#your brother ruined your life. your brother loves you. your brother did every despicable thing he did just to protect you. bcos he loves u.

[shartingan]

i know i shit on itachi a lot(and it is deserved) but the real reason i do that is if i think about itachi and sasuke for too long i go insane. dont look at me dont touch me . delete all record of naruto from existence i cant handle it .thinking about sasuke after obito reveals the truth behind the massacre makes me SICKKK.

[thesolferino]

Power(less)

⤷ smp!dream x gn!reader.

⤷ genre: angst, soulmate au

⤷ word count: 3.7k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: you pay a visit to the man you hate most when he exiles your brother/best friend, tommy

If there’s one thing you were sure of in this pathetic, despicable life of yours, it was that you hated Dream.

Honestly, how couldn’t you? He ruined everything you stood for, stomped over all of your plans for a hopeful future before you even started, never let you and your brothers build your life the way you wanted, because he had always been, and always will be, a selfish, narcissistic bastard. No matter how much you tried to negotiate, how many times you cried behind those walls because you knew you’d never be left alone, how many times you begged and pleaded Wilbur to let it go, let it all go, let Dream win because he’ll win every single time, no matter how many times the three of you try to stop him, he never gave up on making your life a living hell.

Despite the fact that you’d spent countless nights up, tossing and turning in your bed, wondering if life like this was really worth it if you’ll forever live in fear, if you can’t leave your window open at night without fear crawling up your spine that maybe, just maybe, he’d throw a bomb inside and kill you in your sleep - despite the fact that you always wondered if maybe you should flee, and never look back - you were one of L’Manburg’s proudest and strongest soldiers, at least for the time when the country was exactly what you built it to be. 

You waved your country’s flag and sung the anthem with equal pride, and you always stood right by Wilbur and Tommy’s side, chin high in the air, stance unwavering in the presence of Dream and those who stood by his side, always ready to show him what L’Manburg citizens were really made of. You shot best with your special crossbow - Wilbur had always complimented you on your eagle’s eye, and while you were built for a battle like the one Dream and Tommy fought for the prize of L’Manburg’s independence, Tommy was far too loud, confident, and forever blinded by his own vanity to have you fight it instead. 

Of course you’d let Tommy have it, despite being aware that he’s far too cocky, beyond his abilities, and that you’d handle it much more swiftly, because he felt the obligation to; because he wouldn’t give in and let you do it. Two sides of you chewed you away to insanity, because Tommy was your favorite - both you, and Wilbur’s - and while you wanted to let him have it, wanted to let him have the title of #1 soldier and have it his way, you also didn’t want him to get beaten by Dream, because you were sure it was going to happen. As much as you despised the man and everything he stood for, you had to admit that he was one hell of a warrior, and quite good with a crossbow.

That’s why, when Tommy got impaled by the arrow, you were the first to run up to him amidst all of Dream Team’s cheers, nursing supplies already out, (Dream had asked if you were so insecure in Tommy’s skills that you brought those along in preparation or if you were so confident that you had brought them to nurse him, instead; Wilbur had to physically hold you back from pouncing on him with the sword strapped to your back) slowly plunging the arrow out of his stomach and assuring him he’d be fine, that his well being meant more than a thousand L’Manburgs did. Dream missed none of your soothing murmurs and the worrying glances you shot to a boy no less than your brother, whether by blood or not, and he chose to turn his back, celebrating another victory. 

He couldn’t look away, though. No matter how hard he tried, his gaze always flew to the two of you.

What did it feel like - to be cared for? He’d have to ask Tommy, or Wilbur - what does it feel like, to have a chunk of your heart? What does it feel like to have you stare at him with flames in your eyes, but flames lit by adoration, and not by resentment? What does it feel like, to have you on his side?

Truth be told - he tried. He tried, he really did. When you first walked into his land, a traveller, somebody from beyond his sight, a fresh pair of eyes with a fresh perspective, he tried to befriend you, because even if he didn’t want to, it seemed like everything in this world brought the two of you together. He always ended up close to you, next to you, observing how you laughed, how your eyes crinkled, how your brows furrowed, how you tapped your fingers when you were bored and swung your legs back and forth when you sat on a wall too high for you. 

One thing you didn’t seem to care for, however, was Dream’s best attribute, and that was power. You didn’t care that he held all land on the palm of his hand, you didn’t care that he appointed and laid off whoever and whenever he pleased, you didn’t care that all looked up to him - you didn’t care that he was most powerful. 

He wasn’t the only one with the power, though. Power comes in different shapes and sizes, and a bold man is a powerful man. A man who stands out holds power, and the two who always stuck out like a sore thumb were Wilbur and Tommy. Because physical strength or resources aren’t always what make a man powerful - an entertainer is a powerful man, an intelligent man is a powerful man, a witty man is a powerful man, but above all, a courageous man is a powerful man. And Wilbur and Tommy were all of the above.

He envied Tommy, because Tommy knew how to get the attention on himself without the use of power. He envied Wilbur, because he had somebody to fight, he had something to stand for, he had a purpose, something in which he could put equal part bravery and intelligence in, both of which he had plenty. He envied the two, because they could be heroes, because he was there to witness their story getting built, while Dream was there from the beginning, and the only witness he had was himself. 

You grew close to the two of them before he even had the chance to try - his chance got wasted before he could even try, because the more Wilbur whispered into your ear and crafted plans, and the more Tommy encouraged you to go with the two of them, the less he saw of you and your shiny smiles. At first, it bothered him to no end, because he saw so much potential in you, both as a friend and as a warrior, and Wilbur just kept on stealing you away from him, over and over again. But then, when he saw you helping build those giant walls, and heard Tommy proudly announce that: “We’ve got Tubbo, Eret and Y/N on our side, too!” shiny smiles became dull, menacing even, to the point he didn’t want to look at them anymore.

And when the war had started and you proudly defended Tommy, no matter what, with an insane glint in your eye that he only recognised from reflections, he realised that the chance had fully, entirely slipped out of his fingers, and you’re nothing more than an enemy anymore. The opportunity to get you on his side was long gone, if it ever existed in the first place.

You were with them through everything, thick and thin - you were there when Tommy turned over the discs, cheering on Wilbur during the election, even retaliating against Schlatt once he revoked the citizenship of your two best friends, nothing short of brothers, and leaving with them, spitting on his shoes before running amongst a sea of arrows that were being thrown your way, escaping out of the country you built of your own blood, sweat and tears like a criminal, like a foreigner, like an outsider and not the very founder of the land they stood on.

You were always by their side, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you always agreed - you had gotten into way too many passive aggressive fights with Technoblade, told Tommy and Wilbur far too many times that he was nothing but trouble, told them that there is no more dangerous man than a man with power, and you thought they’d learned that lesson with Dream, long, long ago. But nonetheless, you stayed through it all - you stayed through the makings of Pogtopia, Henry’s unfortunate death, and the festival, at which you didn’t fail to shout “I TOLD YOU SO”s at Wilbur and Tommy despite being in a near-death situation. Technoblade suffered a kick in the groin, because you just couldn’t help yourself, which led you into a sword fight that was way more than you bargained for, and was ultimately stopped by Tommy who forgave Techno just to stop the two of you fighting, not looking forward to having your head cut off in front of him. 

You were there to see Wilbur spiral, breaking apart in the prison of his own mind, you were there to see the glint of heroism in his eye get bent into one of a villain, you saw him become the man he had once swore to you he’d never become. And perhaps, when you fought for L’Manburg again, deep down, you knew what would happen; but you still fought tooth and nail, desperate to get back what you once had. You fought next to Technoblade, even though both of you knew you hadn’t forgiven him, and you never will - you fought next to Wilbur, even though you knew he’s not the same Wilbur you once knew, even though you knew L’Manburg would never truly be L’Manburg again, because its founders aren’t the same as they once were, when their heart was full of foolish hope and love. 

You were there to see Wilbur mouth an apology to you, and even though you didn’t know what he would do, you knew that the apology wasn’t an apology, but a goodbye; at least a late goodbye to the Wilbur you once knew. You were there to see the betrayal in Tommy’s eyes when Technoblade turned against you, summoning monsters with his own hands, forcing the rest of you to kill them while he watched. You were close, so close, too close to putting an arrow through his heart, ready to get rid of him, tired of the tears and the blood you shed over getting back what was always rightfully yours; but you didn’t, because Tommy’s hand laid on top of yours, telling you not to do it. So you didn’t, and instead you aimed for the porcelain mask that haunted you in your dreams, the cause of all destruction. Unfortunately, you missed, with his foot jumping back right before the arrow was supposed to plunge straight through his chest, and you fell to the floor, defeated.

You were there when L’Manburg’s government formed again - you were there when Tommy burnt down George’s house on accident, and, unfortunately for you, you were there when your younger brother got exiled. You were there, watching him get escorted. You watched him leave. You watched that monster of a man escort him out, kick him out, away from you, from everyone he loved. You watched him, and gripped your crossbow with tears in your eyes, swearing to yourself that you’d never let him get away with this. 

That’s why you stomped into the Community House the next day, knife strapped to the inside of your thigh, sword fastened on your back, crossbow slinged over your shoulder, fire in your eyes, demanding to see him. And sure enough, as soon as you spoke his name, he was in front of you, cracked mask covering his face, dirty blonde hair combed, as if nothing had happened in the first place, as if he hadn’t made life a living hell for all of you.

“Hel-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cut him off, speaking through gritted teeth as you took a step towards him, heavy boots creating even heavier footsteps on the wooden floor. The mask remained expressionless as always, and his body language gave away nothing. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Dream? Is this funny to you? Are we some kind of sick joke to you? Is that what this is? Are you having fun, Dream?” you continued, almost spitting at him. “Take off that mask, talk to me like a fucking man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said, hand shooting to grip the porcelain at the mention of his mask, although he simply adjusted it slightly, still leaving it on.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. How could you kick him out?! He’s a fucking child, Dream! A child!” you yelled, hand clenching into a fist.

“Is this about Tommy? I’m sorry, Y/N, but it was not my decision. The people, and Tubbo, decided that he should be exiled- I just did my job.” he claimed, still stiff, expressionless, and you fired back almost before he even finished the sentence, rage lighting your whole body ablaze.

“Right, because you only have power over other people when it fucking fits you! You only have power when you want to! You’re only the most powerful person in this whole fucking land when you want to terrorise other people! What are you, Technoblade? Poor baby got succumbed by peer pressure? Miss me with that bullshit, Dream. You and I both know that if you stood up for Tommy, and refused to exile him, nobody would’ve done shit! But no, you chose to exile him, and you know that. So at least admit to your actions and don’t shift blame, asshole.” you spat, fury getting the best of you, and apparently him, too, because he pulled his mask off so quickly that the strings almost broke, menacing green eyes boring into yours.

“He shouldn’t have burned down George’s house, he shouldn’t have tried robbing George, he shouldn’t have been a criminal when he’s vice president of a country! All actions have consequences, and he has to suffer those consequences to learn!” he borderline shouted, defending himself.

“He’s supposed to learn by being exiled and ripped away from everyone he loves? That’s how he’s supposed to learn not to fucking rob people? He’s sixteen, Dream! Sixteen! He’s a fucking kid- yes, he makes mistakes, but so do we! And we’re adults! Full, grown, fucking adults. What has he done to you to deserve this, you fucking psycho?!” you yelled, and you briefly saw him grit his teeth, jaw clenching.

“I’m not a psycho and you won’t be calling me that. He can’t go unpunished for the crimes he committed. Tommy is not as innocent as you make him out to be. And, once again, this was not my decision, it was made by Tubbo. If you have any issues, take it up with him, not me.” his eyes go darker than they were before, mirroring a brewing storm with no glints of the sun anymore.

“Right, because you’re so innocent. You never committed any crimes! You’ve never done anything bad! Our favorite good guy, Dream. Never tried to kill any minors. Bless his heart.” you mocked.

“I don’t fight anybody unless they provoke me first. Every time I fought Tommy, I wished I didn’t have to.” 

“I really expected more from you, Dream, I really did. I expected you to at least fucking admit to your actions, at least give me a proper excuse as to why you haven’t left me and my brothers alone from the start even though we wanted nothing but to live in peace and independence, why you do so much of the fucked up shit you do, but I guess I expected too much from you. You’re nothing - even Technoblade is more of a man than you, you know that?” you asked, leaning on one foot lazily. You see his hand clench - someone’s getting mad. “Technoblade admits to his fucking actions. Technoblade has had his goals set from the start, he’s always made them clear, and even though he’s a dirty traitor, at the end of the day, it’s still your fault for siding with him. But you - you’re a liar. You’re a liar, and a manipulator, and you never play fair - you always play dirty and play with people’s emotions and that’s how you win.”

You continue: “That’s because you can’t win fairly. That’s because you lose when you play fair. You think you have power, but you don’t. You just play by a different set of rules than everybody else, and we let you. Power will turn a man evil, Dream, but you’ve been evil from the start. People will always fear you because you trick everyone into believing you’re far more powerful than you really are - but you know what people will do with me, Wilbur, and Tommy, that they’ll never do with you?”

Silence.

“They’ll respect us. And you are a man worthy of no respect.”

You unleash your sword, pressing the blade to his throat in a matter of seconds, ready to push it through with no preparation but he grips your hand before you can do it, and he’s about to speak, when your eyes dart to his, and suddenly, your vision blurs, a movie playing behind your eyelids without you closing your eyes at all. 

It’s almost like you see the events play out in the depths of his gaze - you see him, the real him, who stands before you, and you see his face mirrored in the scenes that play out, you see him staring right at you through some kind of screen, a smile plastered on his face. His features look softer, and his eyes don’t glint the same way they do now, but it’s not a bad thing; they look warm, homely. Something bursts in your chest the more you look at him, and it all goes by so fast, but you manage to somehow catch all of it. 

You manage to catch his warm smile just as the days pass in flying colors right before your eyes, you manage to feel heat spread through your chest when you look at the man before you, you manage to see him cooking, and laughing, and running, and driving, and crying, and sleeping, and kissing you and it all feels so odd but so perfect at the same time. You’re looking at Dream, but it’s not him - you call him a different name. You can make out the silhouette of the actual Dream, who still grips your wrist, behind the scenes of you and the man with a striking resemblance to him, and you wonder if this is happening to him, too.

You see him on one knee, at a beach, and you feel yourself crying even though you don’t know what’s going on. You see him in a field, and you can make out a man who looks awfully like Sapnap sitting on a plastic chair in the front row among many, wiping tears before your gaze turns back to Dream, who grins at you, dressed in a tuxedo. You see a young boy with blonde hair running around the house, laughing, while you try to catch him, and then Dream appears in front of you, picking the boy up before you could. You see his face wrinkle as the days pass, and you finally see him close his eyes one last time while tears run down your face uncontrollably, and the whole thing stops. The scenes disappear and you’re snapped back into reality, Dream’s teary eyes boring into yours. 

And that’s when you realise.

You harshly pull away from his grip, eyes wide in shock, putting your sword back in place as you shake your head in disbelief. The tears don’t stop flowing, and you can’t tell if it’s shock, horror, disappointment or betrayal - betrayal in who? Fate, you suppose. 

“N-No way. No way. No.” You keep shaking your head, voice trembling as you back away from him. He can barely collect himself, too, staring at you as if you’re not real, as if he’s seeing a ghost.

“We’re- no. Fuck no. Fuck this shit, dude.” You laugh dryly, no humor in it whatsoever, a mix of disbelief and fear still weighing down on your voice as he tries to step towards you, wiping the tears off his face.

“We’re- we’re soulmates.” He stutters, but manages to ground himself way before you do, gripping your wrist again, and you feel almost electrocuted when a spark shoots through your whole body at his touch. You pull away, again, stepping backwards, praying there’s no wall behind you.

“No.” you repeat like a broken record, not even bothering to wipe the tears. “No- I- there must be a m-mistake, this can’t be-”

“There’s no mistake, Y/N. You’re my soulmate.” He takes both of your hands into his, holding your fingers gently, and it takes all the power in your body not to burst out crying again. 

“Y-You’re no soulmate of mine.” you gulp, pulling your hands away once again, finally managing to somehow collect your thoughts. “Fuck you. I don’t care what- what we fucking are. I’ll never love you.” 

You see him visibly stiffen at your words, mouth parting, and you almost feel bad. Almost.

“You can’t- you can’t go against fate like that. We’re soulmates, Y/N.” He sounds hurt. You manage to convince yourself that you don��t care.

“Watch me do it.” You spit, anger recollecting in your gut once again. “Fucking watch me. Find yourself somebody else. I’ll never forgive you.” 

“Listen, I’ll bring Tommy back, just listen-”

“So now you can suddenly go against Tubbo’s orders? When it fits you? Fuck you. You don’t need to bring Tommy back, because I’m leaving with him. Him and Wilbur were more soulmates to me than you ever, ever will be.” 

And with one last glare in his direction, you turn on your heel, stomping out of the Community House, rage burning your whole body as he watches you leave. 

A powerful man needs those who will give him power. Watching you walk away, Dream realised that one day, he’ll have no one.

[tokoyamisstuff]

This Is New For Me

Loki x Reader

Summary: Life on Asgard can be straining - especially if the God of Mischief has taken a liking to you.

Warnings: Loki being so terrible at flirting it physically hurts, bullying, this got way angstier than I initially intended

Words: ~2800

A/N: I’ve written this trying to distract myself from personal problems, but honestly I can’t think straight rn. Dunno I kinda hate how this turned out but here you go I guess...sorry.

Loki Odinson must really despise you.

No matter how often Thor would stand up for his brother and try to justify his behavior, there was no other explanation for you other than that he must truly hate you with every essence of his being.

In the beginning, having been invited in the palace to train magic under the Allmother sounded like a once-in-a-lifetime chance - yet all that’s left from your initial excitement had been replaced by pure annoyance.

Lately, whenever you knew that you had to attend class with that certain raven-haired prince, your insides would churn before you even arrived.

Weeks have turned into months, never once ceasing his condescending remarks or childish pranks. Of course, he wasn’t called the God of Mischief for nothing.

All nine realms had tales to tell about his sheganinans - yet with you, he seemed especially invested. There was not one encounter where he could leave you at peace, always ending with you being victim to his wicked humor. 

The man did not seem to respect you at all - and it made you furious.

Today, you’d show him just what you were capable of!

“Greetings, great Allmother.” Polite as always, you bowed deeply in front of your queen, her magnificent presence still making you jittery beyond belief.

“No need for formalities, my lovely student” she responded heartily, only making you admire her even more - until a loud, exaggerated sigh cut through the calm atmosphere.

“Her again?” There he stood, maintaining his defensive pose as he rolled his eyes at you. “Mother, why would you keep on bringing a lowlife like her to defile this holy place?”

This was probably the millionth time that Frigga apologized deeply for her son’s behavior, and you were always amazed by her patience with him. How could a person so formidable end up raising such a troublemaker?

But then again...if she believes that there is good in the God of Mischief, then so would you.

“For today, I have prepared a spell that can only be cast by two mages at once”, Frigga explained, while Loki would still not bid you a single look. “So throughout this lesson, you will need to work together to succeed.”

Irritation was clearly visible on his face - and if you were perfectly honest, you weren’t really fond of that idea either. Yet if it was your scolar’s wish, none of you would protest.

“Spontaneous creation of complex concepts puts a huge stroll on one’s mind and body, so do not be frustrated if it doesn’t work within the first try.”

The idea was simple: Create a blooming meadow in midst of the palace floor, since creating life would be way too complex - only masters of the sorcery arts could take this spell to completion.

You and Loki were now sitting on the bare floor in front of each other and only now you realized how tense he had become, sweat dripping from his forehead and biting his bottom lip.

Was your presence really so terrible that he couldn’t bear with it?!

“Hey” you whispered, taking his hands to form a ring just as instructed “Don’t worry, we’re gonna get this!”

“I don’t need your encouragement...” he spat between gritted teeth, now that you noticed his palms were just as sweaty as his face seemed to be.

One second. Two, tree...fourty....a hundret and two...

“Relax” Loki repeated to himself as if it was his mantra - but now, with your fingers entangled in his? Sheer impossible.

Distraught, he shot his mother a desperate look, just for her to point  towards you, sitting cross-legged and seemingly completely relaxed.

Since your eyes were closed, Loki took this chance to observe every detail of your face, without having to fear that you’d notice his little infatuation.

By the norns - you were as fair and bewitching as always. So way, way out of his league. An unreachable, vigorous being. No angel, valkyrie or similar could ever reach up to you - at least in his eyes.

Was this what they called love at first sight? Loki only knew those sentiments from novels he always ridiculed before he got to know you.

Slowly and steadily, Loki aligned his breathing pattern with yours, picturing the cycle of energy the two of you formed. Carefully, he began infusing you with his magic, trying his best to allow yourself do the same to him.

Another minute passed by and you were finally able to let your magic flow through each other’s bodies entirely, like a serene stream.

With things being like this, he felt so different from the Loki you knew.

His magic was strong, indeed - but so gentle, warm and somehow comfortable to be coated with. You wondered-

“HEY!”

As soon as Loki slapped your hand away, breaking the cycle, all of the flowers that had previously bloossomed through you would wither in an instant.

“What the hel do you think you’re doing, you mewling quim?!” Loki shoutet as loud as his lungs allowed him to, while his mother’s face distorted in second-hand-embarrasment at her son’s choice of words. “Who do you think you are?!”

“I-I’m sorry, I just-” You only wanted to scan his emotions through the magic bond you shared, just peek under the cover for a mere second - what was he so afraid of you to find?

“Know your place, woman!” The god pointed at you before he rushed up, ignoring the ache in his heart as he saw your face contort in sadness. “You are beneath me, never forget that!”

Why were you even surprised?

“You’re right” you sniveled quietly as you balled a fist in your dress, and Loki hated himself so much that he wished to just disappear. “My apologies. You don’t have to put up with me ever again.”

As always, instead of fighting, you made your leave without ever fighting back.

Frigga’s pleads for you to stay and talk this over were all for naught when you rushed away, muttering curses directed towards youself rather than anyone else.

Instead of scolding her son, she’d punish him through her silence, furiously shaking her head as she rushed away as well.

Why did he always have to ruin everything?!

The God of Mischief was very well aware that whenever you were close, his mind went completely blank - and that made him panic.

Never before he had felt so goddamn vulnerable in front of anything, terrifying him beyond belief.

And Loki loathed that feeling: Losing control over himself, being reminded once again how alone and  unloveable he is, facing a goddess as stunning as you are every single day.

So he concluded it to be best to cope like he did all those millenia: Cover up those insecurities, shove his anxieties in the back of his heart and protect his heart from anyone coming close.

Good thing you believed that presumptupus, disoblinging duplicity of his to be his true self.

That would make it easier for the both of you, having as much distance as humanly possible. Vicinity could become dangerous terrain.

Yes, he would only save you some time - it would be a waste if you would try to actually give him a chance, just to be let down by what kind of disappointment he truly was.

But it wouldn’t end here - since the only way Loki Odinson first and only communication was through causing mischief.

A scream of yours startled the servants early in the morning, with your personal maiden being the first to rush to your side.

“Milady, wha-” She stopped in her tracks as she saw you standing in front of the mirror, touching your scalp in disbelief, where everything had been cut short.

That was it. Enough of it!

Dismissing the servants, you took a scissor and tried to at least make an acceptable hairstyle out of the mess he had made, before you would leave to the royal garden.

“You!” Pointing towards Loki, innocently sitting on a bench to watch the sunrise, you screamed and let a strand of hair run from your fingers to the floor. “You did this!”

“Now relax, would you” he chuckled, wearing his smug grin like a trophy as he defendingly held his hands into the air. “You should be grateful, it looks much better like this.”

Next thing he knew was the feeling of your backhand, mercilessly crushing against his collarbone.

Usually, you’d be shocked at yourself, for you had never been a person to choose violence ever before - but right now, you were too full of anger and hurt to even realize.

“You conniving craven pathetic worm!” you exclaimed, breathing heavily as you swung yet another fist towards the prince - however, he grabbed your wrists, trapping you in his hold.

In his life full of wrongdoings, he had been called worse than that - yet still, hearing insults coming from you of all people shot arrows through his heart with every word escaping his lips. Not that he’d ever admit, though.

“It was just a little prank.” Loki would’ve never thought that his actions would affect you this much. “What are you so worked up about?”

“All this time I believed there could be a good person beneath all that...but now what?” The compassion you detected in his eyes were only upsetting you even more. “You are a selfish, cruel and terrible person, and I gave up on you.”

Loki let go off of you, staring at you in disbelief:

You actually believed in him, all this time?! That was impossible!

If anything, the Odinson had always believed you to ignore his existence completely, if he wouldn’t use such drastic measures to attract your attention.

“Wait a second, I-”

“I hope you know that you deserve to be alone...” you sniveled, turning around to face him one last time before you fled the scene. “And you always will be.”

Several minutes had passed until Loki had given up in silencing he voices inside his head that told him you were right: He was indeed a despicable being, tainting your pure goodwill - repelling anyone that would still be willing to give the God of Mischief a chance.

Out of a whim, he jumped up from his place, wanting to rush after you. He was very well aware that he was probably beyond forgiveness by now, yet he at least wanted to make things up to you - even though he had no clue where to start.

“Calm down, Lady Y/N.”

Thor’s voice drang to Loki’s ears just a mere second before he saw that particular heart-wrenching scene unfold in front of him:

You were lying in his brother’s arms, crying to your heart’s extend while soothed you, softly petting what remained from your hair.  Loki remained hidden in the shadows, even though his guts told him to stab his brother right here and now.

“My brother...you know-” The God of Thunder was trying to find the right words, even though poetic speeches were not really his forte. “It’s just his speecial, twisted way of interacting. Who knows where he got that from.”

“I rather wonder if he realized how his behavior truly makes me feel” you snapped back, unwilling to keep defending him. “Weak and worthless, that’s how I feell. And every time our ways cross, he’s making it worse!”

By the gods, Loki never wanted to make you feel that way, let alone think such ways about yourself! He of all people, who knew best what its like to feel unfit and nowhere near enough.

Loki grabbed the fabric of his shirt tight, feeling that his heart might burst if he didn’t. It took everything in him to not let out a loud sob and be caught - but then, his brother snapped him out of it with an impossible question:

“Do you still love him?”

“L-Love might not be the right word, I mean-” Lately, you had let Thor in on your secret admiration for his younger brother. “With the way he’s treating me, and all-”

You just couldn’t help being drawn to him against all reason. After everything you had endured, just to be close to him - and he never even acknowledged your feelings.

And still, here you were, crying over a man that didn’t want you.

“Lady Y/N?”

Loki’s voice made you panic, immediately wriggling out of Thor’s embrace. The Odinson understood immediately, nodding towards his brother before leaving the two of you alone.

“Since when have you been standing there?!” Panic dropped to your stomach, wondering just how much he had heared.

“From the very beginning.”

Before you could even think about what to do now, Loki summoned a dagger, cutting off his raven locks in one swift move. “Wha-”

“Please, accept this as means of apology.” The man now dropped to one knee, humbly facing the ground. “I have never intended to make you doubt your most perfect self.”

Frantic, you were scanning his voice, face, anything for the slightest hint of a lie - but nothing. Loki seemed determined and sincere when he looked up to you, hesistantly taking a hold of your hand.

“This is new for me...” he uttered under his breath as his lips graced your knuckles, and only now you realized that he was trembling ever so slightly. 

“I-Is that another trick?!”

“What kind of vicious being do you think I am?” Well, after everything he had commited it was only natural of you accusing him. “There are lines not even I do not cross.”

Only for a brief second your heart felt a little bit lighter, as his eyes were locked with yours, lost in this moment you have been waited for so long...

...a little too unexpected, right?

Suddenly, you tugged your hand away, and Loki could only sigh in frustration. Of course it won’t be that easy for him to gain your trust. “I don’t need your pity, Loki...”

No matter how he racked his brain around the matter, he had burdened your shared past probably beyond the point of repair.

That would be his last chance, maybe the last time he’d ever see you again. He was so desperate in his attempt, and yet - what else could he do?

So for the first time in millenias, the God of Mischief decided to speak from the heart for a change:

"Y/N, I-I...As I said, this is new for me, so...” he cleared his throat before continuing, stress literally dropping out of every pore. “From the first day we’ve met, you...I mean...you were the most magnificent being I ever laid eyes upon, and...when I think about it now, I-I may be enarmored with you.”

