork. You were ecstatic, he had been hinting at a big surprise, you dreamed of everything it might be. But when your feet touched the foreign ground outside the airport, you wished it would crack and swallow you up.

He was being embraced by a beautiful woman, and he was speaking rapidly with her in the native tongue, and she clearly was enamored with him, their arms entwined as they began to walk together as if they had been married this entire time.

At first, you let the shock wash over you, she was probably just a work friend or someone from a party, this wasn't the first time a woman had gotten close to him. You followed, carrying the luggage, and looking for a cab. You had flipped through a phrasebook on the plane, and had some idea of how to get to the hotel, at least.

Before the night was done, you were stripped of most of your belongings and kicked out onto the foreign streets in the rain. You had only a few things you had managed to pry from his grasp, but it wouldn't save you now. You were alone. And he had left you, demoting you from his lover to a stranger in ten minutes. But he had called you worse things to the other woman, you had picked out a couple words, one of them translating to “assistant”.

Were you just a placeholder this entire time?

Your heart was broken and not even the rain could hide the tears as you sobbed openly. You stood there, arms clutching the coat and purse you had managed to snatch, along with a pair of his old boots. You were barefoot, wearing only leggings and a large pajama shirt. You were a pathetic sight to the world.

And this new world you found yourself in, was worlds away from your own. This was Seoul, South Korea.

Within the few days you'd been here, you'd learned just enough to know to keep to yourself, and just try to play the lost foreigner on a vacation anytime someone approached you. You only had money from your country, and you had no idea how to exchange it, or where. Your stomach would be completely empty if not for the two energy bars you had once stashed at the bottom of your purse. You portioned them out, a bite a day, just enough to keep from starvation, you hoped.

Your feet clomped on the streets awkwardly, the boots you had stolen were gigantic, and you had no socks to pad them. The coat was a bright floral piece that had no place in the brisk autumn air, reminding you of the spring, and the warmth that this season lacked. You kept the fabric wrapped tight around you against the chill, but you knew you would die soon if you didn't figure out something.

Following a man blindly everywhere he went, you had lost contact with so many, and you knew that no one would be looking for you, at least not anytime soon. Not before winter ate you alive. You had read that the winters here could be incredibly cold. When you were preparing to move, you thought it would be nice, an excuse to cuddle with warm drinks and wear adorable winter clothes. Now you cursed your naivety.

You had found a nice older lady who gave you some sort of hot broth earlier that particular night. She was running some form of food stand with a tent, and people were coming and going, drinking bottles of what was most likely alcohol, and leaving happy and warm. She let you drink several cups, watching your shivering lessen, as she tried to communicate with you.

You shook your head, trying not to cry, as you tried to respond, carefully enunciating every word, hoping she knew some English. Eventually she gave up, but motioned for you to eat. You felt awful, watching as she went to help other guests, as you stood there with a plate of some unknown meal in front of you. Your stomach turned, and you bolted. You wanted to be home, not here. You needed to be able to speak and be understood.

You wanted to be able to simply ask for help.

After running down many streets, getting lost, and then running even more, you wound up slumped against a wall, panting and crying, as the panic took over. You had been numbly scrambling this entire time, and now the real fear and shock hit you like a truck. Your heart was broken, but you would die here, like a fool. You had no way to get home, and you were afraid to approach anyone who looked vaguely official, what if they just arrested you, or worse. You couldn't even ask for water, your throat dry and begging for even the slight relief of rain.

You coughed violently at the thought, and then resumed your sobs. Your dry heaves and sniffles, your knees hugged tight to your chest, pressing your purse into your ribs. You were ready to give up and find a bridge, you would rather die by your own hand than by the circumstances of an uncaring world.

The next dawn came sooner than you had planned. You wanted to see it one last time, before you took yourself to the bottom of the river. It was beautiful, bright and golden. It wasn't the same mocking sunrise you used to shut your blinds on. It was warm and sorrowful, silently wishing you to stay. You cried, gripping the railing, the bridge walkway was empty, and you let the sobs release in loud waves. This was the last kindness the world would give you, and you begged for the world to reconsider.

“Please...I need help...” Your voice was weak and dry, choked by sobs. You buried your face in your hands as the sun rose higher, the city beginning to wake up in force. The beautiful glowing sunrise no longer shone just for you, and her gaze had turned to those that would be there to see her again.

