#why i thought that or tried examining it more deeply and wrote me off so badly I just

[milfbrainrot]

I think if I do have adhd it's funny that spending so much time on tumblr where shitty executive dysfunction is the norm has convinced me that everyone is just like this so of course I struggle so badly rather than the "ur self diagnosing from the internet!" effect everyone thinks it has.

[bluelolblue]

Lost Memories

Note: I've been writing this all day. First crossover I created Steven Grant x Santino D'Antonio, so it's Moon Knight and John Wick crossover. Also, I took some canon show dialogs for a start, switched Layla with Santino lmao and then wrote some original stuff that didn't happen.

Enjoy these two being confused.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“What? I thought we said Friday? Today.” 

Friday was today, right?

“Right. Welcome to Sunday,” his date replied sarcastically.

“Come on, no. I think Friday still comes after Thursday, doesn't it?” Steven tried again, this time with a little joke.

“It doesn't change the fact that today is Sunday, which means lose my number. Cheers.” And she hung up before Steven could get any more words out.

Unsuccessful date. Well… it wasn't even a date at this point. He just ended up eating a steak alone, and he was a vegan. Too much has been happening lately, might as well get a steak.

Steven returned back home after a while, confused and humiliated, eating his box of chocolate that was supposed to be for the date. He gave a few sprinkles to his fish, Gus, too. 

“If you're Gus, I'm the bloody Queen of Sheba,” he said, turning to walk away from the fish tank when a few pieces of chocolate fell on the floor.

Steven sighed, crouching down to pick them up when he noticed something weird on the floor. He pulled the rag away, dragging a little table to the spot where the rag was over the outlined corners on the floor. He looked up seeing that one of the wooden tiles was a bit out of place. 

“What is this about?”

He climbed on the wobbly table, examining the wooden tile and realizing that he could move it away, revealing an old phone and a key in the hole.

Later, Steven sat by the table, having his reading glasses on, checking out the old flip phone and seeing missed calls from… Santino? And so many missed calls from him. Just when he was about to press the call button, Santino was calling again.

Steven flinched, standing up and tossing his glasses on the table in disbelief, thinking if he should answer it. And he decided to answer.

“Yeah?” He asked quietly.

“Oh, my God, you're alive.” Came from the other side of the line, a hint of Italian accent that Steven caught.

“Yeah, alright,” Steven replied nervously.

“That's it? I've been texting and calling you for months. You couldn't give me any sign that you were okay? I thought something happened to you. Where are you? Where've you been?” 

“Uh…” Steven wasn't sure what to say, he didn't even know this Santino that was calling him for months. 

“Hello? You…” Santino paused to sigh.

“Sorry, I just found this phone in my flat, and I'm just trying to figure out whose it is,” Steven explained.

“What is with this accent?” Santino asked, clearly sounding confused.

“What?”

“What is happening right now?” 

“Sorry, who do you think I am?” Steven asked, trying to look for more information.

“What do you mean, who? What's wrong with you, Marc?” Santino was getting frustrated, hanging up on Steven.

“What did you just call me? Who is this?” Steven paused, “Why did you call me Marc? Hello?” And he realized Santino hung up.

Steven could feel his panic raising, again being called Marc, this was getting stranger by the day. 

“No, no, no. Come on, come on,” Steven murmured as he tried calling back but Santino wasn't picking up. Great. Just what he needed, adding more confusion to this day.

He needed rest, he needed time to think about everything. So, he gave it time, not looking at that damn phone, pacing around his apartment, trying not to think about it.

It was getting late when the phone rang once again.

“Why didn't you answer-” Steven started but got cut off.

“I want to see you tomorrow. There are still papers you have to sign,” Santino said.

“Papers? What- what papers?” 

Santino sighed deeply before answering, “What you wanted. After everything, you told me that we needed to move on.”

“What? Are we married?” 

“I don't know what's wrong with you,” Santino muttered to himself but Steven could still hear him. “Yes, but obviously you have other plans-”

“Okay, listen. I really don't know what's happening. I thought it was Friday, I was supposed to have a date only to find out it's bloody Sunday, and now I find this phone with hundreds of missed calls from you, and I don't even know you and all this is just too much for one bloody day,” Steven explained, he sounded like he was about to break down. This day was indeed stressful and this was not making it any easier.

“Okay, okay, relax,” Santino changed his tone of voice, not wanting to upset him even more. 

“No, I can't relax. Who is this Marc, and what does he have to do with me? I'm Steven Grant!”

Santino chuckled faintly, trying to hide that laugh that escaped him. “I'm sorry… alright, Steven Grant, I think I know what's going on.” 

“Yeah, you do? Or you're just having a laugh?” Steven asked, a bit offended.

“Tell me where you live now, we can talk this out in person,” Santino suggested.

Steven was a bit hesitant, telling his address to a stranger. But Santino apparently wasn't a stranger. So, he agreed, giving him his address. 

“Marc- Steven. I'm just worried about you. I hope we'll both know everything tomorrow.”

“Right, yeah,” Steven murmured. 

This night was restless, almost the same as his previous nights, barely any sleep, again his one leg chained to the bed. He was overthinking, his whole life was turned upside down in such a short time. Perhaps tomorrow he will have his answers.

The other day, when he was returning back home after his work, he noticed a nicely dressed man, standing near the entrance for Steven's apartment.

“Santino?” Steven asked, glancing at him and actually admiring his look. He looked like a gentleman compared to him.

“Ah, you put me through a lot to get here,” Santino complained, however having a smile on his face. 

“I'm sorry,” Steven apologized, opening the door for him and guiding him to his apartment.

His apartment. Steven forgot how messy it was, but Santino seemed to immediately get interested in Gus. 

“You have a fish? Does it have a name?” Santino asked, standing in front of the fish tank, admiring the little goldfish.

“Gus. That's his name,” Steven replied, surprised by Santino's curiosity. 

Santino hummed in response, glancing around until saw the bed with the chain. “Are you living with someone else?” 

“No, no. This is my mom's flat.” 

“Okay, so you're talking with her again?” 

That was a bit of an odd question, of course Steven was talking with her almost every day, so he just hummed in response. He watched how Santino noticed a book, but not just any book.

“Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?” Santino turned to look at Steven, nodding in amusement. 

“She's my favorite poet.” 

“No, she's my favorite poet.” 

Steven looked at him in confusion, “That's mental.” 

Santino smiled a little, walking over the table with more books. “So you're learning French and hieroglyphics?” 

Steven joined him, “Yeah, well… that's not that impressive, really. It's not like hieroglyphics are a whole language. It's more like a-”

“Like an alphabet,” Santino cut him off. 

Steven blinked but liked the way Santino knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Yeah, and… well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it.”

Santino nodded and hummed but was unable to hold back a chuckle. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean that in a weird way-”

“No, you can stop acting now, Marc,” Santino said after managing to control his laugh. 

“I'm not acting.”

“Right. I thought you were in danger and using an accent to keep yourself safe, but… now I'm not so sure.” Santino walked over to a bag, getting out the papers. “Let's just get this over with. You sent these papers but you never signed them.” Santino handed him the papers waiting as Steven got his reading glasses out of his pocket. It was divorce papers.

“I would never divorce you.”

Santino seemed flattered for a moment. He wished it was true, he wished these papers weren't right here. 

“You're saying this now… after everything.” 

Steven could hear the pain in his voice saying that, so he meant it. “I… I don't know what's happening, I'm sorry.” He felt bad because Santino did come all the way over here only to be even more confused.

Santino swallowed, fidgeting his pinky ring, “I don't know either. I thought you'd want to sign these papers so it's all over.”

“I don't want to,” Steven said softly. “I'm not Marc, but I wouldn't divorce you.” 

“You are Marc.” This time Santino sounded more desperate, trying to get Steven to understand. He pulled out a small picture from his wallet of them two at the beach. “This is you, we are married. Do you need more proof?”

Steven hated how he couldn't remember this, how Santino was trying so hard to convince him and it seemed like Santino was right. That really was him.

“I'm sorry, I don't remember this.” Steven was trying, maybe he saw the beach somewhere, but nothing was adding up. Nothing was making sense.

Santino put the pictures away, looking disappointed. “Maybe I should just leave then.”

“No, please. We can talk about this. I'd lIke to hear more, maybe I'll find out more about Marc that way.” That got Santino's attention, thinking about his options.

“Fine. I guess we can talk some more about this. I just… I want you to remember.” Santino looked at him, making eye contact and Steven sighed, looking away in embarrassment.

“I know. I'll try to, for you.”

They needed some more time to process all this and it was a good decision for Santino to stay. Besides, Steven seemed really sweet, maybe he wasn't Marc, but Santino liked him. Spending more time with him will maybe help him understand the whole situation.

[techtainia-makes-things]

Definitely not me being weak for MTMTE Drift. Also nice tree houses…Anyways, this is technically a prequel to a soft Drift fic that I wrote in December. I’m planning on posting that one a bit closer to my local snowfall season, since snow is a key part of the fic.

A fair warning: I wrote this half asleep

—

After all that time up in space, a weekend on Earth seemed like a good idea. Of course you loved the view of the stars. You loved your giant alien robot friends. The Lost Light was simply the right place for you. 

But this was a nice break from the chaos.

At some point, without your knowledge, Rodimus had approved a trip to Earth. The rest of the crew would join you and Drift in a few days, but for now it was just you and him, driving on a long, winding road to some mystery location.

He pulled onto a dirt road and parked in a dirt lot.

This of all things, was what shook you from the trance that the trees had held you in. “Wait…why did you park here?” Then you noticed the fairy lights in the woods. 

Instead of transforming, Drift activated his holoform. He flashed you a boyish smile. “You’ll see.”

You stepped out of his alt mode and he brought you up a path to a rather luxurious tree house. The next thing you knew, you were unpacking your bags and examining the two beds in the loft. “Are you sure this is safe? The door locks properly, right?”

“Y/N, I have to admit that I am a bit offended that you think I would put you in danger and not protect you.”

You smiled at the thought. “I know, but I’ve heard stories of…things happening to people who stay in places like these…”

“You’re starting to sound like Red Alert.” 

You sigh. “You know what? You’re right. Just promise that if anything does happen, you’ll protect me.” And that was when you noticed the s'mores supplies on the counter. “Does this place have a fire pit?”

Drift took one of your hands in his, and looked into your eyes so deeply that it was as if he were staring into your very being. He probably was. “I promise. Yes, I thought you would like to have...s’mores? Is that what you call it?”

You nod, still not pulling away from him. “If that’s the case, what are we waiting for?” Now it was your turn to drag him down to the fire pit. You and Drift set up the fire together, careful to avoid burns.

With a marshmallow on the end of a long metal skewer and the setting of the sun, you curled up next to him with your head on his shoulder. The chirping of the birds died down and the croaking of frogs began. You blew out the fire on your marshmallow and stuck it between two graham crackers and a layer of chocolate. It was the first s’more. 

You handed it to him. “I think you should try it first.”

He tried to take a bite of it from your hand, but had to take hold of it as the graham cracker started to break. His almost human eyes widened. “It’s so sweet.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“I would call it an unfamiliar thing.” He took another bite and practically devoured it. “Like your gentle company.”

You pull yourself closer to him as he presses his lips onto your forehead. Not in a kiss, but something just as heartfelt. “Well, considering that you took a second bite, you like both?” 

He smiled at you, but it wasn’t the same boyish grin as before. “More than anything.” He pulled you in closer.

You drifted off not long after, and after placing you in your own loft bed and pulling the blankets over you, he slipped off as well. Content. Warm. Loved.

[amimimi]

kissing face

synopsis: tiktok makes langa a lil insecure

genre: fluff

pairing: langa x reader

warnings: mentions of insecurity and physical appearance, kissing

word count: 1.4 k

notes: i started thinking about what langa’s fyp on tiktok would look like (it would be chaotic. pure, utter chaos. that and cooking tutorials. no in between) and then I wrote a lil paragraph for sh*ts and giggles. and THEN it turned into...all of this. also, i wrote this during my study breaks so if the gramma/spelling is off, it’s because my brain is actually fried. enjoy!

langa sees all those tiktoks making fun of that face boys make before they kiss you and he’s like “ew?”

but then he tries to practice kiss in the mirror and he’s horrified because wtf wtf wtf wtf? has he been kissing you like this since you started dating him? why haven’t you said anything?

so when he’s over at your house for a studying session, the both of you sitting on your bedroom floor, you don’t notice that langa is purposely withholding from kissing you because you’re in study mode.

the timer on your phone goes off, signaling for you both to take a break. sighing deeply, you rub the back of your cramping neck and look up from your laptop. you turn over to langa, who’s eyes are glossed over from reading, his hair a mess from frustratedly running his fingers through his locks—he looks like he’s just been shuttled from another dimension.

“i’ve...been rereading the same five sentences for the last thirty minutes” he murmurs, sounding equally as dazed as he looks.

this earns a giggle from you, as you shimmy over to wear he sits. with a sympathetic smile on your face, you smooth his hair down as you coo “poor baby”, before you start giggling again.

langa, whose brain is way too fried to respond, can only stare at you, blinking ever so slowly. you settle closer to him, cupping his cheeks and langa catches your gaze dropping to his lips.

suddenly, he gets a mental image of those god awful expression he saw on tiktok and he’s shaken from his studying induced stupor. Wide eyed, langa wriggles out you grasp feeling a little bad at your confused expression.

“is something the matter?” you ask, frowning slightly. “i’m sorry—”

langa places his hands over your cheeks before you can finish your apology. “close your eyes” he says, straight faced.

you blink. “huh?” you question.

“can you close your eyes...please?” he mumbles, a lot less confident than before. he pouts a little in an attempt to conceal the fact that he’s slightly blushing (you notice).

still confused, you shut your eyes. “okay, but hurry up. your hands are cold—” you stop yourself when he feel his breath fan your face. without thinking, you inhale on instinct. it was embarrassing to admit, but you loved the scent of langa’s breath. he was impeccable when it came to hygiene, so he always smelled nicely. but you loved langa’s scent—it was hard to explain. he always smelled like mint and well, himself. him. him. him. him.

you knew what was coming next, but you couldn’t help but jump when his lips met yours—soft and hesitant. inhaling much more deeply this time, you slightly part your lips and lean into the kiss. langa hums appreciatively and you bring your hands up to grasp onto his forearms.

before you can open your eyes, langa swiftly pulls away, leaving you slightly dazed. you open your eyes to see langa cautiously staring at you.

“why...what was that all about?” you ask, trying to keep your face from twisting into a smile. you give langa’s forearms a squeeze and he drops his hands from your face, resting them on your lap.

“nothing...” langa mumbles, looking everywhere but at you.

he was obviously not telling the truth, and you knew that. but you also knew that the inner workings of langa’s mind was an enigma and if you were being honest, this wasn’t even close to being the strangest thing he’s done.

so you let it go—that is until he’s getting ready to go home.

you’re standing in the doorway, watching langa tie his shoes before he stands up straight and adjusts the strap of his messenger bag over his chest.

you grin. “that was hot”

langa blinks. “what was?” he asks, bending over to pick up his skateboard.

“when you adjust your bag like that” you reply softly, sliding your fingers over the strap before you bring your hand over his chest.

langa’s confused expression melts into a fond smile. you think he looks prettiest like this, smiling so easily with a gentle shimmer in his eye, like moonlight reflecting off the ocean.

“okay, i’ll keep note of that” he replies quietly and you can’t help but giggle at the sharp contradiction between his formal choice of words and the affectionate tone of his voice.

langa continues to softly grin as you giggle.

but then, oh shit, you’re staring at his lip again. langa panics, not wanting to ruin the moment but he’ll be damned if you see that ugly ass expression on his face before he goes in for kiss. but you must’ve seen it before right? did you notice but chose not to say anything out to preserve his feelings? did he really look like a fish while kissing you? a fish?

“all that studying must’ve fried your brain, huh?” you smile at him through half-lidded eyes, drumming your fingers against his chest. langa realizes he’s been staring at you with a dead expression and bites his lip.

langa takes the hand you’ve placed in his chest and grips it. “goodnight, y/n” he whispers before hesitating. “c-close your eyes”

the smile on your face falters as you take in langa’s tensed appearance. you tilt your head to one side. “why?”

“so...”

“so...?”

“i can kiss you goodnight”

there’s a long pause. langa’s grip on your hand has increased tenfold as he stares at you expectantly and he almost looks—nervous?

you blink, still confused, before langa reluctantly continues on.

“just...until i figure out how to fix my face...” he mumbles, eyes flitting off to the side.

“okay, now I’m really lost”

“i—” langa starts before sighing, deciding it would be better to show you. with the hand that isn’t clasped against yours, langa whips his phone from his pocket and unlocks it.

bewildered, you watch your boyfriend closely as he navigates through his phone—for what? you have no clue. off handedly, you think to yourself about how cute his expression is, brows furrowed and his lips set in a tiny pout.

“this, this” he rushes, bringing up his phone up to your face. you watch the tiktok he’s pulled up for you, in which a girl imitates the different ways boys go in for kisses.

you purse your lips in an attempt to conceal your smile, your chest jumping with an aborted giggle.

“oh, that’s—” the sentence dies in your throat when you look up at langa to see his dejected expression. “oh, no no no, langa, no. sweetheart, no”

“we’ve been dating for months—” langa mutters as you cup his cheeks, standing on your tip toes so that you’re eye level with him.

“no, oh my god, langa!” you half-whine, giggling as you try to get langa to look at you. he directs his gaze toward the ground, cheeks warm in against your palms.

“—and you didn’t tell me that I was making fish eyes at you?”

“well, not fish eyes” you offer thoughtfully and langa peers up at your earnestly. you drop one hand from his cheek to grab his forearm, raising his hand so you can examine his phone again. you rewatch the tiktok again. “your eyes don’t get scary wide and you don’t let your mouth hang open like that”

the sigh of relief langa let’s out almost sends you into a laughing fit.

“but...”

langa winces, giving a slight whimper behind shut lips.

“i mean, you do cross your eyes a little—”

langa shuts his eyes, face grim, like you just told him his puppy passed away.