Your eyes widened at this wholeheartedly confession, a sincere smile playing on his lips in contrast of sole tears running down his face.

Never before you had seen him like that: Flustered, vulnerable, and honest...

“I thought to be unworthy of your affection, so I tried to belittle you, to...I don’t even know. I’ve been told many times I am quite assertive of anyone but myself. I-I mean, I am a mess...I don’t understand my own feelings and thus drive away any chance of happiness, and...how could you ever-?”

“Mhh...” you silenced the man as your lips crushed over his, falling straight into his arms. It took Loki quite a second to fully grasp the situation before deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around you as if you’d disappear if he was to ever let go.

“Y/N...” the prince gasped when your lips parted from that breathtaking kiss - and this time it was you who wore that thug grin on your face.

"Apology accepted” you giggled, just to smother the face of this flabbergasted man in yet another thousand smaller kisses.

This had to be a dream, he thought...and immediately, a wave of guilt washed over him. He did not deserve this in the slightest.

“Now, don’t give me that look.” Cupping Loki’s face in your hands, you gifted him that heartwarming expression he had ignored for so many years, thinking it was not meant for him. “That kiss wiped my memory from everything you’ve done...by now.”

Out of sheer, genuine happiness, Loki leaped from the floor and excitedly swirled you around in his arms.

After another kiss that would kick the air right out of your lungs. the god would peck a more gentle one afterwards, as sweet and tender as no one ever thought he could be.

Even if it’s gonna be a long way, Loki would prove to be worthy of your love.

“Lady Y/N...if you are to believe in me, then I swear I will be on my best behavior from now on!”

"Let's see about that."

[mygodyouredivine]

The Hell In Your Eyes - 3

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

Word Count: 4836

Previous Chapter

Loki is annoyed.  

Loki has sat through thousands of years of political dinners, exchanging thinly veiled insults under a layer of diplomacy, all while smiling through his teeth. Loki has spewed sensical nonsense, charming naive, innocent maids and sweeping young stable boys off their feet. Loki has endured Odin’s wrath — in all its horrible glory — countless times, and never once had he shed a tear, nor had a single cry escaped his lips.  

The whole of Asgard had coined him the Dark Prince — and who was Loki to disappoint? 

He had long since learned people saw what they expected to see. 

And so as the entire realm rejoiced in his demise, as Laufey left him to die, as Odin condemned him for eternity, as Thor abandoned him, as Frigga had sided with her husband again and again and again, Loki maintained his carefully constructed front.  

Yet one encounter with a mortal, and he had unraveled at her feet.  

If physically kneeling before the wretched creature wasn’t enough, he knew she had seen past his mask. By the time he had regained his composure, he was sure she had seen him.  

It won’t happen again.  

Loki is a god, and gods do not crack. Gods maintain their image, regardless of circumstance. Gods do not show weakness, do not show vulnerability.  

This is a lesson Loki knows well, a lesson etched into his skin countless times by Odin’s hand.  

And yet for each time Odin reinforced this lesson, the very same lesson was burned away by Thanos a thousand more. 

Loki tried, he truly did. Loki maintained his godly facade for an impressive amount of time, resisting as his body was taken apart over and over and over again. Perhaps it wasn’t as long as he thought. Loki feels as if his entire life was spent doused in agony, spent with his flesh melting off and his bones withering away. 

Ultimately, a god is no match for a Titan.  

But a mortal is no match for a god.  

And yet, Loki has found himself at her feet — at her mercy — twice. 

Even after, Loki couldn’t bring himself to summon his cruel exterior. Perhaps it had to do with the way she had waltzed into his space, all soft and defenseless, carrying that deplorable drink as if it was the elixir of eternal life (unfortunately, it tasted just as divine). Perhaps it was his body, still sated and full for the first time in months, reminding him of the food — the debt — he owes. Perhaps it was the way she held out her arm towards him, even though he could see it shaking.  

Whether it was any of these things or none at all, Loki’s cool mask of indifference was rendered utterly useless at her delicate, mortal hands.  

Loki hates her.  

His hatred fills every fiber of his being. It’s a scalding, fiery hatred, much unlike the frozen excuse of Loki’s heart. His frost giant heritage seems to reject her very being.  

Loki hates her voice, hates her hands, hates her. He hates how she makes him falter when there is no place for mistakes.  

Loki’s thoughts are interrupted by Thor, who enters Loki’s quarters without an ounce of hesitation — ever the righteous, confident, arrogant bastard. 

Ah, but Loki almost forgot. Thor is not the bastard — Loki is. How despicable; for really, Loki can not even call himself a bastard. Yet, ‘the Bastard Son of Odin’ has a certain charm to it. Perhaps another false title for his collection.  

“Loki!” Thor booms, “Here are your clothes that Lady Angel washed. You should be grateful brother, for she offered of her own volition — ” 

Is it so surprising someone would offer to help Loki without external influence?  

“ — to see and visit you! You are doing well. I am happy to see you are finally making an effort to get to know all of our friends — ” 

Thor is happy? For Loki, or for himself? Why must Loki, even now, strive to prove himself to Thor? Why is Loki’s worth solely dependent on Thor’s judgement?  

“ — and Lady Angel is absolutely wonderful. I am delighted to see you two getting along so well! I can’t believe you finally made a friend— ” 

At this, Loki’s composure cracks for the second time that day.  

“What am I? A pathetic child wandering aimlessly through a school corridor? A helpless hatchling at the mercy of others — groveling for the bare minimum? Who are you to congratulate me for ‘making a friend?’ She is not a friend ,” Loki spits out. He can feel his teeth grinding against each other, his fingernails once again digging into his palms. “She is nothing more than another worthless mortal, unworthy of even breathing the same air as I, and yet you suggest I be grateful?” 

Thor advances on Loki, his eyes hardening. The atmosphere is tense; unlike the typical bickering between the brothers, Loki identifies something distinctly different in the way the air vibrates. The space between the two gods crackles. “Watch yourself brother —” 

Brother. The word grates upon Loki’s nerves. How can Thor so carelessly throw the word around, even knowing of its false implications — implications and lies Loki foolishly believed.  

Sometimes Loki wonders if Thor does it on purpose.  

“Do you hear yourself Thor? Bending yourself over backwards to defend this wasted excuse of consciousness — you are the King of Asgard. What is she? She is nothing.” 

And now Loki is no longer staring at his brother, but the ceiling of his prison. His back is slammed against Stark’s hardwood floors and there is sharp ringing in his ears, likely the result of the crack in the floor right behind where his head is currently embedded.  

Loki almost laughs. 

Truly, it is comical — comical that even now, Thor’s first instinct is to physically threaten Loki. As if Loki doesn’t almost enjoy it. 

But Loki’s laugh catches in his throat, prevented from escaping by the large hand tightening around his airway.  

Thor’s hand is around Loki’s neck — a mirror of His. 

A thousand years Loki has known Thor. A thousand years of childish brawls, foolhardy battles, pointless arguments. How many times has Loki betrayed Thor? Thor betrayed Loki? And yet, Loki believed he knew his brother’s character.  

A thousand years Loki has known Thor, but never once has he thought Thor to be cruel.  

Oh how wrong he is.  

Thor’s hands are gripping Loki’s neck and for the life of him Loki can’t breathe. He tries to draw air into his lungs — lungs that are screaming with a familiar ache — and fails. Phantom pains flicker across his entire body and somehow, in the second before his vision goes black, Loki manages to croak out a strangled wheeze of a laugh.  

Loki is once again strapped upon a bed of coals, once again stabbed with blades of flame, once again torched with fire so hot he freezes. Loki remembers the only other time he begged — begged and pleaded for the sweet mercy of death, all while knowing death was a pleasure he was never to be granted.  

Loki is once again kneeling — boneless — at the feet of a Titan, looking up into a face promising endless pain, a face painted with the patience of a thousand moons and splattered with the ruined blood of a Frost Giant. 

Loki did not know that a Frost Giant’s blood could boil. 

Ah, but the Mad Titan knew, and he ensured Loki would never forget.  

Loki recalls the moment he let go — an eerie echo of his fall from grace, his fall from the Bifrost. And he remembers the horribly invasive power of the scepter, along with the blessed relief and utter disregard for self preservation that followed. 

And it is this — the relief — that plagues Loki. He does not fool himself; Loki may be the God of Lies, but he has no reason to lie to himself . It is not the destruction of New York nor the deaths at his hand that weigh upon his shattered mind. No, it is the fact that Loki found solace in his actions.  

Make no mistake — Loki does not rejoice in his crime, but nor could he say he regrets it. 

For if Loki were given the choice, he could not — would not — choose to spare Midgard at the cost of his own sanity. 

(But Loki was never given a choice.) 

Alas, Loki is already insane. 

The Mad Titan has taken so much from Loki.  

Physically, Loki has long since disregarded his own body. He remembers the beginning of his torture, when he still held the title of 'Prince of Asgard,' when he spoke with arrogance and oozed of indignantion. Oh how naive he had been. When the first whips had landed across his skin, Loki's thoughts could never have anticipated what the coming months would entail. Loki did not once stop to consider how he would escape the clutches of his captor — oh the confidence he held! — but instead lamented the scars he would surely have to bear. Dimly, Loki recalls worrying over his marred skin, irritated at the blemishes he would surely have to cover when taking future lovers.  

Loki scoffs.  

Loki does not recognize the man who spent time thinking of lovers. Or of his physical appearance. Or of his interests. Or of any other insignificant pleasure that ultimately contributes to the annihilation of a soul. 

(Even now, Loki carries with him an irrational fear of physical touch — a seed planted by the Mad Titan that Loki cannot gouge out, not even if he tore open his very being.) 

In fact, Loki wondered if his corporeal form had even existed anymore. But most of all, more than the ruination of his physical form, Loki mourns the damnation of his mind. 

Ultimately, the Mad Titan did triumph over Loki. For no matter how many times Loki escapes, fakes his death, runs away, he can never evade the visions that haunt his mind, the voices that infect his thoughts, the termites eating away at what remains of Loki’s sanity. 

(If Loki were given a choice, he would have chosen death again and again and again.) 

Alas, Loki was not — is not — given a choice, for suddenly he is not lying on a bed of coals, but on his apartment floor again. Thor has since removed his hand from Loki’s neck and Loki half wishes Thor just kept it there. Just kept on squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until Loki died on that bed of coals.  

Loki wonders, if he were to die at Thor’s hand, would his brother feel remorse? Or perhaps, more realistically, relief?  

Unfortunately, Loki is not dead, and Thor is gazing at him, concern evident in his gaze. As if Thor wasn’t the one who put Loki in this condition — wasn’t the one who greedily snatched all of Odin’s affection, wasn’t the one who pushed Loki out of favor, wasn’t the one who led his brainless minions in a brash suicide mission, as if Thor wasn’t the one who stared Loki in the eye as Loki let go into the abyss.  

As if Thor wasn’t the first domino in a long ripple effect that eventually drowned Loki in his sins.  

Thor was the smooth pebble that young children skipped over lakes, just barely skimming the surface of a tempting downfall — nevertheless gracefully leaping unscathed across the reflective waters. Yet Loki was the jagged, unskippable rock, destined to fall through the air and fall through the water with no hesitation. Loki has long since come to terms with this simple fact.  

No longer does Loki resent his brother, for he understands: light can only shine in the presence of darkness. And if Loki is condemned to darkness — so be it.  

Loki does not resent his brother, but oftentimes Loki despises his lightness . What some might say is endearing — the inability for Thor to give up — is just a burden. Even now, Thor still thinks he can change Loki, can fix him. Thor still thinks that by vouching for Loki and providing Loki a place to live and surrounding Loki with Thor’s friends that he can mend Loki’s broken soul and bring back the brother he once had. Thor is still in denial — he refuses to grasp the very simple concept that Thor’s brother — the Second Prince of Asgard, God of Lighthearted Mischief — is long dead. And so Thor continues to try. But light yelling into the darkness does not change it.  

And even now, with Thor looming above Loki, Loki does not resent his brother.  

But Loki resents Thor’s very being — the core of who Thor is. Thor is a duality; one of naivety and compassion, yet tainted — or perhaps embellished — with a smidge of cruelty and arrogance.  

And as Thor is speaking to Loki, mouth forming words Loki is too tired to hear, Loki simply lies on the floor, limbs relaxed around him, throat sore, and does the only thing he can do when feeling so utterly empty.  

Loki laughs.  

______________________________

Midgard is rather charming in some regards.  

Loki will eventually have to investigate the laundry process, for he has just now made the curious discovery that freshly dried clothes are warm . He suspects they were warmer right after they were dried, but he can still feel the presence of the heat, lingering within the very fabric of his garments. He wonders just how much they were heated up to — would it have burnt his frozen hands at the peak of its fiery glory? 

No, Loki’s hands are too well accustomed to fire now. 

But he doubts that her hands are. He envisions Angel pulling his clothes out of the dryer, her hands touching the same clothes that he has worn, that he will wear, that he is currently touching.  

Yet is it entirely possible Loki is standing around, imagining a scene that never played out, for it was not Angel who brought Loki’s laundry back to him, but his dearest brother. Looking at his pile of clothes again, Loki takes in the telltale signs of Thor. The messily folded shirts stare back at Loki, mocking him.  

He wonders if she ever even did any part of his laundry. Perhaps she only offered it as a way to ease the uncomfortable tension that had arisen earlier. Or rather, (and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought) she lugged his laundry basket downstairs and dumped it straight into Thor’s arms. 

Why else would she refuse his help to accompany her?  

A twinge of something rises up within Loki as he realizes she accepted Thor’s offer to bring his clothes back. Or, much more likely, she had pushed the task onto Thor in a desperate attempt to avoid encountering him again.  

Not that Loki could blame her. 

And yet the uncomfortable sensation within Loki only grows, and he realizes that he feels something akin to disappointment. Loki cannot allow himself to feel disappointment. He had long since learned not to expect anything from anyone — or perhaps, much more cynically, to only depend on — to trust — himself.  

Trust, Loki knows, is a fickle concept the naive embrace. Trust itself is ill fated, the certainty of an inevitable betrayal the same as the certainty that one day everyone living on this cursed realm will perish.  

Loki hates Angel. He hates how she pretends to care for him, hates how she imitates Thor, hates how she always finds a way to break him, and Loki hates how Angel makes him feel.  

Loki's silent anger boils inside of him — like the steady countdown of a ticking bomb — manifesting itself out of him as the laundry basket is violently launched across the room. 

He hates how he feels absolutely no satisfaction at the way the freshly clean clothes scatter across the floor, hates how he lost control, and hates how the damned mortal forces him to feel emotions he does not want to feel . 

Sometimes all Loki can do is hate. 

______________________________

The heat from the clothes have long since seeped into the floor. 

The sun is just now setting, dousing Loki’s room in a fiery glow. Warm light spills across Loki’s bookshelves, his impeccably made bed, the clothes strewn around his floor. Loki sits on the ground, bare of his illusions, allowing himself to just be .  

Staring across the room, he notices tendrils of light carefully curling around the air, miniscule particles of dust dancing in the golden glow. This is a gold Loki enjoys. Unlike the brash, loud character of Thor’s gold — of Asgard’s gold, this is a much softer, gentle color. The comforting hue reminds Loki of his mother, and against his will, he feels a wall of despair beginning to build within his chest.  

For a second, Loki loses himself as the wall crashes over him. He drops his head, allowing his hair to dangle in front of his face, obscuring his view of the floating particles. He feels like a child — wants nothing more in this moment than to run to Frigga, for her floral scent to fill his senses as she envelopes him in her arms. What Loki wouldn’t give to have Frigga’s delicate fingers comb through his hair just once more, for her soft lips against his forehead, murmuring words of comfort.  

But he can’t have that. Instead, here he is, sitting on the floor of a glorified prison in the midst of a community of people who hate him, with nothing but Thor to act as his buffer. 

Looking up, Loki gazes at the honeyed light as it glides over a particular heap of clothing. He watches, mesmerized, as the light gently moves, unhurriedly bathing each corner of the fabric in its rich glow.  

If he were still on Asgard, Loki would most likely have been reading, thoroughly immersed in some story or another. The sun would have showered his pages in its quiet glow, lighting the words aflame. He would have taken a stroll in his mother’s gardens, breathing in the sweet scent of her flowers as he sat in his favorite hidden alcove. He would have taken out his book and continued to read, read until the golden hue of the sun was replaced by the tender shine of the moon. Only then would Loki return, serenely walking back to his chambers, stopping only to retrieve a cup of tea, and resume his reading on his balcony.  

Loki wants that. 

Loki wants an afternoon to himself, with no worries plaguing his mind. 

Loki wants to be able to read, and to do so in an environment which permits him to let his guard down. 

Loki wants to sit outside, surrounded by flowers, and watch as the sun transitions into the moon. 

Loki wants to indulge in a hot cup of tea as he watches the moonlight spills across the pages of his book. 

Loki wants so many things — and he can’t have any of them. 

Standing up, Loki decides he has spent enough time reminiscing over what he cannot have today. He feels sticky and hot and cold and hungry and all he wants right now , is a long shower.  

And so Loki walks over to the same pile of clothes, now dull and abandoned by the sun, gazing disapprovingly downwards. Thor is truly an imbecile, for he has not even managed to separate their clothes correctly. Loki is currently staring at a dark green sweatshirt, one he knows for a fact he has never seen before. Tiredly, he tosses it upon his bed and scoops up a clean change of clothes, then turns around and trodds slowly into the bathroom.  

______________________________

Water droplets rain all around Loki, swiftly sliding down his body. 

He doesn’t particularly enjoy showering — it reminds him too much of another substance: denser, stickier, and much more red, trickling down his skin. Loki much prefers baths. Baths, however, render their subject very much vulnerable, and Loki does not fancy risking any more vulnerability than strictly necessary.  

So Loki is standing in the shower, unabashedly soaking up the shallow warmth the water provides. Surely if Thor could see him, his brother would lecture Loki on wasting Midgard’s precious resources. But, Loki reasons, if Stark truly possesses the excess of wealth he boasts of, Loki’s water usage will not be of much concern to the man. And so this is a luxury Loki will grant himself.  

The shower is one place where Loki feels the safest, where he allows his thoughts to wander and drift into otherwise forbidden territories. Today especially has been challenging, and even his muscles seem to ache, the fibers pulling away from each other, trying to rip Loki apart from the inside out. His mind is exhausted, filled with swirling thoughts of Frigga and Angel and Thor, with the occasional Odin and Titan intruding whenever a particular body part cries out.  

And as Loki gazes down at his body, the disfigured canvas of scars stare back at him and he attempts to soothe away the countless aches. No matter how much time has passed and how much magic Loki pours into himself, the pains never seem to retreat. Rationally, Loki knows it doesn’t make sense. He knows his magic is fully capable of healing himself, knows that by all accounts he is healed.  

But Loki also knows he does not imagine the sharp pains coursing through his veins.  

He is fighting himself — the part of himself that does not want the pain to stop. Because all Loki knows is pain, and he fears the absence of pain almost as much as he dreads its glorious presence.  

Loki raises his head, allowing for the stream of water to bruise his face. And if Loki’s closed eyes leak the occasional tear, no one would know.  

______________________________

Loki’s self destructive spiraling is abruptly cut short by three succinct knocks from his bedroom door. Still soaking in the shower, Loki debates whether or not to answer; after all, he truly has no desire to see his brother again today. Or preferably, ever again. Unfortunately, Loki is all too aware that if he does not answer the door to let Thor in, Thor will simply let himself in. And if there’s anything worse than seeing Thor, it will be seeing a displeased Thor while Loki stands nude and wet.  

Reluctantly, Loki turns off his shower, changes into his freshly washed ‘sweatpants’, and leisurely walks towards the door. He is honestly surprised Thor hasn’t invited himself in yet. He is more surprised when he finally opens the door and is promptly met with — not Thor’s brutish face, but the goddamned mortal.  

She stands there, in front of his door, barely out of arm's reach. Loki can’t help but drink her in. He notices her hair, laying loosely around her face, framing her profile. She’s sporting a sweater, much too warm for the present weather. Its collar is stretched out over years of use, teasing his eyes with a fraction of her collarbones peaking through. Her legs are barely covered by absurdly short shorts, and Loki feels the back of his ears heating up. Hurriedly, he averts his eyes, falling down to her feet, once again hugged by soft looking socks — mismatched.  

His scrutinization is interrupted by her voice; so soft.  

“Hey! Sorry if I interrupted you. I heard you were in the shower but I was going around taking everyone’s dinner orders. We’re getting Chinese.” She tilts her head to the side, lifting her chin ever-so-slightly, distractedly exposing the tantalizing skin of her neck. She swallows, and Loki’s eyes discreetly follow the bob of her throat. “I was just wondering if you wanted anything?” 

It takes a moment for Loki to register her question and another for him to process it. She is going to order dinner? For him? And she is asking him for his preference? Loki has not had the privilege of preferring anything in a long, long time. Damn this mortal. 

“I am not familiar with this particular cuisine, nor Midgard’s in particular.” 

She meets his eyes then, and only after does it occur to him that her eyes had been previously glued to his abdomen. His abdomen, he realizes which has been bare this entire interaction. “That doesn’t answer my question.” 

He forces himself to roll his eyes, running a hand through his still dripping hair to hide the scarlet his ears have surely become. “I am saying that I do not have a preference, woman.” 

She lifts her shoulders briefly in a gesture Loki has come to associate with Midgard’s daftness and promptly moves closer to him. Instinctively, Loki takes a step back, then curses himself for doing so. He truly must be losing it, backing away from a defenseless mortal. But she doesn’t push further, instead tilting her head at that angle again, asking him another question.  

“Can I come in?” 

Loki hesitates. He doesn’t understand her motives, doesn’t know if this is a trick the Avengers have set up or perhaps a test designed by his brother. All he knows is that Angel is staring at him with her eyes wide and innocent and completely devoid of deceit.  

Angel must carry magic or Loki must be possessed by the Mind Stone again, for against his will, Loki steps to the side, allowing her to brush past him. The sleeve of her sweater comes into contact with Loki’s stomach, and he jerks away.  

Awkwardly, Loki closes his door and turns to face the mortal, noting how hilariously out of place she looks, standing in the midst of Loki’s domain. With a wave of his hand, the previously scattered articles of clothing fly onto his bed, meticulously folding themselves. Angel’s surprised, quiet gasp does not escape his notice. She walks towards his bed, small hand landing on Thor’s sweatshirt.  

“Take that when you leave.” Loki internally bristles at his own tone, noticing how Angel’s shoulders locked up when he spoke and did not relax when he stopped. “Please,” he adds. 

To his surprise (again), Angel approaches him, sweater in hand. “Why?” 

At this, Loki is caught off guard. Without warning, he is overwhelmed by distaste. His patience has been tested over and over again, and he does not have even a drop more to deal with this mortal’s incompetence. His hatred for her rushes back, multiplied a thousandfold. Who does she think she is and why will she not leave Loki alone? Why must she cut short his relaxation, intrude upon his personal space, inquire after him when he knows — he knows — she does so unwillingly? Why is she holding up Thor’s goddamned sweater, pretending not to know why Loki hates it so? As if she doesn’t know it belongs to Thor. 

In fact, Loki is positive she is intimately aware of whom it belongs to, undoubtedly so. He hates Angel, hates her for reluctantly offering her help, hates her for her smoothies, hates her for asking him about his preferences. Briefly, he envisions snapping her neck. Effortlessly. But the image makes him recoil, bringing about not satisfaction, but horror.  

His fists clench, his broken fingernails once again digging into bruised skin. It costs Loki an immeasurable amount of self control not to simply throw her out, hurl her from his quarters. Instead, he snaps at her. 

“Girl, do not test my patience. I am warning you, it has been a very long day and if you do not exit extremely promptly, it will not end well for one of us.” 

Loki hates the way her shoulders tense up again, hates the way she physically flinches away at his dismissal.  

Loki hates how though he can sense her increasing heartbeat, her nervousness, Angel still looks him in the eye and informs him, in a terrified voice coated with forced calm, “I’m sorry to hear that Loki. I added this sweater into your laundry after it was done, but I should have known it would not have been welcome.” 

Loki hates how she then drops her eyes, staring intently at her mismatched socks.  

“I’ll just leave your dinner outside.” 

Loki hates how she leaves, her hands gripping Thor’s — his — sweatshirt tightly, footsteps moving at a much brisker pace.  

Loki hates how Angel closed off, how he closed her off.  

Loki hates how Angel clearly did do his laundry. 

Loki hates how Angel thought of him, giving him an extra sweatshirt, offering him a choice for dinner. 

Loki hates Angel more than he hates Thor, more than he hates Odin. 

Loki hates Angel more than he hates the Mad Titan.  

The only person Loki hates more than Angel is himself. 

Fuck. 

______________________________ 

We don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.  

- Charles Bukowski 

______________________________

Previous Chapter

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Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

[dhwty-writes]

Dreams

Merry Christmas, everyone! This is my contribution for the @thewitchersecretsanta for @heyabooboo on tumblr.

My thanks also go to @contemplativepancakes, who betaed this fic for me. Thank you for your patience while I was still writing this <3 You guys should also definitely go check out her work, I love it to pieces!

Anyways, I shouldn't bore you too much. Let me just say one last thing: I think this is the most well thought-out piece of fiction I have written in my entire life. I have weighed every words of this five times at least. I hope you guys like it.

Have fun reading!

Summary: Geralt takes on a contract to investigate some spectral activity in a haunted ruin. As it happens, he disturbs the residence of a powerful being, that traps his soul in a nefarious netherworld. Jaskier, local bard with no sense of self preservation, does the obvious and follows him, trying to parse information from talking plants and braving unspeakable horrors in order to bargain for his witcher's soul. If only that were as easy as it sounded.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: Rated T. Canon-typical violence

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

It was a serene and sunny day when the witcher scaled the hill to the abandoned mansion. It shouldn't have been, by any rights; neither day nor sunshine quite set the scene for a monster hunter to come slay to his prey. Alas, Weather does what they want rather than what they should—most of the time they are too busy laughing at humans they catch by surprise, to notice another one of their storms escaping anyways— and neither of that is to set a picturesque scene for a murder to take place.

Well, not necessarily a murder; that might, admittedly, be a bit crass. An eviction, rather, though the witcher did know yet that was what he was about to do. He simply marched up there, convinced that he would do some light reconnaissance and then return to the bard he had left behind. He was so adamant in his conviction, even, that he simply couldn't imagine anything else.

Geralt of Rivia slid from his saddle and pat Roach on the side of her neck. "Good girl," he muttered as he tied her reins to the withered remains of a tree on a field of dried grass. 

He stepped back to retrieve his sword from her saddle and heard the telltale sign of a dried-up flower crushed beneath his boot. Geralt lifted it. It was a dandelion. He cursed internally. Were he a superstitious man, he might’ve thought it a bad sign. He wasn’t, though, so he knew it to be a bad sign.

Nothing good ever came from places where not even weeds could stubbornly cling to life. It usually meant that nothing would stay alive—or dead— for very long either. He'd have to be fast. 'A quick look around and I can go back to Jaskier,' he promised himself, the only silver lining on the horizon of this shitty day. 

With a grunt he went to the road that led towards the ruin looming up above him, taking in every detail of his surroundings. The tree Roach was tied to seemed to have belonged to a grove, considering how systematically the husks of the trees were arranged. 'Like gnarled fingers trying to reach for the sky.'

Geralt huffed. Jaskier was rubbing off on him again. The collapsed stone wall lining it was another strong indicator that once there had been someone tending to the woods. 'A cemetery?' he wondered. It might be a strong start...

He stepped past the large erratic to his left to vault over the crumbling wall. He had barely taken two steps when a dark shadow fell over him. He looked up to see the sun inching closer and closer to the horizon. A shiver ran down Geralt's back. ‘So late already?’ He had barely set out an hour ago, he was sure of it. And yet— something moved to his right and his medallion vibrated. “Fuck,” he cursed. He didn’t like this at all. 

Still, he had come here for a reason, so he turned away from the deserted grove and headed to the ruin. It wasn’t a large ruin, by any means, barely three walls standing. The first floor was completely decayed, so he didn’t have to check that, at least. In less than an hour he’d be done. 

That didn’t alleviate the uneasy feeling in the slightest. With each step it seemed like the temperatures dropped further. By the time he reached the facade his breaths were visible in white clouds, mingling with the fog drifting up from the ground. The weather was changing entirely too fast for his liking.