You didn't let yourself think as you began climbing up onto the railing. Cars passing by barely slowed to watch, sometimes a shout could be heard from a window, but it didn't seem like anyone would keep you from this destiny. Your eyes shut, your hand holding onto a support cable to keep yourself upright as you took your final breath.

“Goodbye.”

His breath hitched when he saw the figure standing on the railing of the bridge. The sun making a corona of light around them, as the brightly colored coat flapped around in the wind. His feet flew on the pavement, his mind left behind, as if his hands could rip out the despair. A frail frame ready to leave the world, and all he could see was a desperate hope for help.

His hands reached out, and before he could grasp the fabric draped around the form, he heard a faint “Goodbye” and then a fall.

His eyes wide and his stomach dropping. No, this can't happen. Why would someone do this.

His mind still ten feet behind him, he climbs onto the railing, and without a breath, jumps in after the pitiful creature.

The freezing water of the Han River punches the air out of his lungs as he tries to remain calm, struggling with the water to find something to grab hold of, to drag her, yes, it's a woman, now that he looks at her hands, up into the air above the surface.

With a violent gasp, he breaches the water, and begins to drag her to the shore, keeping her head in the sunlight of the morning, the water surrounding her as dark and foreboding as the depression she clearly must have felt.

The first thing you feel is a ringing in your ears, then a bright light through your eyelids. Your first thought is to roll over in bed, but your thoughts jar you from that comfort and familiarity, as you remember that you are dead. Your heart drops and you wonder if this is purgatory.

Your body is cold, your muscles sting and ache, you swear everything is too colorful, as you pry your eyes open. The ringing in your ears is the sound of a heart monitor, the drab color of the hospital still too intense for you to look at properly, the lights stinging even your skin. You groan and try to move, but find that your body won't cooperate. It feels heavy, and even lifting your head slightly is an effort.

Your shifting and shuffling alerted something next to you, and you could make out some movement. Your vision blurred and tried to fix on what it was, as it clearly got up. A person? Purgatory has company, apparently. You try to speak, your voice a dry croak, and you hear a deep voice speaking words you don't understand, and then the ringing in your ears returns, as your mind spins. There are other sounds, you're sure. The blurry figure is met with more, before you're returned to the abyss of unconsciousness.

His heartbeat frantically sounds in his ears as he watches. The doctors checked on her, and she should be fine soon. Her body was severely dehydrated, and she was clearly suffering from malnutrition and exposure. She was homeless, and with her features, she was clearly from another country. Perhaps she was a tourist that got lost.

He anxiously waited, the calls he'd made earlier to his managers and group members barely took up any of his time or ease any of his nerves. He knew some of them were coming, and he sat there, waiting, wrapped in a blanket. The nurses had offered him towels, and he did his best to dry himself, but otherwise he just waited for dry clothes and someone to ease his mind.

As his knee bounced and his fingers tapped against the opposite, his thoughts flew to the moment he saw her.

The sunlight glowing and tangling in her hair with the wind, her coat doing nothing against the cold as it blew around her figure. The tiny hand gripping the cable, as if not wanting to give up yet. Something kept tugging at him, that fragment of a moment, it felt like she was screaming for help in silence.

His thoughts were scattered as an out of breath Seokjin entered the room. His mask and sunglasses doing little to disguise who he was, as the rest ran in after him. Each of them thanking the nurse who had to catch up with their long legs. Before even the door was shut, Seokjin came up and hugged him tight.

Namjoon let out a weak sigh of relief, hugging back. His skin was cold and Jin's expression through his mask was enough. He was angry with him for taking such a dangerous risk. The other members talking over the scene, asking questions, yelling at Namjoon for doing something so stupid. But Yoongi, in his silent brooding, stepped in and handed a bag of clothes over.

With dry and warm clothes wrapped around, he felt alive again, and sat down in his chair from before once more. The rest of the group had found places to perch, Taehyung and Jungkook not doing much to hide their frowns at the figure lying in the bed unconscious. Because of this stranger, their hyung had risked his life. They were ready to shout at her, even if she couldn't understand.

Namjoon just stared at her for a while, before Hoseok put a hand on his shoulder. “You did the right thing, Joonie.” He looked up at his hyung and smiled weakly. The other members relaxed a little. Still upset, but their animosity began to simmer away. “She looked like she wanted someone to stop her...Hobi-hyung, she's not a weak person.”