“but it’s really cute, insanely hot, very model-esque!” you rush, but langa hangs his head. you fight the urge to roll your eyes at his theatrics.“there has never been a time in which you’ve looked even remotely mediocre, let alone unattractive.”

langa glances up you.

“but it’s embarrassing...” he murmurs.

“but your hot...”

“i can still be embarrassed!”

“so you agree?”

“agree?”

“that you’re hot?”

langa’s face flushes as you smile up at him innocently. “i...never said that” he mumbles, turning his face from you.

“well if it truly bothers you, we can practice” you offer, gently pinching his cheek.

“right now?” he asks incredulously.

“only if you’d like” you shrug, placing your hands on top of langa’s biceps. his heart beat quickens when you grin up at him coquettishly. “i think you kiss fine, but i can make you into a bona fide kisser if you want.”

“how long would that take?” langa questions. in his head, he imagines that it would take days—weeks, even, to scrap off the awkward expressions from his face.

“hmm,” you hum with faux thoughtfulness, tapping your finger against your cheek. “when is reki coming to take you to S tonight?”

“11:45?”

“i’ll have you done by 11:30”

langa blinks at you, cheeks slightly rosy. then, his face falls into that easy smile, the smile that you love so much.

notes: dramatic langa is very pleasing to me. this was supposed to be like, two paragraphs long but then it turned into all of this. please excuse me for any errors, i’ve been studying for midterms all day and I wrote this during my 5 minute breaks lfkgkdk@&:$:

i’ll come back to edit this!

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

Fighting for dominance

Yelena Belova x reader, kinda suggestive, oneshot, i was a lil bit tipsy when I wrote this

How the fuck did you get here? This bar, this glass, this music. You recognised none of them. Only the brown eyes that were examining you so carefully, reminded you that in fact you're here for a reason.

You rarely spend time in such places. Preferring much more to train, to learn, to not think about your work. It helped not to lose your mind, not to lose your consciousness, not to lose yourself.

You never stayed for drinks or parties in the compounds. You didn't even want to know the names of your soldiers. With such an attitude it's easier to lose them. You had two lives and you were content. Until you met her. Yelena dragged you to this bar, being confident that she's the one trying to catch you. Well, maybe she was right or you were letting her think that.

You allowed those eyes to feast on you. To devour your heat, your ardor, your lust. Yelena knew the effect she had on people. As a spy she was taught how to use this effect to her advantage during the missions. But after the Red Room she used it to her own advantage.

Your first meeting was hard to forget. A sparring session that ended in a nosebleed. Your nosebleed. But even with it you didn't stop. You managed to pin her to the wall, your blood boiling with fury. Almost a draw. Who would fight as dirty as she did during training? Were you fighting for something already?

"I'm sorry about the injury." She approached you afterwards.

"It's OK. You didn't need to be so tough though. We're part of one team."

"How else would I assert dominance? Or rather give you a chance to fight for it." She winked.

Her answer caught you off guard. Was she flirting? Was she always like that? You didn't like the emphasis on a certain word. You didn't know how to interpret it. You didn't need that. This confusion was exactly the thing you tried to avoid.

And now all these months after your first training Yelena was sitting across the table caressing her glass as if it was her lover's hand. As if it was your hand.

"Why are we here, Belova?" You asked nonchalantly.

"Where are we supposed to be? You have something more interesting to do?" She offered you a smile.

"I thought there was a particular reason." You ignored her second question.

"Well, I thought, дорогая (dear) we can get along even better. You know, become a better team."

This woman was teasing you. She enjoyed confusing you, making you think more, analyse more, imagine more.

Your first mission was like this. Everything was supposed to be simple. You go in, free the hostages, you go out. No collateral damage. But Yelena and her people walked right into the ambush. And it all went downwards from there. Shooting, fighting, surviving. But for Yelena it was fun. She was glowing with confidence as she finally was in her natural habitat. But so was you and she noticed that. Yelena followed you with the corner of her eye. And she wasn't disappointed. You knew how to be most efficient.

The second everything became silent she found you. Breathing heavily with her eyes wide open, she was practically dripping with endorphins.

"You did one hell of a job. I'm impressed." And with a smirk she added. "I'm sure you can be efficient in other scenarios too."

And something inside you clicked. That smirk. You inhaled deeply. No connection with anyone., you reminded yourself.

Now, in this bar, you were forgetting about your rule.

"We're a good enough team."

You yourself were mirroring her movements. Playing with the glass, hoping that the cold of the ice in it could help you.

"Yeah, but don't you think we should know each other, you know..." She leaned forward. "Closer."

"I have all the info I Need about you."

Yelena tilted her head. Surely, you were playing. You've chosen to be with her here now. You already belonged to her. It's not like she didn't know how you looked at her, remembering her features. Just to see, imagine them again at night, when you were alone in your bed.

She was drawn to you herself. Always being near. Admiring you as a person, as a soldier, as a woman.

"Fine." She bit her lower lip. "And what if there's something you don't know about me?"

"Oh, something that you managed to hide from the best spies of any country?" You were almost intrigued.

"Yes, дорогая (dear). How about the fact that I really want us to get along?"

Why did she have to say it in her lowest voice possible. You were almost sure she noticed how your lips twitched.

"Oh, Yelena..." You used your best mocking tone possible. "Prove it to me. Prove you mean it."

If she needed a push, you would give it to her. You both wanted the same. Accidental looks and touches would not suffice anymore. You needed to hear her moan, to hear her cry. For each of her bite on your body give her the greatest praise.

With your mockery stinging her, Yelena stood up almost knocking her chair over, grabbed your hand and pulled you on your feet.

"Дорогая (dear). You want me to prove it?" She pressed herself to you. "Come with me. And I guarantee, you'll never have doubts in us again."

[mysterystarz]

kairosclerosis:

summary: oikawa knew that he was happy, so then why was it so difficult to preserve that feeling?

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 1.4k

genres + themes: reverse comfort, angst

warnings: a lot of oikawa's inner thoughts, mentions of self-doubt

a/n: so this was a very self-indulgent fic (inspired a lot by this word and perfectly wrong by shawn mendes) and kind of encompasses a lot of feelings that i've been experiencing sometimes, but i feel like this was one of the things i've written that i'm kind of happy about ! i hope you enjoy this <3

Happiness was a feeling that was always difficult for Oikawa to identify. There were moments in which he could confidently taste the sensation on his tongue, a golden sort of taste that brightened his soul from the inside out, but other times, it was almost indecipherable to the other emotions that he seemed to find.

Why was it so complicated?

He often found himself sitting late at night, wondering how, if anything, people seemed to find glory in every glance, while he had to spread himself thin just to catch a glimpse. It was a question that drove him in circles in some of his lonelier moments, a constant reminder to the way he could never find the same sort of...fulfillment as others did.

It was something that bothered him with his late night practices, serving ball after ball across the gym, until the burning in his muscles was enough to drown out the feelings of inferiority he seemed to feel.

Happiness was as good as an illusion. To Oikawa, the feeling was far too short lived, far too fleeting to even be considered as a reality.

The day he discovered what happiness could be, was the day he met you.

It had been a normal day by all standards, the sunshine casting it’s glow delicately onto the buildings and the numerous sakura trees that lined the entrances of Aoba Johsai. It was a lovely spring day, one with the type of breeze that struck a freshness into everyone’s hearts, as well as their minds.

He liked these types of days for the simple pleasures he could indulge in. Eating his milk bread, he could pretend for a small moment that he was just another highschool boy, somebody who could make fun of Iwa-chan while being made fun of by Makki and Mattsun. He didn’t need to shoulder the expectations of the world, but he could still reach for the stars, and even hold one in his hands. It was why these days brought a rare sort of feeling, and it was why he managed to treasure them when they came around.

It had been on one of these days where you had strolled into the gym during practice, a concentrated, yet polite look on your face as you handed their coach your manager application, a gentle smile on your features when it had been accepted. You had done your job as manager to perfection, and he felt the morale of his team increase with every praise you sent in their direction.

Never him though.

He knew his sets weren’t as accurate as Kageyama’s, but they were still consistently improving. He didn’t expect praise from anyone, and yet found himself doubting his abilities when your calculated eyes didn’t make a comment on them. It was a neutrality of sorts. You never wrote it as a point of improvement, yet never complimented them.

Did that mean he was average?

The darkness enveloped his surroundings as he served again, his knee straining uncomfortably. He had been in the gym for hours now, doing anything, to get his mind off the precedent of facing Shiratorizawa the next day. It was a thought that nagged at him.

What if he wasn’t good enough?

Oikawa was supposed to be happy. He was happy for sure. His team had won the earlier matches, and cheers of their school name and the sight of his school colors was enough to send a wave of warmth and pride straight to his chest.

The way he felt defeating Tobio was one he savored continuously, the very thought of him beating one of his own demons fueling his morale incredibly.

So then why was it that he felt this way still?

Ah. No matter how many victories he held in his pocket, he could still never shake the way he always managed to lose somewhere else. He won against Tobio due to skill and observation. Was that really him and his team? Or was it just the circumstances?

A final serve over the net had him kneeling down, a million thoughts enveloping him at once.

Happiness wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He wasn’t even sure what it was supposed to feel like. All he knew was the way he picked apart the scenarios, wishing time after time that the feeling would linger long enough. Call him goal oriented, but surely his ambition would allow him to truly appreciate the way something seemingly light hearted and accomplished would be like.

“Oikawa. Are you okay?”

He suddenly looked up, only to find your concerned face across the gym. You jogged over to him, water bottle in hand as you examined his position. He was on the floor now...somehow.

When had he fallen over?

“I’m alright Y/N-chan.” He smiled charmingly, “What brings you here now?”

“You’re lying,” you sighed, tossing him the water bottle. “Drink this, and then try that sentence again.”

He hesitantly took a sip of the water, feeling it soothe his insides until suddenly, he had downed the whole bottle itself. A glance in your direction saw him identifying a knowing look in your eyes as you smiled back at him, almost gently.

“You have to rest before the game tomorrow you know,” you chuckled, joining him onto the floor. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Why are you here?” Was what he asked instead, watching the way your expression never changed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

“Iwaizumi-kun told me something like this could happen,” you admitted, “I hoped I wouldn’t find you here, but here we are.”

He found himself brightening slightly at the thought. He knew that Iwaizumii cared. Behind the gruff and tough persona he put on, he cared deeply for everyone he was close to, always worrying for their well being and putting all of himself into ensuring that.

He must have told you about all the past times he’s been in situations like these.

But then why was it you that came? You were one of the smartest students in their class, and even despite that, you somehow made time to juggle all your other obligations.

He was important....to you?

“I’m here because I care about you Tooru,” you said, hesitantly ghosting your fingers over his cheekbones. “Please, don’t internalize what you’re feeling. I’ll provide you answers to anything you ask me, but please, just speak your thoughts. They’ve been troubling you, and that troubles me to know that.”

“What does it take to feel content, Y/N?” He questioned, feeling his confidence spike momentarily. “What is contentness when there’s always something new to climb for?”

“It’s where you can look at your achievements and feel like you’ve done something worthwhile.” You smiled, “But there’s something deeper than that. What makes you overwork yourself when you’re one of the best?”

“I’ve never been good enough to get completely to the top!” He groaned. “There’s always been obstacles and a victory...it makes me happy but it never lasts! Why can’t it last?”

“Hey,” you said, leaning slightly closer, “Maybe it’s because you never believe that you deserve the happiness you feel. I think you deserve this and a whole lot more you know.”

He turned his head upwards to meet your eyes, reassuring and genuine at his predicament. Perhaps what you had said had some truth to it.

Yet he still felt something weighing him down.

“I just want to feel on top of the world for real one day,” he admitted, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Yet anytime I try to, it always just disappears. I’m practicing so maybe we have a chance at winning tomorrow. I’ve tried so hard, but somehow the talent always beats that.”

“Tooru…it’s alright to let it out you know.” You placed a hand gently on top of his, a hesitant act that he found quite endearing. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Always do,” he mumbled, “And I feel pathetic for it. Y/N-chan, is there something wrong with me?”

“No way!” You argued, the passion ever so present in your eyes. “You devote all of yourself to this. You are worthy of all good things. I swear it.”

“I can’t bring myself to feel that though.” There seemed to be a tension building up into his chest and his eyes.

“Your team believes it. All of your fans too.”

He met your eyes again, watching your breathing slow. “What?”

“They believe you deserve the world.” you affirmed, your mouth set into a straight line of seriousness. “And I think you do too.”

Underneath the dimmed lights of the gym, your hand a gentle anchor atop his own, Oikawa finally broke down.

Perhaps happiness was the feeling of being loved.

He realized that as long as you were beside him, that feeling would never fade.

©mysterystarz all rights reserved, please do not plagiarize, translate, or modify my fics in any way even if credited

taglist: @kousukii @iwasunshine @kawaii-angelanne @haikyuutothetop @catchmewiddershins @animated-moon @perqabeth @sunarinluvr @elektrosonix @shoyotime @milktyama @ebiharachan @kitacharm @angelecho @bokuatsubro @pockydays @possiblypoe @srkuv @kacchans-sparkiez

click here to join the taglist [if you're interested!]

[sirensmojo]

"KINDRED", 4 - Thomas Shelby x Reader.

Warnings: Swearing, romance, violence, guns, drama, slight smut(“slight”?)

Word Count: 5k+

AN: When it’s a reader and Tommy scene, it’s Tommy POV.

❰ ​Previous Chapter

Tommy leaned backwards on his desk chair, a cigarette stuck in between his index and middle fingers. He was looking at the ceiling as if its colour brought to him answers to the multiple questions that had been clouding his mind lately.

Since the day he and Y/N kissed, he noticed she had been avoiding him. She didn’t even send him the weekly book she usually dropped at the office.

He didn’t understand her, and each time he tried to put back together the pieces to get a clear view of her character, the memories of the smell of her hair brought him somewhere else. And whenever he would dare to close his eyes too long, he would taste her lips again.

Even if she chose to stay away from him, he entered her world once and appreciated it so greatly it had printed into his spirits, like a hand in wet cement.

He allowed himself to shift his thoughts to Mosley from time to time, the d-day was approaching and with it, the time he’ll take the lead of the British fascist party.

(...)

The only way Lizzie found to see her husband these days was to come back in business as Tommy’s secretary. He told her she wouldn’t have to work when they got their daughter, Ruby, but he was rarely home, and when he was, his mind was elsewhere.

Even after promising to let her in sometimes, she struggled the most to read him, but despite all, she was deeply in love with him. She had to make the effort and reach for him.

He didn’t agree with her taking back her job at first and she knew exactly why, as being responsible for her having a baby, he had to take care of her, at least he felt like he did. He was undeniably a murderer, cut-throat gangster, but he had convictions and rules to stick to.

This morning began as normal as any other for the Shelby company limited, Lizzie was occupied with papers as Tommy locked himself in his office.

The door opened, Lizzie’s gaze instantly got up, searching for who might that be. When her gaze met the figure, her jaw dropped. ‘Not again’ she thought. This scene reminds her of the time May Carleton came in here only to entice her Tommy.

She knew he didn’t owe her anything, but he could’ve waited at least a day or two before calling another woman. Not even twenty-four hours earlier Tommy was fucking her in some alley in the cold, probably thinking about a woman he knew before France. But he said he was fucking her, Lizzie, and not his lost teenage lover, even if she knew better.

Tommy and his cock.

That May Carleton was walking so confidently in front of Lizzie, she probably thought she was the one to own Tommy’s cock. If only she knew. She glared at her so strongly that May avoided looking at her at all costs.

The woman that just passed the door didn’t look her way, too occupied walking straight to the doors of Tommy’s office with the arrogance of an army.

Lizzie’s eyes went from her seemingly very expensive shoes, up her green pants suit in which pockets she kept a hand, to her suit jacket that fell perfectly on her waist as the end of which was drawing the woman’s hips. Her leather belt marked, even more, her waist and its golden details matched the imposing blue pearls necklace along with the large same looking earrings.

As soon as the woman entered the room, the atmosphere switched, her figure called the eyes, not only due to her ostentatious jewellery collection but also by the woman’s charismatic aura. Even the clicking sound her heels made on the hard ground was full of power. Anyone could hear the confidence in each of her steps, which made Lizzie gasp.

As a moth attracted to light, Tommy got out of his office, a cigarette hanging on his lips. He pressed a shoulder on the door frame, his eyes fixed on the woman walking towards him.

He was indeed waiting for her.

His deep blue eyes weren’t examining the woman’s form in an enticed way, he was solely looking at her face, a thing that made Lizzie’s heart ached because she understood there might be more than sexual attraction between them.

Lizzie knew her husband. From the way he dawdled on the woman’s face to the little waving of his shoulders, she just knew.

The atmosphere again had changed, Lizzie was now oppressed by their two presences, the warm and powerful one of the stranger and the usual cold and disconcerting one of her husband, one completing the other.

As her heart didn’t want to admit it yet, a burning look was exchanged by the two pairs of eyes, and confirmed the obvious her brain already knew, Thomas had found his match, and it wasn’t her.

(...)

Tommy took off his shoulder from the door frame and stood straight as he humidified his lips. The librarian walked to him with her usual unreadable face and when she was close enough, she grabbed his cigarette off his fingers taking her time to make their skin touch as much as she could. Her eyes were still deeply in Tommy’s as millions of sparks animated the tips of his fingers.

The man coughed and turned to Lizzie, motioning his hand to the woman behind the desk, in an attempt to ignore the sparks. “Mrs Y/L/N, meet my wife, Lizzie. Lizzie, it’s Mrs Y/L/N, the librarian I work with at the House Of Commons.” He had sensed the intense look of his wife since Y/N came closer to him.

“Mrs Shelby! I am so honoured to meet you, I heard about your typewriting skills, writing eyes closed, eh? I could never.” Y/N gave a warm smile to Lizzie that squinted her eyes in anticipation. His wife didn’t believe in what the librarian just told and he was sure Y/N knew it too.

“Yeah? Well, I never heard of you.” Lizzie spitted.

“It’s because you don’t keep company with my people.” She had the audacity to take a puff on the cigarette she stole earlier from Tommy looking his wife straight in the eyes.

Even if Y/N’s voice was calm and solemn, it was clear it was an attack. The implication made Lizzie gritted her teeth as she got up and joined them. Tommy rubbed a hand on his own face knowing exactly what she was going to do.