Slowly, Geralt stepped over the threshold into the broken mansion. He kept his eyes on the fog the whole time. The tendrils were thicker now, larger than any snake he'd ever seen as they slithered across the rotten floor. 'I should turn around,' he thought. He knew he should turn around. Still, he kept moving further into the mist.

A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. His head snapped around. One of the wisps rose above the ground, twisting and twirling to a melody he couldn't hear. "The fuck," Geralt grunted and reached for his sword. 

He regretted taking the contract already. It was a fool's errand, and he had known it to be. But coin was scarce these days and he had to make do. Even if it meant investigating haunted ruins that made his medallion nearly jump off his chest.

The shrill sound of rusty door-hinges made him twirl around. He was met with an inscrutable wall of fog. "Shit." His sword was in his hand before he could even think about it. A gentle gust of wind swept through the ruin, as if the air itself around him heaved a breath of relief. 'I have to get out of here.'

He turned towards where he had entered and bolted; not quite running, but almost. He hit the wall face-first. "Fuck!" he cursed, holding his bleeding nose.

An all-too-familiar laugh rang through the silence. "Fuckin' idiot!"

"Lambert?" he groaned as he raised his hands to set his own nose. It hurt like a bitch.

"Who else, you bastard?" his arsehole brother answered.

"Where are you?" Geralt wanted to know, feeling blindly for his sword. 'Fuck.' Why had he dropped it? It had been stupid to drop it. He knew better than that. He was a witcher, for fuck’s sake.

"Right behind you!" Lambert laughed again. He was probably within a punchable distance.

Geralt found the grip of his sword and whirled around, coming face to face with... fog. Nothing but fog. "Lambert?" he asked, desperately. No answer. "Lambert!" He waved his hand, a futile attempt to disperse the mist, and squinted, as if that would do anything. Of course, it didn't.

There is something to be said about the eyesight of mortals, and that is that every single one of them possesses a truly despicable one. So, it shouldn't come as a surprise that when the witcher blinked and tried to focus his vision, he did not see anything he hadn't seen before; which was nothing at all.

A quiet groan rippled through the dark, and Geralt stumbled forward before he even knew what he was doing. "Eskel," he gasped desperately, trying to follow the ragged breathing. He’d know that sound everywhere, he had heard it far too often already. "Eskel, where are you, I'm coming," he promised, while the maddening mantra of 'I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't.' kept fluttering through his head. He knew exactly what he would find, Eskel with his face slashed open, bleeding and barely breathing. 'I can't do it again, I can't, I can't, I can't.'

"No!" the high-pitched shriek made him halt in his stumbling, nearly doubling over. "Get out!"

"Yenna," he breathed. He vaguely realised that the world was spinning around him and fought the instinct to throw up.

"No, help!" she screamed again.

"Yennefer!" he shouted in response. "Where are you?"

A woeful giggle swept past him, one that might've belonged to a child or a giant or something else entirely.

"Did I not train you well?" a weak voice, that barely sounded like Vesemir, coughed. "Is your sword your only weapon?"

"N-no," he stammered and raised his trembling hand. He willed his fingers to bend; each movement was pure agony. After half an eternity his hand formed the sign of Aard and the fog dispersed.

Never in his life had he regretted anything more. "No-" he choked out weakly as his knees hit the blood-slick floor. "No!" He could barely comprehend what lay before him, only that they were dead dead dead, all of them, gone, dead, their blood soaking him to the bone.

"What happened?" he whispered, whimpered, wailed. There was an uncomfortable feeling coiling in his gut. It was something important, he knew. Something he should do. Somewhere he should go. Someone he still missed. But whatever it was, there was a thick fog clouding his mind that he could not see through. 

"You failed me," Yennefer answered, rising from her last resting-place. With each movement her broken bones popped back into place. But there was nothing to be done about her torn-up chest; nothing to be done about her empty eyes, picked clean by the crows long ago, full of accusations.

"And me," Eskel agreed, blood trickling from the gashes on his face. And his legs. And his arms. And his guts. There was not much to trickle left.

"And me," said Lambert's head where it lay inches from his torso. Two swords protruded from his body, one silver and one steel. They had stripped him naked save for the medallion around his neck, a snarling cat where there should have been a wolf.

"You failed all of us," Vesemir rasped, lying limp on his deathbed. After months of sickness and starvation, he could count every bone on his body. But it was the garrotte that had been his end.

"Who did this?" he gasped.

"You did," they answered in unison.

"Me?"

A shadow giggled and caressed his cheek. "Of course, you," a velvety voice answered. "It’s what you do. Butcher. Hunter. Priest. You brought war to my peace."

He groaned quietly, desperate to lean into the touch. When he did, he nearly toppled over. He caught himself inches from the ground. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. "Who are you?"

"Who am I? That answer's not yet due," the strange voice answered; wisps of fog danced, curled together, formed what might have been a body. "The real query is: who are you?"

"I-" He inhaled sharply as realisation hit him. "I'm- missing someone."

"Missing someone, are we?" The shadow giggled. "Pray tell, who might that be?"

He did not want to answer. He didn't. Still, he said: "Where's- Jaskier!" Fear closed its icy fist around his heart. True fear, that was paralyzing, numbing, horrible. He wanted to do something, wanted to— he didn’t know. His hands were shaking too much.  

"Geralt!" a bard’s piercing scream ripped through the eerie silence.

The sinister giggle rang again; a wisp of fog caressed his shoulder. Suddenly, there was light. So much light, it was overwhelming after the all-encompassing darkness of the fog. He screamed in pain, trying to avert his gaze, trying to flee— but he couldn’t. 

"There you are," a smile spread on what might’ve been the creature’s face as they bent down, their mouth dragging across the shell of his ear, "Geralt."

[bloody-bee-tea]

Tell me what you really think

Celebration time! This is my 600th published fic 🎉🎉 🎉🎉 And what better way to celebrate this than with some deeply insecure Jiang Cheng  🎉🎉 🎉🎉

Jiang Cheng is cursing up a storm as he makes his way through the incredibly thick underbrush of the forest he’s currently in.

Luckily, there is no one around to hear him so he gives his displeasure voice by cursing even more.

He thinks this stupid hunt deserves it.

They still don’t know what exactly they are hunting, but so far no people have come to harm; there just have been some reports of a person in the woods, ‘ruining lives’. No one wanted to elaborate on that, but since no bodies have shown up yet, Jiang Cheng thinks the danger this creature is posing is rather slim.

And this is why he’s alone in the woods right now. He took a bunch of disciples—and Lan Xichen—on this hunt, but decided they should split up, so they could cover more ground.

Jiang Cheng is happy about his decision now, because there were a few junior disciples amongst the group and they really don’t need to hear him curse like this.

“Fucking dammit,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath when he stumbles over a branch yet again, and he has half a mind drawing Sandu just so he can cut out a path for himself.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” he goes on, as he stumbles further down the half-walkable path he’s on. “This monster better be fucking worth it or I’m going to strangle it just on principle.”

Jiang Cheng is still grumbling under his breath when the thick underbrush finally clears a little into something like an open space. Jiang Cheng quickly walks into the middle of it, simply glad to be out of the forest, but before he can fully relax there’s a rustling to his side and he whirls around, Sandu already out of its sheath.

“It’s just me,” Lan Xichen tells him with a small smile and Jiang Cheng forces himself to relax again.

“What the hell are you doing? I thought we were going to meet back up in Lotus Pier?”

“We were,” Lan Xichen says but then he shakes his head. “I just wanted to talk to you and I wanted to do it away from prying eyes,” he tacks on and Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him.

He understands that the constant scrutiny in Lotus Pier must be a bit much for Lan Xichen, but his people aren’t hostile; they simply want to make sure Lan Xichen only has his best interest in heart and Jiang Cheng thought he was okay with that.

“A talk?” he repeats and dread settles in his stomach when Lan Xichen nods without the usual hint of a smile on his face. “About what?” Jiang Cheng forces himself to ask, even though deep in his heart he already knows what Lan Xichen is going to say.

Jiang Cheng has been afraid of this very moment since the very first time Lan Xichen expressed romantic interest in him.

“About us,” Lan Xichen answers him and Jiang Cheng forces himself to keep his chin high and his shoulders straight.

“So talk,” he bites out and wants to hide when Lan Xichen gives him a pitiful smile.

“You already know what’s coming, don’t you?” Lan Xichen asks him but Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t dare to presume to know your thoughts,” he forces out and Lan Xichen chuckles slightly.

“Good,” Lan Xichen says, but there’s almost something like a sneer in his voice. “Then let me tell you,” Lan Xichen goes on and Jiang Cheng can’t even close his eyes against what’s coming because he knows he deserves it.

“I resent you,” Lan Xichen starts and a pit forms at the bottom of Jiang Cheng’s stomach; a pit where Jiang Cheng’s heart will be swallowed whole, he already knows it.

“I thought I could learn to love you—learn to like you, if we’re being honest here—but all that time I spent with you did was show me how horrid you really are. You are angry and vicious; there is no love in you anywhere, despite what you wanted to make me believe.”

“I see,” Jiang Cheng whispers as he tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, but Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“I’m not done yet,” he snaps and Jiang Cheng can do nothing but stand there and endure it as Lan Xichen keeps talking. “You are nothing, Wanyin, nothing at all. Your power comes from the name your father gave you, the spiritual tool your mother gave you and the core your brother gave you. And yet, despite their numerous sacrifices you barely amount to anything. You couldn’t even raise Jin Ling right, he’s a spoilt brat with anger issues, just like you.”

Jiang Cheng’s breath is coming quicker the more Lan Xichen talks, but there is nothing he can say against this.

It’s all true, after all.

“How could I ever love you,” Lan Xichen scoffs. “You are despicable and I resent you so much I’m not even sure simply leaving you is enough. And the fact that you think I could ever love you just shows how arrogant you are; how highly you think of yourself when all your life you never amounted to much.”

Jiang Cheng works his jaw against the sharp pain in his chest, but still, no words come to him. And how could he ever say anything against this? He has wondered from the very first moment just how Lan Xichen could bear to be in his presence and it’s not at all a surprise to hear now that Lan Xichen actually couldn’t.

There is nothing loveable about Jiang Cheng, and he’s very aware of that.

Having Lan Xichen by his side for as long as he did has always been a fluke, Jiang Cheng knows that, and it seems that Lan Xichen finally realized it as well.

“I understand,” Jiang Cheng says after a while, making sure that this time Lan Xichen really is done, and he forces a smile on his lips. “I wish you the best,” he presses out and then bows to Lan Xichen; one Sect Leader paying respects to another, because from this moment on, that is all they are.

Jiang Cheng turns his back on Lan Xichen, praying to all the gods he knows that Lan Xichen can’t see his trembling fingers.

It wouldn’t do to show any weakness now; Lan Xichen already thinks the worst—the truth, a small voice in Jiang Cheng’s head whispers—about him, and right now Jiang Cheng’s stubbornness is the only thing he has left to hide how hurt he really is by this.

He almost dared to hope; almost dared to hope that somehow he was worthy of Lan Xichen, but of course it was nothing more than an illusion.

Of course someone like Lan Xichen can’t even like him.

Still, Jiang Cheng’s heart is nothing more than crumbles in his chest and they grate against his ribcage with every breath he takes. He guesses it’s what he deserves after he made Lan Xichen stay with him for as long as he did.

By the time Jiang Cheng reunites with some of his disciples he mostly has himself back under control again. He might have taken a moment to viciously lash out with Zidian—yet another thing about himself that Lan Xichen must hate: his temper—and he might also have taken a moment to sink to the forest floor and curl up into a small ball, but no one has to know about that.

When his disciples greet him he’s already back to the ill-tempered Sect Leader they are used to.

Lan Xichen leaving was an inevitability that Jiang Cheng has prepared for from the very start and it really shouldn’t come as a surprise to him.

“What are we going to do now, Sect Leader?” one of the disciple asks and effectively startles Jiang Cheng out of his thoughts.

“We’re going back to Lotus Pier, according to plan. We might have to do more investigation before we can figure out what we’re dealing with,” Jiang Cheng gives back and is grateful when everyone nods and falls into place behind him.

They quickly fly back to Lotus Pier and when they arrive there, Jiang Cheng immediately leaves for his personal quarters. He hates himself a little bit for his need to be alone right now—he’s aware of just how weak it makes him—but he can’t deal with any Sect matters right now and he doesn’t want to snap at people who don’t deserve it. Which would be everyone since the fault likes solely with him.

So, hiding away it is.

Jiang Cheng just sat down with a bottle of alcohol, when the door to his room opens and Lan Xichen steps inside.

Jiang Cheng freezes when he sees him, cup halfway raised to his mouth, as he tracks Lan Xichen’s progress through the room; he puts Shuoyue down on the stand like he always does and then he comes over to Jiang Cheng to lean down and press a kiss to his brow.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Jiang Cheng blurts out, as he jerks away from Lan Xichen, Zidian already sparking to life on his hand.

“Wanyin?” Lan Xichen asks, his hands carefully raised in front of his body. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng hisses at him and with a flick of his wrist Zidian springs into his hand, the cup crashing to the ground. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“It’s me,” Lan Xichen says, clearly confused now. “It’s just me, Wanyin. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I can tell you what’s going on. You don’t get to come here, after what you said to me in the forest, and pretend like nothing at all happened. I knew that this was inevitable but I never figured you’d be this cruel.”

“In the forest?” Lan Xichen repeats with a frown. “But we split up in the forest. I didn’t see you all afternoon.”

“How dare you. At least stand to what you said and don’t play around like this!”

“Wanyin, what happened in the forest?” Lan Xichen wants to know and Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“Nothing I didn’t anticipate,” he snaps back. “What I didn’t expect was you playing around like this!”

“I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” Lan Xichen says again and Jiang Cheng can tell that he is honestly confused.

Still, it does nothing to calm his racing heart.

“What is going on? What happened in the forest?” Lan Xichen wants to know again and Jiang Cheng forces Zidian to be dormant again.

“You told me quite clearly what you think of me,” Jiang Cheng bites out and his heart throbs painfully at the reminder of it. “How little you really think of me.”

“Then it wasn’t me who said that, because I hold you in the highest regard,” Lan Xichen immediately gives back and Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“Yeah, right,” he mutters but Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“Listen to me, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen says as he steps forward to take Jiang Cheng’s hands in his.

Jiang Cheng jerks at the contact, but he allows it for now.

“I know you fear that I will one day wake up and no longer love you,” Lan Xichen says and now Jiang Cheng jerks for an entirely different reason. “But that will never happen.”

Jiang Cheng can’t keep Lan Xichen’s gaze. He suspected that Lan Xichen knew about his insecurities—knows how worthless Jiang Cheng really is—but to hear it plainly like this still comes as a shock.

“You’re wrong,” Jiang Cheng whispers because what Lan Xichen—the Lan Xichen in the forest said to him—must be the truth.

“No, you are,” Lan Xichen gives back. “I love you. I love how courageous you are, how fierce and loyal, how protective. I love your stubbornness and your rudeness and your inability to mince the truth even a little bit because you figure it’s better to hear it all at once instead of being fed a lie. I love that you are always stronger than people expect of you, especially in the face of tragedy and that you never let it change who you are. I love your dry sense of humor and I am in constant awe over everything you have accomplished in your life. I love you.”

Jiang Cheng can feel his eyes prick with tears and he weakly shakes his head.

“You’ll realize how bad I am for you one day,” Jiang Cheng mumbles, because he knows it’s inevitable that Lan Xichen will see just what a bad influence Jiang Cheng is on him.

“Never,” Lan Xichen replies. “Because you are not. You are everything I want and so much more than I need.”

“You don’t deserve to be settled with me,” Jiang Cheng says because he knows he’s too much all the time and clearly so much more than what Lan Xichen can deal with.

“But I want to be settled with you,” Lan Xichen decisively says. “And I doubt I could find anyone better. Wanyin, I don’t know where I would be without you. I don’t think I would have made it out of seclusion by myself. I doubted my every word, my every instinct, because they have led me so horribly wrong with Jin Guangyao. But you forced me to see that maybe the fault doesn’t lie with me. You made me understand just how manipulating he was and without you, I would never have left seclusion. I didn’t have the strength for it.”

“That’s not true,” Jiang Cheng disagrees, “you are the strongest person I know.”

“Because I have your strength to fall on,” Lan Xichen smoothly gives back. “Without you, I wouldn’t even be half as strong.”

Lan Xichen lets his words sink in for a few moments, before he speaks again.

“I love you. You’re my heart,” he whispers as he leans forward and brushes his lips over Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Will you believe me, Wanyin?”

Jiang Cheng swallows a few times, but in the end he nods. He will trust Lan Xichen with this.

“Now tell me what happened in the forest,” Lan Xichen says after a sweet kiss and Jiang Cheng sighs as he slumps slightly in on himself.

“I met you, or I thought I did,” he starts and Lan Xichen makes an encouraging noise. “And you told me what you really think of me. How you resent me,” Jiang Cheng finishes with a whisper, because even now that Lan Xichen said again and again that he loves him, it still pierces something in Jiang Cheng’s heart to remember those words.

“I don’t,” Lan Xichen immediately says and chases the bad thoughts away with kisses pressed to Jiang Cheng’s brow. “I would never.”

“I—okay,” Jiang Cheng says and nods. “I believe you.”

“I think you met what we were hunting,” Lan Xichen finally says and pulls Jiang Cheng down to sit at his side, never letting go of his hand.

“What?”

“Remember how the villagers said it was ruining lives? I don’t think they meant in a physical way. We asked around some more and we finally found someone who was willing to talk. He said his dead wife appeared in front of him, telling him how none of their kids were his. I think what this thing does, is telling you what you are most afraid of to hear. It would explain the lack of bodies.”

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because it does make some sense. “I see.”

“So none of what that other me said was real. None of those words were mine,” Lan Xichen reiterates again and leans over to kiss Jiang Cheng again. “Because you are wonderful and I love you very much.”

“Stop saying that,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, even as he flushes at hearing it again.

“I don’t think I will,” Lan Xichen gives back and nuzzles Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Not until you believe it.”

“I do,” Jiang Cheng gives back, even though the doubt sits deep, deep inside of him, and Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“You don’t. But that’s okay, because I will tell you often,” he resolves and Jiang Cheng doesn’t even want to complain.

“Alright,” he whispers and then looks down at their still intertwined fingers. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I do,” Lan Xichen says and presses a kiss to the back of Jiang Cheng’s hand. “But I like hearing it, too.”

Jiang Cheng nods at that, because he can admit that he might not have said it enough in the past, but just like Lan Xichen he will change that now.

“Promise me it wasn’t you,” Jiang Cheng still can’t help to say and Lan Xichen only smiles at him.

“It wasn’t me, I promise on my brother’s life,” Lan Xichen gives back without hesitation and Jiang Cheng believes him.

“We’re going to find this thing,” Jiang Cheng says, unwilling to let it roam around his territory much longer when it deals devastating blows like this but Lan Xichen doesn’t move.

“We will, but not today. Today you’re going to stay right here, where I can tell you how loved you are, and where I can cuddle you,” he decisively says and it startles a laugh out of Jiang Cheng.

“I think I might be okay with that,” he whispers, the words a balm to his very soul and he leans against Lan Xichen’s side. “I’m very okay with that.”

He feels how Lan Xichen presses a kiss to his head and then rests his cheek there, and Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, content and happy.

He already thought this lost; he will cherish it all the more now.

{Buy me a kofi}  

[bansept]

Protector

Part 3

It was long to come out, but it’s here! A few more moments between our love birds, but defintely more important things about what happened in this part.

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

For the next few days, life had been unsurprisingly blissful for both the officer and his protégée : Orihime Inoue spent her nights working on her computer, carefully being silent while Ichigo let sleep hit him hard as a brick, his documents all over him while his mouth was opened to let silent snores escape. Then, morning came, and a curious routine started to take place, with Ichigo doing his morning exercises in the room given to him, Orihime taking yet another sweet drink before heading to bed.

As if they had been friends since forever, they tended to their lives and watched over the other, stealing a few glances here and there. Orihime, once awake, would give more information on the bakery, the times she went there, the people she used to know. Ichigo, listening carefully, would note it down and try to think on it, before getting dragged outside by the arm.

That was something new too. Physical touch.

Ichigo, being the nice and respectful man he was supposed to be, had decided to absolutely not let his physical attraction to the young woman take over. Nothing would happen, because he was controlling his body and mind, and that was it. But that was forgetting how convincing gardening, sharing dishes or simply talking with her was complicated. She had touched his arm once, to ask a simple question, and it was an electric shock running through his body, from head to toe. The auburn haired woman had stared at him with a tiny blush before scooting away, apologizing immediately. Little by little, more touches, more arm grasping to prevent a fall, shoulder taping because, apparently, Ichigo was funnier with the woman then he ever had been with his friends and family.

So it didn’t surprise him when Orihime had asked him to help her change the light, since he was basically here to help. But… Well…

“You what?”

Eyes wide opened, mouth hanging, blush creeping on his cheeks, he looked like the perfect idiot.

“Could you please hold my waist while I change the light, please?”

It was ridiculous. For many reasons, as in, he could change it for her, or he didn’t need to hold her waist for that. But the most ridiculous thing of all was thinking about refusing her proposal. Ichigo wasn’t stupid enough to understand a basic flirting method.

“I… Yeah.. I can do that.” He muttered, letting the satisfied and overwhelmingly smiling woman take her time to climb on top of the chair. “Just… Be careful not to hurt your hands.”

If he could hit himself, Ichigo would, but it was impossible now, his hands very, very carefully placing themselves on the woman’s hips. They didn’t dare to do more than hover, digits sweating and face incandescent.

In such a situation, it was easy, and evident, for both the young people to hope for more : faking a fall and land in Ichigo’s arms, for example. But they were rapidly brought back to reality, the policeman’s phone buzzing loudly in the silence of the intimate scene.

“Ah… Sorry.”

Ichigo apologized, taking one hand off to dig in his pocket.

“Yes?... Hello. Yes, I am with Miss Inoue.”

The hand still lingering over her jeans was very much a reminder of it. She smiled at him, mouthing a ‘thank you’ before getting back on the ground.

His hand didn’t move much.

“Everything is going alright, there are no signs of any threats against her. Yes… Hm, I see. I will. Thank you.”

Orihime stared at the man on her side, watching him hang up and sigh before turning his face in her direction.

“Is everything alright? Was it the police station?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything is good, they have more intel on how the explosion occurred. They were suggesting me to go there to catch up on anything that might be interesting.”

He answered, shrugging, and placed his phone back where it belonged. Now it felt like things would really work : after days, 6 to be more precise, of knowing nothing and suggesting to the public it was but a mere dysfunctioning oven that had caught fire and exploded, the investigation could finally take a good turn. The culprit would hopefully be found soon.

Orihime had not answered, and Ichigo looked back at her to see her eyes darting to her hips where his hand had remained.

A beat.

“I’m sorry!” He yelped, pulling his hand away fast, the feeling of being burned coursing through his veins.

Orihime laughed openly, the blush on her face as evident as her timid smile.

.

.

.

What was left of the bakery was surrounded by tape to prevent any curious eyes, a few police officers gathered around a table to drink a coffee and discuss matters. The tallest of the team, a dude with brown hair and glasses, watched as Ichigo arrived with Orihime.

The light-haired man was dressed as a civilian once again, jeans with a blue shirt, and the other officers couldn’t help but notice he seemed… less grumpy then usual.

“Kurosaki Ichigo. I am here with Miss Inoue Orihime to ask a few questions.”

Ichigo told his partner, voice deep in concentration, while Orihime bowed shortly, looking around. This place, the memories she used to have… It was strange, and definitely painful to return.

After the fire was extinguished, nothing made much sense. What had been the place to expose the delicious friandises and cakes was gone, blown away by the wind of the explosion, the home made decoration all over the place, drawn and painted by the proud owners’ grandchildren had vanished. All the happiness had disappeared, only ashes and bodies left behind.

And the owners… A part of Orihime had wanted not to know the state they were in. whether or not they could be recognized. But the other part wanted to know everything. Because she knew she could have suffered the same fate.

“Miss Inoue?”

A gentle voice brought her back to reality, grey eyes blinking a few times before focusing on the brown ones she had come to get used to.

“Yes… Sorry, I zoned out for a bit.”

“It’s alright.” Ichigo gave a kind smile, one that made her heart and stomach roll together. “If you want to, you can go see inside. Just tell me whenever it is too much for you.”

Orihime nodded once again, turning around to slowly walk to the ruined building. She could feel a pair of eyes on her at every step, and it was reassuring to know that at any problem, any moment, Ichigo would come to help her.

.

.

.

“Is this a graduation picture?”

They returned to her house shortly after visiting the site, Ichigo with more info on the states of the other victims and if they had any memories, and Orihime with a new found resolution to help.

Five people had died. Numerous others had been injured. She was part of the very few with no physical injuries. Whoever did this needed to pay for it.

“Yes. When I used to sleep at night.”

She joked, face brighter than her thoughts when a smile grew on it, sitting down on the sofa next to Ichigo, crossing her legs under her.

Ichigo rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head as he gazed at the picture, obviously focusing more on her than any other students.

“True, but the smile from the “now” you is better.”

“Ah, don’t tell me about it. If you think school is stressful and selective, then the NAOJ of Mikata is Hell. I was so stressed every living second, because I wanted the job so bad.”

“Competitive much?”

“I heard some students were taking drugs to not need sleep or food so they could study more. So yes. A lot.”

Ichigo raised his eyebrows at that, shooting up his eyes to stare at the woman.

“And I heard of people taking drugs to avoid studying…” He joked, and was so fucking proud to see her laugh at this. Damn if he loved it.

Focusing his eyes back on the picture, the man watched all those young and tired faces, none of them smiling, and placed his finger on the picture frame.

“This girl seemed to not like you much…”

A foreign blond woman, her hair cut at shoulder’s length, glared daggers at the younger Orihime, irritably holding the glasses in her hands while obviously mumbling something under her breath.

Next to him, Ichigo heard Orihime sigh.

“Ah, yes… All of us were aiming for the moon, a good job with a good salary. It was the same for her. At first, we were all friends, trying to help each other. But the competition got the best of us. And a good job wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted to be an astrophysicist to make my brother proud. She didn’t have any goal but to be better than anyone. But her methods were despicable, and she was rejected by the academy. While I had no business in this, she hated me in particular for that.”

Orihime sighed once again, rubbing her hands on her jeans.

“I hope she’s doing well… I can only assume how hard it must have been for her…”

Ichigo wanted to agree, but the frown on his face had returned.

Whoever this girl was, she didn’t have the same heart as Inoue, that was obvious. And he would investigate this.

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

What will happen next, oh as the writer of this, I wonder hehehehe

[geekygoddesss]

B.F.F (Part 4)

Summary: Journey through the life of a girl whose heart belongs to her best friend, but he doesn’t feel the same way.

Words: 8k

Taglist: @dreamer-loves-lyrics​​  @5sosfanfix​​ @calssunflower​​ @madformichael​ 

As planned, the dynamic duo managed to spend the entire day away from the other. No phone calls, no texting, no contact, no nothing. They were both summoned on their own activities, making everything right and doing their thing. No contact was needed, at least not at that time. The no communication line kept on pretty solid, to the point she thought she would not be hearing of the man until the next day, but just as it tends to happen, halfway through dinner time she got a message, a message that gave her the green light to come to his place whenever she could. 

She couldn't say no to that. She was expecting it anyways. 

For the whole day, babysitting her brother had been her one and only task. After dropping her best friend, she had fully dedicated her time to Joe, and like it usually happens, she starting by taking him to the baseball field, threw balls at him until their arms were tired enough and then went back home for lunch, where a big, warm and cozy pizza box was waiting for them. That’s how their whole day rolled, just another day where the two siblings were by themselves and just relaxing. Nap time came in and after the longest videogame battle she has ever been in with Joe, once they were going through those leftover pizza, Luke texted and as usual, she responded. 

It only took her about twenty minutes and a bit of traffic to get to his place, but she got there, and now it was only about time until Joe grew accustomed to this new ambient. 

She knew this place like the back of her hand, after all, she would come here almost everyday if she was bored. Most of the time, she would be hanging around the house with her friend, socializing a little and sharing with her favourite person, but in writing days, it was a little different, and now that she was with Joe, they had to deal with this new routine together. 