The looks shared around the room were a silent argument between the members before Yoongi opened his mouth. “Isn't she a stranger?” Namjoon moved his gaze from the sleeping form and to his hyung. “She doesn't seem the type, is all...” At that, Jin took a step forward and nudged Namjoon a little. “Don't tell me you like her, just because you're her white knight...” The frown that formed on his features was menacingly pointed directly at his hyung. “It's not that. She's just...” A long sigh fell through the conversation as his gaze fixed once again on the woman.

Jimin came up and gave Namjoon a warm smile. “Hyung, how about we get some food, and come back when she's awake?” The others nodded in agreement, and began talking to eachother about what to eat. Namjoon, outnumbered and without a real argument, conceded and left with them to find something to ease his stomach's relentless anger. But he felt uneasy, leaving her alone like that. He wanted to make sure the meal didn't take too long.

Again you woke up, this time to a normal hospital room, and a feeling of lead in your chest, realizing you must have somehow survived. You were alone, and spent a while just staring at the ceiling, processing every ache and complaint of your body. Realizing that you would continue to struggle, and that you likely would be indebted to a well-meaning stranger, when all you wanted to do was try again, made you sob.

The first ripped through your lungs like a scream. Within seconds a nurse came running in, panicked. She came up and made fretting noises at you as you continued to sob, your only thought to ask her somehow to help you escape before you burdened anyone else. But she clearly only spoke Korean, and you could only shake your head at her, the tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to keep the sobs in. The hiccups of noise escaping your chest as you tried to calm down filled the room with your sniffles.

She carefully held your hand and tried to get you to agree to something. Her eyes fixed in yours, and you had no idea what was happening, but you nodded along with her as she tried to explain. You made out “eat” and “gone”. You assumed you were being asked to leave. You nodded as she smiled, and left you with your shivering sadness once again.

You sat there, staring at the silent room. Your things hung on a rack to dry, the purse ruined, the coat dripping on the floor still. You sighed and went back to your thoughts, holding your face. How would you get out of this debt, how could you get home, how could you just get out of this altogether.

When you heard footsteps, you didn't look up, you didn't want to see more pity or confusion. Your mind lost in a sea of dull apathy and fear. When you heard the clank of a food tray, some more words you didn't understand, and the shuffling of something, you looked up. The nurse smiled and gave a small nod as she turned to leave. A meal sitting in front of you, the first time in...you couldn't remember.

Your stomach made its presence known, demanding the meal before you could uncover any of the dishes. You carefully tried the food, a simple broth with seaweed, some rice, and some sort of bland white meat. Probably chicken. It was overall very simple, but it was the most delicious meal you had ever eaten. You gulped the water, you savored every bite of rice. If this was your last meal, you were happy it was this.

You were lost in the rapture of appeasing your body's need for nourishment, when seven pairs of feet came shuffling into the room. Seeing you sitting up, smiling and eating, a sigh was heard, and immediately a cacophony of voices bombarded your small moment of warmth. You couldn't make anything out, even if it had been in English. Your eyes wide and your back edging towards the head of the bed, further from the onslaught of six men either asking questions or cursing at you violently. You couldn't figure out which it was.

The one who smiled at you, coming close and making slow movements, nodding gently at you and motioning to the other men to quiet down, he was familiar. You felt like you had seen him in a dream, but you rationalized that he was probably the one that saved you. His smile was sweet, the dimples on his cheeks adorable, making you smile a little in return. He took one of your hands, and motioned to himself. “My name is Kim Namjoon. The other six here are my friends. Are you okay?”

Being spoken to in English shocked you for a moment, but you recovered, clearing your throat a little. “Um...hello. I'm fine. Are you the one who found me?” You looked at him, concerned that you would owe this handsome person so many debts soon. For saving your life, and then for not saving it the second time. You couldn't ask him for money to get you home, you couldn't think of any way else out of this country, and your eyes filled with tears as you thought this.

His hand flew to your cheek, holding his warmth against your chilled skin. “Hey, it's okay. You're okay, don't worry! I got you out of the river, you're in a hospital. Just calm down, okay?” His voice was deep, and his accent made you think longingly of home. You closed your eyes, taking shuddering breaths.

The other men hovering around the bed, some turning to glance away or shifting, but mostly silent. You took another long breath, not sure what to say, as you looked down at your hands. One still held carefully in one of his. “What's your name?” His warm voice made your heart stutter. “Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” Your voice shaking as you looked anywhere but at the seven pairs of eyes on you.