She stood behind the librarian. “And what business do you have here in Birmingham if you work in London?”

“You’re husband,” Y/n responded, not even turning to her. She bypassed Tommy and opened the door’s office before disappearing behind them.

Lizzie followed her with her eyes before looking up at her husband. “The fuck is she doing here? Are you going to fuck her, Thomas?”

“No, Lizzie. Am not going to fuck her.” He responded exhaling deeply.

“Yeah, take me for an fucking idiot.” She walked to the desk to grab her hat & coat. “That’s all you’re good for anyway. You fucked all Birmingham and now London, huh?” She sneered before shaking her head walking to the exit.

“Lizzie.” He called, but the woman had already closed the door.

Tommy raised his brows and sighed before turning to the office where he marked a pause. It was another type of storm he had to face now. He finally opened the door and got in, only to find Y/N seated behind his desk, in his chair.

“Tommy Shelby, OBE, what a pleasure to meet your family.”

“It was quite a show you put out there.” He closed behind him.

When he turned back at the room, she was walking toward him, but she already was pretty near.

“So you fucked all Birmingham already, hum? Trying to expand your activities in London?” Y/N leaned on him, she was so close he could smell her breath and he wondered what was her fucking problem. She ignored him for days after they kissed and here she was again, pushing him to the edges. It was almost as if it was a game for her. And if it was, she was winning all the damn rounds.

“And you? What’s with the attitude?”

“What are you talking about.” She took a step back.

“You have been busy this week, eh?” Tommy walked to the counter and poured whiskey in two glasses.

“Well, the man you have your little brother watching, he talks.” She loosely let out. “The bookmaker Billy Grade, the one that conducts the football betting business” She paused looking at Tommy’s surprised expression. “He doesn’t like Arthur.”

“To who?” Was the simple question he needed an answer to.

“I made moves with Mosley so, yes, it had been a busy week, Thomas.”

At the revelation, Tommy’s eyes squinted. If there was one thing he learnt with Grace was to make sure his feelings weren’t a shackle to business.

“I’m not betraying you, no need for these wrinkles at the corner of your eyes. But you gotta know he’s offered me the South.” She went to the counter and took the glasses before sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, one cup in her hand, the other she put on one of the numerous files covering the desk.

Tommy went sitting in his armchair. He lit a cigarette and held one to the woman that declined.

“Only like to take yours.” She gave as an explanation.

“How come he offered you the south?” He ignored her comment.

“North’s Mc Cavern’s, Middle’s yours, South’s vacant. But I have another plan for the South, and you might agree with me as well.” A rictus took place at the corner of her lips, as Tommy looked at her, curious. “Mr Solomons. I know he wrote you that he’s still alive.”

Tommy’s lids fluttered a couple times, he didn’t say anything. How could she know so much all the time? Was she listening to him or something? He for a second thought it might be her spying on him on the phone but this idea went away almost immediately.

She wasn’t Grace.

“He and I are great friends. Not as if he really has any, but do I?” She muttered utterly to herself.

Tommy coughed and leaned back on his chair, making himself comfortable.

“What’s with you, Tommy?” Asked the librarian, and he himself couldn’t put a finger on what was going on. It was always that way when she was around, but everything intensified when they leaned their breath as one and connected together.

His mind was so full of thoughts that had nothing to do with business that it was hard for him to concentrate. But for some reason, he just couldn’t push those thoughts aside.

He wanted her, he yearned for her to touch him the way she did that night, to intertwine their fingers together again and forget about Mosley for an instant, just one. Tommy humidified his lips again as raising his eyebrows, it was like his lips were always dry or incomplete. Her lips belonged on his. He raised his gaze to her in distress.

“You want to come to me house, Tommy? Again?” Her voice resonated in his head, her words taking him by surprise.

“Huh?”

“Have a drink or two, meet my cat...” She went on, looking intently at his soul hiding behind his icy blue iris.

He didn’t recognize her, but did he even know her? It seems not. Every time they meet, she puts another mask on. Somewhere in his soul, he believed it wasn’t a good idea, that thing they shared. But he knew he couldn’t turn away and break the partnership. Not now. Not only could she be hard to beat if they turned to enemies, but he also needed her, she was part of his business now. She was too precious an ally for him to withdraw from the deal.

As he didn’t respond, she drank from her cup, finishing its countenance in one go. “I’ll ask Arthur then...replace his Linda.” She added looking up to the ceiling innocently.

“The fuck did you say?” He hustled to spit as watching her without blinking.

Her gaze went back on Tommy, a playful gleam animating her pupils.

“What do you say?” She sent him back the ball. It was indeed a game for her, and he knew once again she would be the winner because he wouldn’t say no.

He tried to escape her game by coughing it away and smoked his cigarette. “How are you going to bring up Alfie Solomons with Mosley?” He went back on business, but the woman didn’t seem ready yet to give up.

She got up and grabbed the phone with one hand as the other was dialling a number. She sat at the corner of the desk, turning toward the Shelby brother and the phone. Tommy watched her movements closely, curious about how she was going to handle him dismissing her offer.

He couldn’t even hide the fact her stubbornness did something to him, even if he repressed any desire for her. It was as if they were the principal characters in the regency era drama he ended up devouring as it was the book Y/N was reading on their first meeting.

He was so deep in thought he didn’t hear the librarian asking the cable woman to put her in connection with the individual she intended to reach.

“Yeah, Arthur, it’s me. I wonder if you would wa--” Tommy had heard enough. He hung up the line and fixed the phone for what feels like centuries, slowly realizing what his reaction meant.

The Y/E/C eyes woman remained silent, a silence that felt heavy on Tommy’s conscience. He straightened back and leaned on the back of his chair, glancing at the ceiling.

He was done with those games. He couldn’t believe he dove into her crude farce head first, and now he had to face her because she had been staring at him the last minute.

“You’re a devil.” He let the words lazily slip between his lips.

“Call me Lilith.” She spiritedly exclaimed. Tommy’s eyes went to her face at that exact moment.

“So you’re jew, eh? That explains why you know Alfie, but contradicts the fact you and Mosley are close.” Tommy thought out loud. According to his memories, Lilith was a demon of the jew tradition, which led him to his conclusion.

The woman instantly smiled, seemingly very content about the Shelby head struggling to catch her.

“Fair enough.”

“You come to my house?”

“I was talking about the comparison.” He paused, looking at her blankly.

She sighed.

No doubt she was annoyed by Tommy’s behaviour, but she won way too much at their little game. It was about time Tommy won. It was unusual of him to be that shallow but it was their intimate space, so he didn’t care.

(...)

Gina couldn’t see anything when the abductors took her out of the car to lead her down some stairs into what she surmised to be a cellar, she already had a piece of cloth hiding her vision and one in her mouth, preventing her from screaming.

She was petrified and the fact the individuals didn’t say a word, neither during the ride nor once in the room didn’t help her. She could feel heavy drops of sweat rolling down her forehead as dried tears itched the corners of her eyes.

The place was colder than what she remembered a cellar to be. Flashes of her childhood coming back to her from time to time.

“THREE… TWO… ONE… ZERO. I’M COMING GINA!” Her cousin shouted from the kitchen where they last saw each other. The little girl used to come down in the cellar to hide when playing hide and seek with any member of her family, from her cousins to her father.

As her mother was severely ill, she couldn’t play with Gina, but her father always did. When not leading the believers to sing the praises of the Almighty at the local church, he was both a father and a mother to her.

Although her mother & herself loved each other more than anything, she soon stopped seeing her. When at first her father let Gina visit the room of her mother once a day, it decreased from once a week, to once a month to simply never.

Despite the child doggedly asking for her mother, he remained unyielding and managed to keep his daughter away from her mother for her own sake.

It was only when growing older and after the death of her mother that Gina understood her father’s demeanour. He was desperate not to let his daughter watch her mother die.

This time, the cellar didn’t feel familiar and it’s not a joyful feeling that resides in her. Her body reacting to the cold, she was shivering as goosebumps appeared at the same time as she heard footsteps coming her way. Her blood boiling like hot water, she struggled to breathe.

“Call her father.” Gina heard a female voice she had never heard before. She listened to footsteps receding before a whimper escaped her throat.

“Well, you heard the woman, let her talk.” The voice ordered. And just like that, her mouth got freed. “Go on.” The female voice seemed to address her directly.

“What do you want with my father?” She managed to say after she moved her jaws to get rid of the piece of cloth’s taste.

“He’s an old friend.”

“Can’t you just call like normal people instead of abducting his child?” Gina murmured, not totally relieved from the fear. She wanted to appear unmoved and plucked all the courage left in her to get an untroubled voice.

“I know you, Gina.” The voice started, getting closer. “You alright? You’re trembling.” Well, it seems like all the effort she put in wasn’t enough, her true emotions were discovered.

“You know me, huh? So you know as soon as you detach me I’ll assault you and spit right in your face, right?” She angrily let out, she didn’t accept to be defeated nor seen while being vulnerable and defenceless.

But it seems like the individual challenged her, because she heard someone pass behind her and loosen the cords holding back her hands. At the same moment, the piece of cloth blinding her fell on her collarbones.

Before her, stood straight a woman with a closed face, her facial traits weren’t aggressive, but in her eyes, Gina could swear she saw in there an untamed fire. Her brown eyes slid to a sitting white dog near the stranger, it looked like a wolf, even its huge size reminded her of the fierce beast she read about as a teenager.

It was ridiculous to see this situation unleashed the least probable memories of her youth into her mind as vividly as yesterday.

“Who are you? What do you want?” The woman before Gina mimicked her voice, a smile drawing on her lips. “They always ask the same questions.” She shrugged her shoulders seeing Gina’s surprised expression. The freshly Gray woman closed her mouth that was slightly open in an “o” shape and clenched her jaw.

“Well, I need your father to come here, in England. And you,” she tapped Gina’s end of nose, “you’re the thing that’ll make him travel the world all the way to Birmingham. To my greatest pleasure,” She patted her own chest before motioning to Gina, “and much to your displeasure.”

Gina didn’t even know what to say, she used the time the woman spent talking to massage her wrists as the cords were tied very tight. Her gaze dawdled on the woman in front of her, she was wearing a very long purple coat to which two buttons situated at the waist of its owner were closed. She also wore black lace gloves with ostentatious golden rings above the fabric. The diamonds of her rings were blue, matching her earrings. When the woman turned to the side to pat her dog’s head, Gina noticed she had braided her hair in a single braid that fell on her back.

The woman crouched down for her eyes to be at the same level as the dog’s ones, one of her hands scratching its head. “One single word and it attacks you, so you better behave.” She turned her head to Gina, warning her. The blonde woman glared at the other before glancing toward the dog in anticipation.

Y/N got back up and turned her back to Gina as she started to walk toward the stairs. “Get comfortable, it’s your new home for a few days.”

“What, you’re leaving me in this? With the dog?” She screamed at the Y/H/C haired woman.

“If I were you, I’d avoid screaming, Gina doesn’t like too loud noises.” She waved goodbye as answering without even glancing toward Gray.

“What?” Gina asked, confusion in her voice.

Y/N chuckled a bit before turning around, her index went from the dog to Gina, “Yeah, meet your twin.” She walked backwards a couple of seconds before turning back to the stairs and climbing them.

(...)

House Of Commons, London.

The door of Tommy’s office abruptly opened on an angry Michael.

The Shelby brother that was pouring himself some whisky glanced at his cousin. “Michael.” He welcomed.

“Where the fuck is my wife, Tommy?” Gray asked, frowning.

“What?” He squinted his eyes.

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Wife.” Michael spitted each word, looking straight into his older cousin’s eyes.

Tom blinked a couple times, not understanding the request.

“Days ago when coming back from the fucking restaurant some fucking people took her.” The younger Gray calmed a bit, seeing that Tommy truly didn’t know what he was talking about.

“How did they look?” Tom asked, concerned. Even if Michael might have betrayed him, he was family still and anyone jeopardizing the life of a member of the Shelby clan or someone related to them should taste the sweet fondles of death’s fingers.

“Men in fucking black.” Michael started to pace up and down, both his hands passing over his face. “I’m getting mad, Tom, me head fucking all over the place...” He continued.

“Men, no women?” Tommy brows raised, he had to ask. He remembered the conversation he had with that librarian when she was telling him she thought Gina was the weakness and force of his cousin and that she might do something about it.

“No.” Michael stated firmly. Tommy’s tensed shoulders relaxed. “Or..” Tommy raised his brows. “I don’t know, Tom. Fuck.”

“We’re going to find her, Michael. Stay in your hotel room, stay put, near the phone, right?” The Shelbys' head tapped his cousin’s shoulder before leaving the office.

(...)

He stopped the car near the portals and got out, a cigarette hanging on his lips. Tommy walked the pointlessly long alley, by-passing a ton of fountains and trimmed bushes of different forms and shapes.

The fair distance gave him time to rethink everything that concerned Y/N and his relationship with her. If she truly was behind the disappearance of his cousin’s wife, he would have to deal with her, meaning going to war, which was far from the plan since he entered politics.

He knocked on the door without waiting any further once he joined the principal door. He was looking intently at the windows trying to see a silhouette through it or an ignited light of some sort, but nothing.

The door abruptly opened, making a loud noise and the figure of the librarian was to be seen. Tommy raised his hand to her face, pointing his gun at her, but when her body was fully visible thanks to the moon shining, he blinked, bewildered.

His eyes dropped on a Y/N only dressed with an emeraude lace nightgown. The top was all see-through, but it didn’t stop him from cocking the gun and hold it steady in between her eyebrows. Even though he was here because he suspected her to have turned her back to him, his body reacted a whole different way to the view. His heart started to pounder in his chest as a warmth suddenly took prisoner his upper body. He swallowed in an attempt to dismiss the feeling ready to burst out.

“Missing our start?” She let out, not even pretending to be scared or shook by the situation. As a matter of fact, in their second meeting, Tom indeed pulled a gun at her, how could he forget that. Nobody ever had the nerve to threaten him on his own doorsteps, but of course, she did.

“Where’s Gina?” He ignored she was half-naked along with her remark.

“What the fuck, Thomas?” One of her eyebrows raised in confusion. “What’s happened?”

Tommy switched the position of his fingers, putting his index right on top of the trigger to make known he knew she was lying.

As she felt the danger, the woman banged the door on Tom’s face and not even a second later, he heard bullets being fired as he saw holes drawing through the door. The time stopped, or at least everything appeared as slower.

He instinctively put his arms over his head and kneeled as other bullets were being fired, he managed his way to the wall of the mansion, staying down.

“Fucking hell, Y/N!” He shouted his lungs out, his ears whistling due to the bullets’ noise.

“Remember when I warned you, Thomas. You pull a gun, I shoot!” She accentuated the last part, her tone underlined by anger.

“Why did you take her?” He kept his head close to the wall as shaking it, trying to totally recover his hearing.

“You should’ve asked that when you could, Sergent Major.” She calmly stated.

Tommy could hear she was re-loading her gun.

He looked at the gravels under him and recognized the bullet belonging to a rifle. He frowned, wondering how come she got a rifle.

“No. Put down the rifle, I'm throwing me gun.” He said loudly before dropping his gun in the grass far away from him, his weapon made a muffled noise while encountering the ground.

He didn’t hear anything for a minute that seems to last hours. The night breeze came fondling his face, helping him to ease his breath as the silence made him fully recover his hearing.

The front door opened, and Y/N peeked through. Only one of her Y/E/C eyes was to be seen, and even if her pupil was dilated due to the adrenaline, her look seemed concerned. “Are you hurt?” She solemnly asked, she, as well, being out of breath.

Tommy shook his head on both sides before he managed to stand, helped by the wall.

“You mad woman.” He closed his eyes as taking a deep breath in, knowing she wouldn't try to kill him tonight. When he opened his eyes again, she was in front of him, barefoot on the gravel.

“Sorry… I tend to lose my shit when I’m in danger.” She placed the rifle hanging around her neck to her side, a hand holding it still.

“You weren’t. I wasn’t gonna fucking shot, just trying to scare you.”

“...Well you angered me.” She hesitated in even giving him an answer. She finally decided she didn't need the rifle anymore and went placing it against the wall.

“Not fear, eh?” He teased, and she shook her head as a response.

“Why the fuck did you take Gina away? Michael’s all over the place, he even came to me. The boy’s fucking losing it.”

“Well, firstly, he deserved a little reminding he was still a boy as you correctly underlined,” she raised her brows looking at him, “secondly, after further research, I found it I know her father. Long story short, he’s the only one to be able to deal with her uncle if we don’t want any blood spilt.”

“Fucking was about to spill me gut on your doorstep, the fuck you care about spilt blood, Y/N?” He furrowed his brows as agitating one of his hands, motioning to the ground beneath their feet.

“Yeah,” she acquiesced, “not me that cares about fucking family. It’s you.”

That’s when he realized how serious she took their partnership. When he thought she was solely doing what fitted her best, she indeed took into consideration Tommy's convictions. She took seriously the fact he didn't want the family to be hurt. And although he ranged on her side regarding scaring Michael a bit to make him realize something, he never thought of Y/N to be tough enough to act with as much strategy as ruthlessness. She definitely outdid him in this case.

This sudden realisation aroused something in him. She cared. Even if the care she gave was nonetheless peculiar and typical to her character, she did what she could with what she had right? And right now she was working with him with as much resilience and fierceness as she would do with her own organisation.

“If it was up to me, fucking bullets to the head for both of ‘em and we done.” She dismissively worded as looking afar. “Where’s your gun?” She lazily looked back at him.

Tommy hesitated a short period of time before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her against himself. She didn’t push him away as he neared his face near her, she was the one sealing their lips together. This time, none of them were eager for the other, their kiss was light, soft and pure, contrasting with the chaotic situation they put themselves in.

The blue-eyed man slipped a hand on her back, fondling her skin above the piece of cloth covering her body while she reached for the button of his pants under his coat.

The atmosphere switched, not even seconds earlier it was love talking, now it was a whole another emotion ruling them.

Tom started to walk toward the door, forcing her to walk backwards. When she understood what he intended to do she murmured a soft “No.” and he opened his eyes darkened by desire and urge, looking into hers that were screaming for sex.