There was so many people in the room it was overwhelming, however, finding a distraction wasn’t the hardest thing, because Joe would walk around the place and explore everything he could. This new place wasn’t completely familiar to him, but still he wasn’t a stranger to this ambient. He would often get distracted with things like getting caught by any of the guys and be asked questions, looking at the different actions figures around, play with the dog, curious around with instruments; she would almost dare to think this could be too much of a distraction for some people, but he was having fun, thought, she liked that. 

Like it is usual on writing sessions, they tried to sit in the back, watching everything happen while she said nothing and saw everyone do their job with extreme concentration, and Joe would walk around and explored everything, discovering the world of music producing by himself and in first row. It was both interesting and boring, and surely after a good while, after listening them argue and make little pieces of tracks over and over, she ended up in one of this situations: drinking alone in Luke’s kitchen. 

Some may say it is inappropriate for her to drink while she was babysitting, she said, a beer wouldn’t hurt anyone, so that’s exactly what she did. 

While Joe seemed busy enough and established some sort of conversation with someone she didn’t know, she managed to sneak back and out of the studio room and walked herself to the kitchen, where all the good stuff was kept. It was only couple minutes she needed, it was just one of those times where disconnecting was needed; grabbing a drink before going back there was just too perfect. 

She knew this place to well, it was only a matter of less than a minute for her to find the kitchen, where she decided she was completely feeling a shot of some hard liquor, something to level up her energy and drive her through the night, but still enough to not get her too crazy. She went for the fancy cabinet, grabbed on that mint liquor Luke always hid from her (in a very terrible way) and served herself a shot. 

It was a quick drink. She held on the shot glass between her fingers and sat on the kitchen counter, staring at the green syrupy liquid on her fingers; she hasn’t drinked in a while, so it would be valid to say this felt meaningful. 

Swallowing the liquid was pure relief; it was refreshing, but that burning sensation she loved so much still made a good presence, in her tongue it left a sweet taste and somehow a bit trippy. Her favorite flavour in an alcoholic beverage, she thought it was a gift from god, she would always be thankful for that, but she was even more thankful that Luke kept it stored on purpose. This was all the relax she needed. She closed her eyes in pleasure, breathed and exhaled. 

She could use one more of those, but no-

“Why are you sitting on the counter? People eat here”

A loud voice said behind her, making her jump in surprise and almost drop the glass in her hands. She thought she was alone, everyone seemed too busy to come up there. Who dared to interrupt her peace?.

She could only wish this was not happening, because on her only moment of relaxation, the one person she disliked the most came to disturb. How pretty. “Hi to you too, asshole” she cynically smiled to Ashton, as she grabbed the cup steadily in her hand and left it aside. 

Sometimes she just wished to know what was the trick for evicting him successfully every time they happened to be on the same place, which was pretty often, and that somehow she always seemed to fail, only to end up with a bitter taste in her mouth and the memory of sharing another moment with the most embittered person she has ever known. She knew very well he didn’t like her either, and the feeling was mutual, nothing has ever happened to them but it was just how it was, she had to live with it until destiny said it was enough. 

Although, she didn’t feel like arguing today, all she wanted was for him to leave fast and leave her be, after all, she has been having a good day and didn’t wish to ruin it. 

 “How's the writing going?” She asked, trying to be friendly and not seeming like she was going to start a fight. 

Not that they ever start up fights, but pretty despicable and nasty comments were exchange in almost every encounter they had, that’s how much they despised each other. 

It was probably a surprise for him that she even dared to speak to him without putting some kind of offensive adverb in the way, or maybe, he just felt caught by surprise with such a question, but once she left the words off her mouth, she saw his eyebrows being lifted up, glanced at her from the corner of his eye and made his way to the fridge, almost as if he only wanted to get what he needed done as soon as he could.  "Why do you care? Shouldn't you look after your kid or something?” He asked in a dry tone, putting his empty glass against the ice dispenser and getting some cubes out. 

She gasped, this was just what always started their arguments, he just couldn’t for a second be nice, he always had to get some kind of sarcastic and mean comment out of his mouth. “Excuse me, he's not my kid, what are you saying?” she glanced at him, rolling her eyes “He’s my brother”

He let out one very dry laugh, shaking his head at her innocence. "I meant that you-” he started, but just before he could complete his phrase, he stopped, grabbed a can of cola and rolled his eyes “ugh whatever you wouldn't get it anyway."

Suddenly, she already felt tired of this. “Oh okay..” She shrugged, not feeling so much getting in much detail “I guess I tried to be nice but you're just one piece of an asshole”

Now that was just the kind of comment he was waiting for, because once she let it out, asides from the extreme relief she felt for letting that out of his chest, he gave her one sarcastic smile, already being done with the situation. 

“thank you for reminding me, I didn't know that” he rolled his eyes, poured the content of the can on his glass and throwing the can away. 

Her interest for maintaining a conversation with the man was more than minimal, she just opted for sitting where she was, lay back and wait for him to leave so she could have a second shot in peace, without him making some sort of comment. However, when  she thought the situation couldn’t indeed go to any bad place, she heard how in a small groan his lips mumbled something under his breath, tried to mask it with sigh and drank of his cup, acting like he hasn’t said anything, but she thought he said something, something that was directed to her. She would ignore it but she couldn’t let that pass, he was technically laughing at her. “What did you just call me?” She frowned, glancing at his direction directly. He gulped, his eyes widened in fake surprise as he said “I didn’t call you anything”. A fake laugh left her lips in disbelief “I think you did but ‘I wouldn’t get it’” she said, mocking his sarcastic tone and going back on her feet, taking one step on his direction, she challenged him “say again, loud and clear” “It’s whatever” he rolled his eyes, putting his cup aside and turning to face her “I’m just saying, if you’re bringing a kid to a writing session then at least go control him, if you’re going to be on the way like this then at least try not to bother-” “You’re the devil in Levi’s, Joe is hardly bothering any of you, he’s playing with Petunia and Calum decided to join him because he’s tired and you’ve been at this for hours” she immediately argued, not even letting him finish his sentence, half of his words were clear exaggeration. “And we still have work to do, now if you excuse me, I would be doing my job if you weren’t in my way” he raised his eyebrows, motioned her to move aside and continued his way out. She buffed. “You’re a rude fuck” she said, as he left, not being surprised in the slightest bit when he turned at her words. “Am I?” he laughed sarcastically. “Control your kid” he spat, glaring her with pure despise. “Jesus, you have zero heart over a kid” she said with anger in her voice “he likes being around, why do you always have to be so-” she struggled finding the right words to express herself “mean”. 

He opted for responding, but the minute he opened his mouth, he closed it immediately. She wondered what was stopping him, but when she felt two hands grabbing her shoulders and making her jump in surprise for the second time of the day, she knew, she didn’t even need to turn around. “Oh uh, bad timing” Luke said from behind her, trying to act like nothing was happening and walking past her “There’s still beer, right?”

She hated to say it, but right now, he was her hero. “Yeah, same spot” she nodded and pointed at the fridge. 

Luke made his way to the fridge, completely ignoring the situation while Ashton apparently couldn’t seem to stop looking at her, transmitting such a weird feeling to her she felt creeped out. A deep and tense silence took place in the room, and as Luke moved around his own kitchen and picked stuff around, none of them chose to say anything, they just wanted one of them to be the first to leave. 

Luke appeared at her side with a smile on his face, acting like everything was completely fine and sliding his around her shoulder in a brotherly protective move. 

She shivered with his touch. “One for you, one for me” he announced, sliding a beer swiftly into her hand, even when she didn’t ask for one, but she still took it. “Andy finished some stuff, he wants to save them, if you want to give a final verdict” He announced, looking at Ashton as he drank of the beer in his hand. 

Now, that was Ashton’s call to leave, she was glad. “Okay” Ashton nooded, looking at both his friend and his nemesis as he walked backwards and left the room. 

She felt very calmed from all sudden, watching him have no other choice than to leave was very satisfying and she would never get tired of that picture. That was what he got for being a douche, he deserves it. As Ashton left it was almost embarrassing how that very loud silence was maintained in the room. She watched him, walking out as if nothing happened and opening the door to that lead to the basement, his mood being more serious but at the same time, not so different from his regular self. He has acting like this because of her, but she couldn’t say she cared at all, he was an asshole and she didn’t have respect for assholes. 

“You have a long face” Luke mentioned, clicking the top of his bottle against hers before taking a drink from it. 

She just rolled her eyes, even when she thought she shouldn’t, it was a childish gesture she liked to avoid, but in these cases it was sort of a thing that came out naturally out of her. “I hate Ashton” she admitted “I just wish I knew why, why does he have to be so rude with me? I don’t get it” she groaned “I’m a good person, aren’t I?”

That question came out of her in a tone of real frustration of not knowing if the person she was to others was the same as she thought was the good kind of person. Maybe she was an asshole as well. 

Luke looked at her like she was crazy.

“You’re the best” he said with a hint emotion in his voice. “And am I annoying? Am I actually in the way right now?” she kept asking “Wait, am I actually so annoying that even my presence bothers you?”

Even when she was being a little paranoid, he keep up his posture and showed her a smile that seemed comforting and real, it was real. He left his drink on the counter top of the kitchen, rested both hands on her shoulders and squeezed ever so slightly, a quiet sign for her to stop and relax.

“No” he murmured “I love having you around, it’s the best part of my day”

Looking up at him and trying to see honesty in his eyes was almost a stupid thing to do, because no matter what he’d always be honest with her and she knew that, he was not just saying things to make her feel better and let this be, he meant everything he said. 

“Luke” she called his name, almost in a whine “I don’t know, I try to be likeable and he makes me feel like I’m just the worst, the fakest, the most-“ “That’s just him” he assured her, waving it off  “Ashton has a bit of a hard time with trusting people and all, don’t worry about it, he’s a good person though, I promise”

That was just the excuse he gave all of the time, he didn’t love seeing two of his best friends disliking each other this way, but that was the way things rolled, unfortunately; it’s been already around five or six years since she’d know them and he always despised her for no reason, that’s why Luke always made his best to not make anything worst and lead these situation with peace and calm, to a happy place that for them was totally unreal. “Yeah I know” she mumbled. It was needless to say this whole thing make her feel awkward. “And I love you, that makes up for the lack of appreciation on his behalf, right?” He smiled even more on her way. She looked up, grinned back and nodded. “Great!” he cheered, leaning in to kiss her forehead very softly. 

That small gesture of him spiked her senses up to levels she could tone down, it was hard, but she did her best to mask how nervous it made her that he was so sweet with her out of nothing, he was just so charming, she couldn’t not love it. 

Her right hand moved to hold her left wrist that carried the drink, to cover how shaky her hand was; she didn’t want him to see how nervous she has gotten in just a few seconds. Her best move to move out of this conversation without looking like a fool was very simple; she looked up at him, showed him a smile and moved in to him one quick hug, showing him that ‘she was alright and there was nothing to worry about’. 

Only god knew how intense he would be if he even suspect she was somehow affected, and not precisely by Ashton’s situation. “I should probably get back to Joe before Petunia cracks his head” she announced, taking a step back from her best friend and showing him a small smile. 

Luke gasped in fake outrage, acting as if it was anything new that his dog made someone fall over somewhere by chasing them. “Pet would never” he said, following her with his gaze as she moved around. 

She nodded, went to step back and walk away, but right before she could leave the room, he grabbed her wrist, made her turn around and looked at him, his face now looking a bit more serious. 

 “Are you staying the night?” he asked, now in more seriousness, looking for a real answer. For some reason, she blushed. “Can I?”

He rolled his eyes at her, a shameless move she would make sure to remind him later. It was childish and rude. “Is the sky blue?” he asked sarcastically, giving her wrist a soft squeeze “It’s rude to answer questions with questions, you fuck” she said in fake annoyance, rolling her eyes as well  “I am not sure, I drove all the way here in your car” she now answered with more seriousness, giving him a slight shrug. He nodded. “If you don’t want to stay I could give you a ride, maybe Michael, you’re on the way there” He offered, a kind smile spreading on his face. 

One side of her said yes, but the other side was completely different, she wanted to maintain some distance between them and keep her from doing a stupid move she would regret, after all, she was at the very verge of going crazy, or that’s what she thought. 

After getting that spot with the therapist for such a dumb reason, she was really questioning if it was worth being so close with him when she was having these kind of thoughts; if it was healthy for her to keep him around and let him be so touchy, being only one step away to take everything farther than ever and change it all. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t want him away, but she didn’t want to torture herself either. She wished to move on. “I don’t know, I’ll think about it” she shrugged, giving him a small smile in response. “Alright” he mumbled, taking a small step, leaving a kiss on her forehead and walking past her way “just let me know before I finish this, just so I know if I should have a second one or not” That really made her laugh.

“You’re so responsable”

He laughed as well, him taking precautions just in case he had to drive her home was a step forward. 

“Hey, I learn from the best, I have that little whisperer who tells me when I’m doing bad, I’m really starting to learn shit” he says, winking her way as he reached for the door that lead to his basement “I have to go back but, see you” he waved.

She waved back awkwardly “see you”.

And then he disappeared from her sight, leaving her, once again, alone. 

She decided to one way or another distance herself from the situation, trying her very best to not think much about anything and focus on the present, because in some way, she felt like that would be the cure for her pain. She called her brother in and moved to another room of the house, somewhere where they could be alone without bothering anyone and just chill, until everyone decided to go and she felt better. Sometimes when she overworked her mind about Luke, a break would do exactly what she needed to get her mind working again.

So after a long while of isolating themselves in the giant house and laying down in Luke’s mancave, she felt like watching Joe play with Luke’s dog over and over again was starting to become sort of healing for her. She only sat there and watched, making sure her little brother wouldn’t get hurt while playing, but she had fun at it, and after a while of seeing the same picture happening in front of her eyes, she just... forgot about everything.

“Is she prwegnant?” Joe asked, rubbing Petunia’s belly back and forth, once she was finally laid down after running around for a while. “No, she’s just chubby” she answered “if she was pregnant she would be tired all the time, don’t you think?” she asked, trying to encourage the kid into thinking a little more. 

He looks at the big dog, puts his little hand on her belly again and rubbing, reflecting on his answer as he petted the dog. “I think she’s pwregnant” he stated, laying on the floor beside her and looking at the ceiling “Can we have a puppy?” She laughed. 

 “We already have a puppy, silly” she said, poking his side. 

She wasn’t lying though, they did had a dog in their house, a little French bulldog that was already too old but far too active for her age. She loved her. “But she’s old and I don’t think she can last much in the jungle, Stella is always sleepy” Joe argued, a frown starting to form on his forehead. She frowned too, not being sure if she even heard him right. 

“Jungle?” she asked, looking over at the kid.  He shrugged. “I want to live in the jungle”

She thought about questioning him for a second, but after all he was just a kid daydreaming. He did this a lot, think about something overly random and telling her to see what she thought, with a little bit of luck they might make it happen, but in most cases, everything was too unreal to even think about. He was just a kid, so she let him reflect on that himself, discover that the world was a little bit more complex than he thought.

“Joe, you can’t live in the jungle, only animals live in the jungle” she told him, just to put it out there, let him figure out that his wish was impossible.

“Says who?” he asks sassily, rolling his eyes at her. 

She gasped. 

Where did he even learn to do that? 

“Everyone!” she exclaimed, squishing his tummy with her hand playfully and watching him squirm around. “Since when do you even want to live there?” 

He laughed loudly, moved around trying to escape her tickles and give her some in return, but he was failing. He got up on his feet, making Petunia do that as well and start to get hyper. She was expecting him to start running and completely ignore her question, instead, he stood up in front of her, arms crossed over himself and looking completely outraged. 

“I can live in the jungle” he said, completely serious “I watched this movie, there was a guy that lived there and he fought with monkeys and he lived on a tree and he- and he-“

He was suddenly cut off, by the big dog sniffing on his feet and starting to sniff him all over, moving over to try jumping over him and play. 

“Stop, Pet” he laughed, taking a step back, but just giving up at the end and laying on the floor. Giving in to Petunia to mess with him. 

She thought it was hilarious. A giant dog being her brother's best playmate at the moment, licking his face all over as he squirmed around, and getting even more excited as she kept going. She grabbed Petunia and move her aside a little, keeping her from squishing Joe, part of her almost expected him to be already whining at the heavy load that just went over him, but instead, she found the biggest smile on his face, and she laughed too, because watching her little brother smile was the best thing she could ask for. 

“She kissed-attacked you” she giggled, offering Joe a hand and helping him get up. “You okay, bud? Do you want to watch a movie? I think we should” she suggested, knowing it was almost past his bedtime and he should be getting tired by now. 

Joe sighed and nodded his head. She got up from the floor and grabbed his hand, making their way to Luke’s guest bedroom didn’t seem like a bad idea, after all, it was the most private place they could possibly find in that giant house. 

“Okay but, one queshtion” he mumbled, following her lead “Can you tell daddy about the jungle thingy?”

A giggle came out of her “The jungle thingy?” she reflected “Right. You know what he’ll say, something along the lines of ‘that’s ridiculous, what’s next? do you want to swim in a shark tank’” she mocked. 

A pretty good impression of her dad, she must say. 

“Cool” Joe mumbled. 

“Not happening” 

She made her way to the hallway and once they reached the guest bedroom, she peeked inside, for some reason she always had the feeling someone else might be in there, and she did not wanted to create or be into any uncomfortable situations. Luckily, it was all clear. She let the dog enter first and opening up the door to Joe. 

“Can you at least ask him if you could have one more puppy?” he says in a begging tone, hoping she would be the one to make something happen. 

The way he crossed his fingers and looked up at her with hopeful eyes made her see once more how adorable he would be sometimes. 

She didn’t answer right away. She leaned down and kissed his head, ruffing his hair playfully and nodding him to get inside. 

“Don’t grow up, Joe” she told him, giving him a warm smile. 

If there was something she needed right now, was something that reminded her how many beautiful things she had in her life, and her little brother was one of them. She was the luckiest to have him, and moments like these, little conversations that she would remember...Those were the ones she appreciated the most. She didn’t want them to ever end. 

For the couple hours they were left alone, she focused on playing any good quality movie that caught Joe’s attention, and they laid on the bed shoulder to shoulder, watching the film and focusing on each other’s company. If they really thought about it, this was like any other weekend they’ve had together at her apartment. 

Hours passed unnoticed, a movie and a half went by and the lights around them were now softer than usual. Joe was asleep and she was alone, not really having the most energy and sort of enjoying the quietness around the room. The peace of mind she had was so deep, that it was hard for her to notice when the door of the room opened, and suddenly, it was not just her anymore, now she had company. 

Luke walked into the room looking both drained and fresh at the same time, she didn’t even know how he did that. Without saying much he nodded to his front and kept walking straight, going straight on the balconies direction and opening the door for himself, making his way in and disappearing before her eyes. 

He didn’t need to say anything, she slipped off the bed with a gracious move to not wake Joe up and walk after her best friend. 

Once out, it was just to be expected that she would find him sitting on his usual seat, watching the view and feeling the fresh air hitting his pale skin. This was his time for relaxation and he couldn’t let her out of it, sometimes he just needed a little bit of her presence to make his day feel complete, and it was the same thing for her. 

He made her feel complete… if he only knew that.

“Where is everyone?” She asked, once she stepped outside, and took a sit right next to him. 

“Leaving, we’re done for the night and we’re all tired” He explained, taking a sip of beer as he nodded towards the small table in front of him “I hope you’re hungry” he said “I got some cheese and these are chicken nuggets, couple of pizza slices  if you wanna go a little crazy” he said, pointing at everything “also this chilli sticks, they’re not half as bad” he shrugged “Gosh, I’m hungry” “I thought you hated chilli” she questioned, reaching out to grab one of them. He chuckled “Why?” She smiled and shrugged “Oh well, remember that time when you started bragging about eating the hottest sauce ever known to man-“ “-and then your mom gave me those tacos?” he completed almost immediately. She nodded. “It plays every night like a movie in my head” “It was your fault though, you can’t stand spicy, you shouldn’t brag about it” She laughed, shaking her head at his statement. “No, no no, I can stand spicy, but my kind of spicy is not your kind of spicy” He justifies himself. “My mom thought you’d like it” She could only mention, because after such a statement it was expected that her mother would offer him that. “I did, but I was like- sweating” he explained, looking at her with a surprised face. “You were crying, sir” she argued “that’s what I’m saying, you hate chilli” “I don’t hate it, it tastes good, we just need to get along, have a few dates” 

She nodded. 

“Not cry in the process” she teased, pushing him lightly.

Luke gasped, just as she had just insulted him in his face. 

“Oh hush, Miss. I can stand tequila like a champ” he stated, grabbing a stick for himself and taking a bite. She gasped as well. “Hey! that’s different” “No it is not, you were two shots down and stumbling on your feet” he laughed, as he returned the soft push on her arm  “Lightweight” “Stop” she shook her head, if he kept going, it would be a real embarrassment for her.

There was a silence between them, a comfortable one that gave her some time to let that memory sink. The memories she had with him were plenty, and also still counting. She hoped these never ended, she had fun with them, especially when looking back, those really warmed her heart for good. 

“Gosh, I can’t believe you brought that up” she sighed, smiling “it’s been like what? Two years? From just that?” she asked, now feeling curious. He sighed “Roughly” he admitted, thinking about it  “Yeah” “Crazy” She mumbled.

It was really something that felt surreal in some ways; how long they’ve known each other, all of the things they have lived together, how they are able to now look back and laugh about it, it’s been so long, their friendship is so deep, this is something that now was going to live in her heart for a long time and never letting go. 

The craziest thing of all, it’s how different they are in everything, but somehow, they get along like no other. “How was your day, tell me about it?” he asked, leaning on his seat comfortably and looking at the sky, clearly trying to relax a little. 

“How was yours, Mr. famous?” she returned the question, imitating his movements and leaning back.

“You first, we’ve hardly talked, I want to hear how you’re doing, lady” He teased, looking back at her and winking. 

How cute is he? She thought. She shrugged. “Not much” she said, not really knowing where to start “We played baseball, went for ice cream, had some pizza at home, he chased your dog for like two hours, and then I put that movie on, it’s like a lullaby to him” she laughed to herself. 

It’s been a very active day for both of them, she didn’t usually had days like this, but when it came to her little brother, she would do this every day if she had to, she loved spending time with him. 

“Are you tired?” he asked, looking back at her. 

She shook her head “Not really” she mumbled “Are you?”

He smiled “Just a bit” he said, in a small mumble. 

He seemed to tense up. She could see he was completely drained, his job could sometimes be heavy on him, but he loved it, he wouldn’t let it get in his head to the point of stressing him out, he just got tired sometimes, and this is one of those times, he just needed some time to relax from all the fuss he had to deal with earlier. 

He closed his eyes, took a couple of seconds to take a breather and then looked at his surroundings, he was looking for something, she just had no clue why he suddenly had the necessity of something when just a second ago he was trying to relax. He looked behind him, right at the corner at the very back of the balcony, laying his eyes straight on that black acoustic guitar he’s had since forever, she guessed that was what was left for him, because his eyes glowed when seeing it, and a smile started spreading on his face. 

 “Yo, look, Stacy!” he laughed, reaching back and grabbing it with ease  “What are you doing there?” He asked the object, like it could speak. 

She rolled her eyes. The appreciation Luke had for that guitar was almost unrealistic, it’s been with him for so long, she would even dare to say it has become his personal instrument of choice, wherever he went inside of the house, it went with him. Wherever it was, it meant he was home, it made him feel home. 

“I moved her” she confessed “how many times have I told you to not leave your guitar here?” She laughed, shaking her head as he laid the object on his lap. 

“What's wrong with that?” He asked, frowning a little bit and acting completely dumbfounded. 

Her eyebrows raised at that answer. 

It was not her place to now explain how gravity worked, but she has always been sure that if he left small and medium objects just around the balcony, they would most likely fall and break. Just like it has happened in various occasions, he just seemed to never learn from that and always do the same thing. She was tired of telling him. 

“You leave everything here and I assure you, it will fall out of the balcony” she explained one more time, completely repeating herself, because she has said that a thousand times before. 

“Mimimi” he mocked, playing dumb melodies with his fingers. 

She gasped “I’m serious, that thing costs like ten thousand dollars” she argued, shaking her head 

“why?”

He shrugged, like it was completely obvious why he would keep his favourite guitar in such a place, and the reason would probably be the same dumb statement he always had. She could say, it was completely nonsense, but if he was going to keep insisting on that, then she would let him think that, just until it fell down the balcony, just like she predicted. 

“It’s not too cold out here, nor it is too hot” he started  “the bathroom is a couple steps away, these chairs are a dream” he kept explaining “it’s quite, it’s… just me, and you, obviously” he says as he laid back and let go.

Those last words made her smile, it was nice that he included him into something he loved to do on the daily and took his stress away. As silly as it was, she thought it was quite adorable, and maybe if it could end wrong because of his habits, the fact that he liked that place that much was adorable for her. 

He struggled a little, as he moved his fingers over the strings with tremendous skill, trying to find some kind of melody to fill in the silence of the night. It was one rhythm, then another… then he changed to another one, but at the end, he just slowed it down, looked up at the sky, and started playing the first thing that came to mind.

Oddly enough, she knew the song better than anyone. 

“That’s nice” she mumbled, listening to the soft melody very carefully “That’s really nice”

He hummed, continuing playing that melody and trying to remember the notes in order, putting them in a way that made sense and sounded good for both of them. It was amazing how he managed to create such nice ambient I’m just a couple minutes, she could almost feel how the tension left her body and let go with the music.

Luke chuckled, at the sight of her, relaxing and closing her eyes, he liked that. He liked that she felt something in response of his music.

“You know it” he said to her, nodding her way “C'mon, go ahead”

It was almost incredibly how little he said, but how much she understood just from that. “No, no way” she chuckled nervously  “Joe is asleep, no” she shook her head, feeling like acting like the adult in the room. “So?” He asked, shrugging. Suddenly his hands stopped playing and now he was facing her way, trying to speak seriously.  “He wouldn’t wake up if the would was falling out the window, you know that” he clarified “For me? I don’t know the lyrics”

Why did he had to say it that way?

Her body shivered a little, her cheeks turned red and she was suddenly fidgeting under the sleeves of her sweater. She was not going to sing in front of him. 

“I sound bad” she excused herself, laying back in her seat. “No you don’t” he argues “it’s cute” he stated, directing a very nice and soft smile at her and winking.  “I’ll start over, you go”

It was almost like he was commanding her what to do.

Without saying anything else, he just started playing. The melody soft and heartwarming, and he was absolutely nailing every single note, it was like he has been playing it all of his life and not only a couple of times, the melody was just like the original. 

She shifted on her sit uncomfortably, clearing her voice and trying to remember the first few phrases to continue with the rest. The truth is, she was so nervous he was making her do this, that she felt sort of scared to mess up and have him laugh, but a few mumbled words wouldn’t hurt anybody, and after all… it’s her favorite song. 

I walked across an empty land

I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

I felt the earth beneath my feet

Sat by the river, and it made me complete

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

And if you have a minute, why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?

Somewhere only we know... 

He looked very committed into carrying with the melody and sound that it was almost as if he was trapped in his own little world. A small frown forming on his forehead as he kept playing, and she thought it was adorable, she almost wanted to be able to smooth it out and see his face be a little more peaceful. But something else was of, and it wasn’t that, it was something else...

  “Sing with me!” she said, over that pause in the song, reaching out and ruffling his hair a bit. He laugh, not stopping for a minute and still carrying on with the melody. “I don’t know the lyrics” he excused, shaking his head. 

“Bullshit” she started, shaking her head. 

She just kept singing, looking at him with eyes full of expectancy and waiting for him to join her at any moment, as the song kept going and his best friend was just looking for a bit of company from someone who actually knew what to sing. 

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin

His voice joining in comes as a surprise for her, she was almost so surprised she had to stop for a full second for him to finish the phrase, but she managed to join him right away. She felt inspired now, he always inspired her. 

And if you have a minute, why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go?

Somewhere only we know

Those two voices harmonized better than she would have ever expected and it was a pleasant surprise. His fingers skillfully moved up and down the string of his guitar, while they both muttered the last few phrases of the song, he looked at her. He really looked into her, and with a quite single, they both coordinated to perfection and with that, the last bit of the song was harmonized with total perfection. 

Somewhere only we know....