“Y/n, why did you jump into the river?” His voice had a slight quiver to it, and your eyes shot up to look at him, worry and...sadness? He was sad? Painted over his face. You looked away, unable to answer. Your pitiful existence didn't need more actors in its play. “I was just trying to get clean. I couldn't find a shower anywhere.”

A gasping, almost mournful chuckle escaped him as he looked down, then shook his head, chuckling more. “Okay. Well, do you have anywhere to go?” You were fascinated by your fingers clutching your blanket suddenly. “If you're lost or something, we can help, Y/n.” “Hyung, what did she say?” The younger member looked from you to Namjoon, he was curious why he laughed. “She jumped into the river to take a bath, Jiminie.” “Yahh foreigners are weird.” The exchange drew your gaze, watching them talk, they had a familiarity with eachother that made you slightly jealous. Another member was leaning on the one next to him, and talking quietly about something, nodding and grinning.

There was a warmth you felt yourself to be at the center of, and you felt sad, knowing you'd have to leave it as soon as possible.

Namjoon watched you carefully, then patted your hand to get your attention again. “Hey, it's okay, yeah? Why you jumped, it's okay. We can help you, Y/n.” Tears filled your eyes. His face full of compassion and smiling softly at your wretched form. If you had met him years ago, you would have followed this person just like the last, and some part of your heart ached with longing, wishing it was the case. And hoping that he wouldn't have sent you into the wilds of this city to fend for yourself.

But he was a stranger, and you had to remind yourself that you couldn't bring him down, or these other men. They had dispersed more or less, two of them stayed by the bed, one of them sitting at the foot, the other pulling a chair up. “This is Kim Seokjin” the one on the chair nodded at you “and he is Jung Hoseok.” The man sitting at the foot of the bed smiled brightly and waved. Something about his huge grin made you smile back, and you nodded meekly.

He beamed and struggled to contain the need to jump up and hug you, as you warmed to him easily. “Namjoon, ask her if I can hug her!” Namjoon let out a tired chuckle and turned to you, translating calmly. You looked from one to the other, shy and a little scared, but you nodded, looking down. You found yourself wrapped in a warm, tight hug within half a second. He was energetic, his entire body humming trying to contain his joy. He squeezed you and gave your back some warm pats, and you tried not to get sucked into the embrace, to let yourself break down. The first comforting gesture made to you in years, and it was a stranger. You felt your heart sink as you realized this.

Before he could end the embrace, you wrapped your arms around him, letting go of the wall of resistance, as you cried, hugging him tight. Soft sobs escaped you as you shook, hanging onto this warm, happy person, for dear life. His face full of shock and concern, he held you and petted you, as he looked from Namjoon to Jin, confused. “I guess it's been a long day, huh?” Jin shrugged, and Namjoon sighed, relief finally finding him. “I think it's more like a hard week, at least. We should make sure she has a place to stay, hyungs.” Jin agreed, with Hoseok nodding enthusiastically. You quieted, your sobs mere hiccups now, but you kept your face buried in his shirt.

You were taken to the dorms, simply because Namjoon felt he couldn't leave you on your own. Which he was right, but you didn't want him to know you still wanted to leave. Your quiet demeanor made you difficult for the others to approach you, but Hoseok and Jin warmed to you, as you gave them small smiles when they spent time with you inbetween practice and work. Jin mothered you, or more like smothered you. Ensuring you ate, even if his English was poor, and you began to pick up a few words in Korean, able to communicate, if only a tiny bit. Hoseok always made sure to get you to smile a lot around him, and would try to get you to dance with him or other silly acts.

But otherwise you were trailing behind Namjoon for two days, quiet and tired. He was incredibly busy, but he never wanted to give you the opportunity to slip away. So he would talk to you often when he wasn't recording or dancing with the rest. It made you weary, knowing you were under such close supervision.

However, you began to open up to him a little, and soon Namjoon found what had happened and why you had no place to go, sitting in a living area of the dorm with him comforting you while you spoke. But something snapped at the end of your retelling. Watching his tall frame go from hunched and relaxed, trying to soothe and be non-threatening, to static rage, his shoulders stiffening, shifting to show how large he truly was, his jaw clenched with anger. He narrowed his eyes and his gaze flew miles away, focused on a singular thought now. His grip on your hand going from soft and gentle, to still and tight, almost painful.