A smile grew on her lips as she went sticking her back to the nearest wall, her fingers strongly gripping on the man’s tie. He didn’t break the eye contact and joined her, flattening one of his hands on the cold wall. The warmth of his longing for the woman added to the coldness of the night were mixing together so well he felt a little dizzy.

He couldn’t think about how often he imagined them during their first time or how often he tried to picture Y/N’s curves in his head but his body somehow knew how much he wanted this. His hands were dawdling on any portion of her figure he could find, gulping each piece that was giving to him as if she was the first woman he’d ever touched.

Each kiss enticed him a bit more and whenever he closed his eyes he could literally see fireworks exploding everywhere in him. And whenever he would open them, he would find Y/N looking intently at him, her expression revealing everything she could never tell him, her feelings for him as well as her deepest fear, frustrations & beyond, her eyes being the messenger of the immensity of a soul, to another.

She quickly got to his bum she previously teased with one knee before reaching for his length.

Her cold fingers struck it a few times before she came aligning him with the distress for feeling him inside.

Once he was perfectly aligned, she released him and reunited her lips to his, where they belonged, giving him the green light. He thrust slowly at first, letting her some time to get used to his size. She murmured a low “Tommy...”, her legs encircling his hips as he grabbed one of them firmly. He was keeping her as close to him as possible, making sure their bodies were as connected as their souls were. He ultimately began to come and go, increasing his pace as time passed by.

Her high pitched moans came directly to his ears, the best sounds he’s heard out of his entire life without a doubt.

Following Chapter ❱

[writingsweetroll]

**Summary: Louis has worries for his one year old, and Clementine soothes them by opening up about her own issues.**

Louis tried his best to not toss and turn, he really hated these beds. They were so springy, you do anything on it, so much as lay a hand on the mattress and it would make a springy noise. The noise wouldn’t annoy him as much if Clementine wasn’t laying beside him, he quickly found out she was a very light sleeper. It broke his heart that she wasn’t born a light sleeper, she just adapted to being one due to all of the trauma she faced. He wanted to make sure she got as much sleep as she could- so tossing and turning would definitely awaken her and that was the last thing he wanted.

So, he lay stiff as a board. Looking above to the mattress above him. He anxiously counted the number of bars holding the bed above him, distracting his mind to the best of his abilities. Because every time he couldn’t sleep at night, his mind went to dark places. *You have no idea what you’re doing.* He would think. That main thought spiraled out of control to other thoughts. But, that one main thought started from the time he was child, to now. It adapted to whatever situation he was in. As a child, ‘You have no idea what you’re doing’ related to the spelling bee, now, it is related to parenting his one year old daughter.

He grabbed the chair next to the desk, and placed it near the bed. He sat on it and watched her sleep soundly. A warm feeling was felt in his chest, unknowingly smiling ear to ear. He examined her features, and the midnight moon shone upon her face. She mainly had Louis’ features, his freckles, skin color, and eye shape. But, her lashes were full and her eyes were as golden as Clementines, her hair was also kinky just like Clementines. She was a perfect mix between the two.

*You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?*

Louis furrowed his brows as the thought entered his mind. No matter how many baby books he read, or conversations with Clementine he had about how to raise a baby into childhood, his mind was never satisfied with himself.

*To put your girlfriend through so much pain during her pregnancy, so selfish to bring a kid into this world, you’re a monster.*

That wasn’t true. Louis knew it. It wasn’t a mindless decision or an accident, it was multiple conversations and respectful debates about when or if they should start a family. After weeks, they decided together that they wanted a family, and they had enough resources to do so. And the pregnancy went better than expected, minor pain here and there, and the delivery had no scares. Thankfully, whenever Louis would remember this, it seemed as if thoughts grew quieter, and instead he imagined a world where the apocalypse wasn’t here. He wondered what her parents would think of him, or Lee, even Kenny. He didn’t know much about them, but he knew enough to know she cared deeply for them.

Suddenly, his daughter sniffled, causing him to go into panic mode. He calmed himself down once she went back to her normal state. It was spring, and it was just allergies but he was still terrified of her getting sick. Louis sighed, slouching against the chair now.

Although Louis truly thought he didn’t know what he was doing, he knew one thing. He’ll never be like his parents. His father, manipulative and a gas-lighter. His mother ignored it and was just focused on her public image instead.

*“Chin up, baby.” His mother whispered down to him. “Play your little piano and smile.”*

*His mother’s tone was sweet, and caring. But Louis wasn’t stupid. He knew his family milked his skills during fancy business parties like these ones. But, he played the piano nonetheless, because this was the only time he could truly feel like he had an audience that enjoyed his talent, his dream.*

*“My son! Ladies and gentlemen!” Louis’ father widened his arms towards Louis playing the piano. Families of prestigious wealth clapped for him. In this moment it was bitter sweet, should he feel happy that people enjoyed his music, or should he feel angry that his parents only supported him if it benefited them? Louis brushed off the confusing feelings and instead put his emotions into his music, making it authentic and oddly charming.*

*“Beautiful, Mandisa.” A woman patted his mothers shoulder. “You’ve raised a wonderful son.”*

Louis slightly groaned in irritation. ‘*They raised a horrible kid.’* Louis thought to himself. Now that he was older, he realized that he shouldn’t have beat himself up as much as he did when he was 17. Guilt had always occupied his mind when he thought about what he did, how he broke up his parents. But in reality, they raised him like that. They raised him to think of yourself first, not others. Survival of the fittest.

*“Please, I have a family William!”*

*Louis sat on the couch with his mother, they were just chatting when they heard the commotion coming from the office room. His father opened the door and held his hand out. “You’re not needed anymore, Mark.”*

*“I-I’m not needed?! Are you serious!? I helped you start this business, what the fuck man?!”*

*“But- Mark. You seem to forget. People like me. People like my beautiful ‘exotic’ wife, people love my son. What do you have Mark? A regular housewife, who’s pregnant and unattractive? A son who doesn’t excel in school? He doesn’t even have a talent to show off. You’re dragging me down. You understand, don’t you?”*

*“Excuse me?! The fuck did you-” Mark gulped as a security guard walked up behind him. “Fine.” Mark muttered.*

*The guard escorted the man out. Louis’ father looked at Louis with a smile, as if he didn’t just ruin someone’s life. “See son,” he started. “-sometimes, we have to make the hard decisions to get what we desire. It’s just business. Nothing personal.”*

Business came first, passion and feelings came last. That way of life ruined his childhood. He believed from a young age hurting others to get what he wanted was ok.

He gently stroked Willows head, *‘I’ll never teach you that.’* He thought to himself. No matter what, he’ll always make sure she knew it was ok to express herself, to talk about her feelings. He wanted her to know that no matter the situation, she was loved and *accepted.*

“I promise.” He whispered. “I promise I’ll give you a better life than mine.”

Suddenly, he felt slender arms wrap around his neck, a semi-heavy weight on his shoulders. He smiled, hearing Clementine mumble something out of exhaustion.

“What was that, darling?” Louis asked, holding her forearm.

“You’re doing great.” She yawned. “You don’t have to keep worrying Louis. You love her and that’s—“

“The bare minimum, Clem.” Louis cut her off.

“-not really. Not anymore.” Clementine said sadly. “Even back then, dads used to run out on their kids, unable to either provide a stable life or love. You could’ve ran out so many times, so many opportunities and you didn’t.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Louis replied, almost offended.

“I’ve seen it happen before. Of course I knew you wouldn’t but…there’s always that lingering exit you can take, and the urge is probably there for you-“

“Clementine.” Louis said sternly, waking her up a little. “I would *never* do that. Do you really think that?”

Clementine stayed quiet. In reality, no. Of course she knew Louis would never leave. It was just her inner insecurities popping out, she’d hidden it for years but it came out eventually. The *constant* fear that she would be alone again lingered in her mind. Louis noticed her silence and sighed. He got off his chair, and then hugged her tightly.

“Isn’t it crazy?” Louis chuckled.

“What?”

“How we only started dating a month into knowing each other.” Louis started, caressing her arm a bit. “Now, we’re in a family together. Clementine, I didn’t fight a war with you, fell for you in the middle of it, wrote songs about you, spent literally almost every second with you for the past 4 years to just leave.” Louis reassured.

“But now we have a kid.”

“Even more of a reason to stay. I mean *who* can actually say they have a kid with the most beautiful, bad-ass woman of the apocalypse world? Only me! I’d be a fool to run from that.” Louis joked.

She shook her head, a big smile on her face. Louis kissed the top of her head, pushing her slightly towards the bed, there he dropped her on it. She got into a comfortable position, and Louis lay next to her.

“I was serious.” Clementine broke the silence. “When I said you’re doing great. It’s not only the love you have for her Louis. You don’t even go to sleep before she does. Even though I tell you I got it. You care deeply for her and that *is* enough.”

Louis sighed, twiddling his fingers with one another, only staring at the bars above him. “I know. Thanks. Sometimes it just feels like I’m not enough, even before Willow.”

“Louis…” Clementine muttered sadly. The thought of him degrading himself saddened her. She sat up, grabbing his curious glance. Clementine took off her oversized sweater, a tank-top underneath. There was enough moon-light to see the faint, pink branded mark on her arm. She slid her fingers over it slightly, a grimace appearing on her face.

“You finally gonna reveal the meaning behind that?” Louis chuckled, over the years, she’d always refuse. ‘*The past doesn’t matter.’* She’d say.

Although he was joking, she wasn’t.

“I got this when I was 13.” Clementine started.

Louis shifted himself upwards, a frown shown on his face as he eyed the scar.

“I only did it to make sure AJ was safe. But, then he got ripped apart from me in the same group. After that, I had nothing more to lose. And when you have nothing to lose…you do scary, stupid things. I was horrible, Louis. I wasn’t the same person you know today.”

Louis nodded, taking in her words to the best of his ability. Trying not to react negatively in anyway.

“After I got AJ back—I only had *him.* If anyone ever—and I mean, *anyone* tried anything to hurt or kill him, I wouldn’t hold back. Yes I love AJ. I really do, but that feeling of hopelessness for your own self is so damaging.” Clementine opened up. After a brief moment of silence she continued. “I didn’t have hope for my own life, only for his. I didn’t mind if I got bit, as long as he was safe, I didn’t care. Not because I was sad or anything but because I just felt like this world wasn't for me. When I was a kid, I loved to be social, playful even. I've changed so much, I was forced to. I used to be innocent. Now, I'm finally getting some sort of my old self back."

Clementine grabbed Louis’ hand and squeezed it slightly. “You saved me.” She said, her tone hoarse. Louis squeezed back on her hand.

"I'm glad to be of service." He smiled at her. “I love you.”

She smiled, and kissed his cheek. “I love you too, Louis.”

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock x Watson!reader - Strangers Like Me - 1,468

A/N: THIS IS THE FIRST SHERLOCK ONESHOT I WROTE! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! (WHY AM I YELLING? 🤣) ~ AMETHYST

You had come to visit your brother in London about a week ago. Unfortunately, you had unknowingly brought with you a stomach bug and gave it to your brother. This particular morning he was still in bed sleeping, no longer sick but still too weak to go out. You'd spent most of your time helping him recover or sightseeing around the city. You, of course, had met Sherlock but you didn't spend too much time around him because you didn't want him to deduce your secret. 

"John!" Sherlock yelled from downstairs. Your brother "Jawwwwwn!!!!" He yelled again. You ran downstairs to quiet him down. 

"Sherlock!" You whisper-yelled. "Please don't yell! He's still sleeping for goodness sake!"

"Why?"

"Why is he still sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Because he's still recovering from being sick you twit!" 

"But I need him for a case! Gavin just called me and said there was a murder!"

"Gavin?"

"Yes, Geoff."

"Geoff?"

"Gucci."

"Oh! Greg!"

"That's not it."

"Yes it is."

"No, Lestrade's first name is-"

"Greg," John said coming down the stairs completely wrapped up in his blanket. 

"John!" You both exclaimed. 

"You look absolutely dreadful!" Sherlock stated. "How are you supposed to help me in that condition?"

"I'm not!" He said, "I'm going back to bed. She'll go with you."

"John, please no," you pleaded. Your brother gave you a pointed look.

"Look, you can't avoid him forever. I think he might actually find you quite interesting." He whispered.

"I don't think this is a goo-" you paused a moment looking again at your brother. "Are you wearing any pants?" You asked loud enough for Sherlock to hear too.

"Nope." John and Sherlock both started laughing hysterically. You tried to look disgusted but couldn't help yourself and joined in on the laughter. John started coughing suddenly, ruining the happy mood. 

"You'd better get back to bed, John," You said. "I'll put on a fresh pot for you and I guess I'll go with Sherlock if that'll make you happy."

"Thanks, sis," He replied heading back upstairs. You went to the kitchen and started some more tea. Sherlock hadn't said a word but you felt his intense gaze on your back. You whipped around suddenly, staring back at him. His gaze faltered for a moment before he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"I suppose you'll do. Just make sure not to mess anything up."

"I wouldn't dare," You replied. Purposely bumping into him as you walked out of the kitchen, you smiled to yourself. Perhaps you wouldn't let him figure out your secret. Perhaps you'd show it to him willingly. 

"We found her in the car completely unresponsive. The medics pronounced her dead at the scene. We figure she couldn't have been here for more than a couple hours," D.I. Lestrade explained.

"To the average person it would look like a standard car accident. Why were you guys called?" You asked. Sherlock was completely ignoring Greg, preferring to examine the body. 

"She was an old classmate of mine actually. We kept in contact occasionally. She always told me she would never get behind the wheel of a car. We were called because the car wasn't registered to her and the owner has gone missing." You nodded and thought about the situation. Walking up to the body and the car, you examined it for yourself.

"The driver of the car, where did he work?" You asked. 

"At the bank about 6 blocks north of here."

"Call the bank and ask if they ever punched in this morning. I think they'll also find they're missing some money. Here's what happened. Your friend and the owner of the car had both gotten jobs at the bank about 2 months ago. They decided to carpool since they lived near each other. They headed into work this morning, the first ones in. When they entered the bank 2 robbers were already inside. They went to hit the alarm but the robbers took them hostage, they'd already gotten the money. They assumed your friend was the driver of the car and forced her to get behind the wheel. As they were driving she started to have an asthma attack and lost control of the car. They probably had another buddy nearby in another car so they could get away with at least one hostage." Taking a closer look at some papers in the car, you said: "Try the Hotel on 27th. That's where they're staying."

"How did you figure this all out?" Greg exclaimed.

"It's quite easy, all the evidence is right there," You stated.

"C'mon, Miss Watson," Sherlock said sharply. "Wouldn't want to keep your dear brother waiting home alone. Good day, Lestrade." He grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the scene. He was silent, never sparing a glance in your direction for the whole walk back to 221b. 

"Wait just a minute, Mr. Holmes. We're both adults and we are going to discuss this matter as such," You said just before going inside. You now grabbed his arm and pulled him into Speedy's. Pushing him into a booth, you sat across him and analyzed him carefully. He'd placed his elbows on the table, hands together in a prayer position, fingertips resting on his chin. He stared straight ahead, which so happened to be directly at you. "Oh no you don't! Don't go off into your mind palace now, Sherly."

"Don't call me that!" He snapped, a barely noticeable pink rising to his cheek. 

"Are you sure, Shirl?" You cooed, noting his reaction. He blushed even harder this time. His face remained stoic but his eyes shone. "You like the fact that someone has finally called you by a nickname without using it derogatorily. You claim not to be emotional but all the name calling affects you very much. Well they're wrong you know. You're not a freak, you're a genius. You're not ugly or weird, you're quite handsome and absolutely amazing. You're not crazy, well, maybe a little." He smiled slightly at that, finding himself unable to meet your eyes. "You do this work because you want to help and you find it enjoyable because you can understand it rather easily unlike emotional matters. Well lemme tell you something, honey, emotions aren't easy for anyone. But most people believe they're a necessary evil. And some people can read emotions a little better than others. You'll find most of those people are women though. I think that right now, you feel absolutely naked at having someone deduce you back." You looked down at your own hands. "Don't feel so bad. I don't mean any harm, I just-" You sighed deeply. "I've been doing this my whole life." He looked up at you, an amazed look on his face. "This deducing and all. Why do you think John gets along with you so well? He's used to me. I drove him and Harry crazy for years." You finally made eye contact with Sherlock again. "I'm sorry I stole your spotlight today. I just, I just wanted to let you know you're not alone."

"What emotions do you see in me now?" He stared deeply into your eyes. 

"Admiration, surprise, and," you paused for a moment. 'No, he wouldn't feel that way,' You thought. "Uh, I don't know." You trailed off. 

"C'mere," he said standing up and taking your hand. You stood up facing him. He took both of your hands in his. "You missed one," he whispered, leaning into you. "Love." He closed the gap, kissing you quickly on the lips. 

"SherlocK! I-"

"Come with me," He exclaimed, grabbing your hand. 

"What are you doing?" You yelled as he pulled you out of Speedy's and upstairs to the flat.

"Jawwwwwn!" He yelled bursting through the door.

"I'm right here," Your brother groaned from his chair not 6 feet away. "What is it?"

"I'm going to marry your sister."

"Sherlock!!!" You yelled. "You haven't even asked me yet!"

"So? I know your answer," He replied with his classic, cocky smile.

"I still want you to ask." He raised his eyebrow at you, still remaining silent.

"Just ask her the bloody question, Sherlock!" John yelled. You laughed as Sherlock reluctantly got down on one knee. Taking your hand he finally said those four special words.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" You replied emphatically. He picked you up as he stood and twirled you around. After he finally put you down he kissed you with such emotion you almost didn't believe it was him. 

"Ok, ok. I get it. My sister's in love with my best friend and my best friend finally admitted he's human. Now can you please not do that in front of me? I think I'm going to throw up and I promise you it's not this stomach bug I have."

[pascalscenarios]

WHEN STARS CROSS (Din Djarin x Royal Reader)

Din Djarin x Royal Reader  

Summary: You had a strange feeling that something was going to happen. This is your first encounter crossing paths with The Mandalorian.

