#NO DAMN IT LET HIM WALLOW IN GUILT FOR THOUSANDS OF WORDS!

[nostalgia-tblr]

just realised - i enjoy it when blorbos feel guilt. even about things i reckon could be justified to some extent, and things where i'd do the same myself in their shoes. i like making them sit about feeling bad for things they did, even (god, ESPECIALLY!) when they're the hero of the story. i enjoy their moral angst and their endless suffering.

what the fuck's that about then, eh?

[cryoculus]

— reparations 05 ⟢

i have a very marketable skill called “jumping to conclusions”

★ FEATURING; arataki itto x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 4.6k words

★ TAGS; modern au, flower shop au, slow burn, idiots to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, no smut, sfw

★ NOTABLE CHARACTERS; arataki itto, thoma, kamisato ayato, kamisato ayaka

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

“I can’t believe I wasn’t here when he did the thing. What kind of father am I?!”

You’re in the middle of shaping the bonsai you have on display when Itto sulks behind the counter—chin propped on top as he watches the silk white cocoon inside Itto the Fourth’s jar. You roll your eyes.

“Well, if you spent your precious time being here for his milestones in life instead of canoodling with the yakuza…”

“Nope! You are not guilt-tripping me out of this, master!”

“Wasn’t counting on it,” you scoff.

So, as things might have it, after placing your late-night order at Shimura’s, you and Itto decided to lounge in the shop to wait for the food. But the moment he sat down on your swiveling seat, the gang leader refused to take his eyes off the caterpillar-turned-chrysalis that was Itto the Fourth. You actually forgot to bring up that it was finally one step closer to the next phase of its insect life given all the commotion that occurred over the last hour. But your patient didn’t seem to mind the delayed info.

“Say,” you begin, putting down your shears as you flash him a pointed look. “If you won’t tell me exactly what’s going on, can I at least know how you got on the yakuza’s bad side in the first place?”

Itto hums, craning his neck to meet your gaze. “Eh? Ain’t that the same thing?”

“Don’t think about it like that! Your origin story is different from your current predicament, you know.”

And then Itto makes a motion of pinching his thumb and index finger together before sliding it across his lips like a zipper—shaking his head petulantly. What a damn kid. 

To his credit, Itto may be idiotic about eighty percent of the time, but he’s still pretty sharp. You’re not sure if he’ll even spill the details once the entire ordeal is over. You can almost hear your mother chiding you for nosing into another person’s business, but what the hell is so important that Itto would have to (literally) break his back for the sake of it? A lifetime supply of yakisoba? A printed certificate that says ‘Arataki “The Yakuza Boss” Itto’? The longer you wallow in your own thoughts, the wilder your imagination runs, so you decide to spare yourself the trouble.

As you get back to your feet, you peek behind the blinds you drew at closing time, wondering when your food is going to arrive. Though it’s only been ten minutes since you placed your order, you were beyond starved. However, there don’t seem to be any delivery motorcycles in sight. Guess your dinner isn’t arriving miraculously early. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you tell me?” you ask out of the blue, turning your head to Itto, who is now comfortably leaning against the backrest of your chair. “Beating you in an onikabuto battle? An eating contest? Rock-paper-scissors?”

Yeah. You’ve totally lost it. You don’t even know why you’re trying so hard to get it out of him. It’s none of your business! Repeat until true! 

“Those are quite the honorable choices, if I do say so myself.” He laughs, cracking his fingers together. “But not even a mountainload of mora can get me to disclose the details. And that’s saying something ‘cause I’m kinda broke right now, but who cares!”

You do a double-take on that one. “Wait, you’re broke?” 

“Hm? Is that so hard to believe?”

You’re quick to stride back to the counter, placing a palm in front of him as you shoot Itto an incredulous stare. “The rent in this place is forty thousand yen a month. Rent that I pay to your gang. Your gang, who owns this property. Did you just happen to forget that?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“Shinobu doesn’t let you handle any of the money, does she?”

“Um… No, she does not.”

“Then how the hell have you been getting by all this time?” you nearly shout, throwing undecipherable hand gestures everywhere. “I-I don’t even pay you—”

Itto effectively cuts off your rambling by pressing a finger to your lips, making your eyes go wide as he shushes you. He meets your gaze earnestly, and only speaks once you’ve completely gone silent.

“I know you’re my master and I still have tons to learn from you when it comes to gardening or whatever. But lemme tell you this: you need to learn how to chill.” He says every word so slowly, it’s as if he’s talking to a prepubescent teenager. “Look at me! Barely escaped with my life back there, but I’m bonding with Itto the Fourth ‘cause the situation calls for it. Sometimes, you gotta adapt to strange environments, y’know?”

Chill. Right, yeah. Chill. A.K.A., something that you were already lacking the moment Itto didn’t step through the front door on the first day of his leave. And now he barges into your home, passes out, makes you treat both his wounds and him to dinner. Where the hell are you supposed to get a decent supply of goddamn chill?!

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” you balk sarcastically, slapping his hand away. “Thank you, Arataki. You just solved half the world’s problems with unsolicited advice.”

To your absolute joy, he chuckles aloud, looking way too pleased with himself. “You’re too kind! Some of my boys said I should start writing for an advice column in the daily newspaper. What do you thi—”

All of a sudden, Itto’s cheery voice cuts to the thick silence of the shop. He stills, rising to his full height as rusty amber eyes do a cautious sweep around the room. You’re about to ask what’s gotten into him before the man before you promptly has all the color drained from his face, as if having realized something drastic.

“Tsk, he’s coming...” he mutters, and for a moment, you momentarily mimic the shock on his face. Who’s coming? Those fuckers that hazed him? 

“Itto—”

“Yo, I’m going to, uh…” he trails off, grabbing Itto the Fourth’s jar before tucking it beneath his arm. The gang leader jams a thumb over his shoulder with a wobbly smile. “Hide in your room for a sec. Is that okay with you?”

“What?” You scowl. “Are you just going to leave me to entertain those lunatics alo—hey!”

Not even securing your explicit permission, Itto bolts back up to your apartment with his stupid hibernating caterpillar—leaving you right in the dust. The room is silent, save for the erratic thrum of your heartbeat that’s making you feel a little psyched out. Should you call the police? But if the person (people?) that Itto sensed was dangerous, surely he wouldn’t leave you to deal with them for him, right? But then again, cooking up assumptions about your unwitting apprentice was a common mistake that you’re growing tired of making.

Your instincts jolt to life when you hear three knocks on the front door of the shop, making your heart plummet to your stomach. 

It takes you a moment to realize you’re locked in another game of ‘Guess Who’s on the Other Side’. This time, it could either be A.) Itto’s assailant(s) or B.) the food delivery guy. Though your hunch was wrong about Tora’s sudden appearance in the balcony, you were pretty damn sure this can only be one or the other. 

Calm down, you tell yourself. Sure, Itto isn’t the best at keeping his temporary employment here all that discreet, but surely the yakuza won’t try to drag you into their problems. You’ve got nothing to do with all that! 

With a clean conscience, you breathe deep, compose yourself, and open the door.

“And here I thought you’d gone straight to bed.”

When you see who it is, your jaw nearly unhinges itself from your skull and lands on the floor. How the fuck can you be so wrong twice in the same night?!

“A-Ayato?” you stammer, but he’s already letting himself in—shrugging off the coat off his shoulders as he marvels at the state of your shop. “Lovely place you have here,” he comments. “I might send in an order or two pretty soon since Ayaka has been gushing about your bouquets non-stop.”

You can’t even be bothered to feel flattered at the promised revenue because you’re processing the presence of not just one, but three people that have entered your shop past closing time. Ayaka and Thoma followed suit right after the force of nature that is Kamisato Ayato, but thankfully these two look a bit more apologetic.

“You weren’t picking up any of our calls,” Ayaka sighs, stuffing her phone in her handbag and unraveling the scarf around her neck. “We thought you might’ve been in trouble.”

Calls…? As in, plural? Shit. You left your phone upstairs after that strange, heart-to-heart conversation with Itto on your balcony. You hadn’t bothered checking it since you finished patching him up. But you attempt to mask your surprise by shifting everyone else’s attention to Thoma instead.

“I told you something just came up, right?” you sigh. “Why’d you go ahead and let Ayato-nii march all the way here just to see if I’m fine?”

The blond chuckles, already sounding defeated. “We all know when waka’s got something set on his mind, there’s no stopping him.”

Well…that is true. 

You guess there’s no use trying to point fingers now that the Kamisato trio was here, so you just tell them to get comfortable instead. Thank Archons Itto suddenly rushed upstairs (for reasons that still eluded you). It’s going to be pretty hard to explain what a shirtless gang leader is doing waiting for late night takeout with you to these guys. Even if the four of you have been through weirder shit in the past. 

“Has business been faring well?” Ayato asks, carefully draping his fingers across the bonsai you were just trimming earlier. 

You nod. “Uh, yeah! So far so good. The people here in Hanamizaka have been sweet and accommodating. Didn’t really expect that in a place handled by the Arataki Gang.”

For some reason, the older Kamisato raises an eyebrow at that and you internally panic. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Was bringing it up a bad idea? Nahhhhh, Ayato couldn’t possibly know about Itto’s temporary post here. You aren’t even sure if Ayaka knows since Thoma isn’t really a snitch. You should be safe. Maybe.

Then, you hear a loud noise coming from upstairs.

Ayaka glances over to the stairwell curiously and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from actually screaming. Yep, entertaining these three and kicking them out ASAP should be your main priority right now. Close college friends plus big brother or not.

“What was that?” Ayato wonders.

“I-It’s probably just Mikan,” you laugh nervously. “She’s been really hyperactive lately. Turns the place upside down whenever she isn’t asleep hahaha!”

He looks, by no means, convinced of your reasoning, but thankfully Ayato plays along and decides to drift over to your beloved succulent rack. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Ayaka, Thoma, we were…informally invited to the wedding of one of the daughters of the branch families. I say informally because the ceremony is still in its planning stages.”

“Is there any reason you’re telling us this in advance as well?” Thoma asks.

“Mmm, well I heard the bride-to-be, who is one of our cousins, is going to wed a commoner from the city,” Ayato elaborates. “A commoner who suggested that this flower studio is going to take charge of the necessary arrangements for the wedding.” 

You take a moment to process that, vaguely remembering a job your mother told you to look out for the last time you were home. “...Do you mean Andou-san?” 

For the past few weeks, you were so preoccupied with keeping Itto in check that you completely forgot all about it. But who knew Andou’s fiancée was from a Kamisato branch family? Huh, small world. 

“Forgive me, I’m not very good with names, but when our cousin bought up your store in today’s lunch meeting, I just felt the need to bring you three together again.” Ayato laughs softly as he picks up one of the tiny potted succulents, casting a cheery stare at his present audience. “Just like old times, yes?”

“Nii-sama, the three of us have always kept in touch,” Ayaka sighs. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk to them about?”

The older man hollers, setting down the succulent as he raises his hands in surrender. “Oh, fine, fine. You caught me. Another reason why I wished to catch up with our dear friend is…this funny story told to me by one of my secretaries.”

“One of your secretaries?” you repeat.

Ayato nods. “She lives around this area. Told me she was walking home after sorting out some documents at the estate in Yougou Heights when she walked past Sakura Street and… Realized a motorcycle crashed into this very same shop! Shocking, is it?”

…Count on Ayato to express his concern in the most backwards way possible. You can feel your tongue turning sandpaper dry as your eyes discreetly rivet back to Ayaka and Thoma—two people you kept in the dark about the night you first met Arataki Itto. They exchange puzzled looks almost in unison, which means this is probably the first time Ayato brought the matter to their attention.

“Crash?” you chuckle, gesturing around the shop. “Does this look like a place that’s been trashed by a motorcycle, Ayato-nii?”

“Well, now that you mention it, that certainly doesn’t seem to be the case,” he hums thoughtfully. “But I couldn’t help but wonder…especially when Thoma over here told us about your lively helper. Arataki…was it?”

Fuck. He’s on to you. Ayato is soooo on to you. 

“Oh, yeah. Itt—uh, Arataki. That’s his name. Y’know, the gangster.”

“From what I heard, that man is kind of a bum,” Ayato remarks warily, folding his arms. “Yet he’s working here?” 

“Yeah, ‘course he is!” you reply a bit too quickly. “That guy um, takes odd jobs whenever money’s starting to get tight so I’m just helping out. It’s only for a few weeks.” Shot in the dark. You still don’t know how Itto’s made it this far without a stable job, on top of those weird allusions to a life in prison he’s yet to speak to you about.

“So where is he now?”

As if the man in question wishes to answer Ayato’s inquiries for himself, yet another crash resounds from upstairs. Holy shit. You are going to rip Itto to shreds once you’re done dealing with Ayato. Could he be any more goddamn obvious?!

“Mikan, stop messing with the furniture!” you yell (somewhat) convincingly. “A-Anyways, that guy is on leave right now. So if you’re looking for him, you might have to contact his deputy, Shinobu instead.”

“Do you need help rounding up your cat or something?” Thoma offers. “You always count on me to calm her down, remember?”

The mere suggestion is enough to send you into cardiac arrest. “Nope! It’s fine. Mikan’s just going through it is all. She’ll calm down eventually.”

“Is that why you weren’t able to have dinner with us?” Ayaka shoots you a worried look. “I know a well-practiced vet from Watatsumi Island. Would you like me to give you his card?” 

“Hey, come on!” you groan—feeling all sorts of pressured from their kind suggestions. Gods, you can only imagine how much these three were going to fuss if they found out that Itto’s crashing stunt was actually true. “You have all got to chill. We haven’t gotten together in nearly a year, and you guys choose to spend the time worrying? How about we call it a night for now and let’s just…hang out this weekend! How’s that sound?”

Ayato starts to stroke his chin contemplatively. “Hm, I did ask my secretary to free up my schedule next week. Business trips drain the life out of a man, if you kids only knew.”

“Nii-sama, you’re only three years older than us.”

“Ah, the ignorance of youth is bliss I can no longer attain.”

“They’re right, though,” Thoma, thank Archons, agrees with you, straightening the collar of his own jacket with an apologetic smile. “We’ve already imposed too much. Let’s all just continue this on the weekend. Should we meet you here?”

The last bit was directed at you, to which you respond in turn. “Sure. I promise I won’t stand you guys up anymore.”

“We’ll hold you to that then,” Ayato huffs, digging into the pocket of his trousers before tossing something in Thoma’s direction. Fortunately, the blond is dextrous enough to catch it mid-air. “Go take Ayaka back to the car. I’ll just put down a few orders I’d like our dear friend to make for me.”

Thoma nods without question, twirling Ayato’s keys around his index finger as he and Ayaka exchange farewells with you. Though, you try not to think about how your best friend’s stare lingers on you a tad longer than usual. 

When the door shuts behind the two of them, Ayato paces around the shop for a few moments more. Though you’re sure as hell he was just stalling, you can tell that the fondness in his eyes as he surveys each shelf is anything but fake. 