It was really like hearing angels sing, she thought, he had a voice that made her believe angels really has an incredibly beautiful voice. 

“Yeah!” he exclaimed, raising a hand in the air and giving her an energetic high five “We got the touch” he laughed; holding her hand in place and mumbling “you don’t sing often, that breaks my heart”

She laughed at his statement, because she was almost completely sure it was only another one of his many exaggerations. 

“I’m not that good” she shrugged  “unlike someone” she said, winking at his direction. 

“Uh Huh” he rolled his eyes heavily  “Don't underestimate yourself, you’re amazing and the best ever” he said, moving his hand from her and poking her forehead. 

She almost felt like he was repeating himself. He would do this a lot, hype her up for no reason when she was being negative, as an attempt to cheer her up, but now it felt more like it was just him. Making a big deal out of everything and putting things higher than they should be. 

“I feel like you overestimate me” she admitted, giggling a little. 

His brows raised up high “You bet” he said, nodding  “someday I’ll have your picture hanged and it’ll say on somewhere underneath ‘the most talented and kind soul in this earth, thanks for not letting me down stupidly’”

And there it was, just what she was referring to…he hyped her way too much.

“Fair enough” she nodded, deciding not to make another comment about it. Being under the highlight was weird for her. 

She laid on the chair, getting comfortable now that she was getting in the mood. Right when she was about to grab one of those chicken nuggets, that were oddly calling her name, an odd sound came out of nowhere, something she wasn’t expecting to hear so early in the night, but it was happening, and if she was honest, it was very surprising.

 “Was that a yawn?” She asked, being completely taking by surprise at that moment. 

The moment she turned to him, he was holding a hand up to his mouth and almost immediately moving Stacy into her usual spot and sitting up straight. He was exhausted, it was more than evident. 

“I think I am done for the night” he announced, getting up from his chair and looking down at her “Should we go?” he suggested, holding a hand out to her as an invitation. 

She frowned a little, she knew what that meant and she wasn’t sure if it was right for her, her mental state and personal space. Not that it was weird by now, but the fact he was just putting it out there… for her didn’t feel right. 

“You want to sleep with me?” she asked unsure “Like, on the same bed?”

He shrugged, clearly not seeing the big deal out of it. Obviously because he didn’t see it on the same level as her, not even on the same perception, for him, it was the most regular thing in the world. 

“Yes” he said “we do it all the time”

She smiled up at him, it was really sweet of him to want her to spend the night along with him, in a total friendly way, but she just didn’t feel like it was the right thing to do. There was a lot going through her mind, she didn’t need another trigger for getting new and pointless ideas. 

“I don’t think I want to leave Joe alone” she excused, scrunching her nose a little “he’s scared of the dark, I wouldn’t like him to wake up alone”

And she wasn’t lying at all. It could be kind of messy to leave Joe sleeping by himself and have him wake up in an unfamiliar place, alone. Not like he didn’t know the house already, but sometimes he could become very disoriented when just waking up, and seeing he was just a kid, she would most rather stay by his side. 

“That’s fine” he nodded, not minding about it at all  “Goodnight then” he mumbled, walking past her, and as he leaned down to kiss her head he mumbles a quiet “I love you” 

Something not as unusual between them, but still, that same rush of electricity ran through her spine. 

“Love you too, Goodnight” she smiled up at him nervously, getting up from her chair herself and walking inside the room, calling it a night and trying to already forget about the little things that made such an effect on her. 

That night, the thoughts on her head were louder every time. 

The fact that they were so close already, everything they did now seemed like they were only a step away from becoming something else, that was getting in her head a little more every time, and right now, it was starting to make her frustrated at life in general. One part of her thought it was unfair, for many reasons; another part of her thought it was immature, and that was sort of obvious; but even when she tried to get a grip on it and control it, she felt that at this point in her life, this was something she just couldn't control by herself. 

It was definitive, she was going to get help, no seconds thoughts, no anything. 

She needed to wipe all those crazy thoughts out of her head.

[spooky-z]

College Françoise Dupont’s talent show [4.1/5]

• 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 4.1 • 5 • 5.1 •

I put links on Mari, Chlo and Kami's clothes because I suck in description. It has a link to the ring too.

@ozmav @maribat-archive

The big night had come.

Nervous, Damian had been sitting on the Dupain-Cheng's couch since arriving with his family.

The whole Wayne family inside the little house waiting for Marinette to finish getting ready with Chloe's help.

He already felt suffocated even though everyone was scattered around the house.

Bruce talked quietly with Tom, Sabine and Alfred looking at old family albums (Dupain-Cheng), Jason and Tim playing Mecha Strike, Dick with Kori on the couch with Damian, trying to calm down the brunette.

“Damian, calm down, man. I know how you are feeling right now, really, I've been through this. Trust me, everything will be perfect. She'll say yes.” He puts his hand on his shoulder in comfort. “There's no way Minette can refuse. That girl is crazy about you and you know it.”

"Surprisingly. For a while I thought she had a screw less." Kori adds solemnly.

"Kori..." Dick scolds.

But Damian ignored them both, as the hatch in Marinette's bedroom opened softly and Chloe came down, in a long, tight transparent dress with sapphire blue details all along (which looked like lace), a small belt of the same color to accentuate the slim waist.

Her hair was tied in a high, princess-style bun and the makeup on her face was minimal, the only highlight being the black cat eyeliner.

Damian couldn't see her feet from the dress, but he was sure she wore a heel of at least four inches.

He gets up quickly from the couch.

“Go Wayne, Tikkie is distracting her. This is your chance.” She says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, “Don't ruin things. Remember: Kami will be on the neighboring roof on the left, ready for when it's time.”

“Okay.” And he climbs the stairs quickly, barely hearing the others wishing for luck.

He passed Marinette's room, which was practically empty, not sparing a second and up the stairs leading to the bed, then up the hatch.

The sight that greeted him as he climbed up was breathtaking.

The balcony was decorated with fairy lights, the vines with blooming roses, and the clear sky, sprinkled with stars.

Marinette never lived up to the nickname angel as much as she did that night.

She was divine in a sapphire blue dress (she, Chloe and Kagami would go with the pieces she had made for her debut) of lightweight fabric (which resembled Diana's suit and the Amazon or Greek gods), her legs naked every time she moved and the top with a triangular neckline supported by a kind of belt decorated with beads, two or three shades darker than the dress.

To complement the Greek theme, she wore blue lace-up heels.

Her hair (which had grown so long it almost reached her waist) was shaped into loose curls, framing her small face. A thin golden tiara in the middle of the head.

Her makeup was a little more flashy than Chloe's. In addition to the baby blue cat eyeliner around the eyes, there was a dark cherry tone to her lips. Highlighting them.

Damian felt his mouth dry.

“Look at the time! I have to… go, Chloe is calling me!” Tikki before disappearing downstairs.

"What-Tikki!" Marinette called. She mouthed to say something more, but stopped when she noticed Damian.

“You look stunning, Marinette. Wonderful.” He says coming out of his stupor, but still frozen in place.

"You look wonderful too, Dami." She approaches, the lights making her more surreal. "I still think Chloe exaggerated a little..."

Damian finally moves, catching her halfway. His hands automatically reaching her face, stroking softly.

“So… are you going to tell me why our friends and parents have been weird lately? Something tells me you know why.” She says quietly, her face slightly tilted so she can look him in the eye. Despite her high heels, she barely reached his nose.

He placed a small kiss on her forehead before pulling back and kissing her on the lips quickly.

“Marinette, Angel. When I met you, I didn't think we could get to where we are now. Meet you, meet Ladybug, your parents, your friends... It was the best thing that ever happened in my life.” He says softly “In two years together, we had so many good, amazing, bad, worrying moments… But nothing managed to shake what we have. I'm here, I still love you, maybe even more than in the beginning and I intend to have you with me until I can no longer. I want to be by your side always. Be fighting crime or just deciding whether to eat pizza or dine out, then-” Marinette, who smiled sweetly, widened her eyes as Damian knelt before her.

“Damian what-” she choked out as he pulled a small black velvet box out of his jacket pocket.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, would you give me the honor of becoming my wife?" He opened the small box showing the ring.

The ring was a pink gold, a larger diamond in the center and four smaller ones around. Marinette was in love.

“Dami! My God! Damian!” She sobbed “Of course! I do! I love you so much!!” And pulled the brunette to kiss the life out of him.

"I can't believe it... God, I love you." she says as she steps back.

“I love you too, Angel. You're my life.” He whispered. “Here, give me your right hand.”

She pulled back and reached out, her manicured nails painted in a nude tone, her heart beating so fast and hard that she could feel the pulse of blood in her ears.

Damian slid until the ring fit comfortably on the finger.

Marinette admired the ring, still not believing. She was engaged. Bride of the person she loved. She didn't know she could be any happier. Damian pulled her back in a kiss.

“Sabine, she accepted! They are kissing now! Ahh my little girl is getting married!” The two are startled by Tom's loud voice and turned in time to see Sabine pulling her husband back to Marinette's room. Tikki in his head with a dreamy smile.

The movement on the roof of the house also caught their attention.

“DAD?” Damian calls incredulously. “Tim? Wait- Why is everyone on the roof? Even Kori!” Noting that his father was not alone.

Marinette starts laughing when Bruce nods in approval and disappears into the shadows taking the four (Tim, Jason, Dick and Kori) with him.

Tsukuyomi on the next roof, also leaves leaving the two alone.

"... So I think I'll need help getting down with those heels and the dress." Marinette says breaking the moment "I may not be the clumsy 13-year-old, but I don't want to test my luck."

Damian smiles mischievously before scooping her up.

"Lucky for you I came prepared." And he jumped with her toward the limo parked in front of the bakery.

“Damian!!!”

••••••

Lila was absolutely furious. If Hawkmoth was still active, she would have been akumatized at least four times.

She still couldn't believe Adrien had the courage to reject and push her in front of everyone. In front of Dupain-Cheng.

The mayor's daughter's despicable laugh still echoing in her ears and the class's incredulous expression glued to her eyes.

She had arrived early at the theater to avoid any questioning of the idiots. She was also hiding in one of the entrance pillars watching the doors trying to catch any glimpse of Adrien.

There were few people, but the situation was changing ever closer to the school schedule.

Last night she had a plan to get the blonde to apologize for what he had done in front of everyone, thus clearing her path with the class. And if by chance the plan resulted in everyone pitying her and forcing both of them together (perhaps breaking the baker's daughter's heart) she would not complain.

Lila had dressed to impress. A long orange chiffon dress with lace at the hem and sleeves, black heels and striking makeup. Her hair was loose.

She wanted highlight and attention. She wanted Adrien at her feet. She wanted the meticcia humiliation.

So she waited.

The first person of the class to arrive was Alix with her family. Lila wrinkled her nose at the girl's ridiculous outfit.

Who would go to an event at a prestigious venue wearing denim shorts and Jagged t-shirt?

The others were arriving not long after. No one at Alix level, but not as neat as Lila. This until Adrien appears.

The lobby was crowded with students, family, and guests, but she was still able to see him enter. His bodyguard right behind.

Even wearing a simple button-down shirt, dress pants, and polished black shoes, he could still stand out from the crowd.

Lila almost ran from her hiding place to reach him, but stopped when she saw Alya and Nino pull the blonde to talk in a far corner. Their parents and brothers right behind with the bodyguard.

"Shit."

Now she would have to wait until the last second and make a triumphant entry.

••••••

Ms. Bustier's class had found a way to meet among so many people.

The conversation went well, but a tense mood hung over them. No one brave enough to go after Adrien asking what had happened onstage the night before. No one had seen Lila yet and everyone wondered if she would still show up after the embarrassment.

All calm until it was not.

The people closest to the entrance were in a frenzy. The barely muffled whispers, some pointing, others shocked. Everyone moving closer to the doors to see whatever it was.

The class looked at each other confused trying to understand what was going on.

Kim and Ivan, the tallest in the class, followed by Adrien, tiptoed up to see the reason for the confusion, but unfortunately failed to get a good look.

Alya, who could never keep her curiosity in check, patted Kim on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Get me up. So I see and say what's going on.” She says “We won't be able to get through this crowd or see from here. ”

“Okay, I'll give you a boost and you sit on my shoulders.” He replies.

"Be careful, Aly!" Ms. Cesárie asks.

“I'm always careful, Mom!” And there was a general roll of eyes. “Now let me see wha- MY GOD THAT'S BRUCE WAYNE?!” She shouts.

Alix gives a shaken jump. “Bruce Wayne? Like Bruce Wayne? The tech mogul? This Bruce Wayne?”

"Of course! Is there another Bruce Wayne that I don't know?” Alya snapped angrily “Wait... Is that in Bruce Wayne's arms--- MARINETTE!?” She almost falls off Kim's shoulders in shock, but the boy is quick to hold her.

“Marinette?” Lila says, appearing out of nowhere beside Adrien who was still as confused as the class.

Max looks at the frowning newcomer "Why are you so..." he rethinks the word. “Dressed?” Lila might be the best girl in the world, but he couldn't help noticing that she dressed very badly. Very tacky.

She looks at him, eyebrow raised, not even trying the innocent facade, but looks back at Ladyblogger for an answer.

“Oh my god, it's true! It's Bruce Wayne with Marinette.” Alix exclaims sitting on Ivan's shoulders. “Man, I didn't know Mari was so hot.” She whistles in appreciation.

“Alix!” Rose, Nino, Adrien and Nathaniel exclaim in horror.

"What? It's true!” She replies “You should see this! Let’s go! Put me down, Ivan! We will open the Red Sea.”

The boy did as she asked, Alya who was still frozen on Kim's shoulders was poked by Nino. “Aly, let's go. Alix will try to get us there.”

She gets scared but goes down numb.

This was not the Marinette she knew.

"OK! There we go.” Alix says “Sorry! Oops It was bad!” As she pushed people out of the way, the class right behind her.

Lila and Adrien also following the rest. One out of curiosity and one... Well, Lila didn't know what else she was feeling right now except hatred and contempt.

"... And we arrived!" The girl says, her cheeks pink with the effort.

"Oh my god!" They gasp as they understand Alya's shock. And we are not talking about Bruce Wayne. By the way, it was really him.

No. The disbelief had a first and last name. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“Marinette…?” Adrien called, not believing his eyes.

And she, who was talking to Bruce, turned in surprise for the class. Her eyes firmed only briefly at Adrien, before turning to another person entering the hall.

He was a tall man, black-haired, well built, dressed in a black suit from head to toe, the suit obviously designer. Short hair combed and styled to the side. Green and cold eyes. His hands automatically going to Dupain-Cheng's waist as if it were normal and routine between them.

The class seemed even more surprised.

“Dad, Jason is trying to kill Tim and Dick in the car.” His voice coming out cold. “Angel, your parents were kidnapped by Jagged. Something about a tour.” Adrien notices the change in tone as he talks to the girl, the way his eyes soften and the corner of his lips curves slightly.

Bruce Wayne also seems to notice the change in behavior because he says nothing before leaving to solve the said problem.

“Is Jagged here? He didn't even warn me he was coming.” Marinette says ignoring the eyes poking holes in her head.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. I forgot-"

“Of course he forgot. That wasn't because he wanted to see you freaking out.” Kagami, who was arriving with Chloe in tow, says sarcastically. "Hello Damian, Mari." She nods.

The brunette wore an all-black suit, gold trim at the edges and sides. The jacket fully open at the front, closed just enough to cover the breasts. Her hair was artfully styled in a mess and there was a ruby lipstick on her lips.

“Kami!” Marinette jumped toward the girl. “I missed you today. Chloe used me like a doll all day. ”

“I've been busy getting everything ready.” She responds “By the way, congratulations. To both.” She adds.

"Thanks," Damian replies simply.

“Where, let me see this diamond!” Chloe pulls the brunette's hand evaluating the ring. “Wow, I didn't think Wayne would have good eyes for jewelry. Good choice.” She winks at Damian and releases the brunette's hand.

“I think it was exaggerated. It's beautiful, I loved it, but if it was a little less flashy…” Marinette doesn't finish, but the others understand what she means.

“Only the best for you, Angel.” Damian caresses her hand, then bends to kiss the ring.

Bruce returns with four other people, three men and one woman. The eldest of the three immediately jumped up to Marinette excitedly.

“What did you think of the ring, Minette?” He asks. “Damian was so concerned about not getting the proper engagement ring. You had to see it! All red and boring. He looked eleven years old again.”

What? Who were those people? Why did Marinette, Kagami and Chloe know them? And the guy who would not let go of Marinette? And Minette? Wait. Engagement Ring?

“MARINETTE GOING TO MARRY?!” Rose screams.

And the group finally looks at the class, noticing them. In Marinette's case, seeming to remember that they were there.

"Wait! Who is this guy, Marinette?! Why did I never knew you were dating someone?!" Alya sputters possessed.

Damian, already annoyed by the ladyblogger, pulls Marinette close to his family and stands in front, staring directly and coldly at the class.

"And who are you?"

“II am Ma-marinette's best friend! Alya!” She fumbles at the words.

Damian smiles humorlessly “Oh really? Interesting.” He says “Marinette and I have been together for two years and I've never heard of any Alya.”

Alya seemed to have been slapped at his words and shut up quickly, with nothing to talk about.

"You never answered the question." Lila says, taking the lead in the group. Damian raised an eyebrow in question, "Who are you?"

“Me?” His smile turns sour. “I'm Damian Wayne, fiancé of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one who won't think twice about crushing you if you try anything else against her… Lila Aloisi Rossi.”

[tag list]

@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna @iglowinggemma28 @crazylittlemunchkin @lunaraquaenby @maude-zarella @mooshoon @kuroko26 @littleredrobinhoodlum @fanboy7794 @shadowberrybinch @k-rena-k @captainmac6 @clumsy-owl-4178  @tazanna-blythe @vixen-uchiha @zebrabaker @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @artxyra @ellerahs

[ssa25]

Ruins Left Behind - Sasuhina Month 2020 - Day 7

Rating: Mature (implicit details)

Hinata paced about anxiously. Her feet were tired but she could not sit still. She had no clue about what was happening outside. All the windows had been barricaded by thick wooden planks.The guard stationed outside her chamber was on high alert and had been left with strict instructions to not let her out of her room. Her pretty metaphorical cage.

The gong rang three times. Her heart lurched, as hope renewed within her. The murmurs she had overheard between her unreserved handmaidens had been true. The Uchihas had rejected the alliance, in the end. Which could mean only one thing.

He had come, after all. He had come for her.

-

Her mother had cautioned her. That her beauty, while considered by many as a boon, could in fact become her undoing. But if she wielded it with reasonable wit, it would become her weapon.

But when tragedy befell her, she had been too naive to act on her mother’s words. There had been no warning. No signs. She had been safe and loved under her parents’ care. Then one cursed day, she was dragged out of her home and into this huge castle.

Prince Ootsutsuki had chosen her to be his bride, after noticing her on his way back from a hunting expedition with his friends. She had been forced to marry him, following which he was coronated as the King. Her parents had been angered and protested against the monarch. But they were brutally killed, along with the few good men who had supported their cause. 

If Hinata was scared and furious before, she became shocked and broken after she had been informed about it by her merciless husband. For a long time, her tears did not cease, while she fervently hoped so for her heart.

When every attempt to flee or end her life was thwarted by her ruthless and vile husband, she became a shadow of her former self. She abhorred the idea of birthing the future heir to the despicable king, and surreptitiously used herbs to keep herself bare.

And, in turn, he kept her closed and guarded in her chambers, limiting her movements, curbing her freedom until she relented to his whims.

-

Months later, Hinata overheard her handmaidens talking excitedly about the impending visit of the Uchihas. She had a vague idea about the savage and power hungry clan from local gossip. From what she could gather from the two young girls, the two Uchiha brothers and their sizeable troops were supposed to be visiting to discuss the possibility of an alliance. The King was planning on elaborate festivities to honour and win favour of the fierce clan with abundant food, flowing wine and beautiful women every night.

She was ordered to be confined to her room by the King, the night before the guests were expected to arrive. She was unperturbed to be left out. Inconsequential rumours did not bother her, nor did the excuses that Toneri must have made on her behalf. The only thing she missed were her afternoon walks around the castle grounds.

Just after midnight, on the second night of her total confinement, she slipped out of her chambers. The guard outside her door was slumped over in deep sleep. She went to the small lotus pond overlooking the plum blossom tree and sat on the wooden bench. The cool night time breeze momentarily soothes the resentment that seemed to have become a permanent part of her.

“Isn’t it unwise for a lady to be out this late?”

Hinata was startled at the deep voice that broke the calm of the night. She stood up and swung around with wide hesitant eyes.

“I… I was hoping for some fresh air and alone time.”, she whispered apprehensively, as her eyes took in the form of the stranger. She had never seen anyone like him. Tall with wide shoulders, and shoulder length dark hair that matched his irises. Under the pale moonlight, the young man seemed to be carved from marble. Perhaps he was one of the Uchiha clansmen.

“So was I…. Pardon my ignorance, my lady, but I do not seem to have made your acquaintance in the last two days here.”, he said curiously. Hinata found his eyes assessing her in the same way as hers did. She should be blushing and fleeing away, but she had become numb to those emotions. She could only feel wariness. What if this stranger revealed her midnight escapade to Toneri?

“How can you be sure, Sir?”

“Because I’m fairly certain I would have remembered meeting you.”, his tone had no traces of mockery. But his eyes were filled with an emotion akin to desire.

Hinata looked away from his inquisitive gaze and moved to the path back to the castle.

“Will you not allow me to introduce myself?”, he asked her before she got out of earshot.

She had to stop and turn. Etiquette dictated that she did.

“I am Uchiha Sasuke, the Commander General of the Uchiha Army.”

Hinata realised that this man was no mere Uchiha. He was the younger brother to the ruler of their kingdom. 

“My name is Hinata.”, she replied . That was her only identity. She refused to accept the title of Queen or the name of Ootsutsuki.

The sudden frown on his face could only mean that revealing her name had given away her identity too. Without waiting for him to say anything more, Hinata turned around to go back to her room.

-

It was curious. Very much so.

To have made the Uchiha Commander take an interest in her. Was this what her mother meant? It was an innocent thought, but she felt the bitter and enraged part of her, incite her to test the limits of her allure. Up until then she had been a slave to it, how could she use it to her advantage?

The following night she made the same excursion, and to her twisted pleasure, she found him already there.

Almost as if he was waiting for her.

-

Her days were filled with nerves and some excitement. She half dreaded and half hoped that Toneri would find out about her midnight dalliance. Maybe then he would execute her for such an illicit act.

Oddly, she found herself reveling in the inappropriate attention from Uchiha Sasuke. Nothing could stop her from meeting the handsome and formidable man that gave her a sense of protection for what little time they spent together. The warrior clearly knew he was going against normal honourable convention, but it was quite evident that he was enamoured by her.

It was a sadistic feeling, but Hinata enjoyed the hold she had over him. They had only few more nights together.

An idea started taking form in her mind. It was unlike anything her old self could have ever fathomed. But would carrying out such a plan not make her selfish? And manipulative?

It was a war between her conscience and her blackened heart. And in the end, only one sentiment ruled her. If this was the only way to avenge her parents’ death, she would commit herself to it. 

-

He stood very little chance against her feminine wiles. She had shared her deepest secrets, her soft smiles and shy gazes. She had even let him surreptitiously hold her hand.

She grew daring and hoped to give Sasuke the last push that might tip his desperation for her. After all, she had heard from her handmaidens about how the younger unwed Uchiha had rejected taking any woman to bed from the countless that were offered to him by Toneri.

-

“It might be severely improper to say this my lord, but I find myself missing your presence during the day.”, she said on the eighth night, as they sat on the grassy patch under the plum blossom tree, hidden under the dark shadow of the moonless night.

“There is nothing improper about it, for I feel the same way. My lady, I curse my destiny for not having met you before. I would do everything to save you from the horrors you have been subjected to.”

Tears lined her eyes and as she lamented, “Oh… My Lord, please do not tempt me with such hope. For nothing could be more cruel than desiring someone you can never have.”

Sasuke frowned with a pained expression. “You desire me too?”

Hinata looked up to meet his eyes and said laughed mirthlessly. “It’s pitiable, isn’t it? I have never desired anyone as much as I have you… But, it must be my cursed fate to meet you under such circumstances for such a despairingly short time. I feel it would be appropriate for us to end our meets on this very night, before it causes us more grief.”

Sasuke grasped her hands tightly and brought it to his chest. “Do not suggest that, for it would be cruel to both of us my lady.”

Her cheeks were wet with tears of desperation, but she nodded.

-

The next night when Toneri visited her bedchamber after the nightly festivities, she lost all hope of seeing Sasuke for the last time. Her heart mourned that her plans were foiled prematurely.

She lay awake as an inebriated and spent Toneri drifted off to sleep. She knew it was a tremendous risk, but she quickly cleaned herself and put on some clothes to rush to the pond. It was already way past their rendezvous time, but she had to look for herself.

When she saw Sasuke pacing over the sparse grass worriedly, she felt the beginnings of genuine affection arise in her heart for this man. He had waited for her. He was worried for her.

His steps halted when he saw her figure standing in front of him. Hinata ran up to his open arms and sobbed into his chest.

“I was worried that you were caught…”, Sasuke said hoarsely as his arms tightened around her.

She shook her head and shuddered at what had delayed her. “Toneri… expected me to... carry out marital… duties… It was sickening…”, she gasped and let her tears wet the front of his silk robe.

His fists were clenched tight and his body grew stiff in anger. He held her at arms length and asked her, “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head to relieve his worries.

He sighed helplessly and cradled her face in his hands, “I wish I could whisk you away from here, but I’m afraid it will be catastrophic for us with so many guards and soldiers around… The only way for me to take you away would be to launch a stealth attack… I’m afraid it might take some more patience on both our parts.”

“Will you really face such a peril for me?”, she asked with awe and admiration.

“I will, my lady. I most certainly will.”

“Say my name? I want to hear you say it… before you leave.”, she pleaded.

“Hinata…”, he bent down to touch their foreheads. “Bestow the same pleasure on me… Call me Sasuke.”

“Sasuke… Sasuke…”, she grabbed the lapels of his robe and pulled herself to her toes to lay her lips on his. He responded with eagerness and kissed her back.

Hinata moaned under his ministrations. She knew she was using him to get to her goal, but she found herself more and more attracted to him too. Kissing him did not feel like an ordeal, in fact it was very pleasurable. She discerned that this was how a lover’s touch felt. His caresses over her body and his lips against the throat made her respond with an audible moan. It was an absolutely sinful feeling.

And she wanted to feel more of it. She wanted to know, atleast for once in her life, what it was to make love with someone you longed for. It was a wicked feeling.

“I am scared… What if this is the only night I get to see you? I cannot bear, not knowing how we would be together. I wish to stay with you tonight...Erase the vile traces of Toneri with your loving ones… Please!!”, she sounded positively wanton. So much so that she surprised herself too.

Sasuke cursed under his breath and lifted her up in his arms to take her to a secluded grassy spot. The cool spring breeze was pleasantly cool over the searing heat between their bodies. Their coupling was intense and ravenous, and it took Hinata all her willpower to not scream out his name.

-

When Hinata thrust open the door, she found his guard missing. She gathered courage and ventured into the halls. There were loud voices, screams and the clanging of swords. Maids and soldiers were scurrying past her. 

She had nothing to defend with, but she had to see for herself. When she came upon a bloodied lifeless body, she covered her mouth to stop herself from retching. But bending down, she picked up the sword that lay a few feet away.

Suddenly, an armoured figure bearing the seal of the Uchiha clan came in sight. She had expected the soldier to attack, but he simply moved past her.

She swallowed her fear and rushed to the Royal court. She found three Uchiha armoured men fending off Ootsutsuki soldiers easily, but right there behind the royal throne, two tall figures were busy duelling with each other. It was Sasuke expertly clashing his sword against Toneri. She stared at the duo, the commotion behind her was ignored. 

Right there in front of her was the culmination of her deepest darkest wish. Her elaborate plan was on the cusp of fruition. She wanted to deliver the final blow, but before she could act on that thought, she saw Sasuke’s sword cut slice through her husband’s abdomen.

Her body could not handle the rush of emotions at witnessing the end of her tyrant, so she fell down to her knees in pure shock and adrenaline. Sasuke finally noticed her presence and rushed to her.

When his face came into her dazed view, Hinata flung her arms around him and hungrily kissed him, as a singular thought persisted in her head. 