Warning: Mentions of blood, wound, murder 

Words: 3,961

Author's Note: Hello! Okay I know I said my Agent Whiskey Fic, Common Ground, is coming out soon, and it is, but I’ve never seen the Kingsman movies (oops) and I realize that I probably should watch it to help me write to have a better understand of whiskey and the statesman. I’ve put off the story for now until I’ve seen Kingsman. So for compensation here is a Din Djarin Fic! I wrote part of this way back when season one came out. I was never going to post it, it was more for myself, but I decide to let it thrive and go somewhere. 

I hope you all are doing well. Enjoy and again sorry about the whiskey delay. 

- K

PRO |

PROLOGUE PART 1

07 BBY

Adrenaline surged through the young Mandalorian’s body as he quickly rushed into the cockpit of the Razor Crest. He immediately takes a seat in the pilot chair, starting the engine. The cockpit came to life with an array of colors surrounding him. He hastily pushed buttons and flipped switches on the control boards to prepare the ship for take-off.

His heart pounds against his chest. Anxiety washed over him like a tidal wave as he tries his best to remain calm and act swiftly, knowing it's the only way he’ll make it off this planet alive.

The Mandalorian pushes another lever powering the thrusters. He grips the control handles, slowly leaning them forward. The Razor Crest lifts off the ground and soon gains speed as it continues its bumpy ascend off the planet.

Once breaking free from the planet's atmosphere, The Mandalorian punches in coordinates into his navigation system. He grabs the hyperdrive shift, causing the ship to jump into hyperspace.

Mando leans back into the pilot's chair, letting out a sigh of relief. The adrenaline that once coursed through his body subsided. He could feel the sores and pains arising as he let himself be at ease.

He sat there reflecting on what happened. It was a bounty gone wrong. Mando was after a target, a smuggler who owed several colleagues a large sum of credits. He found his target only to be ambushed.

Mando could put up a heck of a fight, having been raised in the fighting core from a young age, he was heavily outnumbered. It’s been a few months since becoming a part of the bounty hunters guild. He was a rookie, still learning the ropes. Over time he knew he’d get the hang of things.

He winces in pain, causing him to sit up slightly. He moves his right hand to the left side of his torso where the pain resides from. He lifts his hand up, examining the bright red blood that coated his glove. Tilting his head down, he sees the deep gash on his side, blood seeping excessively, staining his armor and clothes.

Mando placed his hand back on the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. He gets up from his seat, exiting the cockpit and climbing down to the lower deck of the ship. He heads over to his sleeping quarters, reaching for a compartment mounted on the side of the wall. Opening the compartment, he rummaged through the medical supplies he had left. He grabs a silver spray vile, that contains Bacta to help heal him in a matter of hours.

He sits on the edge of his bed and pushes down on the button on the vile to plaster the Bacta over his wound. Nothing came out of the vile.

“Come on…” He said frustratedly pushing the button again only to end up with the same result. The vile was empty.

“Dammit!” He cursed, throwing the vile across the room. He looked through the compartment again. None of the materials left would be of use to help him dress his wound. He needs something to hold him over, just until he lands and can properly deal with his wound.

An idea pops into Mando's head, leans over on his bed, snatching his pillow behind him. He rips the fabric open revealing the cotton stuffing. He takes a handful of the cotton and packs it in his wound to soak up the blood.

Quickly the pure white cotton turns crimson red as it makes contact with his bloody wound. He continues to pack the deep gash to the best of his ability, then rips a piece of his cape off. He takes the strip of fabric, wrapping tightly around his torso.

After securing the piece of fabric, he heads back up to the cockpit.

He was headed to Carnelian, a small and peaceful planet. It was known as a haven planet providing a safe place for those who are fleeing their home planets to escape the galactic empire, war, persecution, and natural disasters… or so that's what he heard through word of mouth.

He could have gone back to the covert, but there was no way he could reach them from where he was. Carnelian was his best option. He can fix himself up, lodge for a bit, and head back on his way.

…

You're nervous. Maybe you should just go back home. Maybe you were reading into this too much. You stood outside your kingdom's reader, Lady Uchis, home. She was the oldest and wisest woman in your kingdom, having a gift of foresight. For the past few days, you’ve been feeling strange. You had a feeling that something was going to happen, but you didn’t know what it was. Maybe she could help you make sense of what you’ve been feeling and possibly give you answers.

Before you could knock on the door, it swings open.

“Your highness! What a pleasure! I had a feeling you would be coming to see me!” The old woman smiled.

“Lady Uchis” You smiled.

“Come in child!” She welcomes you into her home.

“Sit child” she motions you to sit at your round table. You take a seat down on the stool, Lady Uchis following behind you.

“Tea my dear?” picking up the pot from the table.

“No, thank you”

She sets the pot back down and sits across the round table from you.

“Lady Uchis, I have been feeling strange for the last few days. I have a feeling like something is going to happen, but I’m not quite sure what”

“Let's see, give me your hands.” She asks.

You hold out your hands, letting her take it in hers. She closes her eyes, concentrating on your energy and what she feels.

“You have been feeling anxious about becoming ruler…” She stays quiet, listening. She smiles. “You have a promising future. I see you being a wonderful ruler one day…”

“Oh my..” she gasps.

“What? What is it?” You looked at her worried.

“I see someone in your future…”

You furrow your eyebrow at her.

“You will meet them soon. Your stars are crossed with this person. You two will face many trials and tribulations with them, but just because your stars are crossed, doesn’t mean your stars won’t align. It may take a few cycles to get to that point. You may not see it or realize it at first, but there will come a time when you’ll know they are the one...”

You were taken back by what she said. You weren’t expecting her to give you a love reading. You thought she would tell you more about coronation in a few weeks and have answers to the feeling you’ve been having. Maybe you were just overreacting. It was probably coronation nerves.

“Djarin…”

“Djarin? What does that mean? Is that a name?”

“I’m not sure…Somethings that came into my head. I think it will be important for later on. I’m not sure when though.” She opens her eyes.

You sat there trying to process the information. Djarin...What could it mean?

...

You walked through the meadow that resides behind the palace. You've been out here for a while, taking in the fresh air. You were thinking about what Lady Uchis had told you.

“Your highness!” Oni shouted as she stood near the castle walls. Oni was your aide, taking care of you since you were a young child. She was older than you by 15 years. In your eyes, she was like a sister, your best friend.

You continued to walk through the meadow, sticking your hands out to the side to feel the tall wild grass brush against your palms. You come to a stop, turning around to face Oni.

Oni starts walking towards you, “You’ve been out here all afternoon, are you alright?”

“I’m quite alright. I just feel strange…”

“How so?” Oni having a questioning look on her face.

An anxious feeling settled inside you. The feeling you’ve been having the last few days, you were feeling current. It was just because of the coronation or was it something else?

“I don’t know…”

“Is it because of the coronation?”

“Perhaps...” Your coronation was coming up in a few weeks. Soon you will be the ruler of Carnelian. It was a lot of pressure and expectations. You loved and cared deeply for the people and beings that lived in the kingdom. You just hoped that when you became ruler, you wouldn't let your kingdom down.

“There is nothing to be worried about, you will make a great and lovely ruler” Oni Pressured you.

You pick a long piece of grass, fiddling with it in your hand. “What if I’m not ready?”

“You were born to do this, it's in your blood.”

“Do you know what Djarin is?” You change the subject.

Oni was confused. “Djarin? No, why do you ask? What is that?”

“It’s nothing. Just forget about it…”

“Come inside, we have to alter your outfit for the coronation,” Oni says turning away from you walking

You slowly turned, staring at the vast green trees that lined the edge of the meadow. You didn’t know what it was, but something was telling, calling you to go into the forest.

“Oni… Some things are not right…”

Without thinking, you rushed towards the end of the meadow and made your way into the forest, letting your intuition guide your way. As you traveled deeper into the forest you came across a clearing. You stopped dead in your tracks as you noticed a body laying on the ground a few yards away from you. The body was covered in armor. You couldn’t quite make out who or what it was. You thought it could be one of the guards, but their armor looked nothing like this being was wearing.

Oni called after you, you could hear her running up behind you.

“What are you- oh my stars!” She gasped staring at the body.

You both stood in shock. Nothing like this has ever happened in Carnelian.

You start to make your way towards the body, but Oni grabs your arm stopping you. “No! What are you doing?!”

“Oni, we can’t leave them there!”

“We have no idea who or what it might be or where they came from!” you could hear the fear in her voice. She began to look around to see if anyone was around if they were endangered.

“Go get help” you ordered.

“No! I am not leaving you here with whoever that is! We don’t know who out here in this forest to cause something like this! we need to go back to the palace now-” she grabs your wrist

“Oni, they might be injured, we need to help them if they do!”

“Your highness-”

“Oni, go quickly! I promise you I’ll be alright-”

She sighs, letting go of you. “If your father has my head for this!” She picks up some of the fabric of her dress and races back through the forest, going back to the place for help.

Once she was out of sight you made your way over to the body.

They were sprawled out in the grass on their back. Their armor was old and rusty, barely fitting the shape of their body. They wore menacing helmets with a tinted T-shaped visor masked their identity. The same T shaped your memory of seeing as a child when they invaded Carnelian during the Clone Wars.

It was a Mandalorian. They were rare to see, only a handful left in the galaxy after The siege of Mandalore. Although your kingdom had a terrible past with Mandalorians, you were not fearful. Something telling you they were okay.

You drop down to the ground on the left side of their body, sitting on your knees. You look down at their torso seeing the blood seeping from a deep gash. You search around trying to figure out where he might have come from. A few feet from their body you notice a trail of blood leading to another part of the forest.

You were unsure if they were still alive. You couldn’t tell if they were breathing. You decided it was best to remove their helmet. Your hands grab the side of their helmet, but before you could pull it up, their hand grabs a fist full of your hair.

You yelp out in surprise, being caught off guard. Their left-hand holds up a knife to your throat. Your hands fly and grip to their hands holding a fist full of your hair and your other hand grips their wrist to prevent them from slitting your throat open.

They were sure alive and well alert.

‘Who are you?” They say sternly, but wincing from the pain they were in.

It was a man.

Tears form in your eyes, your chest heaving. You knew you needed to stay calm and try not to provoke him. He was most likely just as scared as you. He was passed out for who knows how long, disoriented and his memory hazy. You were a complete stranger to him as well. You didn’t blame him for his reaction.

You give him your name.

“Where am I?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat “Y-you’re on the planet, Carnelian.”

The Mandalorian had made it to Carnelian but has no recollection of landing or how he even managed to walk through this forest. Where was his ship?

“I-I stumbled upon you...you’re injured. You have a deep gash on your side, you’re losing blood-” You say softly, your hands still gripping to him.

“I can help you if you let me…” you say shakily.

The Mandalorian looks at you. You looked completely harmless, but he didn’t want to trust you. He trusted no one, sometimes not even other Mandalorians.

He loosens his grip on your hair and removes the blade from your neck. You sigh in relief, that he was off his defense mechanism mode.

You observe his gash, noticing it was packed with stuffing that was already bleeding through completely.

He slowly starts to sit up “I don’t need help”

You quickly rip a piece of fabric off of what you were wearing and apply it to the wound, pressing down.

“No, lay back down and stop moving” You put your hand on his metal-plated chest, and slowly ease him down.

The Mandalorian gasps and groans in pain, this time grabbing one of your wrists as you applied more pressure to his wound.

“I’m sorry...you have to stay still...You’re losing a lot of blood- I have to”

The Mandalorian was growing tired, breathing heavily. He was about to go under again. He fought his best to keep his eyes open.

You feel his grip loosen from your wrist, his hand going limp. His helmed head tilting over to the side.

“No no no, hey stay with me”

“Your highness!” You look over your shoulder to see that Oni had returned with a few guards in a land speeder.

“Your highness, are you hurt?!” One of the guards asked as they trickled out of the speeder, coming over to you and The unconscious Mandalorian.

“A Mandalorian?” Oni's eyes widen as she sees you sitting beside him, your arms and clothes soaked in his blood. “No, we are not taking them back! We need to leave them here!” Oni rushes over to you, trying to pull you away from his body.

“We need to take him back to the palace right away, he needs to be taken to the medical bay immediately,” You say without answering their questions and you fight Oni’s grip.

“Your grace, he’s not going to make it. Looks like he lost a sufficient amount of blood-” a guard says.

“Leave them here! Let the guards deal with him- Let’s go!” Oni tells you.

“No, I’m not letting him die! We have to give him a fighting chance! If we take him now we can help him!” You quickly pack his wound with the fabric you were using to press against the wound.

“But-”

“Now!” you shouted angrily.  

The guards quickly grab a medical board, securing him on and lifting him, bringing him onto the back of the speeder. You quickly get into the speeder with everyone and rush back to the palace.

…

When you got back to the palace, several medical droids stood by with a gurney.

The guards quickly transfer The Mandalorian onto the gurney. You step out of the speeder and start walking with the medical droids as they rush The Mandalorian inside the palace.

“Where is the doctor?” You asked the main medical droid, ITE 415, as you walk alongside the gurney as you travel through the foyer.

“Unfortunately, the doctor is up north and will not be back until tomorrow”

Oni ran up, quickly walking beside you. She couldn’t believe you would help a Mandalorian out of all the people and beings in the galaxy.

“Your Father is absolutely going to be livid! I can’t believe you brought them back! You should have left them out there and let the guards deal with them!”

“He’s still a person! He needed help!”

“You of all people should know what his kind did to our kingdom!” Oni snaps.

The Mandalorian groaned awake, his helmet moving around, noticing the droids.

“No-” The gurney stops moving.

“Hey, it’s okay” you move closer to him coming into his view.

“N-no droids... I-I don’t do droids-” he says faintly trying to sit up.

You place your hand back on his chest, pushing him back down. “The doctor isn’t here. He’s up north and will be back tomorrow, but droids will take care of you. You’re in good hands”

“My helmet…don’t...” The Mandalorian slurred.

“What about your helmet?” you asked, unsure why he was bringing it up in a moment like this.

“...Don’t take it off…”

Don’t take off his helmet? You were confused. “The medical droids will need to take it off in order to check-”

The Mandalorian cuts you off by grabbing her hand.

“Promise me… they won’t take it off… please”

“I promise…Take him to the medical bay, I’ll be there in a few minutes… whatever you do leave his helmet on,” You say looking up at ITE 415.

“Yes, right away your highness” the droid responds.

“Are you crazy?! Do you know how this is going to look to everyone?! You’re sheltering and caring for an enemy! ”

“Make sure he’s okay and the droids don’t take off his helmet-”

“No! I am not helping you with him! I refuse! I am not helping someone who-”

“Please, Oni…”

She looks at you angrily, huffing and shaking her head, storming off.

“Oni!” You yell. 

“My child are you alright?! What’s going on?” You see your father, King Orion rushing down the stairs. He could see all the blood on you, afraid you were injured. He quickly makes his way over to you embracing you with a hug. 

“I’m fine, Father” 

“What happened- is that a Mandalorian? What are they doing here?!” He says eyes widening then glaring as the Medical droids rush by him while transporting The Mandalorian to the medical bay. 

“I came upon him in the forest” you began to tell him. 

“Did they hurt you? Is this your blood? Did they do this to you?! You should go be looked at” he says protectively. 

“No, I’m fine. This is his blood. He was losing so much, he has a terrible gash on his-”

“They shouldn’t be here! Their kind is not welcome! They can not be trusted!” 

Your father says coldly. Your fathers had a strong hatred for Mandalorians. 

“Father!” 

“They need to go!” 

“He needs medical attention! The poor man has been and endured enough!” You argued. There was no way you were letting your father turn The Mandalorian away, he had done nothing wrong. 

“I don’t care! Mandalorians are ruthless killers, vile and callous! We’ve seen it first hand during the Clone Wars! They pillaged our kingdom, hurt so many people, they murdered your mother all when you were a mere child!” 

“He came here to seek refuge, Father. Isn’t that what we do? Shelter people, who are in need of help and keep them safe? How dare you turn away someone who needs help! We never turn away people or beings who are running or escaping from something. That goes against everything we believe, everything Carnelian stands for!” 

“We do not help his kind after what they did. He does not deserve our help! I forbid it!”

“I know there are Mandalorians that caused us pain, but he has done nothing wrong, Father. He is not the one who did those terrible things to our people and kingdom several cycles ago! Can’t you be reasonable? He needs time to heal and get better...we can not deny him that”

He deeply signs. You can see the gears turning in your head, thinking about what you had said. “He can stay until he gets better, but after that, he must leave. I want him gone” With that, he storms off. …

“How is he doing?” You asked ITE 415 as you entered the guest room that The Mandalorian was moved into. You had a tray of food in your hand, setting it on the table beside his bed. It had been a few hours since he came out of surgery. You went to see The Mandalorian in the med bay after your conversation with your father, but there was nothing much you could do other than wait around. You gave the droid's space as they attended to him.

“His vital signs are all good. He had to have a blood transfusion for the loss of blood. His gash was deep, but we stitched him up. He should be able to make a full recovery, but we need to keep him for observation. We informed the doctor, they will check on him when they return tomorrow.”

The Mandalorian was slightly propped up on the bed. His armor was all removed except for his helmet like he requested. His shirt had a huge hole in it, where you can access his wound. It was wrapped up and protected with padding and gauze. 

“Thank you” you appreciate the medical droid's work. 

“Of course your highness. One of us will come in to check up on him in an hour.” With that, you watch the droids make their way out of the room.

“Hey”

You jump, slapping your hand slapping against your chest. You looked over to the bed, noticing The Mandalorian had awakened.

“My stars, you gave me a fright!”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Are you alright?” You asked him how he was feeling.

“Dealt with worse.”

“Worse? You’ve dealt with something worse than bleeding out?” 

He remained silent.

“Um...I brought you some food. Figured you might be hungry. I’m not sure what you like but I got you a whole bunch of things… Hopefully, that’s okay.” 

He looks over at the bedside table noting a pile of food stacked onto a tray.

“Thank you” was all he managed to say. You’d saved his life. If it weren't for you he most likely would have been dead. 

“Sorry about being early.. when I grabbed you. I hope I didn’t hurt you- I didn’t mean-”

“I’m fine...Thank you for apologizing” you smile softly at him.