“So my office back at home has been looking very dull to me as of late,” he laments. “The rainforests of Sumeru are quite a refreshing sight, and I’d like to emulate the scenery, no matter how minimal, inside my workspace. That’s why I wanted to ask which decorative pieces you recommend for the setting I have in mind.”

You rack your mind for a catalogue of tropical plants that could suit Ayato’s tastes right then and there, feeling a bit proud of yourself to have earned his favor. “Let me see, uh, Monstera plants make for good minimalist decorations in the office, Ayato-nii. I actually have some displayed right…here.”

Wandering around the rows of shelves, you show Ayato a miniature version of the lush green plant that seemingly has holes on its leaves. “This is what they actually look like. They didn’t get attacked by pests or anything.”

“Oho, these are exactly what I saw by the riverbanks.” He nods. “I’ll have someone pick up, hmm, five of these within the week along with a check for the payment. Just text me the invoice after.”

“Sure thing.”

You’d be lying if you say you weren’t expecting him to sneak in something else in such a casual conversation about the items you have on sale. If there’s anything you know best about Kamisato Ayato, it’s that he likes to keep his intentions tucked discreetly between two different pages of a book—so that only those who are meant to know their meaning can read between the lines. But as you quietly see Ayato out of the shop, you wonder if it’s actually possible for him to do things without an underlying motive beneath all that pretense.

“A shame that you weren’t able to sample Komore Teahouse’s special dinner sets tonight,” he sighs, raising a hand to pat your head affectionately as he puts his coat back on. “But we all have lives to live and other matters to attend to at times. Just make sure you show up on Saturday, yes? You promised~”

“Yes, Ayato-nii. I promise.” You spare him a hearty laugh, wrapping your arms around Ayato tenderly. The years you spent growing older alongside him and his siblings always makes you feel like you were part of their family, too. Well, Ayato did say to never hesitate calling them your family once, and you’ve always done as told.

“Can you promise me one more thing?” 

Pulling away, you meet his silver-eyed gaze with brows raised. “What is it?”

He gazes at you with a tinge of seriousness for the first time tonight, one hand placed on top of your shoulder. Ayato opens his mouth, as if raring to speak his mind, but the moment you anticipate his words, they never come.

“...Forget it. I might be speaking out of turn,” the older man sighs, smiling sheepishly to himself. “Just—take care of yourself. Your future’s looking quite alright here in Hanamizaka, but I hope you know it won’t hurt to be more cautious.”

“You sound just like my dad, it’s kind of creepy,” you joke, patting his hand with yours. “Got it. Now, shoo! Ayaka and Thoma are probably waiting for you in—”

“Shimura’s delivery!”

Startled, you glance over at a man whose motorcycle is parked by the curb—the familiar Shimura’s logo printed brightly on the delivery box behind him. You can practically feel the day’s fatigue evaporate from your body at the sight of it.

“I’m the one who placed the order!” you say, waving him over. But as the delivery man scrambles over to where you stand, Ayato flashes you a minute nod—one you return with a warm smile that doesn’t falter even when he’s already walking away.

“Late night special for—” the delivery man practically announces to the whole neighborhood as he squints at the receipt in his other hand. “Arataki Itto?”

Again, you feel your entire body seize up at the mention of his name. You whip around to the direction Ayato headed when he finally made his leave, chest threatening to burst. He hasn’t gotten far yet, and the possibility of him having heard what this mouthy delivery guy just said is more likely than not. But Ayato doesn’t look back. In fact, he just keeps his strides forward as if he heard nothing at all.

“Yeah,” you respond to the man in front of you with a queasy smile. “That’s our order alright…”

“Well that took long enough!”

You don’t even have the energy to snap at Arataki once you make it back to your apartment, carefully setting down your food on the now-tidy coffee table. Huh. Did he clean up while you were downstairs or something? Only the remote to your TV and Itto the Fourth’s pickle jar littered the surface.

“What took long enough?” you sigh. “The food or me getting rid of my impromptu guests?”

Itto snorts from where he’s sitting cross-legged on your sofa. Thankfully, he’s now wearing a shirt but it seems a few sizes too—wait, is that your old pep rally shirt? “Duh! I was talkin’ about aniki. I have the patience of a mother when it comes to food, mind you. But when that guy’s in the vicinity, ohhhh boy! I’m not really ready for my 781st loss yet. I hope you understand why I had to run with my tail between my legs. Don’t tell him that, though. He’ll laugh at me.”

No matter how much you try to make sense of what the hell Itto was saying, you’re way too famished to think. So you decide to fill your poor stomach with something to eat first before asking questions.

The scent of chili oil and steamed dimsum makes your mouth water as you pop one into your mouth, chewing happily as you watch Itto wolf down his own very late dinner beside you. It feels a little strange, having a meal with someone on a couch you’ve only shared with Mikan, but the change isn’t unwelcome. Even if he probably broke into your room to steal your clothes.

“So, this aniki person you mentioned,” you start, quietly slurping your fried noodles. “Are you…talking about Ayato-nii, by any chance?”

“Eh?” Itto stares at you, putting down his chopsticks before bracing his palms on his knees. “You know aniki, too?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the older brother of one of my best friends,” you inform him. “How do you know him?”

“Haha! It’s a long story, master. One that’s best told over drinks and not fast food takeout. But I’m sure I can convince ya to go out drinking with me sooner or later.”

“Do you even have the mora for that?”

“Ahh, no. No, I don’t. That’s why you’re footing the bill as usual.”

“You’re really fucking thick-skinned, you know that?”

Once the two of you have finished bickering over interchanging topics in the span of thirty minutes, you clean up after your food. Itto actually has the decency to help you dispose of everything that needs disposing, as if he isn’t sporting any healing injuries at all. You try not to laugh at how comical it looks for him to lug a trash bag down the stairwell of your apartment wearing your pep rally shirt-turned-crop top. It’s either this guy has zero self-awareness or he seriously does not give a fuck. You’re not really sure which one it is.

“So, can I sleep on the couch?” Itto asks once he gets back, wiping the sweat off his brow.

A pause.

“What? You’re sleeping here?”

“Of course I am!” he says. “I can’t exactly show up at our home base looking all jacked up like this, now can I?”

“Well, you can’t just volunteer your employer’s couch as a temporary stronghold either, wise guy!” you scowl, kicking him in the shin as you retrieve your phone. A quick scroll across the lock screen clues you in on the several missed texts and calls that your friends made earlier, and—damn. You should really keep this thing on you all the time.

“You’re kicking me out just like that?” He pouts, and god, it’s such an atrocious look on him that it makes you want to hurl. But then again, it’s already, what, one in the morning? 

If you evict him now, Itto would probably just go back to those assholes that hurt him instead of swallowing his pride and letting his gang see him like this. Which will give you more problems than if you just let the guy sleep over for one night. Dammit!

The gods better be looking down on you with favor right now. 

“Fine. Do you need any blankets or something?” 

“Nah, s’fine. They don’t give you blankets in prison, so.”

“...Remind me to do a background check on you tomorrow?”

“Hehe, now why would I do that?”

You let out a long, long sigh when you shut the door to your bedroom. Itto assured you that he’d hold down the fort and beat up anyone who tries to rob you in the dead of night while you slept. A promise that’s equal parts reassuring and terrifying but you’re frankly too exhausted to think about it too much.

To your surprise, Mikan is already inside your room. But she seems to be preoccupied by something—

A gasp flees your lips when you see one of the photos you have propped up on your nightstand on the floor, lying face down with a couple of glass shards littering the floor. Mikan mewls once she notices you draw near, pawing at some of the fragments as you pick up the frame with careful hands.

It’s a picture of you and your dad at your junior high graduation day, but the protective glass sheen was smashed to pieces. Thankfully, the photo didn’t seem to suffer any damage. 

“Did you do this?” you ask Mikan, to which she replies with a sharp cry that makes you chuckle. “Yeah… Just messing with you.” 

That night, you think of two things as you slowly drift off to slumber. The first is: what did Ayato want you to promise? It’s really not like him to cut himself off mid-sentence like he did earlier. You’re going to try and bring it up again this weekend, if chance permits you.

As for the second thing…

“Why the hell would he do that?” you whisper to no one in particular, one arm draped across your eyes. In your mind, you imagine a statuesque man with strange tattoos standing over the broken picture frame—a disdainful look distorting his usually vigorous smile.

For once, you decide to sweep the dust under the rug, where no one else can hope to find it.

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★ UPDATE SCHED; every thurs & sat (12 nn gmt+8)

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms without permission.

[mrspillow]

Sorry (Jellal Fernandes x Reader)

"Hmm... strawberry cake..."

Suppressing a small laugh you turned your head to Erza, your best friend of childhood days that never seemed to miss the opportunity of shoving cake into her mouth.

You had seen the amounts of baked goods the redhead could swallow within minutes, not even speaking of hours, but when it came to strawberry cakes, it turned ridiculous.

"I do not know how you aren't fat already, Erza", you mused and put your chin onto your palm, still watching that food orgy of hers "But I guess that's okay, Ichiya likes your body just the way you are."

Even though she was wearing armor, you could see the shivers running down her spine and her face growing blue as she choked on that cake.

"Stop that", she didn't like being teased with a matter as serious as Ichiya, not even by you "You know exactly he gives me the chills every time."

You shrugged and turned back to the field inside of the Domus Flau arena in Krokus, watching the pair of wizards fight it out. Although you were no part of a guild, you were busy cheering on for Fairy Tail whenever they entered the field.

Yeah, sure, there were shouts of boos and the mocking of the other guilds but with Erza alone, they couldn't be any worse than the best.

You just knew it.

Even when the both of you were just kids and surely no force to reckon with, she wasn't just a surprisingly powerful mage but also kind and caring for those in her family. She was everything that made you change minds back then and you couldn't have been more grateful. It was only then that you realized just what exactly it was that you were doing and you felt so dirty the moment it became clear as day.

You snapped out of your stupor before it became obvious you were lightyears away and focused on the matches ahead of you.

Snatching the list from Gray's hands (who was too absorbed into fighting off Juvia - as always) to take a glimpse at the letters, you let out a sigh of defeat.

"Can I have a piece too?"

Just as you felt your eyes sliding shut, Natsu bumped into you, nearly making you fall over the handrails but at least, you were awake now.

"Is it finally over?" you leaned back and let out a yawn "Thank God!"

After all, you weren't that much into stuff like tournaments, Fairy Tail was basically the only reason for you to come into this cave of pent-up masses.

Nobody answered you, either tired as well or already on their way through the door and out of the arena, back to their sweet sweet home. You got up quickly and grabbed Erza (still next to you but with a very empty plate - you could only guess Mira had sacrificed her even more cakes) to get out.

It was just then that you noticed how far the sun has gone westwards making you suppress another yawn that made its way up. You got to go to bed soon enough anyway so no need to rush.

The way back out was surprisingly swift and without running into any hostile guilds (lucky you). So you were out before Natsu broke something or bumped into somebody.

"Let's go grab something to eat, (Y/N)? You coming?", you heard Gray's voice from behind you, making you turn around and give him a bright smile - only to decline.

"I'd love to, really, but there is that thing I need to get done yet. Don't worry, I'll be back soon, just start without me.", your voice was sweet enough that you nearly even betrayed yourself, if it hadn't been for that tiny tiny voice in your head.

Why don't you just tell them?

But you brushed it off without a second thought, no need to worry your friends about your self-made worries and troubles.

"Okay...", Erza didn't seem as convinced as you would've liked "You sure?"

A simple nod was enough to soothe her and so, you made your way back into town, taking a stroll through the streets devoid of people or friends. You were alone with your thoughts and the memories that came with them.

You sighed making eye contact with the horizon to take in the way the sun was drowning beneath these parts of bustling streets and places.

You hadn't missed the silence that came with the night for you had heard it over and over again in those sleepless nights.

It shamed you to this day that you hadn't noticed the way he was using you, cocooning you in soft and sweet words to make your finger bleed from hard work and your skin shining from the sweat and tears spilled for him. The worst part of it all was that damned silent voice within you, asking again and again if what you were doing was right.

How could you build weapons of mass destruction meant for thousands with a straight face?

How dared you think sacrificing people to a black wizard could be a way to achieve paradise?

How did you fail to notice that you would never be able to sleep after you were so willing to make these sacrifices more for him than for Zeref after all?

Who knew.

Did I know?

You wondered for years if maybe, just maybe, you had known what you were doing. You probably weren't even able to throw the cloak of ignorance over your shoulders to save yourself from the cold feeling of guilt.

Shame, shame on you.

You hated the way he made you feel so far away from everything like he had built a place away from the wars and the screams of the world, simply made for the two of you.

And again, you failed to notice how it was only the mist caught in between your fingers.

"(Y/N)?"

At first, you thought it was only the back of your mind, playing tricks on you by reviving past days and voices. But after some seconds, you had noticed the silhouette nearby and wondered if you had heard his voice.

Maybe you were going crazy.

At first, you noticed the dark blue hair, sticking out to spite the cloak it was put under, then that tattoo you would notice everywhere.

Jellal Fernandes.

Surprisingly enough, your panicking mind took it upon itself to react, stumping you with the bright - borderline hysterical - laugh that came out of your mouth.

You just couldn't help it. The way he appeared after decades with nothing to say but your name just about the moment you had wallowed in self-hate and guilt was just ridiculous.

Jellal stood quiet, not even his face gave away whatever irritated look he might have had, giving your laugh an untimely end. And that was just about what you needed to come back to your right set of mind.

"What are you doing here?" You didn't bother the biting hate in your voice or the way his shoulders slumped from your tone.

"I came because Erza told me you would be here.", he started when he had straightened again "She said it wouldn't be a good idea but I came because I wanted to speak to you."

You didn't trust the way this man looked so sad. You couldn't.

Not even enough to sit next to him when he scuffled over to the next bench and gestured for you to take a seat.

Not ever, not in a thousand years would you take that seat.

So you stood like a tree, unmoving and unwavering in your place, staring at him and ready to defend yourself by any means.

Would he try anything funny?

From the way, you knew him back then? Definitely.

Surprisingly though, he didn't try to press you into sitting down, instead starting to talk about whatever it was that lead him back to you.

"It took me a very long time to properly realize what had happened in the Tower of Heaven" he started "I did things in there that I never remembered to have said or done, horrible things. And when I remembered, it was like watching through the glass as someone else moved my body."

For the blink of an eye, his hand hovered over his head before he opted to pull down his hood and revealed the dark blue hair. Jellal sighed before he put his face in his hands for a few moments as if he was trying to get ahold of his last pieces of sanity.

"And when I understood what I had done, I felt so, so guilty. I tried to sacrifice hundreds - no, thousands of people, I manipulated you, Milliana, and the others to work for my cause. The worst of it all was the way I led you to believe in the lies I told you over and over again. I remember that look of adoration in your eyes and I misused it for these terrifying things."