He had come for her. For her. He had avenged for her. And she would devote the rest of her life to him. The two lovers were lost in each other amidst the total carnage and ruins they had left behind.

x

A/n: Sorry for the one day delay. I wanted to keep this short. Clearly, I failed.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Top 20 BEST Animated Series of the 2010s-1st Place!

And now. 

For real this time.

What is hands down.

The Best.

Animated series.

In the 2010s.

Is…

(Pause for dramatic affect)

#1-Adventure Time (2010-2018)

I mean...what else?

The Plot: The magical land of Ooo has many things: A kingdom made of candy, a sociopathic Ice King, and even a self-proclaimed Vampire Queen. Amongst all this chaos are two adventures: A human boy named Finn, the Human, and his magical dog/best friend/adopted brother (yes, really) named Jake, the Dog. These two then go on adventure after adventure, facing against the many oddities that the Land of Ooo offers. What type of dangers? Well...you’re just going to have to watch the show to find out.

Before I start praising the crap out of this show, there’s one thing I want to get off my chest. You see, I hate Top X lists that always end with “the one that started it all.” It comes across as lazy because there is no way the first story tops every other one after it. Case in point: when looking at the best episodes of your favorite shows, how often do you see the first episode making the top ten, hell, even the top five? Not often, I bet. And sure, you can make the argument that “Without X, there wouldn’t have been Y,” but is that even a fair comparison? Sure, Disney wouldn’t have been as big as it is now without Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs being a success, but does that make it right to ignore great movies like Beauty and the Beast (1991), Aladdin (1992), and The Lion King (1994)? Sure, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope is the reason why fans love to hate Star Wars in the first place, but how often do you hear people saying Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the franchise. And sure, the Marvel Cinematic Universe wouldn’t have existed without Iron Man being a box office hit, but with movies like Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, can you really say Iron Man is the best in the franchise anymore? To me personally, if you’re going to pick “the one that started it all,” then it better be something that can outshine “it all.” This is why I chose Adventure Time as the best-animated series of the 2010s. Not because it’s a show that practically sparked the existence of almost every show on this list, but because it really is that good of a series. Unfortunately, with a series that really is that good, there will be people who try to pick it apart. This is why I’m going to do my best to defend against some criticism that Adventure Time seems to face. 

The first criticism I want to talk about is one that hasn’t even occurred to me until I watched JelloApocalypse's video called, “So This is Basically Adventure Time.” In that video, I realized that Adventure Time doesn’t really have a proper storytelling structure. Hell, most episodes don’t even have a conclusion. They just stop almost randomly. But there’s a remedy to this problem, and it's one that I discovered somewhat effortlessly during my rewatch of the show. And that solution is to stop looking at Adventure Time as a series of episodes and more of a series of experiences. What do I mean by that? Well, while watching, you can either have a good experience or a bad experience. A fun experience, or a depressing experience. A philosophically brilliant experience or a randomly stupid experience. All of which can happen separately or conjoined in every episode. Personally, I like this style of storytelling because I’m more likely to remember the experience of watching something rather than the basics of what is being viewed. However, as JelloApocalypse has proven, not everyone is going to be ok with this style. This is fine, as everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Just remember that if it doesn’t work for you, that doesn’t mean it won't work at all. Case in point: there’s a reason that this show got ten seasons.

However, with those ten seasons come the inevitable seasonal rot. Which, in this case, can easily be explained. Halfway through season five of Adventure Time, series creator Pendelton Ward left and made Adam Muto the head showrunner. And where Ward’s style relied on being random and hilarious, Muto took the series in a more philosophical direction. Several fans were turned away from this aspect, but I like to argue that this isn’t seasonal rot and more of a series’ development. Tons of shows on this list went through their own transitions, some subtle and some drastic. Whether or not you’ll be ok with those decisions is entirely dependent on who you are. And personally, I actually enjoyed the direction that Adventure Time took. While I was entertained by how hilarious the original seasons were in Ward’s run, Muto caused me to think more intensely than any other show I have seen in my life. This is why, once again, I would like to point out that just because it didn’t work for you doesn’t mean that it won’t work at all.

But one thing that didn’t work for me, and one criticism that I’m inclined to agree with, were how some characters got treated in later seasons. Now to be fair, most of the characters actually become more interesting as the series goes on (Ice King, Marceline, BMO, Susan Strong, etc.) There are just two characters that got a little iffier compared to others: Finn and Princess Bubblegum. The main reason why Finn’s character seemed to fail is that the writers focused more on Finn's love life (or lack thereof). I genuinely believe that Adventure Time has some fantastic romantic relationships, but that aspect of Finn’s character is easily the most uninteresting. It’s even worse when an episode focuses on his armorous hangups through past...mistakes. I even heard that this decision ruined Finn as a character for some people, which I can totally see why. Luckily the show course-corrected itself, and by season six, it started focussing on an aspect of Finn’s character that is actually interesting: His family. Not to give away any spoilers, but let’s just say that Finn gets significantly more fascinating through this decision. Unfortunately, one decision that never got better was how the show treated the one and only Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum. This character started off as a gentle/playful ruler who was as sweet as her kingdom. Only to evolve into a sociopathic control freak who is obsessed with science. What went wrong is that the show goes so far as to say that she’s always been that way, even since she was a kid. I guess she just was good at hiding it in early seasons. Once again, the writers try their best to course-correct Bubblegum, but all they did was make her bearable than despicable.

But while Bonnie doesn't work for me, do you want to know what does? Literally everything else about this show. One of the reasons why Adventure Time is the best series on this list is because it has elements of every other show that has already been mentioned before it. You see, Adventure Time can have: Hilarious comedy, intense action, superb animation, creative ideas, compelling drama, catchy music, thought-provoking stories, good romantic subplots, gay romantic subplots, great lore and backstory, intriguing mysteries, and, most important of all, bacon pancakes. All of which can be handled in ten to eleven minutes, where most shows struggle within twenty-two.

But one element that stands out among the rest is Adventure Time’s serialized storytelling. You see, there are two different types of storytelling: Plotting and pantsing. Plotting is how it sounds: You come up with ideas beforehand and work your way into making them come to life. Pantsing is where the goal is to basically make things up as you go along and try to make everything connected afterward. The ladder is the route Adventure Time takes. Every single amount of lore, character development, and even surprise twists were thought up almost on the spot. And one might think that this makes things more complicated, but when I rewatched the series in 2019, a solid 99.9% of what’s written lines up. Sure, there are small things that get confusing or downright forgotten. But that’s the keyword: small. It’s the big things that the writers try their best at explaining away, which can be much appreciated. And while I can love a show for creating a well-crafted story, I got to give Adventure Time respect for doing the same thing just by improvising. But do you want to know the real reason why I stuck with this show? And why do all the elements mentioned before manage to work so well? The same reason why any show can work so well: The characters.

And yes, I know I just complained about how certain characters were nearly ruined in this series, but that doesn’t change how good they are. Almost every character that the show focuses on has a level of intrigue to them, and characters that don’t still manage to be incredibly entertaining, to the point where a worm’s butt can carry an episode by itself (Yes. Really). But nothing beats the central duo, and I’m being honest when I say they make the series enjoyable. Finn and Jake not only have such an entertaining brotherly dynamic, but the two of them are just so much fun that I can’t help but smile whenever they’re on screen. They’re easily the best thing about the show, as well as the most entertaining characters in it. This is saying something because Adventure Time has a LOT of characters. One might say too many. In fact, one could argue that Adventure Time suffers from the too-many-characters syndrome, which I can absolutely see. However, every character is so unique and creative that to this day, I still remember the Tree Witch in the episode “To Cut a Woman’s Hair.” From her voice to her design to even Tree Witch's creative and hilarious way to convince Finn to get her some princess's hair.

This brings me to another great thing about the show: Its endless amount of creativity. Everything that Adventure Time does is something you will never see anywhere else. From all the unique ways the show has Jake use his stretchy powers, to also having a vampire drink the color red instead of blood, Adventure Time is always a show that leaves me scratching my head wondering, “Why hasn’t someone else done this before?” And the best part is, no other show can do the ideas that Adventure Time has had. Because there is no way of doing it without coming across as a carbon copy. Which I can appreciate. Believe it or not, I would rather see an idea done once and never again, rather than repeated to the point where it becomes stale. Letting Adventure Time keep its creativity helps the show stand out among the rest and prevents it from being forgotten through time.

Thus, we come to the real reason why Adventure Time is the best-animated series on this list: Memorability. When doing a rewatch of the series, I was surprised by how many episodes I somehow remember. In fact, out of over two hundred episodes, I only manage to forget one (which coincidentally managed to be an episode I hate). I honestly don’t know why so many episodes managed to stick with me. Maybe because the show is so creative that it’s hard to forget. It's probably because the characters are instant icons that their impact just won’t leave me. Hell, perhaps it’s because the show is so gosh dang weird that my brain refuses to forget a second of it. No matter what the reason is, it all still stuck. And I’m not going to lie, I feel as though there are going to be a lot of shows I'll forget over the years. But ten years from now, something tells me I’m never going to forget Adventure Time.

Now that I think about it, there really have been many great cartoons over the previous decade. And we owe it all to Adventure Time. The act of being unique and creative with one’s ideas came from Adventure Time. The idea of being more mature and deciding what should and shouldn’t be for kids came from Adventure Time. The fact that a show needs well-written characters to tell a great story came from Adventure Time. Even certain shows were made because creators worked on Adventure Time (looking at you, Steven Universe). Is the show perfect? No. Far from it, even. But when looking back at the many great series we’ve gotten in the 2010s and the many great shows we’ll get in years to come, I realize that the fun will never end WITH Adventure Time.

(Especially since we’re still getting it with four hour long specials on HBOmax)

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Thirty-Eight: No Remorse ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

It’s one of the questions he’s asked most often...to the point where he’s become - quite frankly - rather exasperated with it.

“Do you regret it?”

‘It’ being a rather vague term, but one way or another, the word typically refers to any or all events from the time he left Konoha, to when he was dragged back. From the moment he’s back within the village, it seems to be the one thing anyone really cares to know about the time he spent outside it.

The simple answer is...no.

But most people aren’t satisfied with that. If he tells them no, and doesn’t explain...they get that look. One that tells him that he really should regret it. That he should be ashamed of the things he did.

At first, such a response doesn’t really bother him. He honestly couldn’t give less of a shit what anyone in Konoha thinks about him, really. Their blind loyalty to a place that’s - in actuality - committed a number of crimes, not just those regarding his clan, leaves him with a rather unfavorable opinion of most of them. Granted, your typical shinobi - let alone civilian - hardly knows about Konoha’s wrongdoings. But even those who do - his team, primarily - don’t really seem to have much concern about confronting them.

Something he isn’t going to let slide.

But that’s to be handled later. For now, he’s still stuck dealing with the dredge of the villagers’ opinions.

Because in reality...he doesn’t regret a single thing he did. Some things he might have done differently given his knowledge...but he also knows there’s no point in such thoughts. There’s no changing the past. And even if there were...the unknown outcomes of such changes may very well be even harder to cope with than his current circumstances.

He does, admittedly, regret killing Itachi. But he also knows it was his brother’s wish: his attempt to keep the peace, keep Sasuke blinded to the dark truths of their village...and end his own suffering. But the elder brother’s death - and the revelations Sasuke received after, from both Obito and Itachi himself - led him to the truth. To his current path.

And he can’t bring himself to regret that.

He doesn’t regret killing Orochimaru. Or his later decision to revive the snake sannin. Getting his teacher out of the way was necessary...just as much as it was to later revive them. Part of him may very well think that having the serpent alive is a risk...but it also was one that, overall, panned out in their favor. Orochimaru has done despicable things...but so too were they instrumental in overcoming obstacles.

Taka...is a difficult subject. Despite his best efforts to remain neutral toward them, there was no fully killing his need to protect people - to connect with them. As much as Karin annoys him, as much as Suigetsu prods at him, and as closely as he has to watch Jūgo...he couldn’t have done what he did without them. They aren’t exactly...friends. He can’t bring himself to call them that, but friend is a difficult subject for him. They’re an odd...in-between.

He certainly doesn’t regret killing Danzō. While he knows the rest of the council won’t receive the same fate - and maybe they don’t quite deserve it like the head of Root did - their actions were the direct allowance of the massacre. Danzō’s greed for their power and his want to remove them from his path was something Sasuke could never forgive - never let go unaddressed.

He had to die.

So, in truth...while some things have been harder for Sasuke to accept than others...he’s had to, really. He’d go mad overthinking it, doubting it all, asking ‘what if’ whenever it gets too quiet. He made his bed, and he’ll lie in it. There’s no getting his clan back. His brother back. His life back.

This is his reality. Regretting it will bring him no peace...no justice.

All he can do now...is move forward.

“Ah -!”

Dragged into a group outing, Sasuke pauses and glances over as one of their troupe seems to stagger. It’s currently him, Sakura, Naruto, and Hinata. The Hyūga has been hanging around the rather-fragmented team seven as of late. And it’s she who seems to crumple mid-step.

Being the fastest among them, it’s Sasuke who reacts first. With an arm around her waist, he keeps her on her feet, dark brows furrowing. There’s a rather violent ripple in her chakra.

Something’s wrong.

“Sakura,” he barks, bluntly but not unkindly.

Noticing as much herself, the rosette wastes no time in approaching. As Sasuke eases Hinata to sit (a bit difficult to do, given their position in the crowded shopping district), Naruto follows up.

“Hinata-chan! What’s wrong?”

“I...I’m fine,” she insists, tone a bit wispy as Sakura puts a hand to her chest, chakra shifting to a jade shade. “It’s just...m-my chest.”

“Your heart? Or your scar?”

“Heart…”

“When was your last cardiology appointment?” Sakura asks, immediately in medic mode.

Sasuke, serving as a bit of a chair at the moment, lets his brow furrow. Wait...her heart? She’s only seventeen, why would she -?

...oh...now he remembers. Their chūnin exams. Her spar against Neji. The blow to her chest that stopped the organ and required her to be evacuated to the hospital. He remembers hearing about her extensive hospital stay, and the weeks of therapy it took to strengthen her heart.

She’d nearly died that day.

“About, um…” She pauses to think. “...two months ago. Everything’s fine. It just f-flares up sometimes. I’ve been told it’s normal, I just need to rest.”

Sakura doesn’t look fully convinced, but relents. “...we better get you home.”

“But -?”

“We’re not about to keep dragging you around when you feel like this!”

“I don’t want to r-ruin it…”

“...I’ll take her home,” Sasuke then offers. “I’m not contributing much as it is. You two stay and finish up. I’ll make sure she gets there safe.”

For a brief moment, something flickers across Sakura’s face. “...all right. But if anything happens, you take her straight to the hospital! No ifs, ands, or buts!”

Hinata almost seems to pout, but doesn’t argue. “...I’m sorry, Sakura-chan.”

“Oh, please - a little outing is a lot less important than your health. Go get some rest. We’ll see you again soon, okay? Take it easy!”

“...I will…” Letting Sasuke carefully haul her back to her feet, Hinata starts leading the way back to her clan’s grounds.

Sasuke keeps his gaze on her from the corner of his unveiled eye, watching for any signs she’s worsening. She seems a bit out of breath, but otherwise passable enough. “...is this from the chūnin exams?”

With a small, weary sigh...Hinata nods. “...my heart is healed, but every so often I have a bout of arrhythmia. It’s never been anything serious, not since my therapy ended. It’s just something I have to deal with. Everyone always makes it so dramatic…”

“People worry about you. And if Sakura’s worried...there’s surely reason to be.”

“It’s been four years. I r-really don’t think I’m going to relapse. My primary medic says I’m fine, and she’s as diligent as they come. I keep up my appointments...everything else is just unnecessary fuss.”

“...all right, then.” He’s not about to argue. But then the other part of Sakura’s questioning surfaces.

“...Sakura said something about a scar…?”

To his surprise, she actually pauses. “...yes.”

He too slows to a stop. “...what was that from?” He likely has no idea - he was gone for quite some time, and odds are he just wasn’t around when it happened.

“...when Akatsuki attacked Konoha, I interfered with Naruto-kun’s fight against their leader.”

Subtly, his eye widens.

“I knew I wasn’t any match...mostly I just w-wanted to be a distraction. Maybe help free him so he could continue the fight. But I was overpowered before he could get loose, and the enemy impaled me with one of his black rods.”

At her words, a memory surfaces: that of Madara turning Tobirama into a pincushion with rods like that. Right before he -

“It went into my side, and...caused a lot of damage. Due to the rush, it was healed over very quickly, and I had a few c-complications that had to be fixed later with further surgeries. The scarring is a bit tight, so...sometimes I have trouble t-twisting my torso. I do yoga and kata to help with flexibility, but...it twinges sometimes. Sakura-chan likely thought that might have been what had me flinch.”

Sasuke considers her for a long moment. They’re still stopped in the middle of a road, currently empty beyond the two of them. “...you got that trying to help Naruto?”

“...yes. After I was stabbed, he flew into a rage...utilized his bijū and got free.”

“...I didn’t realize he cared about you that much.” It’s a blunt statement, but an honest one. From what he can remember...Naruto always called her strange. While Sasuke (and just about everyone else) could see it was due to her crush on him...the blond was always blind.

Hinata, however, doesn’t flinch. Instead, her head bows slightly. “...that was the day I told him I loved him. I don’t k-know if that had anything to do with it. He never mentioned it after that.”

“...wait.” Disbelief slackens his face. “...you confessed to him, risked your life for him...and he said nothing?”

“T-there was a lot more to consider - Akatsuki, the village, and -”

“But even after all this time...he hasn’t answered you?”

“...not directly.” Her tone quiets. “...but I t-think his reply is rather...o-obvious.”

“...that stupid prick,” Sasuke mutters.

“It w-wasn’t his -”

“You don’t regret it?”

His interruption makes her hesitate.

“...nothing? No remorse? I saw what you did during the war...you tried to do it again. All this effort doesn’t feel...wasted?”

She stares at him, expression unreadable. “...Naruto-kun doesn’t feel how I felt. And I h-hardly want him to force it, or...or lie. That doesn’t mean I regret doing what I did. I wanted to protect him. I w-wanted to prove I was strong enough to stand beside him. I might not love him anymore...maybe I never did. Not truly. But I can’t regret risking my own life for someone I care about. Even if we aren’t right for each other...I still care. I still want him safe, and happy. If the choice came up again...I wouldn’t hesitate. Naruto-kun is precious to me. I might not be what I wanted to be to him...but I’m still his friend. His comrade. So no...I don’t regret my choices.” Unblinking, she doesn’t censor herself. “...I thought y-you of all people would understand.”

For some reason...her words sting in a way he doesn’t expect. But rather than feel a need to lash out, or reply with snark...he recoils, suddenly unsure. He never thought her capable of such a remark.

When it’s clear he isn’t going to rebuke, she sighs. “...I’ve given a lot for other people. But I’d never take any of it back. Just because it’s left me in a deficit doesn’t mean I should regret it. I still feel like I made the right choices...even if others might disagree. They’re mine to make...and mine alone.”

“...fair enough.”

A pause.

“...you don’t have to walk me back, I’ll be fine. You probably want to go home.”

“It’s not that far.” And he isn’t about to walk away from her rather bold statements. “Besides, Sakura will skin me alive if she finds out I left.”

“...all right.”

They don’t exchange any more words on the way, and Hinata turns back as she passes through the compound gate. “...have a good evening, Sasuke-kun.”

“You too. Get some rest. Remember, doctor’s orders.”

To his surprise, she manages a smile. “I will.” With that, she turns and soon disappears.

Mind full of thoughts he had no intention of entertaining, Sasuke eventually sighs...and turns back toward home.

                                                          .oOo.

     This isn't QUITE what I want it to be, but...it's late and I don't have time to redo or tinker xD      Sasuke, in my mind, fully accepts all of his decisions. Maybe a bit less out of actually finding them to be the best he could have done...and more just doing so for his own peace of mind. Sure, he has things he know he could have done better, but...only AFTER seeing how they played out. For his sanity's sake, he can't regret them.      Hinata, on the other hand, feels that she DID do the best she could. And while others might criticize her, especially her actions concerning Naruto, she doesn't regret them. Just because their bond didn't pan out how she'd wanted doesn't mean she'd NOT do her best to help him. He still matters. Her feelings still matter. They've just...changed. But that doesn't change the past, or how she views it.      So, two different interpretations. And I think that's an interesting comparison between them!      ...but it's also 3 am and I'm tired so maybe that's the only reason I'm so rambly xD      Either way, that's all I've got for now, and it's WAY past bedtime lol - thanks for reading!

[ruffiorocks]

Lena still doesn't have a logical reason to turn bad not without cancelling out everything she has ever done.

OK, so first off I really enjoyed that episode! After watching the last episode of GOT I needed something exciting! (But let's not go into that s**t show)

So I'm going to focus here on Lena. Now Lena from the start of the episode was against Lex and was trying to stop him. What he was doing was despicable to her. She even goes out of her way to kill Lex (once again being the one who ACTUALLY saved the day).

Now let's remember what Lena said to him "The world will never be a safe place with you in it". This is really significant! Lena has always done what she has done to protect people, humans and aliens alike. Lena has never differentiated between the two. Lena killed her own brother because she knew he would never stop and the world would never be a safe place.

So what can we take from this? Lena is willing to go to the extreme to keep the world safe. Does that make her a squeaky clean simble of hope like Supergirl? No it doesn't, because Supergirl doesn't make those choices. Supergirl believes in the good of everyone and she even wanted to save Lex's life. That's noble and all but locking Lex up only ever results in him getting out and causing more mayhem and death. Lena sees things differently, she knows he won't ever stop so she permanently (for now) stopped him.

Lena isn't the same kind of hero that Supergirl is. One is the Hero and the other is the Anti Hero. But that doesn't make one better than the other.

Supergirl went down the path of Killing her enemy (Reign) and she suffered for it because people she loved died and she had to use time travel. It's not in her to make those hard choices. She was raised with love and positive messages and her cousin being Superman, so that's her mind set.

Lena on the other hand was raised in a hostile environment where you got rid of problems. No one was good and no one was bad it was all about power. Lena didnt have positive messages of hope and love like Kara did. Lena has had to deal with issues the Luthor way because she didn't have a superhero there to do it for her. Superman couldn't even take down Lex without Lena stepping in.

So, Lena made the hard choice and ended the threat to the world and other worlds. Personally ? I'm with her. Who wouldn't have shot Hitler? If someone had would they be considered 'evil' or having the potential to become the next Hitler? Of course not! Christ even Lillian knew Lex had gone to far and she tried to end it there and then, Killing her own child to protect the world. Lillian and Lena made hard choices but they knew they needed to be made, the super friends are lost in truth and hope and everyone deserves a million chances.

So, Lena finds out that Kara is Supergirl. She has every reason to be pissed off to the max with Kara. Enough even to never speak to her again.

You ask why she has a right to be mad? Well it all boils down to Lena being a Luthor. Lena believed that Kara Danvers befriended her because she genuinely wanted to be her friend, something Lena really needed since she didn't have any in National City. So Lena went to find Kara and invite her to things and a friendship grew. Lena even went out of her way to give Kara exclusives and exclusive access to her. She was welcomed into Kara's friendship and family circle and probably for the first time since she was 4 knew what it was like to have a family.

Now also during this time Lena met Supergirl and had no issues with her at all. She helped her, teamed up with her, respected her etc. But then you had their big fight, to Lena she only had a beef with Supergirl.

So now imagine you're Lena and you have just learned that your best friend is actually Supergirl. If I was Lena my first thought would be that Kara only agreed to be my friend because she was keeping tabs on me. A logical thought process. You've been invited into their home, they come to you looking for information, they even introduce you to their family. You think you have been welcomed and accepted when what could actually have been happening the whole time was that they just wanted you in their sights. To keep an eye on you just in case you decide to go dark. Lena could think that this was all true considering she now knows that when Supergirl was hostile towards her accusing her of essentially being bad it was Kara the entire time. Best friends dont treat each other like that secret identity or not.

Now this could have been forgiven if Kara hadn't let it go on for so long.

Lena was told in the worst possible way, she was told by Lex and even shown footage of her being consistently duped and lied to. Lena also knows that Lillian knew so she knows that Kara has kept her and only her in the dark. That's not good, that just indicates that Kara was just never going to tell her at all. A break down in trust right there.

But no matter all of the above, Lena has no reason what so ever to become evil. She has proved and shown since the second she showed up that she is on the side of good. She has shown that she wants to protect aliens, she has shown she wants to protect humans. She has fought against actual villains like Rhea and Edge. She saw her close friend deteriorate into a homicidal world killer and still wanted to save her life protecting her from the DEO and Supergirl because she didn't know what they would do to her. She has saved the world more than once. She has saved the aliens from genocide, she saved an entire city of Kryptonians from extinction. Lena even continued to fight side by side with Supergirl even when they weren't talking. Even when she and Supergirl are friends she has built her special equipment to protect her from Kryptonite.

All of that shows that Lena is a good person even when she's having a beef with Supergirl. So her finding out that Kara is supergirl only warrants Lena being pissed at Kara , never talking to her again and never trusting another person. Lena could just feel like she was being essentially baby sat and used the whole time. But it DOES NOT warrant her becoming villain. That makes no logical sense at all. They like to borrow from Smallvilles Lex and Clark? The difference there is that Lex was always power hungry and was out for just Lex, he wasnt all bad in the beginning but he did do bad and questionable things. Clark simply refused to see that Lex was bad. Kara and Lena are very different, Lena has never shown herself to be anything like Lex or power mad. Everything she does is for the benefit of others. Even the Harun El serum was supposed to be for the benefit of others.

So for Lena to become evil or the villain and give up what makes her her just because she now knows everyone's been lying is a disservice to her character. It also makes no sense at all. She would be better off just kicking them all out of there life and going it alone. She may even choose to be a hero without their interference because she has no trust in them anymore. Lena being a good person was never dependent on Kara, she was good before she eve set eyes on her.

As for her being mad at the others? Still completely justifiable. Dating James? She may start to think it was all just part of the plan to keep an eye on her. He even threw Supergirl under the bus ruining any trust Lena could have had in Supergirl. Lena now knows it was Kara using the people close to her to betray her. She also knows that James was fully aware it was Kara the whole time and whereas he was fine to drop Supergirl in it he was happy to let Lena continue to fully trust Kara while simultaneously distrusting Supergirl. All that sounds so manipulative even if it wasn't meant that way. All those opinions he had? Were they really his or were they just what the Super friends decided he needed to say, did he act following their directions? Was he planted by Superman the whole time? It's a can of worms. Lena will question everything she knows and every conversation she's has with all of them since she arrived.

The others? Well she may not be as pissed but she still has a right to be. Lena has essentially been made the fool of. Imagine being the only one out of your 'family' who doesn't know the biggest secret they have. Lena will just believe that she wasnt trusted.

Why did she not mention it and is still joining game night? Makes sense to let those deceiving you believe that they are still deceiving you. Lena doesn't know what they have or had planned or why they have lied to her, it would be illogical to make them aware when you're not sure you can even trust them. What if Jonn hacks her mind? Best to stay quiet and see how it plays out and now you have all the information when dealing with them. You finally have access to the whole picture and everyone's motivations. She may also be waiting to see if Kara will tell her.

So in conclusion, Lena has every right to be pissed at everyone and never speak to them again. But there is no viable reason for her to become a villain hell bent of destroying supergirl when she has proved since day one and even when treated poorly by Supergirl that that just isnt her game plan at all. To make her suddenly want to kill Aliens or anyone at all makes no sense and is a complete 180 in her character personality and her whole arc. To have her turn into Lex after killing Lex for being Lex? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. It just makes Lex right the whole time. 

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 11 - A Broken Bard

In the comments there were a lot of requests to finally let them talk. They talk. Also, there’s a bath scene. Yay?

The bath scene was inspired by @spielzeugkaiser‘s art here, who kindly gave me their permission to use it. It ends very differently, though. Going forward there will be more scenes like this, that you might recognise but as we’re telling two different stories, they won’t overlap completely.

I hope this is what you guys had in mind for them talking :)

Thanks as always to @persony-pepper for betaing this fic.

Summary: There is something deeply wrong about Lettenhove Hall that Geralt notices very belatedly: the complete lack of music. He confronts Jaskier about it.