“What’s your name?”

“I go by Mando…”

“Mando..” You say. You introduce yourself to him again. “I’ll let you be...If you need anything I’ll be a few rooms down”

You leave him alone to rest. Mando… Something about him. You thought about what Lady Uchis said. He couldn’t possibly be the person she was talking about. Further down the line you were going to meet the person she was talking about. It had to be in the distant future. You couldn’t quite pinpoint it yet but you knew Mando would have significance to you. You could feel it.

MT // @wifeofdindjarin @icanbeyourjedi​ @sara-alonso​ @greeneyedblondie44

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Okay so I panic-deleted this when I accidentally posted it early, so to make up for it I wrote scenarios instead!

.........

Yuri

“My darling? Are you alright?"

“Y-Yeah, I'm good, Yuri..I just fell.” You tried to brush off your boyfriend’s concerns as you threw out the old bandage you had on for a few hours.

But before you could grab a new roll, he took your hand and frowned deeply as he examined your wrist. It was swollen pretty badly, and unfortunately...you could no longer hide that from him.

"This couldn’t have been a fall. Please don't lie to me."

“...okay so maybe someone broke my wrist.” You sighed. “N-Not on purpose but-”

Yuri gasped with horror, looking up at you with tearful eyes. “S-Someone attacked you?! Who was it..one of those awful, vile males?!”

You only responded with a slight wince of pain, seeing that he unknowingly squeezed your hand tighter. He took notice too and quickly let go, mortified by what he had done. But he grabbed the bandage, shakily wrapping it around your wrist.

“Oh no..I-I’m truly sorry! Now you’re suffering even more because of me!” He started to cry a little. “Please forgive me..I-I don’t mean to hurt you and interrogate you like some..c-criminal..”

Once he was done, you sighed and brought him into a hug. “It’s okay. Yuri..you didn’t hurt me at all.” You stroked his fluffy hair as you rested your chin on top of his head, hushing him. “I know you’re worried, I’ll tell you everything when you calm down.”

“A-Are you sure it’s alright?” He mumbled against your chest, sniffling.

“Yes, I promise.”

..........

Hajime

“Hey..where’d you get those from?”

“Oh? These?” You touched the bandaids on your cheek. Before now you forgot you even had them on. “Uhh..working out?”

“Tell me the truth, [y/n].” Hajime huffed, arms crossed like a stern dad. “We worked out together this morning and you didn’t get injured anywhere around your face.”

“..it was just some dumb rabid fangirl.”

Of course, dating the popular boxer had its pros and cons. It often made you the target of jealous fans who couldn’t accept the fact he was happily taken by you--even though you were another Ultimate known well by the public.

But unfortunately you let your guard down one time when you were making a quick shopping trip..and the scratches on your face were the consequence. You made note to keep your identity hidden next time around.

He frowned, using one hand to gently cup your cheek and the other to remove his glasses so he could see you better. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.” You put your hand over his, smiling in reassurance. "You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know but..I don’t wanna see you get hurt by my fans. I thought they knew better...”

“She looked drunk so I’m sure she didn’t mean it. I’m alright, I promise. I took care of it so the scratches won’t get infected.”

“Good.” Hajime smiled a bit. “But still, I think I should make a post about this because I don’t want it to become a recurrent issue.” And with that, he turned to leave the room. 

You followed suit, fingers still intertwined with his.

.........

Mikado

“Mikado, no--”

“Mikado, yes.” The wizard’s mask held a dark grimace as he tried to free his wrist from your grasp. “Please let go of me at once, my dear. I can’t teleport if I can’t properly focus-”

“I know, and that’s why I’m not letting you go anywhere.” You huffed. “You don’t even know what happened.”

He just shot you a look, before glancing at your arm, which had a cast. “Well it’s quite obvious isn’t it? You got hurt and I’m gonna find the bastard responsible!!”

You could feel your hand growing hot as his fire magic was gradually spiraling out of control. But you shook your head, sighing. “If you can just wait before you go set more shit on fire I can tell you exactly what happened.”

For a while you both stared at each other--an intense standoff where neither of you were willing to move or speak. Fortunately Mikado calmed down as his mask shifted to form a tired expression. “Alright. Tell me everything, but if I hear one single name I’m gone.”

“Okay.” Relieved, you let go of his wrist. “I got this cast because I was a klutz and slipped on the sidewalk."

“.....”

“.....”

“....that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“...why didn’t you say so before??” He whined, hugging you close with a pout on his face. “I’m so sorry for losing my temper. Could I perhaps sign your cast to make up for it?”

“Sure.” You chuckled.

.........

Shinji

“Shinji?”

“......”

“Shinji.”

“..h-huh?”

“You��re staring off into space again.”

“Oh...again? Heh..that happens a lot, m-my bad...” The firefighter coughed nervously, looking back at you. The beeps of the hospital’s machines that he previously tuned out were audible once more, drawing him back into the reality that you were laying on the bed, recovering from a fire at your workplace.

He so-happened to get a call at that location, and seeing you unconscious, covered in burns, made his heart nearly stop. He got you out just in time, thank goodness, and according to the doctors the smoke wouldn’t have any long-term effects on your breathing.

But still, he felt...guilty seeing all of the bandages on your neck, torso, and limbs. None of them were severe, but even then he could only wonder what would’ve happened if...

If he was too late..

You frowned slightly, noticing Shinji’s forced smile starting to falter. So you reached out to grasp his hand. “It's okay..I'll be okay." You reassured him, feeling his hand tremble. “I know you were scared seeing me there but..you saved me. And I’m gonna be alright.”

"...I know." He blinked back the tears welling in his eyes, squeezing your hand gently. "You're a real fighter."

Those words were meant to comfort you, but he needed to comfort himself with them, too.

[mrspanky]

The Time We Lost: pt 1.

Jason Todd x Reader (female pov).

Content: Angst and language.

Readers note: Hi love, I hope you enjoy this! I had so much fun coming up with this story. Can’t wait to put out part two, because that’s when it really gets good. For the best experience listen some sad music while reading, I wrote this to the songs “Last Cigarette” by Ruby Waters, “What Are You So Afraid Of” by Videoclub, “All My Friends” by the Revivalists, “Ghost of Mine” by Kailee Morgue, and “I Didn’t See You Coming” by Fefe Dobson.

𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫

It was freezing outside.

You hated asking for help but you broke a little when you stubbed your toe on the pavement and didn’t feel anything through your boot, only to take it off on a nearby doorstep and realize that your toe was broken.

Should’ve worn sturdier boots.

You pondered what to do, stranded on the step, fuming. You knew where you’d end up going you just hoped he wouldn’t be there.

You were in the heart of the city but you remembered the way to his apartment like the back of your hand.

It had been so long, but it felt just like yesterday as you looked around remembering the landmarks that would lead you to your destination.

“Fuck”, you muttered.

There was the coffee shop you two used to go to. Overwhelmed by emotional memories of bad days, and days that hadn’t been so bad, you started to panic. You looked in your wallet. $7.00 looked back at you pitifully.

“That’s enough for a coffee, and if I get a coffee it’ll keep me warm, AND give me enough mental power to think of a solution other than going back to his place”.

Your mind was made up. You walked in the direction of the coffee shop with stubborn resolve. As you entered the door, you bumped into a man.

“Sorry”. You mumbled.

You weren’t really sorry, you were actually quite annoyed, but you were too tired to get into an argument.

“No, my bad”, said the man. Your jaw tightened.

“Tim”, you thought.

You’d recognize his and all his brother’s voices anywhere.

“Well what the fuck do I do? Do I say something? No, I don’t want to talk. Wait, but he might.. know if.. he’s home”. You sighed, and turned around.

“Wait, Tim?” Tim turned around, looked at you, and raised his eyebrows in realization.

“...Y/n?”

••••

“Y/n not to be rude, but you look like shit”.

Tim slid a coffee across the table to you.

“What happened?” He looked concerned. You sighed.

“I’m fine. I was just in the area and I was taking a walk and forgot how cold it was. I left my jacket at home”.

“Which is where..?”

“...Not too far”.

He furrowed his brow.

“You have cement on your shoe and there’s only one street in Gotham getting redone right now. It’s in the middle of the city. Not close”.

He paused and glanced down.

“Also you were limping on your way over to the table just now”.

“Damn”. You thought.

You’d forgotten that it was annoyingly difficult to lie to Tim.

“You’re not ok, are you”. He leaned in.

“Y/n, why are you really going to see Jason?”

You stayed silent.

He looked at you closely, seeming to make up his mind.

He sighed, and got up out of his chair, grabbing your coffee cup.

“Come on”, he gently took your hand.

“Tim..I don’t-“

“-He’s not home right now.” Tim cut in.

He helped you up, and started for the door, then paused.

“Look, I get it. But me and a couple of the other’s are just crashing there right now for a mission. You probably won’t even see him, and you really look like shit. Let’s at least get you a bed for a couple nights”.

You tried to consider his offer.

You didn’t really have any other options.

“Let’s face it y/n”. You thought.

“Todd manor is probably at least a little warmer than the streets”.

Even thinking that name hurt you deeply, but you pushed it down.

“Alright”, you solemnly nodded your head and let him lead you out the door, a wave of anxiety washing over you about the impending painful memory rush you knew was coming.

•••••

The red front door.

You hadn’t seen this door in ages.

He had been so excited to walk through it the first time. You remembered it so well.

He had called you on a Friday afternoon as you were getting ready to suit up.

You had thought he would be calling about the mission you two were working on, but that hadn’t been the case, and you had been so glad for it.

You teased him mercilessly and he teased you right back: But you really enjoyed his company, and you got excited whenever he called, as much as you would deny it back then.

“Hey. I’ve got news”, his voice had solemnly announced over the phone.

“I’m king of my own castle now. I’m gonna call it Todd manor”.

“You got the apartment! Wow. Your very own manor. Time for you to adopt a million kids”. You could practically hear him smirking on the other end.

“Well do you want to see it or not? I’m at the front door right now. I sent you my new address.”

Images of you grabbing your motorcycle and riding over as fast as you could, rushed through your mind. You had pulled up to see him standing there, right where you stood now. You had sauntered up to him, teasingly.

“Ok bird boy, let’s see the new cardboard box”.

He’d looked so happy.

You gasped quietly.

“Tim I don’t know if I want to do this”.

He looked at you quietly.

“He’s not the same, but if you see him, he’s still…Jason. You of all people know how stubborn he is. Not even death could kill that...personality of his”.

He smiled with a twinge of sadness.

“He’s not gone anymore”.

You looked at him, with panic in your eyes.

“Come on. The others miss you.” He opened the door, and you both walked inside.

It was just like you remembered. So much so that it felt like a dream you’d had over the past years countless times, of life before Jason had died.

Tim ushered you forward into the kitchen space. You looked up hesitantly, steeling yourself for whatever your eyes would be greeted with.

Positioned around the kitchen were Dick, Wally, Damian, and Jaime.

You tried to hold down your emotions. You hadn’t let yourself feel how much you’d missed them fully until now.

“Hey guys”. You smiled a little.

“Y/n?”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise.

Wally was characteristically swift to reach you. He raced over and stood at your side, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“How are you?”

A tear fell from your tired eyes.

“I’m ok”, you smiled softly.

“I missed you guys”.

Wally’s brows were furrowed with worry.

You realized that none of them had ever really seen you cry.

You tended to be too embarrassed and see it as a sign of weakness, but you were too exhausted to hold back right now.

“We missed you too”, Dick said as he walked over.

“Yeah”, said Jaime. “We haven’t been able to find you all this time, we’ve all been worried”.

“I’m fine,” you shrugged. “Just needed to be on my own after...after... you know. And I have been, and I’ve been ok I just got caught up a little I guess. No big deal.”

Tim met Dick’s eyes in silent communication.

The older brother pursed his lips together with recognition and resolve.

“Let’s get you some food”.

After you finished eating you trudged upstairs to shower. When you got the water going, you let the steaming water run down your hair. It felt so good after the freezing gotham streets you’d been experiencing the past week. You sighed. You couldn’t stay here long. Everything was a reminder of what your life had been like before Jason was murdered and you went off the deep end. You didn’t want to remember all the hope that you had had, and how naïve you’d been. For a while after he died, you had broken away from everyone for this exact reason.

You wrapped a towel around you, and examined yourself in the mirror, wiping away the steam so you could see your reflection clearly. Over the time that Jason had been gone, you felt like you’d changed completely. Your naturally y/h/c hair was now a shade of y/c/c, and your previously youthful face looked hardened. Not necessarily in a bad way, you just felt sharper. “Amazing”. You thought. Stress had given you a jawline. You laughed to yourself bitterly. You needed a vacation. Badly. This past year of fighting crime on your own and making somewhat questionable decisions had taken its toll on you. You slipped into the large white t-shirt Tim had lent you, dried your hair with the towel as best as you could, and walked to the room he’d told you that you could stay in.

The room was Jason’s, but he wasn’t home so it was empty right now. It was going to be extremely painful to be around his things for the first time again and you were a bit overwhelmed already, but like everything else today, you didn’t really have a better option. You felt like you were invading his privacy somehow even though you knew it was technically fine. “This is so fucked up”, you thought. You hadn’t even ever been brave enough to not mask your feelings for him with banter, and now you were staying in his room while he was away because you had been homeless for the past week. And you had been homeless all because you couldn’t pull your life together after he fucking died and you couldn’t save him. “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t fucking save him”, you whispered to yourself, holding back more tears as you reached the door. You took a deep breath, wiped your eyes and opened it.

Cautiously, you looked down as you closed the door behind you, not ready to face everything yet. As you began to turn your eyes upwards, you heard a noise in the direction of where you remembered the window to be, from the tour Jason had given you so long ago. Your fighting reflexes kicked in on instinct and you raised your fists. A red helmeted man entered your line of vision as you stared at where the noise had come from. Your arms fell limp to your sides as you registered what you were seeing. Who you were seeing. “...Jason”, you whispered.

To be continued...

[carol-effing-danvers]

Steve Rogers is a Monster

Yeah, that’s a hell of a title, isn’t it? Strap in, it only gets worse from here. 

(click here if you’d prefer to read this on AO3)

Forewarning, if you enjoyed the epilogue for Endgame, this particular essay is not for you - and no, I am not bashing the Steve/Peggy shippers, you are beautiful human beings who make the fandom brighter and I’m happy that at least someone in this fandom got the ending they wanted.

Additional warning: if you expect this to be another Civil War debate, you will also be disappointed. There has never been a measurement invented that can adequately describe how much I loathe the verbal dick measuring contest that seems to pass for human interaction between Tony Stark and Steve Rogers in this franchise. It’s not funny or entertaining - it’s exhausting, uncomfortable, and frankly it’s rather lazy writing.

This is about the very specific way that the epilogue in Endgame completely changed the way the character of Steve Rogers can be interpreted, and I don’t just mean the very illogical and contradictory way that time travel is explained, both in the movie itself and the fact that the writers and directors have two completely different views on how that worked out. 

I mean that the choice made by Steve Rogers in the very last minutes of that movie alters the way I view each and every one of his actions starting from The First Avenger and that alteration is exactly what I want to talk about, because whether you view it as deserving or not, what Steve does at the conclusion of Endgame was the most selfish thing humanly possible. Time is a thief, but somehow Steve managed to steal even more than Time.

Side note here: I understand that I am a completely biased Stucky shipper, a friend to Barnes and Noble, a Starbucks aficionado - sorry. Anyway, I’ve always believed that Steve and Bucky were destined blah blah blah, but I was never expecting a Stucky ending. Disney wasn’t going to do that, and I knew that, I wasn’t bothered that Steve and Bucky weren’t doing the smoochies by the end. But Bucky’s facial expression during those last minutes was gut-wrenching. Like...I have no idea what kind of cues the script and directors gave him, but in the future, please don’t ask Sebastian Stan to look sad unless you want soul-crushing devastation. It’s not Seb’s fault, his features are just arranged that way - but the fact that the editing staff allowed Sam to be sad though elated to be entrusted with the Shield and Bucky looked like his soul was being physically torn out of his body was an… interesting choice. 

Other side note: if you’re writing about time travel, I’m begging y’all to get your facts straight. Or just don’t write about time travel. It almost always sounds better on paper than it does on screen and it means that you’ve opened doors to more questions than you’ve probably got the answers for. I know this was about trying to set up the idea of the multiverse, I get that, but there were better and less messy ways to do that, and I know that because I’ve done it before. @Marvel: Let me write you a six-way orgy you fucking cowards~

By going back in time, Steve robbed Peggy of the future that would have been hers - not only that, he’s robbed her of even the chance of making the choice between those futures, because you honestly could not tell me with a straight face that Steve told her the complete truth of what he had done and she would be okay with him alternating the very course of the future. It doesn’t help his case that he has a history of not disclosing truths that he knows will be painful or inconvenient for other people in his life.

He robbed his loved ones - Sam, Bucky, Wanda - of the years they would have spent with him. Sure, he ‘came back’ after Peggy passed away, but they are adults in the prime of youth who knew him sixty years ago in his own time and he is an old, old man who has lived an entire life completely separated from them. He is practically a stranger with a name they know, but a history that no longer belongs to any of them - not even his oldest friend. They have him back, but judging from his age, they’ll be lucky to get even ten more years with him. Assuming of course, that any of them can stand to speak to him - I certainly couldn’t blame them if they tell him to go to hell and take his dad jokes with him. 

Steve has stolen away their friend and dropped off an elderly and dying near-stranger in his place, and this is treated by the writing (and the majority of the acting) as a wild and unexpected but not tragic event. 

Is it really that unexpected, though?

I recall seeing a Game of Thrones essay on Daenerys across my dash (I’m sorry, love, I don’t recall who you are since it’s not a fandom I’m in, but if someone knows who wrote that, please post the link!) which detailed how her ending in the series was foreshadowed many times by her penchant for bloody killings and her habit of surrounding herself with her own fawning friends.

Months after reading that, I had the thought: though Steve is never really shown thinking about Peggy after Civil War, except in a few scattered scenes in Endgame, was this foreshadowed? Whether you believe that his actions are justified or not, what Steve does is still, in the end, selfish at its very heart, and Steve Rogers is not a selfish person. 