The way he spoke of these sins the two of you committed so easily made you relive the shame of it over and over again. It was like your mind couldn't stop.

"I need to atone for these sins, for the things I did to you, and I wanted to start by telling you how sorry I am for the way I treated you and led you into believing these tales.

I do not ask for you to forgive me or to see beyond that, I came here to apologize because that is what you deserve."

For the first time since he started talking, he looked into your eyes as if waiting for your response and your mind came to an abrupt halt.

What exactly was it what you were feeling?

Hate?

Sadness?

Anger?

...No.

For the first time in forever, you could sympathize with him - that person who you had thought of as a monster for much longer than you wanted to admit. He had been taken advantage of and used to do whatever malicious things asked of him. He did not have a choice.

What did he feel like when he discovered how many people had been suffering under him? Was it sorrow? Betrayal? Shock? Or even anger?

And only when you were ready to answer was it that you too were looking into these dark eyes.

"I remember every damn word you spoke whenever you looked at me so fondly and I remember how you laughed at me for even believing in your farce. " you didn't try to cover up the bitterness sneaking in when you recalled your heart break into pieces just like that.

"And now that you are sitting in front of me, asking for forgiveness, I don't even feel the hate anymore." it had stilled to numbness in your heart, always there, but only with that hollow feeling, never leaving.

"I cannot forget", you further explained feeling unshed tears prick in your eyes "My memories have become a part of me and they will never leave again. A Sorry won't fix everything."

By then, two or three tears escaped over your face before you could wipe them away, not escaping Jellals gaze.

He turned to look at the ground for a few seconds, then he moved off the bench and cast a sad smile at you, only to walk away from you as if that was his clue to disappear back into the night.

Only when you understood where he going, you set into motion, reaching out for his hand.

"But..."

The blue-haired male revolved when he felt your hand in his, soft as in those memories he still held close. His eyes became wide at the side of your tearing and red eyes, paired with that tiny, hopeful smile directed at him.

"But... I won't give up on you."

His mouth carved up to mirror your smile as he squeezed your hand just like sunlight kissing your skin.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 1: The Void

A/N: An alt ending/fix-it fic. Because we and they deserved better--so I made it happen.

83 hours and 37 minutes. Not that he'd kept a count exactly. Just that his eidetic mind knew the exact moment Abbie had left this world, taking his heart with her and leaving him hollow, and his quick thoughts often calculated the duration he'd kept breathing without her. He'd spent the first 6 hours and 24 minutes working with Miss Jenny and Master Mills—and ultimately, ironically, his old pal the Horseman—to try to defeat Pandora and force her to release his Lieutenant, only to learn she'd actually expired. The dreams he'd had, sweet and aching moments with Abbie reflecting on their meet cute, time in the Archives, relaxing on their front porch where she'd tried to explain why he should let her go, would never suffice. He hadn't said the things he'd wanted—needed—to, hadn't explained how she'd helped save him: from roaming lost in this world, from imprisonment and institutionalization, from his son and the myriad monsters they'd encountered, from a wife who'd never truly been honest with him. And yes more important matters: from going mad, drowning in loneliness, feeling isolated, floating adrift in a world that still confounded him sometimes. And at times even saving him from himself. No, he hadn't said any of those things. And now he never could. Which is why he'd spent the next 49 hours and 52 minutes drowning his sorrows, his hollowed out chest, and his overactive mind in rivers of alcohol. He hadn't gotten smashed or wallowed in oblivion. No, he'd needed it to last, so he'd drunk just enough as the hours passed to keep the clawing ache in his empty ribcage from swallowing him whole. Miss Jenny had come by sometime around hour 32, banging on the door so hard he thought the roof would cave in. If he'd cared at all, he might feel concerned about her waking the neighbors in the dead of night, but he couldn't muster enough decency to. He'd ignored her at first, thinking she'd take a hint, or at least think him not home, but her insistent knocking continued. "I know you're in there, Crane." More banging. "Let me in there, or get out of my sister's house." It was a low blow, but one he deserved, for Miss Jenny had lost just as much as he had. If anyone had earned the right to drown her demons with liquor right next to him, it was her.

He'd stumbled to the door—okay, maybe he had gotten smashed, for he felt her knocking vibrate through his brain—bottle in hand, and unlocked it, turning the knob and walking away before he'd even seen her face. The slam of the door rattled the house but not him, and he shuffled back to his couch cushion, dropping down onto it, sipping from the bottle, and staring into the fireplace embers. Jenny said not a word, simply restarted the fire and plopped down on the other end of the couch, gazing at the vibrant blaze as it danced shadows around the room. After a few minutes, he threw out his arm towards her, bottle in hand, and she took it from him, downing a few gulps to try to silence the ache. She tried to return it to him, but he waved her off, waiting another 30 minutes before slowly rising—why did simply existing hurt so much?—and  retrieving a few more bottles, which he'd purchased on his way home from that graveyard, from the stash in the kitchen. He placed them on the cushion between them, an open bar for them to sink into. Another few hours dragged by, and he felt more than heard Jenny crying at some point, the room changing from desperation, anger, and pain to grief and mourning, and he joined her, tears cascading down his face unabashedly. Their silence made their shared sorrow all the more palpable, exchanging emotions they couldn't speak aloud, the shroud around them sucking the whimpering breaths out of them as easily as it'd done to their partners. How could he have kept silent all this time, holding in and swallowing down the words that'd desperately begged for release? He'd tried to ignore them, the burgeoning affection, passion—now that it mattered no longer, he could admit it, cowardly fiend that he was—and love he'd harbored for Abbie since long before proprietary permitted it. He'd killed his wife for her, for Heaven's sake! And while he pretended mere friendship, ignored everything that screamed at him to make his feelings known, he hadn't hidden a damn thing. Miss Corinth, Betsy, even Pandora had seen his love for her. What an abominable fool he'd been. And now the one person who needed to know, who should've heard it from his own lips a thousand times over, never would. He let the tears burn down his face, though they washed none of his self-recriminations away. He deserved every horrid thought he had about himself. They ripped through his mind, scathing him, leaving him more raw and aching than he could ever remember feeling before. His entire body ached, joints, marrow, muscles, head, chest. And still he sipped on, needing the numb, refusing the full onslaught of trauma a clear mind would force him to face. He'd lost before, lost battles and comrades and his dignity. Lost loves and his homeland and best friend and life. His world and his wife and his son and the dreams he'd had and held and hoped for. Hell, he'd even lost Abbie a few times. But never where he couldn't get her back. Never where he couldn't find a way to follow, to find, to free her. And Master Corbin too. To lose both within hours of each other...they could shrivel into oblivion right now and it'd feel better than this. Master Joe had become his compatriot, his comrade in arms against the monsters and the daily dose of estrogen floating around the Archives—not that he'd trade the Mills sister or Agent Foster for ten regiments of men—not to mention a brother and friend. And Abbie...the ache in his chest seized him anew, and his shoulders hunched in against the black hole of despair threatening his breath. He couldn't begin to enumerate all the things she'd become to him. Partner, secret-keeper, fellow Witness, best friend, confidant, companion, roommate, voice of reason, inspiration, keeper of his heart. He thought he'd been in love once, had been in fact, but losing her had felt nothing like this. He'd sat in pain, suffered with the guilt that he'd not devoted enough to her, hadn't held tightly enough to a union that hadn't been what he'd agreed to, despaired that she'd died by his own hand in an effort to save Abbie. He'd had to—it hadn't even been a choice by then. Now, though, without Abbie...he didn't know how to keep breathing, wasn't sure he wanted to. Couldn't see beyond the bottom of the bottle. How could he walk through the world, the Archives, the town, this house, with memories of her around every corner, breathing down his neck, invading his mind, shredding the broken pieces of his heart into shavings? How could he solve the mysteries of the supernatural without her intellect, expertise, and help? What was one Witness to do without his other half, the best part of him, his anchor to this era? He couldn't sit still with himself and his maudlin ruminations another second. Without thinking, Ichabod hefted himself off the couch and shuffled down the hallway, making a pit stop before grabbing a box of tissues from the hall closet. He set them down on the cushion between them and took his seat again. Jenny had stayed until the sun was well into the sky, barely any words spoken but sharing the pain of their losses just the same. She'd stretched her hand out towards him, bridging the empty spaces around them with a simple reach of her arm across the cushion. He looked at her hand, open and alone in the expanse between them, and he slid his hand into hers, both of them holding on and squeezing tightly, attempting to convey all the things they couldn't speak with words. A moment later, she slipped quietly out of the house, the finality of the door clicking closed somehow louder than the slam she'd entered it with, sealing him into a solitude he'd never comprehend. More hours passed as he'd slept off the nasty hangover he wouldn't admit he had, as he sat in the bathtub letting the hot water steam over him until it cooled off and had him shivering, as he roamed aimlessly from room to room, gazing longingly at all the remnants of Agent Lieutenant Grace Abigail Mills: her hairbrush, those heeled boots that still left her a foot shorter than him, the cappuccino she'd just started drinking again at his behest, her pea coat with the faux-fur hood that made her look adoringly like a diminutive Eskimo. Now, just over 84 hours had passed, and he still didn't have a sweet clue as to how to get through the next one, still sat in this one corner of the couch, only this time without a drink in his hand. Without so many things... Without a case to work, without his partner in crime and, he'd begun to hope, in life from here until the end, without a purpose, he might as well lay back down in that cave he'd emerged from and sleep for a few more centuries. "Crane." Her voice, soft and lilting and perfect, floated to him, a haunting sound he both craved and feared. He'd thought he might have imagined her during his indulgent consumption of alcohol, but no...it was here in his lucid moments that he'd conjured the sound of her, the voice he'd long to hear until the day he drew his last breath. "Crane." She sounded hesitantly happy, guardedly optimistic, a smile coming through her tone. Exactly how he heard her in his mind, same as he'd done when she'd been lost in the catacombs. He shook his head slightly to escape from her, not ready for conversations with her yet, everything about him still too raw to face all of the things he needed to apologize for, all of the things he'd never had the audacity to tell her when she'd stood by him, encouraged him, spurred him on. "Ichabod." She accompanied her insistent tone and the rare use of his first name with a hand on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling up from the couch to face whatever ghoul had come to destroy his feeble, battered mind. And his jaw dropped. There she stood...Abbie. In one piece, small in stature but large in presence, beautiful and strong and...breathing. How could this be? "Abbie...?" His whispered question sounded more like a squeak, but he didn't dare try again, wasn't sure what devilry was at work here, arriving to destroy him when he was at his lowest, his most vulnerable. She looked at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and apology, a small smile of hesitation and hope playing on her face. "Hi."

[theeasternempress]

Heart-Stopping Waves of Guilt

Summary - When Wrecker wakes up from having his chip removed, the warm joy of seeing his family is quickly replaced with icy guilt at the memory of trying to kill them. Even though he feels he doesn’t deserve their forgiveness, he has to apologize to them all. 

Word count - 3.7k

AO3

It was no surprise that as a soldier, Wrecker had known his fair share of pain. He’d lost count of how many times he’d felt the familiar pain of a blaster shot or the concussions he so frequently got despite wearing an armored helmet. The explosion that caused the firework of scar tissue along the side of his head had been the worst pain he’d ever felt, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t been trained to handle. 

Yet nothing in the galaxy could compare to the pain he felt as he tried to kill his family. 

Every time Wrecker closed his eyes, he saw the fear reflecting on the faces of the people he loved most. He distinctly remembered them all begging, pleading for him to stop, to turn back into the brother they all loved so dearly. But that version of himself didn’t care. He didn’t care about Hunter or Echo or Tech or Rex or Omega, he only cared about fulfilling that damned Order 66.

But the sight that haunted him the most was little Omega, eyes full of tears as she begged for him to remember her. Wrecker remembered the paralyzing feeling of being unable to prevent his hands from aiming his blaster at her head, then he felt nothing. 

His next memory was the weight of someone’s head on his chest and metal pressing flat into his back. Opening his eyes with a groan, he saw that it was Omega laying on him and he smiled, bringing his hand up to brush through her golden curls. The warm joy of seeing her lasted for only a moment as ice-cold guilt washed over him as the memory of his attempt to kill her came flooding back. 

He heard his brothers get up and start talking to him, but he was so lost in his head that their voices were completely muffled. Guilt hung heavily on his heart, and it was a weight that even he felt like he was unable to bear. 

Wrecker pushed himself up and to his feet, rushing out of the room as quickly as he could. Tears began to form in his eyes and clog up his throat as an intense wave of nausea swept over him. He dropped to his knees as the first sob wretched itself from his throat, a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard. 

Despite the volume of Wrecker’s guilt-ridden sobs, he still heard the careful footsteps of Hunter approaching. He was always the first to go after someone who was crying if Wrecker wasn’t available, and now was no different.

As soon as Wrecker felt Hunter place a careful hand on his shoulder, apology after apology came pouring from his mouth. He couldn’t seem to stop saying he was sorry, even as Hunter ran a reassuring hand up and down his back. 

It took several minutes of Hunter’s calming presence to ease Wrecker’s sobs and apologies, but Wrecker eventually found himself calm enough to stop his frantic apologies. 

Hunter soothed Wrecker with a gentle, “You’re alright, brother. You’re alright, I’m alright, everyone else is alright, and that’s all that matters.” 

The rare softness in his brother’s voice brought tears back to Wrecker’s eyes as he leaned into his smaller brother’s touch. Hunter, seeming to understand what Wrecker needed, dropped down to the floor next to him to wrap his arms around Wrecker’s broad shoulders. Wrecker melted into Hunter’s forgiving hold, even though he felt he hadn’t earned his brother’s forgiveness yet.

How had Hunter so easily forgotten that Wrecker had tried to kill him, tried to kill all of them? Was his mind not tainted with the memory of Wrecker strangling him with all of his strength? How could he forgive such an act?

(Love is what made them forgive him, whispered the voice in the back of Wrecker’s mind. His brothers loved him just as he loved them, and unconditional love always brought forgiveness.)

Wrecker struggled to find his words, but eventually settled on, “I’m sorry, Hunter. I know I’ve already said it, but I’m still sorry.” 

“I’ve already forgiven you, brother. What happened wasn’t your fault, I hope you understand that,” Hunter replied, using the firm tone of voice he only used when giving them orders. 

Wrecker sighed, desperately wanting to believe that his brother forgave him while still battling with the thought that he didn’t truly deserve his forgiveness. 

Hunter, seeming to notice his brother’s inner struggle, spoke, “If the situation were reversed and it had been my chip that activated, would you forgive me?”

Wrecker chuckled slightly, seeing what his brother was trying to do. The small laugh from Wrecker brought a smile to Hunter’s face as Hunter tightened his hold around Wrecker. This hug was shorter than their last, but conveyed just as much love. 

Hunter stood up after a moment and said, “Stay here to collect yourself if you need to, I’m going to go check on the others. Tech’s probably already operating on Echo.”