As the fear took root in your veins, you tore from him and ran. Every fragment of you singing to hide, you could sense the violence he had bubbling under the surface. Under his sweater were muscles that had ferocious possibilities. The dorm was still new and unknown, but you slipped out the door, racing and light on your feet, trying to find a place to hide as your bare feet flew down the hallway.

The reasonable half of your mind tried to tell you to stop, to go back. He wasn't going to hurt you. But every breath you took filled you with fear. Your chest ready to burst with screams and sobs. You stumbled at the stairwell, grasping the railing. You could go down, to the strangers and the myriad unknowns that they brought. You could go up, easier to find you, but likely alone.

Without a breathe between your thoughts, you raced up the stairs, your thoughts and footfalls covering any sounds of boots and shouts of your name. You needed to feel safe. Even if it was simply looking up at the sky and thinking of the sky that hung over your old home. When you reached the roof access door, you were trembling, grasping the handle with weak hands. With great effort, you pushed through, and were blessed with a clear sky as the sun began to set.

Your eyes welled with tears at the sight. The sun was becoming the gentle voice of a mother you didn't know you missed. She was filling the sky with purples and oranges, cool blues rolling in where her touch could not reach. She twinkled and flickered across the buildings in the skyline, telling the world that she would be back soon. And your heart ached deep down, for that comfort and safety was now so foreign to you. Your knees hit the ground and you began to sob as the sun dipped out of sight, the sky darkening quickly.

You couldn't feel anything else, just the cold concrete of the roof under you as you laid there crying. A very tired Jungkook had found you, as the others had run around the dorm, looking for you in a buzzing mess of worry. He plopped down beside you, your shoulders shaking with the sobs as you still didn't register that you were no longer alone. He sighed and watched, pulling out his phone to send a message to the rest that you had been found.

He watched you as you cried out the last of your tears, and let out a long, aggravated sigh. Turning to the sound, you weakly propped yourself up to wipe your face with the sleeve of your now dirty shirt. He was less than impressed, still unable to trust this stranger who almost killed his leader. You looked up at him, his face set and uncaring, as he seemed to be impatiently waiting. You gave him a tiny smile, an apology for having to come all the way up to the roof. He turned away with a tsk, clearly annoyed at your attempt to be friendly.

You sat up and tried to remember anything you could say to him, anything to ease the tumultuous aura that drifted between the both of you. “Sorry.” He looked at you in the darkening light, then tsked and got up, hearing the footsteps of the others reaching the top of the stairwell. You rubbed your face as you looked to the group of men standing around the door, panting and most of them furious. Your spine shivered at the sight, half of them ready to shout at you, their faces dark with anger. With Jin and Namjoon trying to catch their breaths, Hoseok was the first to run up to you, pulling you up into a hug. “Aish, Y/n! You worried us sick! Never do this again! You can't just go running off!” You could pick out a few words, and all you could manage were muffled “Sorry”s into his jacket.

The next hour was you apologizing repeatedly as you were scolded or coddled, the group escorting you down the stairs and Namjoon taking a keen grip on your arm to make sure you don't try to run away again. Once in the dorm again, most of the men went back to their various rooms, leaving you and Namjoon in the living area alone.

“Why did you run away, Y/n.” His voice was stern, he looked right into your eyes, not giving you any room to look away or delay your excuse. “I...was scared.” You tried to turn your gaze to your fingers, but he took hold of your shoulder and lifted your chin with his free hand. “I would never hurt you, Y/n.” You nod slowly, staring into his eyes as they were overflowing with concern and guilt.

“I'm sorry I scared you. But next time, please don't run away like that. I thought...” His voice dropped as he choked on the next words. Something in his expression made you frightened, but not of him. You had made him panic, and his heart must have hurt, thinking you were dead already. For once you felt like you couldn't bear to do this to him. You placed your hand against his cheek, and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Namjoon.” Hearing you practicing his native language, he smiled and chuckled, leaning into your hand. “Don't do it again, okay?” He sighed, relief washing over his frame and he pulled from your touch to shove his hands in his pockets. “I think it's time to head to bed, Y/n. Tomorrow we're going to visit the embassy, to get your papers. Then we can find you a flight home.”

You smiled a little, but inside you began to feel a sinking ache in your heart. You didn't want to leave, not just yet.