Oh no, my dear friends and readers. Because taking this action has solidified and clarified Steve Rogers as the biggest and most selfish asshole in this whole universe.

Steve does not do the right thing, Steve does the thing that will most make him feel better. The fact that this often happens to be the right thing in the end is more the result of happy coincidence than any special sort of moral authority that the man holds. 

Rescuing Bucky Barnes and his fellow captives in a prisoner of war camp from being experimented on by an insane Nazi eugenicist? That was not a moral stand, that was endangering himself, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark because he couldn’t handle the reality of his best friend being killed in war.

Sacrificing himself by putting the Valkyrie down in the Arctic Circle? That was not about sparing human lives, that was about Steve seeing his friend die right in front of him and not being able to deal with the grief. There were ways he could’ve prevented the plane from killing people without killing himself.

Trying to make Bucky remember who he was? And later on, saving him from the government agencies who wanted to hunt him down? Although, arguably, that last one is also just good common sense - Steve was already shown that government agencies could and were corrupted by HYDRA and he’d also seen how dangerous the Winter Soldier could be when unleashed. 

Steve did, I think, truly believe that this was the right thing to do, but it was also about keeping his connection - his very last, since Peggy had descended into dementia caused by Alzheimer’s before she ultimately died - to a past that for him, was only months or years ago, rather than decades. In some ways, this is completely understandable - Bucky might be the very last person left alive who truly knows who the real Steve Rogers is, because the rest of these people only know Captain America and we are consistently shown through multiple movies how uncomfortable this makes him.

This gets...considerably less and less understandable as we are shown Steve’s growing relationships with Natasha, Sam, Wanda - even Sharon, though she barely gets any screen time and they share the most awkward kiss I’ve ever seen - and indeed, what might be the most uncomfortable kiss in cinema history.

Side Note 3: This is made even more awkward by the director’s choice to have two of Steve’s friends watching them the whole time - seriously, who even does that? Why would you make them do that? Only sociopaths make out with their friends staring at them like that. It’s so fucking creepy - and don’t even get me fucking started on the fact that she’s also apparently his own niece. AHHHHH!

But we are shown, over and over again, that Steve is capable of building close meaningful relationships with people in the present. They don’t know his whole history, but they do know Steve Rogers rather than Captain America and they care about him deeply. 

Side Note 4: Notice that I don’t count Tony Stark among those people - despite this strangely persistent narrative that the various writers and directors tried to sell to the audience, Tony and Steve were not friends. They were never friends. They were colleagues at best, but these were two men who neither liked nor understood each other very well, but had to work together. And sometimes that’s okay, too. (Oh dear, I just gave the Stony fans a fit too, didn’t I? Sorry, guys. Enemies to Lovers is a great trope, I support you!)

But let’s set aside Steve’s gross betrayal of the people who loved him. We’ll also ignore the question of whether the motive for these good actions has tainted the actions themselves. Because even without questioning these, the conclusion of this story arc still transforms Steve into the biggest monster this franchise has. 

The very fundamental way that the writers and directors can’t agree on how the time travel mechanics in their own story work mean that Steve has just done one of two things and they range from shady and very questionable to absolutely fucking horrific. 

The first, that he’s created his own alternate universe to exist in, is morally dubious at best. Even the people who support this theory and liked the ending seem to feel that it wasn’t necessarily a ten out of ten on the moral goodness spectrum. They’ll say things like ‘he deserved to have his happy ending’. Even that phrasing seems to acknowledge that doing this was the opposite of the right thing. It just considers doing the wrong thing as being justified rather than horrifying. 

But let’s examine this first idea for a minute - even this, the more innocent of the two implications, means that rather than really processing his grief or dealing with the repeated tragedies and losses that have occured in his life, even as he was running group therapy sessions and grief counseling, Steve Rogers chose to escape his current life by creating an alternate universe that specifically allows he himself to live out his own fucking fantasies of the way his life should have turned out. 

That, in case you are not aware, is wildly fucked up. I thought I was playing pretty fast and loose with Steve’s characterization when I turned him into an extremely polite serial killer but as it turns out, I clearly just wasn’t setting the bar high enough, because that’s somehow even more fucked up than being an undercover child soldier with a small sadistic streak. 

Hm, and now I feel I should have been more creative there...

The second, and even more horrifying option, is that this older Steve Rogers has been in this world the whole time, watching as things unfolded just as we’ve seen over the past decade, taking ‘the slow way’ through time. 

Side Note 5: I do kind of understand why you would do it this way, because that’s really cool and shocking when you say that! Until you think about it for longer than three seconds and suddenly you realize…

Everything that has happened here, every tragedy and downfall these people experienced, happened because Steve Rogers lived his happily ever after with his beautiful wife and did absolutely nothing to stop it. He got to fuck Peggy Carter and watched as his wife built an empire of intelligence networks, knowing that her efforts were completely in vain because her agency was rotten to the core and he never told her.

Every horrifying act committed by HYDRA under the guise of SHIELD was permitted through Steve Rogers’ negligence. And that’s just the wider big-picture worldview, large and shocking, but not personal. 

What about the people that Steve claims to actually care about? 

This means that Steve lived his whole life in contentment with his wife and children while his best friend was physically and psychologically tortured for over seventy years and just...let that go. 

He allowed one friend to murder another in the nineties, when the Winter Soldier was sent after Howard and Maria Stark. Then their child was being advised by a greedy self-interested warmonger who paid terrorists to drag him off to be tortured and slaughtered, and Steve did nothing about that, either. 

Bruce Banner was exploited, experimented on, and made into a monster against his will in the failed pursuit of recreating what was done to Steve, resulting in billions of dollars in damage and dozens or even hundreds of lives lost, and Steve allowed that to happen, too. 

Like Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov was physically and psychologically tortured for others to use her as a living weapon - except that this was probably happening to her since early childhood, and a man her future self loved and trusted implicitly did nothing to save her from this upbringing. 

The Maximoff twins are shown to have not wealthy but loving parents who are murdered in front of them and they both endure days of laying in the rubble of their ruined apartment, wondering if the bomb in their living room would go off and kill them. Later, they are taken in by HYDRA, experimented on, and recruited as child soldiers to the cause when they show signs of having supernatural powers. They start a series of events that result in the destruction of a major city and the loss of what is probably thousands of lives. Pietro is murdered while trying to help the Avengers to stop this, and Wanda suffers the loss of the very last living person she loved. None of these things seem to have bothered Future Steve. 

Steve “I can’t sit on the sidelines when I see a situation go sideways” Rogers, planted himself on that fucking sideline and observed for nearly eighty years as friends, colleagues, and his own wife were lied to, brainwashed, tortured, vilified, and hunted down like animals.

And then there Steve Rogers himself - not the Endgame Steve Rogers, the Steve Rogers who brought down a Nazi plane and will lie beneath the ice for seventy years while everything he knows disappear (mostly) innocent of these horrors, the life he would’ve lived stolen from him by a stranger with his name and his face from another universe.

What I’m saying here is that if you consider this idea for any amount of time, it took Steve Rogers less than ten minutes to become the most evil and disturbing figure in the entire MCU, only (not really tho) contested by Thanos himself. 

Gross and poorly reasoned libertarian ethics aside, Thanos genuinely believes that he did what he did for the sake of the entire population. It’s made fairly explicitly clear that Steve didn’t do this for anyone but himself. 

Call me crazy, but if everyone you know needs to suffer and multiple planet-wide devestations have to happen in order for you to get your happy ending, you might be the bad guy. 

Maybe I’m just old-fashioned?

[stringing-words-onto-a-chain]

Vampire!Ash AU (NOT SEXUAL)

I found a few different fan arts of vampire Ash recently, and I decided to write some. Yes, I fell into the “uncontrollable thirst” trap, but I’m a sucker for angst where the perpetrator can’t be blamed. Also there are like a bazillion different ways to tag this ship, so I just wrote   A L L   O F   T H E M.

Sal POV:

As Sal ate, his eyes wandered over to Ash, and he frowned, setting down his food and lowering his mask. She was shifting in her seat, licking her lips, and her emerald eyes were darting all over the street. While he watched, the whites of her eyes flickered briefly to a soul-piercing coal black, and back again. His movement drew her gaze for a split second, and she tensed as her eyes fell on his wrist, pausing momentarily before she shook herself.

“Hey, Ash?”

She finally met his eyes, still turning her head towards the slightest sounds around them.

“Yeah?”

“Is… something wrong?”

Ash tried for her signature smirk, but her fang caught the top of her lip in a way that reminded Sal of Larry’s nervous habit. 

“No, no, I’m alright.”

He raised an eyebrow behind his mask.

“Don’t lie to me, Ash. I may not have super senses or anything, but I can tell when something’s bothering my best friends. So get talking.”

“I -” she began, then sighed deeply, dropping her head. When she looked up again, her eyes were black once more, the green smouldering like an ethereal flame. “Sal, can you possibly do me a huge favour?”

His eyes narrowed in concern, and he swung round to face her, straddling the bench.

“Of course, you can ask me anything.”

Ash glanced round the room. Her unsettledness was beginning to unnerve him; it wasn’t like her at all.

“Okay, so usually I don’t drink from people. You know that. But it is better than most other blood - more fulfilling.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going…”

She laughed, but there was something off about it. Sal couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but his hand crept to the cross Ash had insisted all of them carry in case of an “accident”.

“Sorry, Sally. But anyway, I didn’t have time to drink bottled animal blood this morning, and I… wait, I never told you what happens if I don’t drink enough, did I?”

“I don’t think I wanna know.”

“No, you definitely don’t. Point is, I don’t drink, your friend Ash disappears, and something much more aggressive comes out instead.”

His fingers curled around the cross behind his back, slowly drawing it from his pocket. Ash’s eyes fell on his hand knowingly, and she smiled sadly.

“Don’t worry, it’s not desperate yet. I’m still me - for now.” He slipped the cross back in his pocket with an exaggerated sigh of relief, but he kept on alert, his hand still on it, just in case. “Now, I could, theoretically, go hunt some animals in bat form, but that will drain me quicker, and considering we’re in a relatively clean and busy town, if I can’t find anything…”

Sal laid his other hand consolingly on her shoulder, and almost immediately regretted his decision as Ash’s eyes fell hungrily on his wrist again. He settled for leaning forward and speaking softly, gently removing his hand.

“What can I do to help?”

“Well, as I see it, I have two options.” Ash’s eyes bored into him, not having changed back. “I can go bat-form and pray to… I don’t know, Satan or something, that I can find something in time, or…” She looked at him meaningfully, and he understood exactly what she meant.

“Or you can drink from me.”

“I swear I won’t take enough to kill you, or turn you, or even knock you out, and I will only do it if you let me. I’d never hurt you if you didn't tell me it was okay.”

Sal considered, weighing up how much she needed it with how much he trusted her.

“Alright.”

Her unnatural eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re clearly struggling to not… go psycho, or whatever it is that happens. I’m here, and you won’t actually damage me at all, so why not? Heck, I’ve probably gone through more painful operations.”

She threw her arms around him tightly.

“Holy crap, Sally Face, you’re the best!”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he returned the hug, letting his already unbuckled mask fall into his lap. She pulled back for a second, looking pleased at the visibility of his face, and running a hand through her hair.

“There’s one more thing I can do to make it easier for you.”

“Which is?”

Her eyes shifted sideways, and she smirked bashfully.

“One of my weird-ass powers is… sort of like hypnotism. I can’t control you or anything, but I can put you in a trance. If I do that, you won’t feel a thing while I drink. Otherwise, it’s gonna hurt. But again, I won’t do it unless you let me.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Thanks, I guess.”

“No, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” She stopped, tilting her head to examine him. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this. I’m not sure what you think it’s gonna be like, but Hollywood lied to you. This would normally hurt like hell, and it’s blood, so it’s sticky, and messy, and gross, and… yeah. Just generally not fun.”

“I know.” Sal leaned forward again, knowing exactly how dangerous it was, but this time not caring. “I trust you. I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

“I won’t. I mean, I will, I’m literally about to, but I won’t do any major damage, and I’ll do my best to minimize the pain. Ready?”

He tugged down the front of his jumper quickly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and shifting to face Ash.

“Yeah. See you in a minute?”

“Maybe a few.”

Ash POV:

“Maybe a few.”

She closed her eyes, focusing hard on the tiny pinprick of power inside her. It wasn’t much, vampires were an extremely diluted type of magic, but it was enough for this. She let her eyes slide open again, throbbing with her will, and met Sal’s eyes. She could feel him instinctively resisting the pull, trying to keep his head clear.

“Don’t fight it, Sally, you agreed to this. Remember?”

He smiled. Honestly surprising he could hold out this long.

“Is this the part where you tell me to stare into your eyes and just relax?”

She snorted.

“Pretty much. Kinda shocked you’re still lucid enough to make that joke.”

“Yeah, it’s not going to last. You do know how to wake me up, right?”

She just smirked, leaving herself the last laugh as Sal’s joking eyes widened in nervousness for a split second before they glazed over, and his expression became completely neutral. The smile faded off her face, and she looked over her statue-still friend remorsefully. She stuck a hand in front of his face and waved, but there was no acknowledgement. He was utterly bewitched.

“Sorry, Sal.”

She made to grab his wrist, then stopped. She looked up at his blank, scarred face, then gently rose up on one knee, kissing his forehead tenderly.

“You really are incredible”, she told him, but she knew he didn’t hear.

Sal POV:

“Sally?”

A voice cut through the haze surrounding him, and for a split second of clarity, he realized his mind had been completely shut down, not registering anything at all.

“Sal.”

Such a beautiful voice. Silvery, flowing, and gorgeous, like ribbon.

“Come on, Sally Face, you’re stronger than this.”

Familiar? 

“Goddamn it, Sal, snap out of it.”

The voice was almost pitying, but there was a soft edge to it, and it sounded like it was holding back laughter. 

No, not it. Her. 

Green eyes settled into focus in front of his own listless pair. The rest of her face spiralled into his vision as well, and the pieces of her slowly connected, becoming more and more familiar. Like an old friend.

Ash.

  All at once, everything sharpened, and Sal’s hand flew up to his head, an abrupt awareness of his rebooting mind. As he did, he registered a dull pain somewhere on his body, where she must have bitten him, but he wasn’t quite conscious enough to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. The memory of what he’d just thought about her voice sprung up on him, and, realizing the mask was no longer in place to hide his blush, he decided to dismiss it as a result of the enchantment.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. You in there?” asked Ash teasingly, but there was something heavier behind her words, something a little too sober to be good. 

“I… I think so. Your weird power thingy really did a number on me, but I’m just a little groggy.” He let his hand fall back in his lap, bumping against his discarded mask as he did, and gave her a tired smile. Now he was actually himself again, he noticed a roll of gauze and a clinical looking spray on the table next to them, and he glanced up at Ash. Her eyes were back to their normal human-passing appearance, and there was a subtle smudge of red at the corner of her mouth.

“I figured it was best to keep you under while I cleaned up the bite. Antiseptic spray is a little bitch.”

He smiled at that, but it dropped off his face at the thought of what she’d had to do. Absently, he put a hand up to his neck, feeling for the bite mark, and frowned.

“Where’s the -”

“The whole thing about vampires and necks is mostly a myth,” Ash replied, the weight behind her words still prominent. “Check your other pulse points.”

A vague dread began to settle over him, and hesitantly he looked down at his hands. Gauze was poking out from his sleeve, and upon seeing it, he instantly knew exactly what was wrong. He pulled his jumper back to reveal two twin holes bound under the fabric bandages, where she’d drank, then pulled the thick cotton back further. The neat gashes lined up across his arm were bound as well. A quick tap on his other arm told him the marks there were treated too. Shame washed over him, and trying to meet Ash’s eyes was like fighting a brick wall with his non-existent powers of telekinesis. Her hand slid under his chin, cold from the wind like one of the undead bloodsuckers he’d seen in movies, and brought his face up level to hers.

“Sally…”

“What can I say to pass this off as not a big deal?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Ash curled back her lips, revealing her gleaming fangs, and her brow furrowed, her eyes earnest in their utter horror, before she dropped her head, letting out a long, slow breath.

“Listen, Sal, I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself. I don’t know what could have driven someone like you to pick up a blade and… I just don’t. But I also know I can’t stop you. It’s an addictive habit, I know, and you’ll find a way to do it if you’ve made up your mind that’s what you’re gonna do.” He finally turned towards her, needing to see her expression clearly. It was pointless, though, as she’d looked away, hiding her face. “Knowing how deep your self-hatred goes, I don’t think I can convince you to stop. And vampire hypno powers only go so far. But please, I am begging you, stay relatively safe while you do it. I can’t lose you.” She met his gaze, desperation lining her body as she leaned towards him, cupping his face. “At least get yourself some fucking bandages.”

“I’m sorry.” The hoarseness of Sal’s voice caught him by just as much surprise as the hot tears that spilled over his lids out of nowhere. Ash’s face softened, and she leaned still further forward, her hands bunching up the back of the jumper as she pulled him in for a hug. He squeezed his eyes shut, the tears forcing themselves out, and tucked his head against her shoulder. 

“You should be apologizing to yourself, but I’m not delusional enough to think that’s gonna happen.” She stroked his hair understandingly, the feeling registering through the despairing numbness. “I know I literally just had you under a spell, which I did to give me an opportunity to take some of your blood, but… I genuinely don’t want you getting hurt.” Her grip tightened, and she rested her chin on his head. “I love you, Sally Face. You know that. And if you won’t take self-preservation as a reason to stop, maybe you’ll take the three of us needing you as one. We need you, Sal.”

“Thank you…” he mumbled, clutching at his mask. Ash seemed to understand; she gently pulled back, watching him buckle on the mask sadly. He paused, feeling her gaze still on him, and looked up. “I mean it, Ash. I love you too, and that… really helped.”

[thelastyetfabolousmidwestmadman]

That One Fanfic Idea I Had That Was Too Fucked Up For Me

So picture this.

Your watching Highschool DXD with your mother. It’s weird I know but my mom has done much more disgusting stuff so it seems rather normal in comparison... 

No? You Don’t want to picture it?