Hunter lingered for a moment to make sure Wrecker was alright on his own, then disappeared into the med bay once Wrecker nodded at him. Wrecker sighed once Hunter was out of view and sunk even further into the floor. Hunter was right, Wrecker would forgive any of them in a heartbeat if they were in his shoes, so why was he having such a difficult time forgiving himself?

No matter what, Wrecker couldn’t earn their forgiveness by simply sitting on the floor and wallowing in guilt, so he stood up to make his way into the room Hunter had just gone in. He didn’t know how he could help with the chip-removal surgery, but he knew he was going to do anything to help his brothers.

As Wrecker stepped into the doorway of the med bay, he bumped into a helmetless Rex. Wrecker didn’t miss the quick flick of Rex’s fingers to his blaster before he tore his hand away as if the movement had burned him. Wrecker plastered a fake smile on his face, urging the tears he felt building up in his eyes to go back down. 

“I’m … I’m sorry, Wrecker,” Rex began with a strained voice, looking anywhere but at Wrecker, “I just … ”

Wrecker interrupted him by gently placing a hand on his shoulder and saying, “It’s alright, Rex, I understand. You’ve seen a lot more involving the chips than us, I can understand why you’re cautious.” 

Wrecker’s voice broke while he was speaking, but Rex was kind enough to ignore it as Wrecker retracted his hand. Even though Wrecker barely knew the Captain, he felt like they had an odd connection after the events of the day. If it weren’t for Rex and his insistence about removing their chips, Wrecker would have killed his family by now. 

With that thought in mind, Wrecker spoke, “I should apologize to you too. Even if it was the chip making me do all of that, I’m sorry.” 

Rex turned to Wrecker with tear-filled eyes and mumbled a simple, “I forgive you, Jes - Wrecker.” 

Wrecker nodded in reply, knowing that Rex wasn’t brushing him off but instead reliving some painful memories. Based on Rex’s earlier discussion of losing so many brothers to the chips and its effects, Wrecker could only imagine the pain he was going through now. 

With Rex’s eyes locked in a thousand-yard stare, Wrecker carefully took him by the elbow to guide him inside to find a seat. Rex’s hands shook as he placed his helmet back over his head, which Wrecker recognized as a polite request to be left alone. 

Turning away from Rex, Wrecker watched as Echo awoke from his surgery, sitting up and immediately putting his hand to the bacta patch on the side of his head. Wrecker didn’t hesitate as he moved to Echo’s side to steady him and give him a small smile. 

“How’re you feeling, Echo?” Wrecker asked in the softest tone he could manage, his hands gently placed on Echo’s shoulders. 

Echo cracked his neck a few times and joked, “I feel almost as good as I did when Tech pulled me from that stasis chamber of Skako Minor.”

Wrecker smiled as he helped Echo out of the bed and into a nearby chair. He distantly heard Tech call for Hunter to come in for his chip removal, but Wrecker was more focused on how to apologize to Echo. An “I’m sorry” was too simple for the storm of emotions he felt, but he was lost for what else he should say. 

Wrecker was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the soft look Echo was giving him until Echo placed a hand on Wrecker’s arm and said, “I know what you’re trying to say, Wrecker, and you don’t have to. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

A lump formed in Wrecker’s throat and Echo’s words, still having difficulty believing that his brothers would forgive him after everything that unfolded because of him. Tears formed in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time today and Echo soothingly ran his thumb between the small gap in his armor plates.

“But I do have something to be sorry about. I hurt you, Echo,” Wrecker spilled out as tears strained his voice. 

“Maybe, but you didn’t have a choice. You weren’t in control of your actions, the chip was,” Echo said, using a sharp tone that demanded to be listened to. 

Wrecker closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which meant he was unprepared for Echo standing and wrapping his arms around Wrecker’s torso. Wrecker knew that Echo was often hesitant when it came to hugs but endured them for Wrecker’s sake, so this gesture from his brother meant more than all the credits in the galaxy. 

Wrecker gently embraced Echo at first, but eventually couldn’t help himself as he wrapped his arms tightly around his brother and all but collapsed into his warm hold. Echo used one hand to grasp the back of Wrecker’s head while the other glided along his back in a gentle, soothing motion. 

The hug lasted longer than any of their previous hugs, each brother refusing to let go of the other. Eventually, Wrecker patted Echo on that back a few times before giving him a quick squeeze and letting him go.

“Thank you, Echo,” Wrecker said in a soft yet sincere voice, already missing the warmth of the hug but glad that Echo allowed it for as long as he did. 

Echo just nodded, nestling himself back into his seat and replied, “Anything for a brother.” 

Wrecker smiled at Echo, who missed the soft gesture as he leaned back in his chair to sleep. Turning his attention to Tech, Wrecker found his younger brother diligently working away at removing Hunter’s chip. Wrecker hovered over Tech's shoulder as he silently watched Tech complete the surgery on Hunter. Tech was silent, an uncommon thing for him, but it was a sign that he was deeply focused on the work before him. 

Tech finished a few moments later, Hunter still lying unconscious on the surgical bed as he recovered from his anesthesia. 

Taking this as a good moment to speak, Wrecker awkwardly asked, “Echo’s and Hunter’s surgery sure went a lot faster than mine, huh?” 

“Yes, that is likely because your chip was already active at the time of its removal,” Tech replied, burying himself in his datapad, “When I compared them, I found slight differences between your chip and the others, so I’ve decided to keep them for further analysis.” 

Wrecker listened intently to his younger brother as he continued his speech about the inhibitor chips and how the chip was an extraordinary piece of technology that, with precise placement, allowed for complete control over the clones. 

When Tech stopped his discussion about the inhibitor chips, Wrecker quickly interjected, “Listen Tech, I wanted to apologize for everything that happened because of the chips. I know I hurt you, and I’m so sorry I did.” 

Tech switched off his datapad and gave Wrecker his full attention as he began, “If either of us should be apologizing, it should be me. I shouldn’t have brushed off the danger of the inhibitor chips by thinking that our deviant nature would prevent the chip from activating. You and Crosshair were both experiencing serious headaches before your chips activated, and I should have further investigated your symptoms. For my mistakes, I apologize.”  

Wrecker was blown away by Tech’s apology. He didn’t blame his younger brother for a second, and the thought that Tech blamed himself for all of this made Wrecker’s heart break. Tech always placed too much responsibility on his shoulders, and Wrecker feared the day that all of that weight came crashing down on his brother. 

A heavy silence fell over both brothers, Wrecker silenced by shock and Tech silenced by the thousands of thoughts swirling in his head. Tech sighed as he pushed his goggles up to his forehead, nestling them into his short curls as he pressed his palms over his eyes while taking a deep breath. 

Knowing that the action was what Tech always did when he tried to prevent himself from crying, Wrecker kneeled down next to his brother and sat silently for a moment to allow Tech to take a few deep breaths.  

“Tech, you have nothing to apologize for,” Wrecker began in a comforting tone, “This is something we’ve never had experience with, so you couldn’t prepare yourself as you always like to. None of this is, in any way, your fault.”

Tech took a shaky breath as he pulled his hands off his face and replied, “By that logic, you have nothing to apologize for either.” 

Wrecker fought the urge to roll his eyes and shove his brother, but the faint smugness pouring from Tech told Wrecker that Tech knew he’d won this argument with a simple sentence. 

Just as Wrecker thought their conversation was finished, Tech spoke in a whisper-soft voice, “I mean it, brother. There is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you.” 

This time, Wrecker didn’t even bother fighting the tears that surged forward at Tech’s words. Slim fingers wrapped around Wrecker’s wrist, and Wrecker moved to bring his brother into a hug but stopped himself. The last time Wrecker had laid a hand on his brother it had been to strangle him, and Wrecker didn’t know if Tech was ready for physical contact yet. 

Tech sighed in the way Wrecker knew he did when he thought someone was being stupid and stepped forward into Wrecker’s chest. Wrecker’s heart clenched at the realization that his younger brother never feared him despite how he had attacked him mere hours ago. Wrecker’s brothers loved him just as he loved them, and that thought allowed Wrecker to return Tech’s embrace. 

Tech pulled away a few moments later and said, “Please don’t hesitate to approach me if you need anything else, brother.” 

Wrecker nodded, unable to reply as tears strained his voice. Wrecker watched as Tech carefully approached Echo, who immediately woke up from his brief nap and prepared himself to perform Tech’s surgery. 

Wrecker smiled at the interaction between his brothers, but quickly felt his heart drop as he realized that the only person he had left to apologize to was the person who made his heart ache the most. Guilt sunk its claws into his heart again as the sight of Omega begging for her life flashed in his mind. He’d never seen such fear in her dark brown eyes, and he hoped that he’d never see such a sight again.  

Wrecker took a deep breath to clear the image, knowing the only way he could move on was to apologize. Even if she didn’t forgive him (he didn’t deserve her forgiveness, anyway), he had to at least try. 

Looking around the med bay that everyone had gathered in, Wrecker saw no signs of Omega anywhere. He stepped out of the room and began walking down the hallway they had entered from, sticking his head in every doorway to look for Omega. 

He eventually came to the room he had chased Omega into earlier, and his heart sank at the thought that she was in here. When Wrecker saw a flash of blonde hair in the corner of the room, he relaxed at the sight of Omega only to go tense again at the sight of her shoulders shuddering. Even though she was facing away from him, he knew that she had to be crying. 

As much as Wrecker wanted nothing more than to simply gather the girl in his arms and comfort her, he knew that physical touch may not be what she wanted right now. Instead, he gave a quick call of her name as he carefully kneeled down next to her.  

Omega whirled around, and Wrecker felt a weight lift off of his shoulders as he saw that she wasn’t crying but instead playing with a small toy in her hands. From behind, her movements had made it look like she was crying, and Wrecker was grateful that today wouldn’t have to be the day he saw Omega cry.  

“What do you have there, kiddo?” Wrecker asked, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice as her dark brown eyes seemed to stare into his soul. 

Omega smiled up at him, shoving her hand out for him to see her toy and saying, “Rex gave it to me! He said it’s an ancient creature called a mythosaur and that they were important to Mandalorians. He didn’t know a lot about them though, so I'll have to ask Tech about them later.” 

Wrecker opened his mouth to reply, but Omega continued, “It kind of reminds me of Lula! They’re both soft and I like playing with them, but I think I like Lula more because she reminds me of you.”

Wrecker was stunned silent with how she could so simply say something that instantly took hold of his heart.  

Despite finding himself lost for words, Wrecker still managed to start, “Thanks, kiddo. I really appreciate that.”

His apology died at his lips, not wanting to break Omega’s happy mood by reminding her of the horrors she’d just faced. Wrecker knew that travelling with him and his brothers wasn’t the childhood Omega deserved, and he wanted her to cherish every happy moment she could. 

Just as Wrecker found the courage to start his apology, Omega asked, “Wrecker, where did you get Lula?”

Even though Wrecker was used to Omega’s questions, he had not been expecting this one. She’d always been more than happy to cuddle with Lula, but she’d never asked Wrecker about her origins.  

“My older brother 99 made it for me when I was a cadet,” Wrecker began, “I was in a lot of pain back then, Tech says it was because I was growing so fast, so 99 made her for me to help me feel better.” 

Omega excitedly jumped up and grabbed Wrecker’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze as she exclaimed, “99 was my older brother, too!” 

Surprised at her words, Wrecker replied, “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah!” Omega responded, “He used to tell me stories about you and your brothers all the time. He loved you all, and he would have loved Echo, too.”

For the second time today, Omega’s sweet yet simple words captured his heart and left him speechless. Wrecker sighed deeply, closing his eyes to process her words. 99 may have loved Wrecker as a cadet, but would he love him now? Would he love the Wrecker who just tried to kill his family, even if he wasn’t the one in control?  

Wrecker’s thoughts were broken by Omega moving her hand from its place around his fingers to his unscarred cheek as she softly spoke, “99 wouldn’t want you to be upset with yourself over what happened, Wrecker. I don’t want you to be upset, either.”

Wrecker smiled weakly at Omega, tracing her hand resting on his cheek with his index finger while he spoke, “Thank you Omega, but I still need to apologize to you. I’m so sorry for everything that happened today, and I’m so sorry that I scared you.” 

“I know, Wrecker, but it wasn’t your fault,” Omega said tenderly. His guilty conscience may have caused Wrecker to not accept his brothers’ forgiveness, but there was nothing about Omega’s tone or words that led him to believe she didn’t forgive him. This young, innocent child could forgive him so easily, and it both broke Wrecker’s heart and mended it all at once. 

“Thank you, Omega,” Wrecker said softly, lifting her hand off his cheek to carefully hold it in his own, “That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

After that, Omega returned to playing with her mythosaur toy by pretending that the mythosaur was climbing across Wrecker’s armor while Wrecker had to swipe away at the mythosaur in order to get it away from him. Within minutes, Wrecker had forgotten all of his anxiety and guilt as he laughed with the child before him.  

Soon enough, Wrecker decided it was best to get Omega back with the rest of the group. Wrecker ushered her back to the med bay, knowing that Hunter was probably awake by now and would come searching for her soon. 

Knowing that the rest of his family was safe, Wrecker left the facility to stand outside and stare up at the stars. Somewhere out there was his youngest brother, being forced to do Maker-knows-what for the Empire without his family by his side. The guilt Wrecker felt for the brief time his chip was active could never compare to what he knew Crosshair would be feeling deep in his heart. 

“I understand now, brother,” Wrecker whispered to the stars, “We’re gonna come for you, I promise

[blessedboo]

Mama | Oscar Diaz.

Oscar Diaz x Reader

Summary: You’re pregnant. The announcement to Oscar doesn’t go so smoothly. 

Requested: Yes - “Hi I love your work so far! I was just wondering if it would be okay for you to write an Oscar Diaz imagine with the prompt #10 you’re going to be a dad? But change it up slightly by highlighting his fears of raising a son. Seeing as how it runs in his family for boys to join the gang. Sorry If it’s a strange request!! Much love x”  [Anonymous]

Prompt: Yes [My 150 Prompts] -

10. “You’re going to be a dad!”

Warnings: Angst to fluff. Pregnancy. 

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: This prompt was on the FLUFF list, but we’re switching it up and going for an initial ANGST route. I’m trying to tackle these requests dawg, please forgive me for the delay. 

The quiet sound of plastic crashing against the bathroom floor amplified in your head. 

It felt as though time slowed and the rattle of the pregnancy test slowed with it. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

It was taunting you, a reminder that you had to tell Oscar sooner or later. It wasn’t abnormal for you and him to spend sleepless nights talking about the future.The possibility of marriage, owning a house and, of course, having a baby were ideas you aspired to. You two always bickered about the minor details of the life to come:

“Rustic? Really, baby? I was thinking modern and marble. Dream big, live bigger.”

“Fine, maybe five dogs and three cats are a little much. How about three dogs, two cats and a turtle to compensate?” 