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There was something deeply unsettling about Lettenhove Hall and Geralt couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. It was odd, if he was honest. He normally spent his winters in the crumbling ruin of Kaer Morhen. Lettenhove Hall was a golden palace in comparison. It wasn’t as big, of course, but instead it was what Jaskier surely would describe as ‘cozy’. It was warm and dry, filled with the hustle and bustle that came with a well-kept household.

Still, there was something off. Distressingly so. It wasn’t just that the staff shot him knowing glances whenever he and Jaskier were in the same room. It wasn’t just that Jaskier had grown cold again after that morning of almost-normalcy, or even that the Viscount was planning something.

Geralt knew that he was. His not-friend might have many virtues, but subtlety was not one of them. Or patience. Every day the Viscount rode out into the forest for some reason or another. And he was always whispering to Ciri, both of them bouncing on the balls of their feet as they were conspiring. As if he wouldn’t notice. Still, he let them. They were allowed to have fun.

But that wasn’t what unnerved him. Geralt was certain that it was something else entirely, something important that was missing. Something important that he was missing. If only he could remember what it was.

Realisation dawned on him one morning, about one week after his return from the hunt. Ciri was already up, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet when he told her that they could start training in earnest again. She yelped gleefully and hugged him tightly before rushing down the stairs of the tower.

A small smirk spread on his face when he heard her quietly singing the chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher — he had taught her when she had begged him to. It wasn’t the same as learning it from Jaskier himself, of course. Geralt’s voice was rough and untrained and he had needed a few tries before he didn’t stumble over the words anymore. But it warmed his heart, really, to hear her do something as mundane as singing a plain tune. It was one of the simple joys of life that she’d been deprived of for the last months.

They reached the end of the stairs and Ciri reached the end of her song. “Give a hug to your witcher,” she sang loudly and launched herself at him. Geralt chuckled softly and let her cling to him while he shouldered open the door. “O valley of plenty! O valley of plent- oh.”

Everyone in the courtyard stopped dead in their tracks and stared at them in bewilderment. A pitchfork clattered to the floor, a stableboy nearly let go of not-Roach’s reins and Marta dropped the pile of clean laundry she was carrying.

“Geralt,” Ciri asked, the vinegar scent of her fear spiking, “what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed quietly and lowered her to the ground. He looked around for an answer, but whoever met his gaze quickly hurried away. Even Wiktor silently shook his head and went back inside.

In the end, it was only Marta who was left, still fussing over the laundry. He strode over to her and crouched down to help. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. He was relieved that she didn’t flinch from his touch. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It- it’s alright,” she stammered. “It was nice to hear music again. Even if it was so short.”

Geralt frowned. “There is no music in Lettenhove?” he asked stupidly. That didn’t make any sense. It was Jaskier’s castle, of course there would be music of all kinds- Only that there wasn’t. “Shit.” It hit him like a club over his head. “There is no music in Lettenhove.” No music. None at all. Jaskier didn’t sing, didn’t play the lute, didn’t even hum. The closest thing to music he’d witnessed so far were the nervous rhythms tapped out whenever Jaskier’s mind started racing — he could tell when that was happening by now. But no music. Not even work songs from the washerwomen and cooks.

“Are you alright?” Marta asked worriedly.

“Wh-why not?” was all Geralt managed to stammer.

The servant glanced around as if she was waiting for something horrible to happen. Then she leaned in closely: “His lordship has forbidden it,” she whispered. “He’s terribly… passionate whenever he hears someone singin’.”

He nodded. Jaskier was passionate about a lot of things. Somehow, he doubted that it was a good thing in this case. “We won’t do it again,” he promised. Just for good measure he added once more: “I’m sorry.”

He got up and walked back over to Ciri who stared at him with bulging eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot,” he growled.

“Why now?” He shot her a mean glance that had battle-hardened warriors pee their pants before. His child surprise just cackled gleefully.

Luckily, he was spared the embarrassment of an answer as the doors to the East Wing burst open. His hopeful mood sank when a sharp voice cut through the air: “Witcher!”

He turned slowly. “My lord.”

“Jaskier!” Ciri shouted and ran over to him. “Have you come to watch us again?”

The Viscount smiled sadly. “Not quite. I heard you s-” He hesitated and the despicable scent of onions flared up. “I heard you.”

“Did you like it?” she asked eagerly. “I changed the lyrics, did you hear?”

“I did,” he answered and his voice trembled. Geralt felt a pang of guilt. “Who taught you that tune?”

“I did,” Geralt answered before Ciri could. The surprise surprise flashed over his face, mingled with amusement, sadness and hurt. “Is that the only reason why you’ve come? My lord?”

“Not at all,” the Viscount straightened his back. Geralt watched with astonishment as the stony mask of his Lord’s Face settled over his features again. He’d never get used to that. “I have come to whisk my dear cousin away. Should she be interested in receiving a very demonstrative lesson on a border dispute.”

Geralt frowned. “Do you think that’s safe?"

Jaskier snorted and waved his hand. "Of course, it’s safe!”

“I’ve heard that one before.” He crossed his arms defiantly. He trusted Jaskier with his life. The Viscount wasn’t stupid — he was about as far from stupid as they got — but in sixteen long years the bard had never displayed so much as an ounce of self-preservation. Geralt had the scars to prove it. “I remember hearing that before we got arrested in Oxenfurt, spring 1251, because four months earlier you had thought it a great idea to publish a smear poem about the Headmaster of the Academy under your name. Or that time we were visiting an old friend of yours and we were thrown out because you had slept with his mother, his father’s mistress, and his twin brothers. Or your innumerable shortcuts that inevitably ended us up fighting some kind of monster, or guards, or both at once. You’ll forgive me if I do not trust your judgement completely.”

“Now, that was three examples, Geralt-”

The witcher growled menacingly. ‘Fucking bardlet.’

“Right!” He sighed exaggeratedly. “How many guards do I have to bring along for you to allow her to go?”

“None,” Geralt answered simply. “Only me.”

“No,” he said decidedly. “I want to talk the man’s ear off, witcher, not start a war. If I show up with you at my back, I could skip the parlay altogether and just throw my gauntlet at his feet.”

He frowned deeply. “My answer’s still no.”

“Your answer?” Jaskier laughed hoarsely. “What gave you the impression that I was asking your permission?”

Ciri cleared her throat awkwardly, completely forgotten by the two men. “I, uh- I’d rather not go if Geralt thinks it’s unwise.”

He had a hard time to keep the triumphant grin off his face and judging by the strain in Jaskier’s voice he was struggling just as much to keep his emotions in check: “Fine.” He turned to Geralt. “Will I be able to convince you if I outline the whole dispute to you?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Come then.” To Ciri he said: “Why don’t you go look what Janka and Józia are up to, hm?” The girl nodded eagerly and left skipping over to the North Wing, where the Pankratz sisters were to be found at most times.

He himself followed Jaskier up to his study once again. As soon as the door shut behind them the Viscount walked over to where a map was smoothed out on a side table. “So, this is what we’re dealing with…,” he began talking immediately.

The Viscount de Lettenhove talked about the tensions between his viscounty and the neighbouring barony of Dergetten that were on the rise again since his father’s death. He also continued to include the various disputes over the last five generations — the previous Baron of Dergetten had apparently relieved Jaskier’s grandfather Julian of his left hand while his great-great-grandfather, the first Viscount Pankratz, had killed the heir of his neighbour in his time.

“Though, I have to admit I am incredibly thankful to good old grandpapa Albert for that violent streak of his. That is what convinced the Count of Hangfelt to entrust us with this lovely castle for safekeeping. Be glad that his descendents haven’t regretted their decision yet.”

All in all, Jaskier insisted, it was just a conversation. He would bring guards because the Baron would, too, but he claimed that they were friends.

“That’s just the kind of thing province nobles do for fun,” he closed his lecture with a roll of his eyes. “Not that I approve, of course. But I promise you it will be a most educational experience for dear Cousin Fiona. I learned to talk myself out of, what is it father used to call it? Ah, yes, ‘aggressive negotiations’. I learned to talk myself out of 'aggressive negotiations’ first, before I learned to talk myself out of almost-castrations.”

Geralt frowned. “Ciri won’t have to do either.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure,” he drawled, “and how exactly did you arrive at the conclusion that your child surprise would lead a chaste life?”

“Hmm.”

He grinned triumphantly. “So, witcher. Are you satisfied?”

“Hmm,” he said again, glancing around. His gaze settled on the sword at Jaskier’s hip. “If anything happens, you will use that to protect Ciri with your life,” he growled. “Don’t care if you can wield it or not, but you will. Do you understand, bard?”

“Viscount, but yes,” his voice was solemn all of the sudden, “I understand. I mean, she would probably do a better job of protecting me by now but it won’t come to that. Never. I swear.”

Geralt took a deep breath. He didn’t like letting Ciri go with Jaskier. It wasn’t like when he left, that was him out there in the danger. Now however… He wouldn’t even be able to do anything if something happened. That was nothing short of torture. Still… “Alright,” he conceded. “How long until you’re back?”

“The border’s not far from here. Used to be, but, well, that’s another story. Two hours of riding, three maybe, then we’ll spend the same time insulting each other very politely — I’m sure we’ll lose at least half an hour because Ciri wants to join in, she likes that. And then we’ll ride back. We’ll have to see, maybe she’d like to see one of my other villages, then we’ll take longer. We’re also going to stop and eat at one point. So, sundown. At the very latest.”

“Alright,” he said again. “Fine. Have… have fun, my lord.”

“I guess we will.”

He shrugged and turned back to the door. After a moment of silence Jaskier added: “Geralt, wait-” They both hesitated. In the end, it was Jaskier who spoke first: “We have to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Fighting over Ciri. Especially when she can see us.”

He frowned in confusion. In Kaer Morhen the other witchers had never had any qualms about fighting before the apprentices’ eyes. Even in the literal sense. “Hmm.”

“It’s just-” Jaskier sighed. “It’s not good. Trust me on this one, Geralt, please. I know that we… We’re not alright right now. And we probably won’t be for a long time. But that’s our problem. It shouldn’t affect Ciri. Alright?”

“Alright,” he answered quietly, his heart beating so fast it could almost pass as human. “But will we be?”

“Will we be what, witcher?”

“Alright.”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t know,” he answered with a quivering voice. “Not if we don’t work for it. Not if we don’t-” He bit down on his lip. “All in due time,” was what he said. What Geralt would have given to know what Jaskier was not saying.

“Hmm. Sundown you said?”

“I did.”

“I’ll wait for you. Good luck, my lord.” He left before Jaskier had a chance to answer.

He didn’t even wait for Ciri and Jaskier to leave before throwing himself into work. He changed into his stable clothes and headed downstairs but even before he could enter the stables, Wiktor stepped out, Pegasus’ reins in hand.

“Here,” the stablemaster said, “take him for a good long ride. Takes your mind off other things.”

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t protest for fear of his voice abandoning him. He just swung into the saddle and was gone when Ciri and Jaskier came to fetch Dancer and Dreamer.

Wiktor was right. He didn’t have much of a choice besides concentrating on the young horse below him, still wild and eager to run free without a rider. And yet, he found his mind wandering. To Ciri, of course, and Jaskier off to their parlay.

But also back to just Jaskier, who didn’t sing anymore. He cursed himself silently and loudly for not noticing before. That was the kind of thing one spotted immediately when reuniting with a friend after a long time of separation. But they weren’t friends anymore. And Geralt reckoned he hadn’t been a good friend before.

He didn’t return until after lunch, both him and Pegasus drenched in sweat despite the freezing temperatures. He gave the yearling’s reins over to a stable hand, and went on to grab Jaskier’s old wooden sword.

He was about to head out the gates again when he heard rapid steps on the stairs. “Oi!” Marin shouted. “Oi, Geralt, wait!”

The witcher grunted annoyed but waited nonetheless. “What?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What for?”

“To spar,” the Captain of the Guard raised his own wooden sword, “or to blow some steam off. Both, if you like to.” He smiled kindly. “You look like you could need it.”

“Hmm.” He wasn’t really in the mood for company. But he didn’t want to argue either. He didn’t want to talk at all, if he was honest.

“Come on,” Marin bumped shoulders with him. “I promise you I’ll put up more of a fight than a tree.”

“Fine,” he caved. Side by side they headed out into the woods. Marin was chatting amicably and Geralt answered with the occasional grunt. It was… easy. Almost too easy. When the sparring started, the teasing started, too. That felt even easier. To respond to the barbed comments with jabs of his own. He could almost pretend- He knew he shouldn’t, but he could.

It also felt good to train in earnest, not just thrash a lifeless tree. Marin didn’t compare to sparring with Lambert or Eskel, of course, but it was better than nothing.

It was the late afternoon when they trudged back up the hill to the castle, and Marin finally managed to get a laugh out of Geralt. Later he couldn’t remember what it had been about, but for a short moment he wasn’t worried. He was almost happy, in fact.

“Ah,” Marin sighed contentedly, “and here I thought you didn’t feel emotion after all.”

“Hmm.”

“So, it’s untrue? That rumour, I mean.”

“It is.” His skin crawled uncomfortably but luckily he was spared another question when a guard called down from the walls: “Oi, witcher! Where’ve you been? His lordship and his cousin got back an hour ago.”

His heart sped up and he cocked his head. “And?”

“Both hale and hearty. His lordship’s in his study, I believe; and Lady Fiona ran to Lady Józefa’s drawing room. She’s very excited ‘bout something.”

Geralt nodded and tried not to seem too thrilled, forcing himself to slow his step. “Thanks.”

Marin’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “Go on,” he said and gently pried the wooden sword out of Geralt’s grasp. “We’ll talk another time.”

He looked at him surprised for a moment. Only when the Captain of the Guard nodded once more in encouragement he pounced. He didn’t even try to hide his hurry as he sprinted over to the North Wing and up the stairs.

“Where is she?” he asked as he burst into the drawing room only to find it empty except for Józefa.

“Good evening to you, too, Geralt,” she said very calmly, not even looking up from where she was weaving an enormous tapestry. “Where is who, if I might ask?”

“C- Your cousin. Fiona.”

She turned around to him. “You can call her Cirilla to my face. I know.”

Geralt frowned. “Fuck,” he cursed and turned on his heel. 'Tonight, it’ll be bard’s head on a platter.’

“Ah, ah, ah. Before you go and gut my brother, he had nothing to do with it. She told me all by herself.”

“Fuck,” he said again. ‘She should know better than be that stupid.’

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Anyways,” she sighed and turned back to her work, “your child surprise — Geralt, could you at least face my direction while I am talking to you? That would be very appreciated, thank you very much.” He ground his teeth and turned back towards her. “Well, where was I? Ah yes, Cirilla. She was here. Wanted to come and look at the tapestry and tell me about her day. She was very enthusiastic. Apparently, she rendered the Baron of Dergetten speechless and dear Julek nearly fell off his horse because he was laughing too hard. Also, she’s very cross at his lordship for sending her away for half an hour while staying back to discuss something in private. You missed her by… hm, ten minutes maybe, I’d wager. She was rather tired.”

“Hmm.” That was a lot of information. He was still eyeing the tapestry while trying to decide what to do now when Józefa spoke again: “Come and look if you like,” she said with an inviting smile.

“I’d rather not, my lady,” he grumbled. He should go and look after Ciri.

That made her laugh. “Don’t be shy. And don’t pretend you don’t want to look.”

His eyes flitted to the door. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, he guessed. And Ciri had talked a lot about the tapestry since he got back. It would be nice to know what she was talking about for once. “Fine,” Geralt relented and stepped closer.

He had seen his fair share of finished tapestries but never observed the process. For rugs, yes, but not this kind of art. He had imagined it to work much like the common rug and while the loom looked much the same, Geralt gaped. “There’s a painting,” he noted. “And a mirror.”

“Why, of course,” Józefa seemed genuinely confused. “How else would you make a tapestry?”

He shrugged and looked at the painting instead. All five Pankratz siblings were depicted, the four sisters standing around Jaskier in his high seat. As far as he could tell, it was very accurate, especially given that it couldn’t be a portrait. 'She really knows her siblings’ faces well.’ He didn’t pay too much attention to the three siblings he already knew, but stepped closer to observe the other two.

He didn’t even know their names, he realised with shock, but he would’ve guessed that they were Jaskier’s sisters regardless. Just like Janina, too, they could have been twins. Quadruplets. Whatever. The same soft brown hair, the same round face, the same piercing blue eyes. Of course, there were differences, too, subtle enough, but still there. Jaskier would point them out in a heartbeat, wrapped in pretty words. All Geralt noticed was that they were beautiful like their brother.

“Oh,” Józefa said, “you have never seen the process!”

He frowned, the increasing accuracy with which the Pankratz siblings saw through him made his skin crawl. “Those are buttercups,” he said instead and pointed at the painting. The five people were all holding bouquets in many different colours, Jaskier’s the same as his namesake.

“Ah, yes.” Józefa smiled fondly. “Mother gave him that silly name. Jaskier, I mean. I thought I should honour that. Beautiful and poisonous.”

“And the other ones?” The Józefa in the portrait was holding primroses, and Janina daisies. The other two held red clover and lilies of the valley respectively.

“From our mother, too. Stokrotka and Koniczyna for Janina and Jolanta, the most common of flowers. Konwalia for Justyna, poisonous as well. And primroses for me, the one that was spoiled the most.”

“Hm,” Geralt made. “The sense of humour runs in the family.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t.” She made a disgusted face. “You see, dear Janka-” The doors burst open. “Ah, speak of the devil…”

“Don’t we have endured enough in the past month, Józia?” Janina Pankratz flared. “Is a witcher in our home not enough punishment for whatever crimes we might have committed? This is getting ridiculous!”

Józefa sighed while Geralt did his best not to growl. “What did he do now?”

“He’s locked himself into his rooms, like the spoiled brat he is. He’s sulking, for whatever reason, but I tell you it’s his fault! I offered to go to the parlay, I know Daniel well enough, but did he listen? No! Wanted to do it all by himself like a big boy and what did it get him? He ruined it, somehow, I’m sure of it. Worse than this damned cousin he brought here; she’s listening at least when an adult is speaking. I remember why I was glad to have him off at Oxenfurt or Melitele knows where. Oh, what I would give for the possibility of him ending up dead in a ditch at every moon’s turn! I tell you, Józia, I’d put him over my knee, if I could!”

Geralt couldn’t keep quiet anymore: “You shall not,” he growled. “You won’t harm one hair on his head.”

Janina whirled around, noticing him behind the painting for the first time. “You!” she pointed at him.

“Me,” he confirmed.

“You stay out of this,” she bristled. “Besides, it’s beyond time that you learn your place in this house, you-”

“Janina,” Józefa said quietly. To his surprise the eldest Pankratz sister shut up.

“Fine,” she sneered. “I’ll come back when our drawing room is clean again.” With that she was gone, slamming the door loud enough to make Geralt’s ears ring.

Once he had recovered, he asked: “Why does your sister hate witchers so much?”

“Janina?” Józefa sat down behind the loom again. “Has nobody told you? Our mother died twenty-four years ago. She was killed by a monster; I don’t even remember what kind.”

That was a common enough story. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Julian and Janina are the only two with real memories of her anyways. I was two years old when she died and I can’t even remember her face. Though, well the witcher thing… Father hired one to get her back. Don’t ask which school or anything, all tales about The Incident have been banned from Lettenhove years ago. Not even Julek dares break the silence. Not even now, after-” She sighed and took a moment, blinking at the ceiling. There were tears in her eyes, though she did not smell of onion grief.

“You don’t have to,” he offered nonetheless.

“No, I want to,” she insisted. “You deserve to know. He couldn’t bring her back, of course, she had already been dead. The witcher only returned with her corpse. Janina has hated your kind ever since.” She sighed. “Julek on the other hand… why, you became his heroes.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad that he became such good friends with you. And that he got to travel the Continent with you, it has always been his dream. I believe you have made him the happiest man alive.”

Geralt swallowed hard. “I… did nothing to warrant your praise, my lady. I made him very sad, actually.”

“Is that why I barely recognise him anymore?”

“Hmm. I fear so.”

“Then fix it, witcher. We have all heard his songs and in those you are a hero. And Julian might be a lot of things — a debaucher, a nitwit, and a self-important swaggerer who impossibly inflates all of his tales. But he is no liar. Not when it’s truly important.”

He had the feeling he was missing something. “So?”

She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “So, live up to your reputation and save him. He is withering like this."

Geralt ground his teeth. "I’m trying,” he grunted. “I just don’t know how.”

“You’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” She picked up the thread again. “You could start by trying to coax him out of his rooms.”

“Your sister said he’s locked himself in.”

She looked at him as if he was exceptionally stupid. “Well, then get creative! I’d be very surprised — and disappointed — if those doors don’t open for you. And now off you go, I want to hear the gossip.”

Geralt wasn’t really sure what made his legs move. First out of the Drawing Room, then down the stairs and up again, until he stood before Jaskier’s room. 'I wanted to look after Ciri,’ he reminded himself, but this was oddly more important. He also suspected that he’d never find the courage again if he bolted now.

And so, Geralt of Rivia meekly knocked on the Viscount de Lettenhove’s rooms. “My lord?” he asked.

No answer. He shouldn’t be surprised. He almost turned around again to go check on Ciri first, but then Jaskier’s faint voice beckoned him inside an empty bedroom.

“Uh-” Geralt said, confused.

“Over here,” he answered and Geralt quickly strode over to another door he hadn’t noticed during his previous visit. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the bathtub Jaskier was soaking in.

“My lord?” he asked hesitantly.

“Come in,” the Viscount commanded.

“Maybe I shouldn’t-”

“Just close the door, Geralt,” he sighed tiredly and raised a golden goblet to his lips. The smell of alcohol permeating from it was entirely too strong for it to just be wine.

“Alright,” he answered quietly and did as he was told. Jaskier drank again and he could feel worry creeping up his spine. “Are you drunk?”

“Not enough,” the Viscount answered and took another deep gulp.

Unsure what else to do, Geralt sat down on the side of the tub and asked: “Your parlay didn’t go well, then? Your, uh- your sister said that Ciri said it did.”

“Which one?”

“Take a guess.”

“Janka still won’t talk to you, huh? I’ll see to that.” He swirled the liquor around in his cup. Before Geralt couldn’t take the silence anymore, Jaskier thankfully continued: “It was… alright, all things considered. Hoped it would be better. Feared it could go worse.” He looked straight at Geralt. “There’s no going back now, witcher. The stage is set. Now we just have to play our parts.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

Jaskier sighed and dropped back against the tub. It did nothing to quell Geralt’s worry, but at least it served to empty out most of the goblet. “All you need to know is that it went well enough. Though I suspect-” He halted.

“What do you suspect?”

“No, let’s not talk of that. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You know that I’m here if you want to talk.”

He snorted a laugh. “Those words don’t suit you, witcher. Whenever I hear them from your mouth, I can’t shake the feeling that you’re mocking me.”

'I’m not,’ he wanted to say. But his words failed him as so often.

Jaskier sighed and pushed himself upright again. “Now, what did you come for?” He glanced into his cup and frowned when he found it empty. Carelessly he tossed it away.

Geralt averted his gaze. “I’m not sure if now’s the time…”

“My witcher,” he said coldly.

“My lord?”

“Talk,” the Viscount ordered without turning to face him.

And so, he did: “You did not ask me for details about my hunt.”

“I did not,” he confirmed.

“You’re-” He wet his lip with his tongue. He knew that no matter how he posed that next question, there would be trouble. “You’re not writing a song.”

Jaskier’s jaw clenched immediately. “I am not. I was under the impression you didn’t like them.”

“And I was under the impression you wrote them regardless,” he shot back without thinking.

The Viscount’s expression grew cold. “So what? Is your ego so inflated you think you’re owed songs now?”

“I do not, my lord. I was also under the impression you wrote them because it is your passion,” he said calmly. “I did not mean to offend you.”

There was no answer at that.

“You’re not singing, either,” Geralt continued cautiously. “Your hands are soft and your lute is nowhere to be found. You tell Ciri stories but never sing for her.”

“Get to the point, witcher,” Jaskier ground out.

Geralt steeled himself and asked with as much courage as he could muster: “Why is there no music in Lettenhove Hall, my lord?”

Jaskier whipped around to him, water sloshing over the rim of the tub and drenching Geralt’s breeches. He wanted to stand his ground but there were tears in Jaskier’s eyes, the scent of anger and sadness wafting off him. He stood and swayed, coughing at the foul odour. “Because I despise it, witcher. I hate every tune I ever wrote, every line I ever composed. I cannot stand it anymore. Just thinking of it makes me sick!”

Geralt retreated farther as a thick cloud of onion grief hit him. “Is it my fault?” he asked agonised and immediately cursed himself for it.

The tears flowed freely now, Jaskier choking on his sobs instead of answering. 'Foolish witcher,’ he chided himself, 'of course it’s your fault.’

He regained his balance and avoided Jaskier’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I am so sorry. If I could-”

“No.” Jaskier sniffled. “Not for that.”

'For what then?’ he wanted to ask but didn’t. 'Coward.’ Three times he reached out only for his hand to fall back to his side again. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I think you’ve done quite enough.” Geralt didn’t even dare to breathe. Spicy pepper flared up. “Go away, witcher.” When he hesitated for just one moment, Jaskier shouted: “Now!”

Geralt was too craven to do anything but obey.

A/N: And now you can come yell at me in the notes.

[ortegatrash]

FH fic - Euthanasia

Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.

Trigger warnings: Elaborate descriptions of death, graphic violence, disassociation/derealisation, PTSD flashbacks, memory problems, mentions of past abuse and dealing with the aftermath.

The world of heroes and villains is not a nice one. It’s messy and painful and complicated. Sometimes innocent people get hurt. Sometimes people die.

Léon has blood on his hands and can’t always remember why. Dark.

A mind flickering in the distance, like a dying candle.

Pain, fear, so scared what's happening? This can't be happening to me it's not real

You don't even flinch. Death is routine to you by now. There are only so ways to die and only so many reactions to it and it blurs into one big mess of emotions after a while. Shields help, but the thing is you've just seen so much of it you've mostly just become...well, used to it.

I'm too young this isn't how I wanted to go I'm too young to die!

It's always distasteful when civilians get involved. You try to keep them out of things, but... the honest truth is that collateral damage happens. The underworld is not a kind place and people end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.  People who dip their feet into your world know what they're signing up for, know that death can come at any moment. You've signed your lives away to it and once you enter the darkness the only way you truly leave its depths is through a body bag.

There's a certain resigned acceptance that comes with that. People still aren't happy, but it's not the same as the complete shock that innocents get when they realise they're just as mortal and as fallible as everyone else.

Normal thugs you can go easy on. It takes too much effort to bother to make it painless for every single one that falls in the row of faceless masses, but you at least take pride in being a professional. It's just business, nothing personal, no need to make a mess of things. You despise getting blood on your suits; your dry cleaner is discreet and reliable but you'd rather not make a habit of ruining them often enough he begins to think you're completely incompetent at this whole thing.

Now people who have wronged you, that’s another story. The guilty and the corrupt. The so-called heroes. People who indulge in this cruel game of society built on the blood of those underneath them…

Despicable.

It's them you have a personal vendetta against. Let them feel everything they've done to you, let them suffer as you did. Their pain won't do much to ease your need to destroy them, it won't satisfy the void in your heart or make the scars you have disappear.

But their screaming is so, so sweet.

You're certainly not an angel but you would never give someone the disservice of pretending they weren't people too. That they didn't have their own lives and dreams and hopes that dissolve once and for all at your own hand. You've had your own personhood denied and you won't be so heartless as to deny that small acknowledgement to others.

You won't ever be like Them.

That's why you do this. Maybe these people are going to die alone drowning in their own blood and their only witness to their end an enemy who's going to crush their face into the concrete and enjoy it. That doesn't mean you won't take a moment to reminisce over their last moments, to witness the flame of their mind go out and never come back.

The dead can't hurt you any more. They can't.

What have  you done, Léon? You're better than this.

...Stop it, Anathema.

.

..

...You shake your head. You shouldn't get caught up in your thoughts, you tend to go blank and lose your train of thought.

There are a lot of ways people deal with death. Most tend to go through the stages of grief - not always in order, not always all of them. But there are patterns.

This can’t be real whose legs are those? why are they pointing the wrong way why are they attached to me that’s so horrible

Denial. She didn’t think anything was going to happen today. She thought bad things only happened to someone else, not people like her.