Kay, now stop picturing it, cause you’re either squicked out or have issues so imagine just watching alone, with a friend, or if good fortune strikes you the best girlfriend/Boyfriend ever.

But lets talk about YOU.

You are a lonely depressed coed, who straight out of high school suffered one of the most painful experiences of your life. The one you love the most just broke up with you for reasons you don’t understand or can comprehend at the time. 

For brevity’s sake I won’t tell the cause of what happened between me and my ex. I think some things should remain private and everyday I’m regretful for how I acted and wish that things could have gone differently. That is the past now and it should only be revisited to show how much you changed for the better.

You present yourself a mask of happiness when in reality you are in so much pain you are genuinely considering suicide but in a attempt to keep your mind off the pain, you listen to music that you never liked before because what you loved reminds you of them, and most importantly you watch shows that you previously had no interest in due to a desperate attempt to feel something, anything.

Its been nearly four years since that happened and some things are better but the scars still bleed deeply in the sides of my cerebrum. Today while I still have many issues and I wont pretend to have them together, but with the passing of time wounds become less salted and eventually will heal. Parts of myself I lost I’ve regained and that has made me proud but in other ways my trauma made myself break in two more then shatter. I may never be the same again but that doesn’t mean I could be something new or better.

Some of you might me wondering, “Why Madman, why are you talking about this now.” Well if there is one positive thing I can say about what happened is that it made ma a better writer. I now take my time, and don’t stress out about due dates. Since I experience one of the worst experiences of my life, I could greater write and understand the pain, sadness, and fears the characters I adapted experienced. I guess talent increases through suffering and struggle. I guess the best I can say was before I wrote like a child who hears a song and only focuses on the feelings in their simplistic form while now the adult who has life experience and sense the greater meaning.

But even now I still have so much to learn, and improve from! Sometimes I look at both my ongoing and old work with a equal measure of fondness and disappointment knowing what I know now. Even after the tragedy, I wrote in stasis for a while and works like Goodbye Innocence could have started less like a soup opera and be better for it. But suddenly I had a ephinany. I couldn’t allow myself to keep my writing at this level with the lackadaisical attitude I had before. I had to try harder! And that meant  updating less and taking my time to get back in touch in why I loved writing so.

Then it hit me. The childish magic and wonder I got from writing hasn’t left me at all, even at my lowest most pathetic moments. There are people better then me and instead of repeatedly getting down on myself, I accepted my limitations and regained my enthusiasm that I thought lost. 

But briefly over a period of twenty months my mind sorta went to a dark, bitter place and I sorta gave in into nihilism and despair. I kept thinking about Deconstructionism in general and what it could be applied. As you could guess, my mind landed on one show in particular.

So I kept stretching out my mind, in a rather feverish pace, thinking about how could I turn Highschool DXD dark? I mean the show is literally nothing but fanservice and tame ultraviolence how can anyone possibly make that edgy? Even without Funimation’s help the show is so ludicrous how could anyone take a dark fic seriously?

Well... Unfortunately for my sins, I came up with one.

I thought about Issei when I got to the Diadora Asteroth part. I thought about how hypocritical he could be at times considering how he tried to influence Gasper into stopping time in order to fondle unknowing women, which is pretty much beyond comedic anime perversion and more Diadora levels of sexual predation. 

Granted, I’ve long since learned that if you spend all the time thinking about the unfortunate implications of jokes, plotlines, and character arcs, particularly in politically astute context like myself, you’re quickly drive yourself crazy and be unable to enjoy any work of fiction ever. There are some that are admittedly more egregious than others but author’s intent, values dissonance/resonance, and alternative implications are important to examine as well. Life is too short to turn into a zealot and their are other social-economic problems that require requisitely radical solutions like Medicare For All, Reparations, BDS, etc that are more important to focus on then minor shit like this but anyway why the fuck am I rambling, you didn’t read this far to hear me pontificate on politics, back to the point.

TRIGGER WARNING from this point onwards

So the idea goes like this. The girls of Rias’s harem fall in love with Issei just like in canon. But what if said love is only due to Ddraig’s influence? What it Issei now had a excuse and means to justify his perversions and channel them into outright sexual and emotional abuse?

Yeah I don’t particularly feel like going further into what I entailed other than saying that it got really graphic and disturbing. So why you may ask, why would someone who was infamous for his rape fics be unable to write this of all things?

I couldn’t stomach it.

The amount of talent required at the time was beyond me and I think it’s beyond me even now but lets pause for a second and really think about this. This is something that I have no experience but sadly too many people do. IF I got even the most single fact wrong, I simply wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

Even worse, the part that I would be at most knowledgeable about, the emotional aspect of abuse, would bring up memories that I would rather not think about.

You don’t like fics like this out of passion or joy, you write them out of sheer artistic conveyance to a particular issue. You write them cause you are in pain. You write them to punish yourself. You write them to reveal a dark part of yourself you suppress with thousands of years of civilization and morality. It would be an all around miserable experience for everything.

And why would I do that to myself and others? That is not the sign of a healthy mindset and it is counterproductive to the reason I write dark fics in general.

So I am happy to toss this idea in the bin. I can’t stop anyone from doing this idea, all power to you, but I don’t want to read it. Perhaps my curiosity would get to the better of me.

Either way, I say goodbye to this fic, and hopefully this painful period of my life.

Peace.

[velvetthunder1999]

All the time on Earth

Part 20 - Resistance

Summary: You don’t let Umbridge win, you keep going back to detention to prove your point. George feels hurt by this and Fred finally talks some sense into you

Warnings: Angst, Blood

Word count: 2.7K

George Weasley x Reader // Fred Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist

You were staring at the page of the book with an empty gaze, at the very back of your mind hearing Umbridge ordering you to copy the whole chapter four times. You had already found the easiest solution; if everything goes as planned, Peanut will arrive tomorrow with the Quick Quote Quills you had ordered, and you wouldn’t have to write a single sentence to Umbridge anymore. The quill will do the job, and you could spend your valuable time doing more important things.

“Are you paying attention to me in my class, Miss Y/L/N?” a sweet girlish voice echoed next to you. You jerked up your head.

“Hm? Er — s-sure,” you said with what you hoped looked like a reassuring nod. Umbridge stepped closer, while the eyes of the whole group was on her.

“Dear, you know I expect everyone to give one hundred percent of themselves during my lessons. If you are not devoted, you are more than welcome to leave the classroom.”
 You thought about walking out, just for the joke of it, and the thought made you smile a little. Umbridge raised her eyebrows.“Did I say something entertaining, dear?”

“No…,” you said, glancing at your book and the idiotic chapter in front of you. “No, not really.”

“Then I believe it is necessary for you to pay more attention to what I’m saying here…”

“But we read during the whole class,” you blurted out. All heads turned towards you now. “I could do that in the common room all by myself as well!”

Umbridge tilted her head. A smile appeared on her face.

“And now you won’t even do that, Miss Y/L/N. I will see you this afternoon at five o’clock in my room. Detention.”

The bell rang, putting extra emphasis on the end of her sentence. You clenched your jaw and packed your stuff quickly, then hurried out of the class before anyone else. You headed down to have lunch and found George and Fred already sitting at the Gryffindor table.

“What’s that snarky face?” asked Fred and George turned to you in concern.

“Umbridge gave me detention again,” you said while reaching for the mashed potatoes.

“No!” said George in an angry whisper. “That disgusting old b —”

“Yeah, but I don’t care anymore,” you said, as you hurriedly showed the food into your mouth. “I’ve figured out something, I just need to run to the library.”

“Still, it’s not normal, she’s carving those stuff into your hand — ” Fred started but you stopped him.

“Yeah? And what am I suppose to do, just let her do whatever she likes? Brake up with my boyfriend just because she says so?”

“I thought it was all right, that we — ” said George carefully.

“Was it now?” you snapped. “Cause I know you didn’t like it, and I certainly hated having you around like a stranger. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and arrange some stuff.”

You stood up from the table and ran to the library; you spent all afternoon there, looking for spells that might help you out against Umbridge. At five o’clock you arrived to her office feeling quite satisfied.

You knocked and walked in; today you were the only one sentenced to spend a whole evening with her. You sat down and she pointed at the parchment and the familiar quill before you.

“You know what to do, dear.”

“Should I write the same thing?”

She looked at you, surprised at your contribution to the task.

“Well, we don’t want the letters to mix up, do we?” she said in a slight giggle.

“No we don’t,” you said, locking eyes with her. Her smile faded slowly, then she said in a dry voice,

“Start, please.”

You took the quill with nervous anticipation. You wrote ‘I mustn’t mix with purebloods.’ and you saw the letters carving themselves into your hand. But the pain didn’t come. You fought a satisfied smile. The numbing spell worked.

You spent exactly four hours and twenty-three minutes at Umbridge’s office; by the end of it the spell started wearing off, but the pain was still like an unpleasant bee sting, rather than a shockingly harsh feling. When Umbridge examined your hand, she was looking at your face, searching for a slight wince, a badly-hidden grimace, but she didn’t get anything.

“Shame,” she said. “I see the message is still not clear. I will see you tomorrow as well.”

As you closed the door, a dark smile appeared on your face. You did it. You actually sat through detention without pain. Who cared about that stupid writing? Those are just words. They didn’t matter. What you just did… that mattered.

You couldn’t wait to tell George; when you returned to the common room you went directly to him, and told him everything about the numbing spell you found. He nodded without saying anything, occasionally glancing at your bleeding hand. You tried to wipe the blood away but it was difficult; the wound was bleeding more heavily than last time.

“Give me that,” said George after watching you struggling with a handkerchief. “And eat this.”

He gave you one side of a Nosebleed Nougat which reduced the bleeding at once. George got some gauze and bandaged your hand in silence. When he finished, he sighed deeply.

“I’m not sure I’m okay with this.”

“What d’you mean?” you said, confused.

“I mean this whole thing of yours. With Umbridge.”

“I’m still not following you.”

“You have to go tomorrow as well, right?” he said tensely. You shrugged.

“Yeah, so what? I can do all my homework in my free periods, I always have free time on the evenings —”

“You know very well it’s not about that.”

“Then what?”

“This… This stuff,” he indicated at your hand that he was still holding. “This will leave a mark. A couple of more nights and it won’t heal. It’ll stay there.”

“These are just words.”

“No, these are disgusting ways to put people down, I… I don’t want you walking around with this later, thinking of her every time you look at your hand — ”

“So you say I should just leave it alone? Would you do the same? Would you let her tell you who you could be with and who not?”

“It’s different, I’m not — ”

“You’re not a mudblood?”


“Don’t say that word!” he snapped. “Don’t ever say that!”

He let go of your hand, taking shaky breaths. He shook his head.

“I meant… You still have another year after this one, you have to be careful, Y/N! I couldn’t care less if I was expelled, but I don’t want anything to happen to you! But she will figure out something, I know she will. Even McGonagall — ”

“Exactly,” you said. “Even McGonagall can’t do anything about her. I can’t just… I can’t just sit here watching her cross everyone anymore. I can’t. Even if she sends me to detention I… I cannot let her think that she broke us! That we’ll do everything according to her wishes!”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to,” he said drearily. “Look… isn’t the DA enough? Isn’t it good enough to know we’re doing something against her already?”

You gulped. You spoke in a low whisper.

“I cannot let her think that she can do anything to me.”

“So you’re just gonna keep on carving your hand, then?”

You didn’t say anything. You looked at George with a pleading look. He understood: you wouldn’t give in.

“I’m going to sleep,” he said and stood up.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Can’t deal with what?”

“You… That,” he pointed at your bandaged hand. “I just hope you’ll change your mind.”

But you didn’t. The next day you went to detention as well, just as the day after and the day after that. You perfected the numbing spell, though your hand was now so stiff you couldn’t hold the silverware in it properly. Umbridge let you alone for the weekend; on Friday night she probably assumed you’ll end up at the hospital wing from the loss of blood. Your hand was now bandaged all the time as the scar didn’t heal fast; after the sixth night it was just an open wound, failing to close as you were cutting it again and again.

After the eight detention you could almost see an impressed expression on Umbridge’s face as you were not giving up. She mainly gave you detention for not working during her class (which basically meant that you refused to read the given chapters of her idiotic book) or disagreeing with her repulsive comments and opinions.

George did not give up, neither, though his arguments became more desperate and angry. You knew he was fuming, and it was because of you, but he just couldn’t understand. Eventually he became quiet around you, looking as though he was fighting a sick feeling in his stomach every time you couldn’t fold a parchment or accidentally dropping your fork due to your stiff hand.

And after three weeks of detention, on a Thursday night, something happened that made you feel worse than ever during your meetings with Umbridge. You arrived at five o’clock as usual, sat down to your usual table and reached for the quill — but it wasn’t there.

“Start, please,” Umbridge said with an interesting smile. You shook your head.

“I don’t have a quill.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” she said giggling and walked to you with a quill in her hand. “Am I correct, assuming you’d like to work in the Ministry later?”

You were taken aback by her comment. How dis she know?

“I’m not so sure anymore,” you said, sending a sharp glance at her. She giggled.

“Trading, correct?” she said, giving you the quill with a brown feather in it. “Do you have any experience?”

“I…,” you were puzzled. “Some.”

“Mm…,” she said, then walked back to her table and sat down. “Start, please.”

You took the quill and wrote down ‘I mustn’t mix with purebloods’. The word didn’t even seem to make sense anymore. You just wrote them without thinking.

‘I mustn’t mix with purebloods’. The scar on your hand started bleeding already.

‘I mustn’t mix with purebloods’ Why was she asking you about your future plans? Ugly old toad, you’d work anywhere but where she was.

‘I mustn’t mix with purebloods’. Why hadn’t she prepared the quill when you arrived? And why did she make such a big deal out of it? What was this whole thing with trading?

‘I mustn’t mix with purebloods’. You looked at the feather. It was a familiar color of brown. And it seemed so soft, just like… just like…

Peanut.

Your hand stopped and you took a sudden breath. You haven’t seen Peanut since you sent him for the Quick Quotes Quills… You had thought he was just late, he had been late before… No… It cannot be… It can’t.

You looked at Umbridge who had not taken her eyes off you since you had started writing. She tilted her head a little, smiling.

“Such a nice piece of feather isn’t it?”

Your mouth opened as you were fighting for air; your eyes filled up with tears and even though you were struggling, you knew you couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“I think it’s enough for today,” she giggled. “Good night.”

You stood up and left without saying a word. Could she…? She couldn’t… That’d cross a line… But Peanut… You hadn’t seen him… No… Oh, no.

You hurriedly wiped your tears away since there were still people on corridors. You felt your heart sank as you were thinking about Peanut. You bought him, from your own money, the first pet you ever had, you’re only company at your parents’ house… She couldn’t… She couldn’t…

You made a run for it, you didn’t stop until the owlery. You called after Peanut but he didn’t came. He was not there. He wasn’t anywhere.

“No…,” you whispered, tears falling from your eyes.

You needed at least an hour to calm down, now all you felt was anger. You had had enough, you just wanted it to stop. You were so tired, so exhausted, you ruined your hand, you wanted to go home, but for you home was not a thing, home for you was Hogwarts and now you just couldn’t stand being here anymore.

You walked back to the common room, passing the stairs to the astronomy tower. You remembered when George and you lied to Filch about how you were coming from detention… Everything was so easy back then, everything was so easy…

When you stepped through the portrait hole you saw Fred at once, sitting on the couch by the fire, writing something. He only looked up when you sat down next to him.

“Hey,” you said hoarsly. He furrowed his brows in concern.

“Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, though nothing was okay. “What’re you writing?”

“Forms for orders. George told me how you ordered everything cheap, just because you filled out some paper.”

You nodded.

“Where is he?”

“Detention,” said Fred. “McGonagall. He didn’t do his homework three times in a row.”

“Why?” you raised an eyebrow. “He had plenty of time.”

Fred looked at you with pity.

“What do you think why, Y/N? You’re ruddy hand is giving him a hard time.”

You didn’t say anything. Fred put down the quill and turned to you with a stern expression, which was very rare of him.

“Listen, Y/N, you need to stop this. You’re making him mad.”

“Did he tell you to talk to me?” you asked, frowning.

“No, I do it because I want to. You maybe don’t see it, because he doesn’t tell you, but he’s miserable.”

“If he’s angry — ”

“He’s not angry anymore, he’s worried! And desperate, I’ve never seen him like this! You’re not only torturing yourself, you’re torturing him, too. Do you know how he feels when he looks at your bloody hand? Knowing those words will stay there forever? Knowing he can’t talk you out of this, because you won’t listen? Knowing you won’t understand that he’s scared for you?”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. You were just staring into Fred’s eyes, those eyes which were so similar to those that you loved so much.

“He really feels like that?” you asked, whispering.

“He does, I’m telling you. Can’t even have a proper conversation with him. His mind is just somewhere else, and we both know where.”

You casted down your eyes. You had thought George was only angry because you were resisting Umbridge… You had had no idea he was worried about you. You felt horrible, thinking about how much you hurt him.

“I need to tell you something else, too,” continued Fred suddenly.

“Okay.”

“You’re not only hurting him, Y/N… You’re hurting me as well. He’s not the only one who feels horrible, looking at your hand. I don’t want you doing this to yourself. It’s not right. That woman’s vile. I don’t wanna see her when I look at you. And I don’t want you to be affected by her anymore. I… I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re like a sister to me.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your throat was dry and your lip trembled. You felt so horrible.

“I’m sorry.”

Fred’s eyes softened.

“I’m such an idiot,” you said, whispering.

“Yes, darling, you really are.”

You chuckled. Fred put an arm around you and pulled you closer. You rested your head on his shoulder.

“Will he forgive me?”

“Of course, he will.”

“I still have detention until Christmas break, though. That’s six more days.”

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N…,” muttered Fred. Then he pressed a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m really tired,” you whispered, thinking about Peanut. You just wanted to cry. Feel a bit of relief… if that was possible.

“Going to sleep?” asked Fred, still hugging you. You nodded.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said and stood up as Fred’s arm fell off you. You turned towards your dormitory, but didn’t leave yet. “Fred?”

“Mm?”

You sent a sad smile at the man on the couch; the man who you loved, only differently.

“You’re like a brother to me, too.”