However, if there was one thing you both agreed on, it was that you would wait until you had children. Specifically until you were both financially stable, married and far away from the dangers of Freeridge. Emphasis on far and away. 

That was the plan, a good one too. But you were taught that things don’t always go as planned, and you were now living that notion. 

Your sunken eyes stared into your reflection, worry etched into your tear-stained cheeks. The way-too-bright white light of the mirror’s bulb illuminated your concern mockingly. After a few sniffles of self-pity, you dabbed at the puffiness laying under your bottom lashes as you wiped away any residue. 

Your breaths were shaky, attempting to maneuver around the nail you were biting on while you paced back and forth. The atmosphere got hotter as the four surrounding walls seemed to close in on you, the floor swaying under your feet. It was too hot for comfort. Too hot. 

Sweat. Trickling. Wipe.

The tight space was suffocating, the lump in your throat felt larger than before. Tighter, tighter. Too tight. 

Breathe. Door. Open. 

You gripped onto the handle, gasping as the cool air of the hallway eased you into its soothing arms. Every ounce of panic, everything you over thought increased tenfold. Your mind ran laps intrusively. You were creating doubts you hadn’t considered and problems you didn’t want to face. You wanted to make it stop, but you didn’t know how. And the one person that could was the one person you hoped to avoid. At least for a little longer.

That was when you heard the door knob click, keys shifting in its place. Oscar’s here. You froze, cursing the universe for making your unspecified wish come true. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” You murmured under your breath. 

He barely got the chance to properly step into the house before you ran up to him.

Without thinking it through, your arms enveloped him into a hug. You let your heart grasp the solace it needed in that moment. Oscar was your safe haven, and in times of conflict, it was instinct for you to gravitate towards him and the comfort he provided. 

Using his own to reciprocate the embrace, they wrapped themselves around you like a warm blanket. You sighed, inhaling long and deep.

He placed a gentle kiss on your hair before taking your chin in between his thumb and index to tilt it upwards. 

“Hey—” He paused and took in the current state of your features. Your eyes were glossy, lids droopy, shoulders slumped. You embodied the definition of lackluster. That sweet smile, that infectious spark of energy he craved … It was missing, and he didn’t like that. “—¿Qué pasa?” 

“Oscar, do you love me?” You blurted out. 

He pulled back a little, eyebrows furrowing at the unexpected question. Thinking he misunderstood, he tilted his head. Your lips parted as you moved your hands to cup his face.

“As if you have to ask,” his lips curved into a half-smile. “Yes. Of course, Y/N. Why?”

You nodded, diverting your attention to anywhere other than the worry in his eyes. You took your hand in his as your fingers intertwined seamlessly. Your hands were clammy, and you knew he could feel the spots of dampness from the way his palm shifted at the feel of them. You anxiously led him to the couch and sat him down. 

The realization that this pregnancy could  either make or break your future together started to dawn on you. The thought of him leaving you had your stomach churning and your throat tightening. It wasn’t something you wanted to imagine, let alone become a reality. 

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. So, here it goes,” you breathed out in a tone that was almost unintelligible. “I-I’m … You’re …  Uh, me. Fuck,” you hissed. Your hand flew to your thigh to try to stop your leg from bouncing, but that only led to your nails lightly scratching the skin in repeated motions instead. 

“You, you. Youaregoingtobeadad,” you squeaked as your head dropped down.

Raising an eyebrow, he shook his head at you, unable to make out the incomprehensible jumble of word vomit that spewed out of your mouth. 

“A little louder, nena,” he squeezed your hand reassuringly. 

You gulped. “Oscar Diaz. You’re going to be a dad, mi amor.” 

His jaw slacked. Any muscles that worked to hold up a familiar, comforting expression fell. 

A canvas having its paint wiped away into a blank nothingness was the best way to describe the way he looked at you. The loving touch of his fingers around yours was replaced with emptiness as his limbs retracted closer towards his body, and farther away from yours. 

You couldn’t decipher the emotion that hid behind those eyes. There were no telltale signs he conveyed, no words either. You could hear the heavy rumble of your heart ringing through your ears, the thump of the drum eating at you in anticipation. 

“Say something, damn it!” You croaked in a voice so fragile, so brittle. You wanted—no, you needed—him to do something. You were vulnerable and overwhelmed, feeling as  though the force of a thousand stones weighed on your chest. You wanted him to hold you, console you, ease your anguish. Something. Anything. 

You hadn’t even taken notice of the tears welling up in your eyes until they trickled down your chin, black spots forming one by one on your gray sweater. 

He blinked stoically before looking away. His handsome features coldly hardened into a look of distaste as he shunned you. Your palm rushed to cover your mouth, miserably concealing the broken sputters and gasps; he couldn’t even look at you and it was soul-crushing. Every inch of him clenched with anger, from his fists to his teeth.  

Before you knew it, his heavy footsteps trailed a scorching path towards the door. The slam of the wood against the frame thundered, causing your sobs to pour out of you in a heave. 

As you swung the door back open, your clouded vision was met with a blurry, deformed sight of Oscar’s silhouette near the vibrant cherry red shape of his car. Rage roared within you through the depths of your core. 

You couldn’t believe him. 

After everything you two had been through, this was the moment he chose to leave. The only difference now was that he wasn’t just deserting you, but his unborn child too. 

“You said you loved me, you lying son of a bitch!” You bellowed. Completely distraught, you fell to your knees and continuously wept your disappointment, your ever-growing pain. 

And just like that, his engine revved as he took off into a destination unknown. 

—

Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. Days felt like forever. Forever felt like a long time. 

In reality it was five hours. Five tiresome hours. Five too many, five too long. No calls, no messages, nothing. That went for you too, you did absolutely nothing except wallow in your melancholy. 

Wrapped in a blanket burrito, you cradled yourself into the fetal position as you clutched onto your stomach. You held onto your belly as if you were actually holding onto your child. But considering Oscar left, you might as well. 

Groaning, you rolled over and stretched before blankly staring at the ceiling. You paid attention to the gentle whirring of the fan above. Soon enough, the sight turned into a hallucination of a baby crib mobile instead. You envisioned what the life ahead would be like as a single mother - buying toys and cute clothes, breastfeeding, pre-school, all of it. 

You sighed, closing your eyes and smiling softly as you soothed your mind. Stroking your stomach, you whispered to the little creature: “Don’t worry, baby. We got this.”

“Yeah, we do.” 

Your eyes shot open as you sprang upright, your head darting towards the direction of the low, soft-spoken voice. In front of you, the man stood slightly hunched in the doorway. His demeanor was tense, yet seemingly weak. 

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Oscar!” 

The buttons of his shirt were now undone, a sleeve rolling down his shoulder. With a hand rubbing the nape of his neck, his lower lip trembled, eyes glossy and a little red. You had never seen him look so defeated. Whether it was guilt, fear or frustration, you didn’t know. But whatever it was, it clouded his entire being in that moment.

“Cariño, I’m so sorry,” he croaked. 

“Go away.” You started to blink back tears, the anger flooding back at the sight of him. 

He shook his head as he approached you, arms opening up as if to plead for your forgiveness. When he realized you weren’t going to accept his embrace, he distanced himself by sitting at the edge of the bed. Oscar sighed as his head dropped into his hands, mumbling words you couldn’t hear. 

“Y/N, I love you. I love you more than anything and anyone. I’ve never loved like that, and I haven’t been loved like that,” he gulped deeply. “Not until I met you.” 

You uncrossed your arms as you focused your gaze on the slow rise and fall of his back. 

“When … when I left earlier, I was scared. I didn’t think I was ready to be a father. Frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. I will always have my doubts and fears, they follow me wherever I go. But with you, I won’t have to deal with them on my own.” He turned to face you, holding out a shaky hand for you to grasp onto.  

“Please,” he mouthed silently. You nodded, reluctantly taking his hand as he brought you closer to him. 

“I fucked up with Cesar by bringing him into all this gang shit. I brought an innocent kid into a life he didn’t deserve. I grew up having to be a father to a brother without ever being a son—”

“—But I’m not Ray. I’d never walk out on you, on us. On all of us,” his gentle fingertips caressed your belly as his lips curved into a loving smile. He looked up at you with such sincerity and pure adoration, as if an epiphany was hitting him right then and there. 

You were the mother of his  child, the woman he wanted to cherish for the rest of eternity. Nothing else mattered more than to be with you, his everything. 

You cupped his cheek as your foreheads connected, noses meeting at the tips. 

“I’m going to marry you, Y/N. I’m putting a ring on that finger and we are raising this family together. I’m going to be a good father, a better man than mine ever was. Lo prometo, mi vida,” he whispered, his thumb delicately tracing your cheek. “It’s you and me against the world, always.” 

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” you murmured. 

“I can’t believe we made a baby,” he chuckled. Leaning forward, Oscar placed a sweet kiss on your soft lips. “Congrats, mama. We did it.” 

____________________________________________

Spanish translations - [Correct me if I’m wrong]

¿Qué pasa?  - What’s wrong? / What happened?

Nena - Baby. 

Mi amor - My love.

Cariño - Sweetheart.

Lo prometo, mi vida - I promise, my life (my everything/darling etc.)

[evening-starlight]

Daddy’s Best Friend

Oh my god, these last few days have SUCKED. Will mostly likely be the only chapter tonight because I can hear the computer dying with each letter I type. Thank you all for being so patient with me!

Tag list is still open! Comment or DM to be added

All Works Master List

DBF Master List

16

Word Count: 1610

    Tom had been gone three days, and Amaris already missed him more than anything else. After her talk with Will, she couldn't help but feel hopeless. Her dad explicitly said that his daughter couldn't be with Tom, the man Amaris wanted more than life itself. Maybe Armel was the only option she had left for a happy ending. He was a good guy, most of the time.

    Armel had developed a habit of talking over Amaris, ordering for her when they ate out, and acting as if he knew everything. He would talk about business as if she hadn't been majoring in it for six years. Armel had changed his major from art to business within the first month of being in New York, trying to impress Amaris with his newfound knowledge.

    The dress sits perfectly on Amaris's curves, dark red and sensual. She stared at herself in the full-length mirror. Something felt off. She was going on a date with Armel, but a feeling deep inside yelled at her not to go. It wanted her to stay in bed and wallow until Tom came home.

    Her boyfriend walks out of the ensuite bathroom, smiling brightly as he sees her. "Mon Amour, you look lovely." Armel places a soft kiss on her cheek, stepping back to look her up and down. "Have I told you I love this dress on you?"

    "Every time I wear it," Amaris giggles. She could fake it, at least for tonight. Armel deserved that much out of her, considering she was cheating on him nearly every night with someone she's told him not to worry about. "Let's get going, yeah? Don't want to be late to our reservation." Armel offers his arm, which Amaris wraps her hand around gently.

    The restaurant is crowded when the couple arrives. It had been a twenty-minute ride from the house to here, Armel going on about things Amaris didn't care for, and she was already tired and ready for some sleep. Amaris wanted to love Armel, she did, but his mere presence drained Amaris's social battery quickly.

    The hostess seats them and asks for their drink orders. Armel orders an expensive bottle of wine to split between the two. Amaris wasn't the biggest fan of wine, opting more towards hard liquors, but she'd drink whatever Armel wanted. Especially when he ordered a whole bottle without conferring with Amaris first.

    "So, Mon Amour, what have you been up to all week? I've hardly seen you," Armel remarks, setting a hand on top of Amaris's. Guilt gurgles in her stomach. What has she been doing? Sleeping with Tom and spending nights at his place instead of her shared room with Armel.

    "Sleeping over at Cleo's, mostly. Not much else. How's school going?" Amaris changes subject. Armel talks more about school, causing Amaris to zone out. It wasn't that she didn't care; it was that she'd rather count down the minutes until she gets to see Tom again.

    As if Tom could sense her thinking about him, her phone dings with a text from the man. She checks her phone quickly, seeing Tom's smiling face in front of the Brandenburg Gate followed by a text detailing how much he missed her. Amaris smiles widely, saving the picture into her phone.

    Dinner rolls by smoothly after that, Amaris gaining enough energy from Tom's picture to continue faking a romantic spark between Armel and her. She threw smiles and jokes where they were supposed to go, trying to enjoy her time with her boyfriend but continuously thinking of Tom.

    Amaris was dying to leave by the time dessert finished, her patience wearing thin with the amount of noise around her. She felt like her tolerance for people was halved when she was with Armel versus Tom. Armel wears a cheesy smile as they get up to leave the restaurant. "What's that face for?" Amaris asks, leaning into Armel as they exit the building.

    She's immediately blinded by the flashing lights of the paparazzi, who were waiting right outside for the couple. Amaris holds a hand over her eyes to keep her vision intact as she ducks and moves swiftly through the intruders. Amaris's heart was pounding, and her hands balled into fists as she pushes past them, not caring about who she hurt or what cameras got broken on her exit.

    The Clarke's weren't famous, but the press seemed to think they were newsworthy. They were a typical American family, besides the abundance of wealth they procured throughout the years. Nothing about the family was worth the front page of a tabloid, in Amaris's eyes. They lived life like regular people and didn't appreciate the flashing lights and overwhelming questions.

    Armel waves and smiles for the cameras, trotting along behind his girlfriend. Amaris sits in the driver's seat when they get to the car, pulling the visor down to cover her face. Armel follows suit, though he smiles the entire time. "I fucking hate those perverts," Amaris seethes as she pulls out of the parking lot.

    "I assumed you'd be used to them," Armel says, rubbing his sweaty palms along his thighs. Amaris glances over at him, noticing his nervous mannerisms and his inability to look at her.

    "Armel, do you have something you need to tell me?" Amaris prompts, putting her attention back on the road as she gets to the main street. Armel sighs. There was no use in lying; he had already been caught.

    "I thought you would find it romantic. You know, first public outing and all?" He admits. Amaris unleashes all the frustration from the past months onto the poor boy.

    "Romantic? Are you on fucking drugs? When has flashing lights, yelling questions, and crowds ever been romantic, Armel? I have told you a thousand times how much I hated those pricks, so why the hell did you think it would be a good idea, huh?" Armel sinks further into his seat, avoiding Amaris's angry gaze. "Do you even fucking listen to me anymore? Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it. I don't like wine, but you ordered an entire bottle that I had to pay for because you chose the most expensive restaurant to be your favorite.

    "I can't fucking believe you, Armel. You have been so fucking selfish all damn night. So you're sleeping on the fucking couch tonight. Or go back to your fucking dorm. I don't want to see you when I get out of the shower. Do you understand?" Amaris finishes, looking at Armel as he gives a timid confirming noise. His eyes are red and brimming with tears, sniffling as he looks out the window.