Help me it hurts it hurts please someone help me how could they do this to me! This isn't fair I'm not ready I'm not ready I wanted to kiss him I wanted to tell him I liked him I've never even had my first kiss this is not fair!

Anger. She's just a kid, her sweet 16th is supposed to be next week and now her world has fallen down around her, crushed her underneath its weight. She just wanted to take a shortcut through the alley after school. Her parents don't know she's here, she lied and said she was going to study at the library to sneak to a boy's house. They've been sending sweet messages in class but she got her phone confiscated because of it and couldn't call 911 and now it's too late.

Please, anyone! Anyone...can you hear me? Please save me I promise I'll be good I have so many things I wanted to do so many regrets, I'll ��reform myself just please

Bargaining. There is so much she wanted to do, so much she dreamt about. She wanted to be a nurse, she wanted to help people and join a charity because she's seen the way people are turned away from hospitals because they can't afford it. That's how her little brother died and the hole in her family never quite healed.  The empty chair at the dinner table is going to have one right next to it soon and this is going to crush her parents. Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children.

Someone- Who's there? An answer to desperate prayers? A gleam of gold, a red flutter in the wind who is that? Fear, adrenaline - villain come to finish me off?- So so much blood why is it outside of me that's not right...I'm not going to make it, I have so many regrets I want to cry

Depression. She told her parents she hated them, of course she didn't mean it. It was just anger, she was just frustrated at failing biology and the threats of repeating a grade and being left behind and she hasn't even done anything with her life before it's already ending. They won't know what happened here until the knock on the door, the officer in blue. She's so sorry she loves them she wishes she could tell them that but it's too late too late too late.

You are not cruel, despite what people say. You save it for the people who have wronged you and this, this child is just an unfortunate victim. Can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, after all. You hadn't planned for this but you're not some sort of barbarian. No needless suffering for people who don't deserve it.

She's too weak to resist, too weak to even lift her head up. There's a procedure for animals that are too badly injured to make it, you make their last moments comfortable and their deaths painless.

Idly, you wonder why humans never get that mercy. It seems backwards to you to let humans suffer when supposed 'lesser' animals were given relief.

Maybe it's fitting. Humans can be such bastards capable of so much cruelty that perhaps they should suffer. Not this one though. She’s just a little lost duckling who got got smashed up against the rocks of life.

It doesn't take much tweaking usually;  a quick in and out of their minds, cutting the pain off and letting their brains either go dark or grabbing their last thoughts and twisting them into whatever greeting they expect to come after death. A light, an soft white wings beating, the voices of loved ones long gone greeting them with open arms and promising reunion. Usually something typical like that. That's for the ones you bother being nice to, if you have the luxury and time of being merciful.

Sometimes all you have time for is a quick twist of the neck or bullet through the brain before you need to move on. There's no use wasting energy using your nanovores on ordinary people and besides, they don't cut through flesh quite so neatly. They shouldn't, at least, you've made many, many precautions to keep them neutered, you don't ever want to see them disintegrate flesh-

-Anathema's eyes; so shocked, flesh melting peeling. The smell of flesh bubbling up and frying.

You can't- you can't deal with burning meat anymore, you pretend you're vegetarian because you're on a diet and maybe it surprises your team because they’ve seen you murder in cold blood before but it's because you can't deal with the consequences with cooking and accidentally leaving the heat on too long-

-No. No, you have a job to do, you don't have time for this again.

She looks so small at your feet all curled up, her body unconsciously trying to protect herself by going into a fetal position. You tut and ready yourself to dive in. Honestly, you expected better of a hero. He may not have intended this but he should follow through once he’s done instead of leaving her to suffer. He should have finished the job.

Time to put her out of her misery.

Her mind is panicking, she's dying and putting all her energy in trying to do something about it. That means it all redirects onto you, the intruder seeing her at her most vulnerable. Not that she can actually hurt you, she's just lashing out. Her hits might as well be a child’s play ball she's hurling at you for all the impact it makes on you.

You wrap yourself in her mother's embrace like a veil, soft tones and lullabies and kisses on the cheek. Memories of comforting words, stroking her hair like she’s little again and having nightmares; she doesn’t want to be alone. Her father's crackly stubble as he hugs her close, bright golden sunlight as they play backyard baseball and a sticky little brother with golden curls and a dimpled smile, the smell of warm milk on baby breath.

"Mama," she sobs, trembling as she buries her head in your chest. "Mama, it hurts, it hurts so bad."

"Shh, it's okay, baby. It's okay. Do you want me to take the hurt away?" You feel almost bored, dutifully acting out the behaviours you see dancing through her memories. When did you become this cold to normal people? Sure, you don’t really care about her…but.

Once upon a time you used to be able to feel a little bit bad about people outside your circle. Now there is only You and Your people and Other and you’re not sure when you stopped giving a damn about anyone who wasn’t yours.

"Yes, please please please! Make it stop, make it stop!" She can’t take much more of this before, she’s never felt such pain before.

"Yes dear," you soothe. "It will all be over soon."

Disguising yourself in memories is good, it makes her willing. She trusts you now and you don't feel any qualms about manipulating her at all because this is the only kindness you can grant her. The thread you want is frayed and almost unravelling, it takes only a moment to materialise a pair of scissors and snip away the excess. Can't feel pain if your pain receptors are cut off from the mind, after all.

She settles down now, snuggling into your arms as the small child she feels like again. Things are becoming disjointed, her mind is beginning to dissolve around you both.

Shit. You're running out of time.

"I love you," you lie with her mother’s warm voice, because people would rather hear sweet lies over cold, cold truth.

She sniffles into your sleeve and urgh, all you can do is to keep from recoiling from the mental snot on your arm. Now is not the time for your own distaste to be acting up, now you have to be strong to honour this girl's life and death.

"Mama, please,” she begs. “I don't want to die."

It's time.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay," you tell her, infusing your voice with milk and honey and warm sleepy summer days. You can feel her relax, beginning to drift away in your arms. "You go on ahead and take care of your little brother for us, okay?"

"...Okay." She sniffs, letting go. "Okay."

…Acceptance.

Time to go. You're just about to head out through the fading frame of her childhood bedroom door before you feel a tug on your sleeve.

When you glance behind she's still there. She’s still there and she’s looking at you with a strangely knowing look in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispers. "You didn't have to do that."

-And then you're ejected from her mind with a thud as the fragments begin to burn up and drift away in the wind.

You think you smell burning toast. Wha- What was that?

Did she… no matter. You need to finish this quickly before what’s left of her starts to get uncertain and confused again.

Silver metal, cold under her chin. A deep inhale as you plug one ear with a finger, your other hand cocked and ready.

The ringing in your ear resounds through your head, your arm shaking from the recoil.

...There. She's gone.

What a sight you must be, your beautiful golden armour now thoughtfully decorated in still-warm blood. It's messier than you would have liked, but that's life.

Are you proud of yourself?

You're not sure if you can answer that, truthfully, and that infuriates you. You were supposed to steadfast, you are supposed to be Pride, you are not supposed to doubt or question if you're doing the right thing.

No!

You don't regret doing this, this was a kindness, this was mercy, you are not a barbarian that would let animals suffer needlessly.

Isn't it your fault that this happened to begin with? Who are you trying to convince, the world or yourself?

Shut up, Anathema. You're dead. Ghosts can't talk.

.

..

Blinking, you shake your head. What…

What was it you were doing again?

He gurgles as the blood fills his mouth, spills over onto your arms while you crush his neck. The whites of his eyes spasm in their sockets as pierce through the fragile flesh of his throat, you don't know your own strength anymore.

Good.

The world is cruel and you've just had to adapt to survive. Now it will be you at the top sitting on the throne, now it will be you forcing them to bow at your feet and acknowledging them.

Now one will ever be able to hurt you again.

This is wrong. This is so wrong, Léon.

Fingers dance loosely trying to pry you away and weak as a newborn kitten. He's not getting away that easily, you want him to suffer for what he's done; for what all the heroes have done to you, for what the world has done to you.

Stop. Stop. You're torturing him.

Maybe if he didn't want to die he should have been more careful, you sneer. Heroes were no different than you so-called villains. The only difference was that you've accepted the truth: that you are just as bad as the rest of them. They still have delusions about the concept of 'good' and 'justice'.

STOP IT

They don't know the truth.  You are all pawns to be sacrificed at their amusement and you refuse to play their game when it’s rigged against you.

No. Now you will be the one in control. There's no one who can stand in your way, there are no voices-

S T O P  I T

-There is no such thing as justice given to people like you, so you are going to take what you need by force. That's why people like him need to suffer, that's why they will have no choice but to pay attention to you, you need to break, break, break him just like they broke you-

THAT.

IS.

E N O U G H!

.

..

...What?

Nothing works. You can't move, it's like something has come over you, all your muscles feel like they have frozen in place.

What. Have.  You.  Done?

...Go away, Anathema.

WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?

Please. Please just go away.

.

..

...What was that just now. Did your mind just blank out for a second?

You drop the man to the ground, too shaken to hold on. Distantly, you become aware of the fact that you're reaching for your gun. Your hand is guiding the gun to his forehead, your finger almost moving of its own accord as you fire again and again

and again and again you need to make sure you need to make sure

And

And your heart is racing and breaking all over again and and and-

And end this.

You want to end...you.

Yes.

You don't have to do this anymore. You can finally rest. It feels like sweet, sweet relief-

-Your ears are ringing, someone is coming for you.

"Someone get the boss!"

"On it!"

"He's not responding, I think he's hyperventilating again-"

Need to go. Goodbye, Ortega. Goodbye, everyone

-Someone is grabbing you and you are shaking, you're not supposed to do that. You need to you need to..

..to..

You need to go, you need to MOVE

"Someone help restrain him! He's too strong!"

"Boss, boss, it's okay! You're safe, there aren't any more enemies, they're all dead!"-

Glass in your skin, it hurts it hurts the pain feels like relief and you shatter all over again and again and again

-Screaming, primal and terrifying in its distortion. Is that your voice? Your throat hurts. You don't care you can't care, you can't hear properly right now

And the birds have taken flight and your team are cowering and covering their ears and you can't you can't youcan'tYOUCAN'T-

Léon.

…

Oh, Léon.

...Leave me alone.

You need to stop doing this.

Please leave me alone.

...Why won't you just. Leave. Me. ALONE?

Stop doing this. Stop lashing out like this, stop hurting people. Léon? Don't ignore me.

Léon?

.

..

"-Boss? Are you back with us?"

Worried looks. You resent it, you resent falling apart in front of your Family. You are supposed to be strong. If you show weakness, they will start to doubt. You need to be good enough, you need to be perfect or they will lose confidence in you and you refuse to have that.

That's why you just give a curt nod. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You don’t seem fine, that looked really intense-"

Your body is moving and your mind is along for the ride. "I. AM. FINE!"

Footsteps backwards, you were too much. Regret is apparently the emotion of the day because you're flooded with a whole heap of it. You don't mean to yell. You didn't mean to get angry at their concern. This is so messed up.

If they lose confidence in you, they might leave.

And you can't. You can't let your Family leave. They are all you have, they are yours. You hate that you're what The Farm made you sometimes, that this is your reflexive reaction to anything and everything.

You just…

Why couldn't you be normal and show them you love them the normal way? You want to hold them close and yet you're so afraid of closeness that you just push them away again.

They're still just waiting. Waiting for an explanation. Maybe an apology that will never come - because you are Pride and you are all too proud to ever willingly admit weakness, admit that you messed up, that you were wrong.

.

..

...Nothing important happened today, everything went according to plan.

You ignore the looks your team are giving you, walking past and slipping a handkerchief out of a hidden compartment in your armour. Where did all this blood even come from? Urgh, you hate getting dirty.

You are not haunted by blank spots in your memory. You are not going crazy and you are not ever going to question if you're on the wrong path.

Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, it will become real.

You're already falling into the darkness, there's no stopping your course now. Like a circus performer walking the tightrope, you have to keep walking. You can't sway. If you question or hesitate you are only going to lose your balance and end up plummeting into the depths below.

You can't look down, you mustn't turn your head. Eyes forward; focus on the goal.

Léon.

So what if your hands are painted red?

So what if the hero hadn't meant to kill her, that he'd been a bit too overenthusiastic with his crushing abilities and didn't take into account that the wall he took down was a load-bearing one?

So fucking what. People die.

Get over it.

Get over it.

You can't escape what you've done, you know.

Please.

Why do you keep hurting people? Why do you keep hurting yourself?

Don't. Don't. Don't.

Silence. The faintest whisper, the creeping feeling of unseeing blank eyes that cast judgement and you are not cowering under them because you do not cower, you will not cower any more, you are strong you won't be a victim you will not apologise for what you are-

Why are you even doing this?

-You will never apologise for what you are. You are proud of it. You are Pride and that same pride would never admit allow you even consider being wrong.

Oh, Léon.

.

..

...You have absolutely no idea why, but you feel like crying.

[taexual]

I Want Desire [15] / Mark x Reader

OTHER PARTS: 01 - Got7 Mafia AU / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 – The End

The only surviving memory of you is what keeps Mark sane in the world where he’s all alone.

Pairing: Mafia AU!Mark x Reader

Warnings: angst

Words: 3.6k

this is it, everyone!! this has been a wild ride and i am 100% sure i wouldn’t have finished this if it weren’t for you. so THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!! ❤️💗💘💖💝 and i hope you’ll forgive me one day 🙈

Mark suffered greatly. Every single day after he left that hospital, every single hour after the loss he experienced that day, he suffered.

Grace, who was in just as much pain as he was, was the one who carried his daughter out of the building where her mother was last seen alive. The little girl survived. She fought, she surprised every doctor on the staff, and she survived. But the love of Mark’s life didn’t.

Just the memory of you made him stop in his tracks as he had to remind his heart to continue to beat. It wasn’t beating for him – if it ever was – and there was no point for it to beat for you anymore. You weren’t there to hear it. You weren’t there to lean your head on his chest and allow his heartbeat to lull you to sleep.

As the realization that Mark was never going to feel your touch again, he was never going to wake up next to you again, and he was never going to tell you he loved you again settled in, he almost went on a killing spree.

Mark didn’t deserve you, that was true. But you did not deserve to die. You weren’t just the best thing that happened to him. You were the best thing that happened.

And your daughter was never going to meet you. She was never going to learn about love from you. She was never going to see you smile or feel the warmth and safety of your arms. She wasn’t going to remember you because she never met you.

Mark was angry. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just him who needed you anymore. It was his daughter, too.

He didn’t know what to do. He was a father now, but at the same time, he wasn’t. He wanted to have children with you. He wanted this, the first word, the first step, everything – he wanted to experience it with you. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, whether looking after your children or having your children look after the two of you.

And now whenever he remembered his daughter and how alone she was in this world, he suffered.

He saw you every time his daughter looked at him. He heard you everytime she laughed. He felt you everytime he held her. His heart broke every time she cried.

He knew he had to be there for her. He had to teach her everything about life because no one else would. She already didn’t have a mother, she needed a father. And Mark – although not sure if he would ever truly feel like a father – had to be one.

“Mark,” Grace told him, her tired voice suddenly waking him up. “What are you doing here?”

He hadn’t realized where he was at first and his neck hurt when he moved, so it took him a few moments to understand that he had fallen asleep in the armchair in front of his daughter’s crib.

“I thought I heard her cry,” he whispered, checking if his baby was still asleep in the crib. “I came to check up on her.”

“Mark…” Grace sighed.

She’d already noticed that Mark was never in his bed past midnight. If she checked the nursery, she’d always find him, either quietly playing with the mobile toys above the crib, or passed out next to it.

“Look, you can go back to bed,” he told his sister, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll stay here for a while, make sure she’s really asleep.”

“She’s really asleep,” Grace said. “You need to sleep, too.”

Mark looked away from her, not saying anything else because he could not find the words that would describe his lonely soul in an accurate way and would not make him seem pathetic – which he probably was but admitting that wouldn’t have made it better. He just didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be without you and his daughter was the only thing that reminded him of you.

“I can’t sleep,” he said, his voice sounding as hollow as his chest felt. “I don’t remember the last time I slept.”

But that wasn’t true. Mark knew when the last time he slept was – it was with you. He was just afraid that if he mentioned your name out loud, he would break down again, and he couldn’t allow himself to do that. He had his daughter to think of now.

“You have to get your life together,” Grace said as affectionately as she could. She didn’t sound accusing in the slightest because she didn’t blame Mark. She never did. Not since you were taken away from him. “I don’t know how, Mark, but you have to. You know you do.”

“I know,” Mark agreed, nodding. He glanced at the sleeping features of his baby girl again. “For her.”

“And for yourself,” Grace added.

Mark shook his head, smiling sadly. “No. There’s no ‘myself’ anymore. Pieces of me are far too scattered for me to get them back together again.”

This sudden confession made her chest ache again, but Grace tried to remain standing. It seemed as though that was all that the Tuans did nowadays. They hid. They tried. They pretended. You weren’t here anymore, so there was no one left to call them out on their bullshit. There was no one left to make them sort their problems out and come clean about everything.

“You have to do something,” Grace said, her eyes not leaving her brother. “Y/n would have hated to see you like this.”

Mark turned his head to look at her so vigorously, he almost gave himself a whiplash. Hearing your name took him off guard but also made him realize that Grace was right. Not about the fact that you would have hated to see him like this, because there was no way in hell you would have ever seen him like this in the first place. He would never have suffered if you were with him. Not as much as he did now, anyway. Grace was right about the fact that Mark had to do something.

And suddenly, another realization popped into his head.

“I know what I need to do,” he said to Grace, a sudden fire lighting up in his stomach for the first time since you left him. “But I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Okay. Anything,” Grace encouraged.

“Will you look after her for me?” Mark asked, gently brushing his hand across the railing of his daughter’s crib, “She needs love more than anything, Grace. And I-I need to do something. Something I should have done as soon as…” his voice faltered as he was still unable to finish that sentence. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but I promise I will come back. I need you to look after her for me while I’m gone.”

Grace had a feeling there would come a day when Mark would say something like this but she still felt obliged to ask, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to fix my mistake,” Mark said. “I’m going to protect the memory of my wife because I failed to protect her when she was still here.”

Mark had left. He had virtually no clue where to go – where to look – but he knew people who owed him favors. Those people knew more people and on it went.

Mark knew he would find him. He’d hunt him down. And he’d kill him. Really kill him this time.

However, Mark was a fan of simplicity. As soon as he set his mind on something, he would do it. He never wasted his time planning and plotting. That just wasn’t him.

But now, as he sat in the study of his hotel suite, writing an explicit and thorough step-by-step plan for what he had to do in order to get to Uchida, he pulled his phone out to look at the picture of his daughter that Grace had sent him, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“God, Y/n,” he said, watching the glittering eyes – your eyes – of his daughter in the picture. “You’d be so proud of me right now. My impulsivity is out of the window. I’m much more careful now.”

Suddenly, the laughter died down and, like it always did whenever his thoughts drifted to you, Mark felt tears welling up in his eyes as he took a shaky breath; words, barely above a whisper, leaving his lips, “I wish you could see me now.”

He didn’t know how long it’d take him to get used to the fact that you would never tell him you’re proud of him again. You would never quietly watch him improve and build himself up even though his whole soul was in ruins. Maybe he’d never get over this. Maybe he would stay like this forever, always aching for that missing piece of his heart, his soul, his being. You.

“Maybe I got a little bit ahead of myself with that whole proud thing,” Mark continued, chuckling humorlessly. “You would most definitely not be proud of me for crying like I’m—ah, I don’t even know what I am anymore. And, look, now I’m talking to myself! “That’s not really something to be proud of, Mark.” That’s what you’d say.”

Gently, he brushed his finger down the screen of his phone, still smiling as he watched the picture of his daughter. “I miss you, Y/n. Please watch over us.”

Sighing deeply, Mark gathered all the remaining strength that he had and locked his phone, knowing that he had to bring his mind back to his work. He needed to get his done. He needed a plan. A brilliant, flawless plan. And he was certain he’d come up with this plan. He was confident he could follow it and get back home to his daughter, victorious.

But then moments of crushing doubt overcame him – what was the point? No matter how flawless his plan to kill Uchida was, it wouldn’t bring you back. It was too late.

Mark could not name a more despicable person than himself during those moments. All throughout your relationship, he made you promises to protect you. He went out of his way to make sure you were safe. And in the last moments, he failed. He wasn’t there for you.

He hated himself so much and there was nothing that could take that hatred away from him. He couldn’t apologize to you anymore, he couldn’t tell you he loved you and hope that you’d forgive him because you were good. You were so much better than him. He didn’t deserve you and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t let you go when he still could have. He tried to hard to save you but he failed. Maybe he wouldn’t have failed if he hadn’t held onto you so tight. Maybe if he had let you go…

Sometimes, Mark felt like he was the one that killed you.

And he never understood how he got there, when these moments eventually passed: on his knees, his head in his hands, as pieces of shattered glass and broken furniture lied scattered on the floor all around him.

It took him a year.

A whole year, filled with breakdowns over the realization that with each passing day, Mark was coming closer to the day when he’d have spent more time suffering from your loss than enjoying his time with you.

A whole year, filled with regret over words he hadn’t said to you. Words, he saved up to say to you one day but that day never came. You never heard them.

A whole year, filled with passing glimpses of his daughter as he waved at her through facetime or came home to find her already crawling… already walking… already talking… only to leave again. She knew who he was, she remembered him. She called him, “dada!” and always extended her little hands in the air, asking him to pick her up. He laughed and always did. Always. He restrained too much when he was with you. He wasn’t going to repeat this mistake with his daughter.

A whole year, filled with Grace’s sorry looks and questions when he was going to come home.

A whole year, filled with countless contemplations about whether any of this was worth it until eventually, Mark decided that it was. He wasn’t going to kill Uchida because he took you away from him. He wasn’t going to kill him out of spite, either. That was in the past. However hard it may have been for Mark to move on, he did not want to bring the pain and hurt of the past into his and his daughter’s future.

He was going to kill Uchida to make sure the story his daughter tells lacks the ache Mark and you experienced in yours.

Uchida never stopped smiling ever since Mark walked through the door of his house that last day of his life. Maybe he was glad this was finally going to be over, too.

“I was expecting you,” was what Uchida said to Mark when he found the murderous businessman’s cabin at the base of a hill in a wooded area, on the outskirts of Tokyo.

Mark had no doubt that what Uchida said was true. Mark’s own year was filled with torturous pain but Uchida’s had to be similar. He had to spend every day of his life expecting his death. That had to cause him suffering. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

“It took me a while,” Mark admitted. “But I’m sure that just gave you more time to prepare for this meeting.”

“I wasn’t preparing at all, Mark,” Uchida replied. “I knew you’d find me. I was content with that. I didn’t know how long it’d take you, sure. But I knew you’d come.”

“I’m not in the mood for chit-chatting,” Mark said, getting his Glock out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket – it was the same gun he had bought to Uchida’s house that first time he visited the businessman – and taking the safety hook off immediately. “I’m not going to ask you why you did what you did. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Uchida looked a little surprised. “I was hoping you’d give me a chance to explain.”

Mark almost laughed. “Really not much a psychopath could say to me that would make sense. I won’t bother. Here’s what we’ll do, Uchida. You’ll turn around – because I don’t want to see your pathetic sorry eyes when I kill you – and I will gently place a bullet into your brain. Deal?”

Uchida was very amused by this.

“Do I have a choice?” he said, almost laughing. “But I do have to ask you something before you kill me if you don’t mind.”

“Hurry.”

“Why did you come in?” Uchida asked. “Why didn’t you bomb this place? Why didn’t you set it on fire? I’m sure that would have taken care of me much faster and it would have cost my company a lot more. You would have destroyed some pretty valuable property.”

“I don’t care about the property,” Mark stated. “I care about you. I will not leave until I know for sure you’re dead.”

“I’m not a threat to you, Mark.”

“You never were,” Mark mocked. “Thinking so was my mistake.”

“Another question if you don’t mind,” Uchida said, putting his hands in the air and starting to slowly turn around just like Mark had instructed. “Do you think Y/n will forgive you?”

For the first time since he came into Uchida’s house today, Mark’s hand shook a little. He swallowed deeply, raising the gun higher until the cold, metal muzzle connected with the back of Uchida’s head.

“She already did,” Mark started shakily but continued in a sincere voice although he was never a firm believer in the afterlife or anything similar. “If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. She lead me to you. She watched me on the way.”

“Come now,” Uchida continued, sounding cheerful. “Y/n would never do anything of the sort, alive or not. She’s not violent.”

“That’s right, she’s not violent,” Mark confirmed. “She’s protecting her daughter.”

The shot Mark fired that day echoed through his mind for years to come. The loud thudding noise Uchida’s lifeless body made as it fell to the wooden floor of his cabin, replaced the shrieks of sorrow from Mark’s own lips as he refused to let your hand go in the hospital. The realization that this was finished – that Mark could go home – completed his story. Whether that was a tale of irrational anger, bloody revenge, burning passion, or destructive love, it had ended.

You and Mark had finished it.

Mark was a bit nervous that his daughter was underdressed. Her small hand in his felt cold and he kept stopping to check if her jacket was zipped up. It was a relatively warm spring day today but Mark knew you were cold a lot. It was a given that his daughter would be, too.

“Dada!” his daughter squealed then, pointing at something in the distance and looking at him expectantly.

Mark gave her a small smile as he recognized the large stone in the middle of an empty field that she was pointing at. “We’re going over there right now, baby. I will tell you what it is when we’re there.”

“Dada!” she squealed again, this time pointing at a different part of the meadow.

Mark laughed, noticing the small patch of daffodils, growing near a cherry blossom tree.

“Go on,” he encouraged her. “Go take a look. You can pick some up if you want. No one will be mad.”

Laughing as she often did, the little girl let go of his hand and dashed down the field towards the pretty flowers, her small, short legs making her wobble a little as she ran. Despite not yet being used to running, she wanted to experience everything first-hand. She tripped over a small rock on her way and Mark gasped loudly, preparing to run to her aid, but she got up the next second and continued her journey towards the daffodils, seemingly unfazed by the fall.

Mark shook his head, smiling, as he reached the freshly cut patch of grass in front of the large, flat stone his daughter had previously pointed at. He glanced at her again before sitting down in front of the stone.

I had this dream, Mark had told you once. We were sitting in a meadow, the three of us. Laughing. We were happy.

He smiled as he remembered this, watching his daughter’s tiny fingers pick the few wild daffodils she found down the field. She ran back to him clumsily and placed the flowers on the patch of grass, next to the inscribed stone.

THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, the stone read. Mark felt his heart clench as he read your name under it but he had already gotten used to the pain in his chest whenever he remembered you.

This dream will come true, you had promised him that one time.

Mark clutched his daughter closer to him, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he watched the spring wind shake the branches of the cherry blossom tree across the meadow, causing white petals to flow in the air around them.

He looked at the tombstone and then at his daughter.

“This is your mommy,” Mark told her, pointing at the empty patch of grass, decorated by the few lonely flowers his daughter had placed there. “She loves you very much.”

“Mommy?” the little girl repeated, not pronouncing the syllables quite correctly yet, but making Mark smile widely nevertheless.

“Yes,” he nodded and continued, despite knowing that she probably did not understand him. “She’s very special. There is not another person like her in this world. Do you know why? Do you know what mommy had that not many people have?”

His daughter looked at him curiously, understanding that Mark was telling her a story, even if she didn’t yet understand what the story was about. But that was okay. Mark was willing to tell her about you as many times as he had to, until his daughter felt like she knew you, too. Until she could feel the warmth you radiated.

“She had hope,” Mark said, listening to his daughter’s laugh as she recognized her own name from his lips.

“Hope,” she repeated, struggling with the first consonant of her name. “Mommy.”

Mark smiled at her and the two of them just watched each other for a moment. His little girl, however small she may have been, looked at him as if she understood every single thing he had just told her. As if she felt all that he was feeling.

And Mark couldn’t help but pull her closer to him and lean his head against hers. “I love you so much, baby. You’re all I have left.”

Mark held his daughter tightly in his arms and read the inscription of your name on the tombstone again. His heart was no longer crying, it finally found the peace it had longed for, as the petals of the cherry blossoms danced all around the three of you.

His dream really had come true.

           THE END

This is purely fictional. Real-life people are in no way connected to the characters in this story. The characters have no relation to their real-life selves, either.

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