    Amaris sighs, seeing that her words hurt the man she's supposed to be in love with. "Look, Armel, what you did was totally uncool. I don't feel like you're listening to me anymore, and it's getting irritating." Armel nods, keeping silent as Amaris turns onto mansion road, as she calls it. It's an estate, hundreds of acres long, filled with mansions and other typical rich people attractions, like country clubs and gardens. "I need some time alone after this. So, please leave me alone while I shower, and we can talk more after I cool down, okay?" Armel nods again.

    They sit in silence until Amaris pulls into the garage. Armel is the first out of the car, rushing inside while the engine is still shutting off. Amaris sighs again, resting her head on the steering wheel. She made Armel cry. She made him fucking cry because she's struggling with her own feelings.

    Maybe it was time to break up with him. Amaris wasn't happy with him. She tried to be, but it wasn't working. Every time she tried, it was like Armel was trying to push her away. It was time to break things off as cleanly as she could.

    After a long, hot shower, Amaris sits with Armel to talk about the things said in the car. He agreed he was wrong, and Amaris agreed his heart was always in the right place, which made this next bit the hardest.

    They sit on her bed with a pillow space between them. She needed distance from him when she's going to break his heart. "Armel?" She asks, eyes trained on the TV in front of her. He hums, looking up from his laptop quickly before setting it between them, top half-closed.

    "Can you hold that thought, Mon Amour? I have to use the restroom." Amaris nods and watches as he dashes into the bathroom. As she shifts her attention to the TV again, her eyes glance over the screen of Armel's laptop.

    Her heart drops into the pit of her gut at the sight. Amaris finds the next breath hard to take as she moves the computer screen, trying to get a better look at what she thought she saw. Maybe she was tired and was seeing something that wasn't there.

    But it was there alright. An entire site of engagement rings, silver and shining like the sun had moved from the sky onto that page. Amaris closes the lid back where she found it when the sink water runs, sitting back in her spot. She was sure she looked like she saw a ghost.

    Armel walks out, smiling widely and sliding onto the bed again. "What did you want to talk about, Mon Amour?" He asks, slipping the laptop on top of his lap again.

    "I forgot," She laughs off. Amaris wiggles under the sheets, back to Armel with a quick goodnight. Things just got a lot more complicated than Amaris ever planned for.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos @kingtwhiddleston @cynic-spirit @end-up-well @xoxabs88xox​ @k-reads7 

[ophiuchus-interactive]

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven? for all the ros if possible <3

Long and vague to avoid spoilers, thank you for the ask, dear <3

(TW: Grief, spiraling)

Valerian knows this is too good to be true. His mind had played this scenario out a thousand times, that you would forgive him, that he was sorry, that he’d got it all wrong.

It was agony, meeting your gaze- his heart would skip a beat and yet his stomach would twist, turn itself into knots that he believes can’t be undone.

But you say it, you know? You say those three little, impossible words and you mean every syllable of it. How can that be?

How can it be that you can love me? The one who wronged you so severely?

-

Peter would sob, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders- forgiveness never felt so sweet. There wasn’t a day gone by that Peter didn’t think of him, think of all the things he wished he could’ve said; imagining himself holding his hand, so he didn’t have to face it all alone. It was his biggest mistake, and he’s sorry, he’s sorry-

I didn’t protect you like I promised I would.

-

Ophelia would have a hard time believing it. Her freedom came at the cost of everything she knew and loved. How could he forgive her after all this time? It’s not as if she...really even forgave herself.

It would be easier if he hated her. If he always did. Maybe then she wouldn’t miss home so much.

I don’t deserve the love you give.

-

Sergio would break down into a mess of tears and rage. How dare you? Silence for years, guilt and anger and loss and confusion, and it’s all supposed to be for...naught? His suffering? His terror.

Fuck forgiveness. He didn’t need it anyway.

-

Thane would spend the rest of life still attempting to fix it. It is a guilt that has etched itself deep into his psyche- the wounds of this, however old and faded, will not heal. Thane does not want to forget- and he cares little if he was even truly forgiven.

It is hard to break yourself out of your own self-imposed prison.

-

Rosalie would also act with fury. It is a bone-deep hate that causes Rosalie to officially crack- she never did anything wrong...right? Right? It was for the good of the [REDACTED], she acted in [REDACTED]’s best interest. There’s nothing for her to be sorry about! Nothing at all!

Not a damn thing.

-

Javier would spiral. Does she truly mean that? How could she, after all the damage he caused her? It’s not fair- it’s not right! Let him wallow in his own personal hell, it’s what he deserves, what he deserves. There’s nothing he could ever do to right this- to let him even think about coming to terms with what he failed to protect.

He deserves it.

-

????/Hope would not understand why they feel the way they do, or why you said this to them. They completed their mission, didn’t they? Everyone can go home now, and it will be alright. Why are you crying, MC? You’re safe.

Why am I crying?

[takerfoxx]

The Owl House, Season 2, Episode 1, "Stranger Tides," First Impressions!

Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's whaler's life for Luz!

Now, if you'll recall, a common problem I ran into while reviewing season 1 is that while I was definitely enjoying it, it was so episodic that I often found it difficult to find something new to say about each episode. There wasn't a whole lot carrying over from one episode to the next that I could really sink my teeth into and fill out a full review, with the plot not really kicking in until the final two episodes.

Fortunately, I did not have that problem here, and now that season 2 has started, I have PLENTY to say about its debut episode.

So, this is what you'd expect for the first episode of the new season, an episode basically intended to bring everyone up to speed on how the characters are dealing with the ramifications of the previous season and introduce a few new elements that will set the tone for the season to come.

And basically, things at the Owl House are...not really great. I mean, sure, everyone got away and it looks like Emperor Belos hasn't really made their recapture a priority (most likely deliberately), but thanks to Lilith deciding to share Eda's curse to neutralize it, they both have found themselves powerless. They're not completely without magic, but what they have left is so meager to be practically useless. All expect for Eda's detachable limbs. Those still work. For Luz, as she never had magic to begin with and had to work extra hard to get around that handicap and find ways to keep up with everyone else, that means she's suddenly the breadwinner of the family, the one with the most power despite living with two (previously) notoriously powerful witches, and thus has taken up bounty hunting (sort of ironic, if you ask me). For Lilith, that means coming to terms with losing literally everything important to her, from her power to her position as the Emperor's Coven's poster girl, having been replaced by a spoiled teen prodigy (and oh, ho, ho, we will get to him!) as well as her own feelings of guilt for having cursed Eda in the first place.

Actually, guilt is the main motivator in this episode. Luz feels guilty for having gotten Eda trapped and that Eda now has to prioritize what little money they have for Luz's sake, which motivates her to take on more and more dangerous bounties to try to make it up to her. And Lilith feels rotten for the curse and that the fix ended up sapping Eda's powers, so she's driven to find some way of making herself useful, which fills out this episode's A-plot and B-plot.

Meanwhile, Eda herself is...handling things like a champ, actually. Sure, she's not thrilled about losing her power, nor does she care for the sudden dip in respect from the locals as a result, but she's not wallowing in self-pity. No, she's working and innovating, finding ways to adapt and keep ahead of the game. And to rip off the Empire too, because fuck those guys.

So anyway! Let's start with our A-plot: Luz the bounty hunter. She's doing her best to keep her spirits up and keep food on the table, but bounty hunting is a tough job and because everyone knows that Eda is powerless, the bondsman has no problem ripping them off because he knows he can get away with it. Furthermore, with the portal gone, Luz's messages to her mom aren't getting through, which is weighing on her mind.

Okay, we already know that Luz's mom is probably going to get involved this season. I predict that at some point, Emperor Belos completes his repairs of the portal, and when he does, all those unsent message will suddenly spill out all at once, giving good ol' Mama a heart attack.

Sort've serves her right though, because, you know, G-RATED CONVERSION THERAPY!

But anyway, she overhears Eda talking about eschewing her booze in favor of getting Luz food she can actually eat, so she resolves to make it up to her by taking on the biggest bounty of them all, which so happens to be a magical creature called a Selkie-dama, which requires her to join a ship that's setting out to do that so she could get a cut.

A ship that just so happens to be under the command of Lilith's replacement, who also so happens to be the mysterious spy working for Emperor Belos that we met last season, whom we will get to!

Anyway, they fortunately rush through the bit of Luz proving herself to the crew, because who cares, King finds out agent's private room (in a reveal that calls back to a similar scene in Gravity Falls) and gets captured, and they find the Selkie-Dama, in which Luz shows us how far she's come by utterly wrecking shit.

Unfortunately, the bounty is stolen by a mysterious figure, and Luz isn't about to get ripped off again, so she goes after them, only to find that that SURPRISE, it's Eda, who figured she'd cut out the middleman and just steal the bounty directly, because you have to admit that that does make sense.

But anyway, none of that matters, because that's when HE finally is properly introduced.

Hear that? That's the sound of thousands of thirsty fangirls (and quite a few fanboys and fanenbys as well) shrieking.

Meet the Golden Guard. Yes, he's arrogant. Yes, he's sassy as fuck. Yes, he's voiced by Zeno Robinson. And according to his brief appearance in the OP...

HE'S A PALE-HAIRED PRETTY BOY, Y'ALL!!!

So. We now have this season's small antagonist.

And since Luz is the only resident of the Owl House with any real power (Hooty aside, but we'll get to that) and now with Amity as Luz's close friend (more on that later as well), that makes him Luz's new rival! Ooooh, I can smell the Enemies to Lovers fics already!

Yeah, it's gonna be a HUGE ship, but that's no prediction, everyone knew that anyway.

But while I doubt they're actually going to get together (though count on our bi-queen Luz getting smitten once she sees his face), I do smell a redemption arc for this guy. I mean, why would they make him so likeable otherwise?

Yes, he was a jerk, but he was a jerk in an endearingly entertaining sort of way.

But beyond that, I do note that he also has a tech-powered staff (seems to be the same one that held the palisman that Belos fed off of last season, but with an upgrade), and wields the same flesh-based magic as well. Now, his ears do show that he's not a human, but I still wonder if all that tech magic (which has to be manipulating the flesh of the Titan itself) is either a crutch for the magicless or a shortcut for those who want power fast.

Also, in addition to slotting in as Luz's rival, he also has taken Lilith's place as the face of the Emperor's Coven and also uses Eda's "BYYYEEEEE!!!" catchphrase, he's set up to be a foil to just about everybody!

Anyway, he's not here to take them out just yet, but instead forces them to kill the Selkie-dama. They don't, of course, and instead trick him into thinking that they did, but it does show that 1. Emperor Belos is content to leave them be for the moment, and 2. Emperor Belos is seeking the destruction of magical creatures. Huh.

Also, called it on Luz becoming Eda's teacher when it comes to glyphs.

But speaking of rivals and ships, the question over all of this is Amity, who's been MIA with a broken leg for a while. No doubt she's not going to be upset about Luz being stuck in the Boiling Isles, but if Luz does start crushing on Prettyboy Golden Guard, I can see her feel all sorts of upset about that. I still thinking that Lumity is endgame, but now she's got to work for it, and there is going to be angst.

Anyway, our B-plot has Lilith trying to make things up for Eda, by putting together a scrying potion to spy on the Emperor's castle. Nice, will probably be important later, but the real important part, in addition to her getting over her pride (not an easy thing) was the surprisingly touching friendship she's building with Hooty of all people! I didn't see this coming, but they honestly have some great comedic chemistry.

And honestly, I can see it. Lilith's first introduction to Hooty was him opening a can of whoopass on her and her men, and now he does it again to save her from the fire bees. Sure, he's weird and annoying, but he's strong and competent as hell, something that she would naturally respect. I honestly like what they have building, and the Lulu and Hooticifer nicknames were adorable.

And now, onto our brief glimpse of Belos, who still managed to steal the whole damned episode with just a few words. We see he's gone that long, white hair thing going for him, so not a rogue palisman. So, human or shortcut-exploiting conman. Regardless, just as he seems content to leave the Owl House be despite Luz having the key (which will definitely be important later), he also seems aware of the scrying, and has no problem letting it go on.

Okay, this season is shaping up to be a great one. And next episode is an Amity episode, in which her parents meet Luz, so let's fucking GOOOOOOOOOOO!!! on the Lumity teases and oh God NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! on the awkward cringe comedy that is sure to result!

[mirrerover]

Big Plans

“You know shit’s never gonna fucking change, right?” Jason makes to grab for his Zippo. Remembering Dick will happily remove his nuts from his waxed sack for even contemplating smoking inside Dick’s apartment, he stops. His fingers twitch with irritation, nothing like a little nicotine deprivation to start the day. “Gotham’s a gothic nightmare where corruption runs thicker than blood and Blüdhaven’s worse, somehow. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. Uglier. More warped.”

“I really do enjoy our little morning pep talks,” Dick replies, closing the last two buttons on his dress shirt before tucking the fabric into the waistline of his pants. In general, Jason would say he prefers the Kevlar-enhanced, ass-hugging suit Dick prowls the night in—but there’s something to be said for a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearm veins on display. He doesn’t know how the Blüdhaven criminals are faring but, personally, he wouldn’t mind letting Detective Richard Grayson slap some cuffs on him. Let Dick work him over hard in a surveilled box until Jason cracks, raw and bloody under the harsh fluorescent lights. 

“These fucking places,” Jason grumbles, tired and cranky from watching Dick getting ready to leave, all that warm, gold skin about to slip right out the door. “It’s not something anyone can fix. Nothing short of dropping a bomb on the damn place and razing it to the ground.” 

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, strands brushing the bone of his jaw. He’s no stranger to this; Jason and the trash he talks. Words pouring out of him sharp as knives, the blades full of blood. Just endlessly spewing shit.

“No point to it all, huh?” Dick leans a hip against the dresser, arms folded, eyebrow raised. There’s an ease to him that’s inherent; the way he owns his body, his space, every room he’s in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to lure me back to bed.”

 Jason thinks it over. Admits, “not originally,” and lets his legs fall apart slowly. Nude body lounging against cheap, synthetic pillows, he’s got Dick’s low-rent sheets strategically draped across his crotch, all tasteful and shit. Just like the Renaissance paintings cluttering the hallways of the Wayne Manor. None of the shameless, naked peacocking Dick gets up to after sex. No, Jason’s classy. Artful. The signature Jason Todd brand. “But are you feelin’ down to fuck?” he asks. 

Dick throws his head back and laughs. Really fucking laughs. Eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking, all charisma and beauty and warmth. Laughing like that, it’s suddenly easy to see how a group of metahumans chose Dick as their leader despite his lack of superpowers or how the Blüdhaven Police Corps would accept him as their own despite him being the ward of Gotham’s favourite billionaire asshole. There’s something about Dick like there’s something about Bruce. Something captivating and inescapable that would make you launch a thousand ships for them. Burn down entire worlds for them. Jason’s not sure Dick’s aware of that. And in a way, Jason thinks he understands the Joker better than Bruce ever could. 

Dick’s laughter fades too slowly, and Jason would be annoyed but there’s a tightness to Dick’s pants that wasn’t there two minutes ago, and Dick’s always laughing. Joyful and happy. Like those are easy feelings to conjure and easy feelings to have. As if getting out of bed isn’t like crawling out of a dark pit every morning and as if life isn't like taking a suckerpunch to the gut, over and over.

“Wish I could,” Dicks says, and Jason swears he sounds like he means it. “But I got big plans today. Gotta save a city.”

“‘Save a city.’ Jesus Christ. More like go get shanked in the gut.”

Dick shrugs and slips on a watch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The other bats all have their day jobs. The Police Detective, the Socialite, the rising Tech Wunderkind, and Jason’s personal favourite: the Student. Jason derives no small amount of pleasure from knowing that Bruce and the Demon Spawn get to suffer through the worst of it. Like an ill-fitted suit, Jason hopes it pulls and itches every time they’ve got to slip their disguises on. It shows how removed they are from the rot and the grit and the filth of what is Gotham. The gore at the core of it all. 

That’s where Jason lives, at its epicentre. 

He’d fallen into it naturally, being a crime lord. It had been a logical first step when he’d come home, head full of green fumes and rage. He’s proud to say, he puts the organized in organized crime. Outshines even the worst of them in calculated vicious violence. The crime part of the job, Jason can admit he’s gotten more discerning about. There’s no peddling drugs to kids or bleeding junkies dry, no people traded like cattle, and he doesn’t like selling guns to the lowlifes clogging Gotham’s streets. So, he’s become a parasite instead. Infiltrates a crime organisation and eats it from the inside out till it finally collapses. Scraps the dead beast for parts and money.

It’s not something Jason talks about with this version of Dick. His shady deals, his underground moonlighting. Never with a cop like the one making his way to the bed right now, uniform tight over thick thighs and a sway in his hips that’s nothing less than sexual warfare. 

“Try smoking in my bed again, Todd,” Dick warns, looming over him. He stops whatever threat he was going to utter, disrupted by Jason grousing at him to fucking let that go already. Perfectly pleasant, Dick does exactly that. Just stares at Jason with a face far too naked and utterly too fond. Something’s creeping under Jason’s skin at the sight of it—an itch he doesn’t know how to scratch, unable to decide whether he wants to kiss the prick or break his perfect face instead.

A little lower, there’s a bruise peeking out of Dick’s collar that looks like a handprint. Jason had put that there last night. Violently. Not even the fun kind of violent but the messy kind. The kind where something hunts Jason through nightmares and his body acts before his sleeping brain has had the chance to catch up—that kind of violence. Maybe a better person would wallow in the guilt and remove themselves from the situation. Not Dick and Jason. They just get better at hiding the batarangs and guns. The 200 pounds of well-trained muscle and murderous reflexes are a little harder to counteract but Dick’s no babe in the woods. Besides, Jason’s not exactly the first lethal bitch between Dick’s bedsheets.

Dick smiles. A teasing thing full of soft edges. “Mornings are hard. Aren’t they, Sugarplum?”

“Fuck you to hell.” Jason groans with feeling, hating the hard lumps of Dick’s mattress when he sinks back into them. “Just get lost already, Birdbrain. There’s no fucking point to you with your clothes on.”

“Nice to know I’m not completely useless.”

Jason wants to fight that far too favourable self-assessment. Would fight it, were he not half a pack of Lucky Strikes and three cups of coffee short of mustering the energy. Which is also the only reason he’s letting Dick press an off-centre kiss to his forehead. A shitty place for a shitty kiss from a shitty person, if you ask Jason. Very much Dick Grayson’s style.

“Try and behave, Little Wing.” Dick’s already moving away from the bed and shrugging on a jacket. “I really like this place. Got three South facing windows and none of the neighbours run a meth lab.”

“Prime Blüdhaven real estate,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Dick takes one last look at himself at the mirror, shoots Jason a tacky wink because his existence is a curse, and promises under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like I’ll be back or I’ll miss you. Another twenty seconds later and Jason hears the front door lock click back into place.

His day is wide open now. 

There are things to do but there are always things to do. At any time, Jason’s got about forty things in various stages of motion. Always working on something. Someone. Bigger games than the one he’s running on Dick right now, lighting one up in his bed.

Blowing smoke up into the air, Jason decides that today he’s going to crack the safe Dick keeps behind the panel in his closet. Perfectly harmless, really. Just him fishing through some of Dick’s case files—maybe even solving a few, if he’s feeling charitable. And for tonight, there’s that Malaysian place three blocks over that does a better Rendang than anything he’s found in Gotham. Dick never shuts up about it. Like he’s never going to shut up about the cigarette smell seeping into the wallpaper.

Jason smirks. Solid options. He still has last night’s terrors painted on the back of his eyelids and the feeling of Dick’s neck under his hand but they’re slowly fading. And Dick’s got him covered, said he’d take care of the big plans, so Jason doesn’t have to. And next time, when Jason’s Dick and Dick’s Jason, he’ll have Dick covered too. Jason will tackle the big plans while Dick raids Jason’s fridge and leaves wet towels all over his apartment. Jason knows it’ll happen. It has happened. Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

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

@wethatake thanks for being the beta and basically a co-writer. You suck but I love you. <3 Here’s to hoping that your sad little sack of a co-worker doesn’t kill you. XD

[sneksandfish]

Aertha x Satan (Part 2) - Angst || Obey Me!

WARNING! **Descriptive Gore/Mental Breakdowns**

Thank you for reading! Please read the previous post for context. Here’s the epilogue.  ______________________ Satan sat in front of a picture frame that showed himself and Aertha, then looked at the ripped portrait that showed them on their wedding day. She's dead.

It’s all your fault. 

You did this. 

He took in a breath and looked away from the ripped portrait that barely showed properly how beautiful Aertha was that day. His knees curled up to his chest and burying his head into his knees. His books were tattered, the bedsheets ripped, and there practically wasn't a single thing in his room that wasn't broken. Looking at the mirror that was in fragments, he can barely make out through blurred eyes how much of a mess he was.

For starters, Solomon was forever put into a realm of loneliness, the 9th circle of hell. Where there was nothing but himself. They were able to hold a proper funeral for Aertha. Although there was no body, there was a closed coffin and the grimoire was never to be seen again thanks to Diavolo and Barbatos.

His brothers seem fine, not remembering the memory at all, only concerned for the fourth born. So if Satan were to vent it out, the brothers would only feel despair and terror rotting them away at the core. As much as Satan spites them, he can't bear to see his brothers wallow in guilt. He's a rotting mess of guilt and can't even eat properly, cursing at how his brothers are able to live on properly, amnesia on their minds.

Dark circles shaped Satan's eyes as he finally got his stiff limbs to move and look at himself in the broken glass. His figure skinnier than ever and lips chapped. He looked at the picture of them together and sighed.

"...I did this..."

"And so you did,"

Satan looked up, feeling more awake than ever, seeing Aertha's red eyes behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

They feel cold.

"I'm sure you had a lovely time eating my thumb, didn't you Satan?"

"Aertha..."

"Satan, you sure looked like you had such a fun time watching your brothers eat parts of me. Bit by bit, little by little,"

"...I didn't."

Aertha walked around the room, twirling a strand of her hair, "You see...I thought you loved me."

Satan reached out towards her, noticing how parts of her chipped away, slowly. Bit by bit, little by little to her flesh, "I do love you though! Aertha... Aertha please."

"Satan, I'm not an idiot."

"Aertha..."

"Satan, I'm not a fool either, you're so weak willed..."

"...Aertha?"

"You're so weak willed," She turned to him, the bone of her cheek exposed, "You couldn't even pull yourself together when I asked you to! I'm your wife Satan! Your lover!!! I out of all people should've made you snapped out of it!!!" Blood dripped from her clothes and onto the floor, "And this is what you do to me?! You stab me in the heart?!" blood then dripped from her mouth, "Stab me in the heart without a word?! NOT EVEN AN I LOVE YOU AS I DIED?!"

Satan is curled up on the floor, begging for her to stop, begging for her to have mercy on him, begging for her to go away and that he's sorry for what he did. His hands over his ears and tears streaked down on his face. He can feel how angry she is. He can feel how resentful she is. His breathing hitches in unsteady rates and his heart pounding in his ears.

He's scared. He's so scared.

"Aertha... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I'm sorry I couldn't snap out of it... I'm sorry that I'm like this... I'm sorry I couldn't rescue you... help me... I'm sorry... please help me... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Aertha I'm sorry... please forgive me..."

"...Satan."

He looked up to see her red eyes cold and unloving, "You think I can forgive you for what you did? Are you bullshitting me?" She pulled his head back by the hair, "Are you really asking me for forgiveness? Pull yourself together you foolish demon!"

"I'm sorry..." 

"You're sorry? WHERE IS THE PROOF THAT YOU'RE SORRY SATAN?! WHERE IS IT?! CAUSE I KNOW IT'S NOT WHEN YOU'RE HALLOWED UP IN YOUR ROOM DOING JACKSHIT." Satan is sobbing, begging for her to stop, someone to stop her.

"Satan. You're pathetic. Oh so pathetic. I should be happy that you've dumbed yourself down to this level, but I'm not. I'm not impressed." 

Satan is barely breathing as she says the next words, watching her cry. 

"Why did I even marry you? I should've never married you in the first place."

Something snaps in him, he wants to believe this is all imaginary and all a dream. Maybe he was delusional from not drinking enough water. Maybe he didn't eat enough, sleep enough, or maybe he is sleeping! The line of reality and fantasy blurs heavily as Aertha starts crumbling, and so does he. 

 He doesn't know how long he's been on the floor, confused, sobbing, crying, ringing in his ears, but he knows it's not healthy at all.

They could've had a beautiful daughter as he promised on their wedding day named Liselotte, grow old together, make more memories, cherish the old, make the new, be there for her, care for her, the family memories they could've had but it all died with Aertha. 

 And it's all because of him.

Everything he wanted died.

Small ringing in his ears formed voices. Voices so loud he couldn't ignore anymore. Varying voices, male and female, taunting him out of his room.

"You killed us." 

"Take responsibility." 

"You did this Satan! You!!!" 

"You let your brothers eat us?! Are you kidding me?!" 

"I couldn't do everything I wanted because of you." 

He grabs the sword he killed Aertha with. 

"I could've had a future with the person I loved," 

"You ruined our dreams. Our hopes!" 

"I can't believe you..." 

"I believed in you!" 

He drags it along the floor, following where his instincts wanted him to, straight into Mammon's room. 

"Hey? Hey Satan! What are you doing?! Satan what are you doing with that sword?! SATAN?! SATAN!" 

"I loved you." 

And he stabs Mammon straight into the heart without a word.

He didn't know when Mammon's cries died down and his body flumped to the seat, neither when the brothers entered his room, seeing the deed he's done. The floor stained red, the couch stained red, hands on the floor and blood gushing out. The brothers could only look at Satan, slow terror and anger rising in their blood as they turned into their demon forms. Satan could only scoff. 

 "Do you know what I had to bear with alone my dear brothers?" 

 "You can tell us later, for now, we're going, Levi call an ambulance for Mammon." Levi nodded, pulling out his phone. 

 Satan stabbed Mammon's eye, straight through the sunglasses, "No I don't think you will," 

 "Satan stop!" Asmo yelled out.

 "DO YOU ALL KNOW WHAT I HAD TO BEAR WITH ALONE?! My dead wife yelling at me?!" 

He lunged towards Belphegor, making sure that sword was stuck between Belphie's head, "ABUSING ME?!" He felt the a force shove him into a wall, the sword for sure making a scar on the 7th born's head, "TELLING ME SHE SHOULD'VE NEVER MARRIED ME?! DO YOU ALL KNOW HOW THAT FEELS?! DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY?!"

"Shut up Satan," Beel placed a hand on his head, trying to ignore the loud maniacal laughter Belphegor let out then flopped to the side, trying to stop the blood by Leviathan's jacket.

 "No! You shut up! I'm sure you really liked Aertha's body for a meal! Didn't you?! YOU DIDN'T HESITATE TO EAT HER ALL UP UNTIL I SNAPPED OUT OF IT AND STOPPED YOU!"

 "...What?" Beel felt empty and panicked, "...Satan...what?"

 Satan got the sword and slashed Beel's neck, "YOU HEARD ME YOU FUCKING GLUTTON! YOU ATE THE ONLY PERSON WHO UNDERSTOOD ME THE MOST!"

"Satan, get a hold of yourself!"

 "Shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up! JUST SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"

Asmodeus threw a perfume bottle at Satan, hoping it hit his head, "You didn't have to harbor all of that to yourself you damn idiot! You could've told us! YOU COULD'VE TOLD ALL OF US AND WE ALL COULD'VE SUFFERED WITH YOU!" 

 Satan stood there shocked. Then shook his head, then thought about it again, kicking Beel away from the sword, "You fucking fool of a narcissist..." 

 "Excuse me?" 

 The 4th born looked up, drenched in blood, sweat and tears, "I couldn't do that to you...if what happened then made me like this, then what about all of you?"

Asmo held a hand out for Satan and seconds later without a breath in his lungs, that hand was cut off. The screaming his throat and visible wrist bone popping out as he finally screamed and let it all out. 

 "...I couldn't say this to you before...But you looked fucking ugly when you ate Aertha's arm," He looked at Leviathan and Lucifer, the two of them backing up. He looked at the bodies and maniacally laughed, "Lucifer!!! Oh darling Lucifer! What are you going to do now?!"

He spread his arms out and laughed to himself, "Everyone is bleeding, Beel can't breathe, Belphie is bleeding out...Is Mammon dead?" He kicked Mammon's head like it was a soccer ball and Lucifer winced at how it cracked in an awful noise, "...Well now he is," 

 Leviathan carefully backed up, "Satan...Satan please..."

 "Satan will do what for you brother Levi? What will Satan do for you? Give you mercy?" He placed his bloodied hands on Leviathan's cheek and slapped him right across the face, "That's fucking bullshit." Without knowing, Leviathan just collapsed onto the ground, breathless as he felt the slashes on his ankles, rendering him unable to move. 

 "Now you can't run or swim!"

 "Satan, you're mourning, but you put this on yourself. You put this burden on yourself." 

 Satan scoffed, hands on his hips and glared at Lucifer, "That's not what everyone said when you hid the truth about Lilith for I don't know, a thousand years?" "Don't bring Lilith into this," 

 "I don't know her anyway. I'll offend the dead a little longer Lucifer, spite everything you've liked and known." 

 Lucifer felt his patience snap into thin lines, fraying at each second that ticked on the grandfather clock. Taking off his jacket, he placed it over Mammon, closing his eyes with two fingers and breathing out an "I'm sorry" in a hushed whisper. 

 "Lucifer, I can hear the ambulances coming," 

 "...So you can?" 

 Satan held the sword with two hands, "...Can't you just let me die...and maybe let me see my wife one last time?" 

 "...You fool. You want to see your wife after you've broken our family?"

 "At least the problem is gone-" 

 "Satan, I'm not letting you die." 

 "...Honestly..." Satan held the sword by the handle, and made sure to make a large cut over Lucifer's face, diagonal, enough to cause a scar, "You fucking piss me off,"

Time ticks slowly as Satan sat on Mammon's bed, staining it with his hands, he looked at the ceiling and saw how lavishly peaceful Mammon lived, "...This is why he's foolish and an idiot..." 

He looks over to the hallucination of Aertha who looked at him back, this time with gray eyes.

 "...Are you satisfied love?" 

 "...If it's for you then yes I am," 

 "...Can...Can you tell me that you love me?" 

 I want to live. 

 He paused, hearing another faint voice. He sat up from the gray sheets and listened and saw in blur. 

 "...Tani please, I want to live, don't let me die like this...You know I love you...right? ..Right?" 

 Tani please, 

 I want to live, 

 don't let me die like this... 

 Fuck off Solomon...Fuck off! 

 you wouldn't actually do this... 

 guys, snap out of it 

 ...Do you...really hate me that much... 

 I should've died a lot earlier... 

 you know I love you, right?

He looked at the illusion, at Aertha's sad gray eyes, she sent him a smile, a sad but genuine one and closed her eyes, holding him with her two faded, cold hands. She didn't have to say anything because now Satan knew how she felt in her last moments.

 Cold, alone, unloved, wishful, miserable. 

 The guilt piled up in heavy brick, choking on his words that he could never find. In the end, he hugged nothing but air, everything an illusion. 

 When he woke up, he found himself cold, alone, unloved, wishful, and miserable, hands chained to the wall. He wasn't dead, there was no such bitter sweet release like that where he was. He silently sobbed to himself, the hallucinations and voices gone. 

 He woke up devastated. //END// ___________________ Thanks for reading the oneshot!!! It’s greatly appreciated! Please read the other oneshot(s) I posted lol

[tchallasbabymama]

Gone

Hey y’all, here’s Chapter 6 of Playlist. Check out my masterlist HERE to read the other chapters if you haven’t already, and check out my other stories too!

CW: alcoholism

Word count: 4894

Two months had passed and T’Challa was still not taking it well. He was still internalizing  the guilt he felt for putting Ashanti in harm's way, and it was all he could think about. He felt numb most days, and when he felt anything at all it was grief  over losing his love. Whenever he wasn’t working he hid away in his chambers, staring at the walls and playing sad music. Today his favorite song to wallow to was “Gone” by N*Sync. He laid across his bed sipping from a bottle of whiskey with the song playing on repeat as tears ran down his face. 

There's a thousand words that I could say

To make you come home

Oh, seems so long ago you walked away

Left me alone

I remember what you said to me

You were acting so strange

and maybe I was too blind to see

That you needed a change

Was it something I said

To make you turn away?

To make you walk out and leave me cold

If I could just find a way

To make it so that you were right here

But right now..

I've been sitting here

Can't get you off my mind

I've tried my best to be a man and be strong

I've drove myself insane

Wishing I could touch your face

But the truth remains..

You're gone..

You're gone..

Baby you're gone

Girl you're gone, baby girl, you're gone..

You're gone..

You're…

He barely spoke to his family anymore. Not even N’Jadaka could get anything out of him on their occasional walks when he would visit from Oakland. The king was a steel trap of emotions, and nobody could get in. His cousin could tell something was off, and began to worry about his health so he and Shuri decided to confront him about it. They knew it wouldn’t go well, but they never expected him to insult their intelligence. 

T’Challa had been able to hide his drinking from Queen Mother, but it was hard to get anything past the other two. N’Jadaka had seen friends go down a similar route and he knew the signs, and Shuri had overheard the kitchen staff talking about sending three bottles a night to the king’s chambers. When he was scheduled to leave for a mission with the Avengers she was scared out of her mind that he would get hurt, so right before he left she and her cousin confronted him. He lied to them, for the first time ever, and straight up denied the accusations. Shuri was hurt to her core knowing her brother was in such a bad way that he would stoop so low, but N’Jadaka expected his response. When he left they saw him off as usual, but Shuri broke down in her cousin’s arms after the Talon took off. Ramonda quickly became worried for both of her children when Shuri told her of the burden she had been carrying for her brother. They both internalized too much, and Ramonda had Shuri start therapy immediately. She also had a grief therapist and an addiction counselor on standby for T'Challa's return. She would be damned if she lost her son to his depression.

The Avengers had also noticed a change in T’Challa’s behavior, so much so that even Sam of all people was concerned for him. Thor had tried to lighten the king’s mood with their usual banter, but nothing changed. Wanda tried to regale him with her physics-defying powers to no avail, and Natasha couldn’t get anything out of him in their sparring sessions. Eventually Steve and Sam took it upon themselves to do something, Steve as a friend and Sam as a former counselor. 

“Catman, let me holler at you real quick,” Sam interrupted T’Challa’s brooding on the couch. He rolled his eyes, but reluctantly got up anyway. Sam led him into the kitchen, where Steve was already seated at the large table. Sam pulled out a chair and turned it around before sitting and resting his forearms on the back. 

“Ok, talk. You’ve been moping around the entire time you’ve been here and you’re bringing the energy down-”

“I think what Sam is trying to say is that we’re your friends and we can tell something is wrong... come on, man, you really think I haven’t picked up on your new drinking habit?” he asked in all honesty before trying to lighten the mood a little. “You know, for a cat, you’re not that sneaky.”

T’Challa closed his eyes and sighed. He had hoped nobody else would notice before he could get it together. When Shuri and N’Jadaka confronted him before he left he lied to their faces. He had never done that before, and as soon as the words left his mouth he was filled with shame and had to leave quickly to avoid them prying any more into it. When he looked out the window of the Talon after taking off he saw his baby sister break down in tears, and his heart broke. He decided then and there that he would stop drinking, but it didn’t exactly work out that way. Here he was, a month later and still no improvement. He was doing his best to keep it under wraps, but for once his best wasn’t good enough.

“Problems at home?...Is it about Ashanti? I haven't heard you mention her in awhile.” Steve continued, trying to get something out of him.

A lump formed in the king’s throat and he nodded before averting his eyes to the table.

“She left me.”

He proceeded to tell them the whole story and watched their faces twist in disbelief.

“Wow, that’s...wow,” Steve couldn’t believe it and his heart went out to both of them for what they went through and for what T’Challa is putting himself through now. “You know, for the longest time I blamed myself for what happened to Bucky. It ate me up inside, but you gotta let that stuff go, man. If not, you’re gonna start spiraling out of control, and nobody needs that.”

“He’s right, T.”

T’Challa and Steve looked at Sam in shock, he never referred to him by his name or anything close to it. It was always “Catman” or whatever cat joke he could come up with at the moment. 

“You need to talk to someone before this gets worse,” Sam said in earnest.

He thought back to his mother’s words shortly before he left Wakanda, “I’m worried about you, unyana wam. You have not been your usual bright self.”

T’Challa sat forward, placing his elbows on the table. He decided then and there that he couldn't keep doing this to himself. He was a king, he was a warrior, he was a superhero for Bast’s sake. He couldn’t afford to be a drunken shell of himself anymore, it was going to start catching up to him. He couldn’t keep blaming himself.

“You’re right.”

-------

After the incident, Ashanti moved back in with her parents so they could care for her. Kwame and Binta were over all the time, and Shuri even made a visit to bring her the new pinky she made for her. It took some getting used to how it felt on her hand, but she eventually got the hang of it.

At first, Ashanti was scared to leave her parents’ home, so they found a therapist that made house-calls. It took some time for Ashanti to trust her, but eventually she did and Jamila was able to convince her to go outside for the first time in two months. They stayed in her parents backyard for a few sessions, before Jamila gradually got her to move further and further from the home. After about 6 months, she was able to go to the bazaar on her own. She still wasn’t up for running Taj’s, so she let her new employees Zina and Jafari handle it. So far they had been doing a great job and she wasn’t too worried about getting back to it just yet. She took some time to find herself again, painting for the first time in almost a year and spinning clay at her pottery wheel whenever she felt the need. She caught up on the books she had been meaning to read, and she slowly got back into the habit of running in the mornings. 

 Ashanti surprisingly had no problem with moving back into the house with Binta and Kwame. She missed the twins more than she could verbalize, but really did need her time away. Eventually,  things went back to normal and it was almost as if the chapter of her life that included T’Challa never happened at all.

After a few months the twins pushed her to get back out there and she started dating a River tribe guy she met on her run one morning. She had tripped over a root and ended up falling flat on her face, but luckily another runner saw her fall and came over to help. He was a hot doctor named Zane. After he checked her ankle, he looked up and was captured by her beauty. He asked her out then and there, and three months later they’re still going strong. He was sweet, and smart, and funny, and all the things she wanted in a partner...but he didn't automatically know her favorite flower, and she didn't feel electricity from his touch. His kisses didn’t ignite a flame, just a little spark. He was a great lover, but the passion wasn’t there. 

In short, Ashanti was faking it, but she was too scared to break his poor little heart.

Even her parents and roommates could tell she wasn’t really feeling Zane, so they sat her down to talk some sense into her.

“Why does this look like an intervention?” Ashanti joked when she walked into her kitchen and saw her family seated around the table, all looking up at her.

“Because it is, girl. Sit down.” Kwame pulled out the chair next to him and she tentatively took a seat.

“Sithandwa,” Bisa started , “you know we love you-“

“What’s this about?” she cut her off, nervous and ready to cut to the chase.

“Zane.” Binta and Kwame stated, matter of factly. 

Ashanti knew what was coming. Each one of them had pulled her aside at some point to have what was sure to be the exact same conversation.

“Honey, you’re playing with that poor man’s heart. We can all see you don’t want him, he’s the only one who can’t.” Kwame reached out and grabbed her hand in his.

Ashanti sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. She hated being called out on her bullshit, especially since it didn't happen often. She knew they were right though, she was wrong for stringing him along.

“He’s a good man, I know, but you both deserve to be with people who want you the way you want them,” Bisa added,

“I know,” Ashanti let out a sigh before hanging her head and collecting herself. “I know, I just- he’s a great guy so I just keep hoping he’ll grow on me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Everyone seemed to look at each other out of the corners of their eyes without Ashanti noticing. They knew exactly what the problem was.

“Nothing is wrong with you, intyatyambo. You are just still in love,” Chidi cupped her face with his hand and she stared at him in shock.

“No, it’s been over a year. I’m past that now,” she tried to dead the conversation before it went somewhere she really wanted to avoid.

“Are you?” Binta asked. “Because everytime you see his hologram on the news you smile a little without even realizing it.”

“And don't forget when you ducked into a random bathroom and  texted me panicking because you saw Dora Milaje in the bazaar and thought he might be there.” Kwame added.

“I-I just didn’t want to see him, that’s all.”

“Mhm, then how come when I called you were you primping in the mirror?”

“I was not!”

“Sis…” he gave her the look.

Ashanti hung her head again.

“Fine,” she gave in. She knew why she wasn’t feeling Zane and why her palms still started to sweat when she saw pictures or holograms of him and why her heart almost beat out of her chest that day in the bazaar. She still dreamed of him. Her body still responded to the thought of him. Hearing his voice still sent chills down her spine. She still loved him, but she never wanted to admit it.

“Fine?” Chidi asked as he and his wife shared a hopeful glance.

“Yes, fine, you’re right. Happy?” tears came to her eyes, and as hard as she tried to keep them from falling she eventually lost the battle. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel the loss after the breakup, and it was all catching up to her right there in front of her family.

She sobbed on Bisa's shoulder and Chidi wrapped them both in an embrace while Binta rubbed circles on Ashanti’s back and Kwame held her hand. All four of them were relieved to see her finally come to terms with her emotions. They had been concerned that she seemingly blocked out that whole chapter of her life, not sure if it was due to the trauma or the heartbreak or both. Her time in therapy had focused on getting her through the trauma of what happened to her, and barely even touched her breakup. All she had done was lock her feelings in the basement and throw away the key, but they were still there and just as strong as ever.

After a few minutes Ashanti pulled herself together and looked at the people around her.

“I love you all so much,” she was able to get out through her tears and snot. Chidi grabbed some tissue and wiped her face.

“We love you too,” they all responded.

_______

After that day, Ashanti found herself thinking about T’Challa a little more than usual...ok a lot more than usual. Everything she saw reminded her of him, and it was starting to weigh on her. She still felt the same way about being with him, but she missed him more than she could say. Eventually she got the idea to give him a call. She talked herself out of and back into the idea for several weeks, and one day just said “Fuck it” and pressed his contact on her beads. She never got around to deleting it.

The trilling sound that followed filled her with dread. What if he didn’t pick up? What if she’s blocked or he changed his beads? 

She didn’t have time to go too far down that rabbit hole because the trilling stopped and her ex boyfriend appeared in the palm of her hand. They both stared at each other in silence before T’Challa spoke.

“Miss Ashanti, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She was saddened by his formality but stunned by the smoky timbre of his voice. She had missed it so much.

“H-hi, how are you?”

“I am well, how are you?”

“I’m doing ok.”

“Just ok?”

“Yeah, just ok…” Ashanti trailed off, leading to a long silence between the two. 

“Ashanti, is there something you need?”

“Oh, um, no not really. I just-,” she sighed, “You crossed my mind a couple times and something told me to reach out so I did.”

A small smile appeared on the king’s face.

“Just a couple times? I’m disappointed.”

She laughed, a sound he hadn’t had the pleasure of hearing in over a year, forcing his crooked smile to grow larger.

“Ok maybe a few times,” she said, while smiling back. 

“But seriously,” her voice softened, “how are you T’Challa?”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when she said his name, but he wasn’t surprised she still had that effect on him since it happened every time he thought of her. He wanted to answer her honestly, he really did, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her about his drinking problem and stint in rehab a few months ago. He went back and forth on the decision for a few moments before making up his mind.

“I am well now, it has been an uphill battle.”

“I know what you mean,” Ashanti replied before they both just stared at each other in silence for a moment. “Well, I um, I know you're busy, and I didn’t really want anything so I don’t want to keep y-”

“We’re going to be late, baby,” Ashanti was cut off by a gorgeous woman in a red dress entering the room behind T’Challa. She hadn’t even noticed that he was talking to anyone, barely looking up from her beads as she walked back out of the room. T’Challa cleared his throat.

“Unfortunately you caught me at a bad time, tonight-”

“That’s ok! Uh, have fun!” she panicked and ended the call. 

“Why would you just hang up like that?” she asked herself out loud before flopping back onto her bed.

After that embarrassment, she doesn't know if she’ll ever be able to talk to him again. Of all the different ways she imagined that conversation going she never accounted for the fact that he could have already moved on to someone else. She knew it was selfish and hypocritical since she had been with Zane, but something about the idea of him with anyone else made her blood boil and tears come to her eyes. She let a couple fall before getting up and going on about her day.

Late that night as she laid in bed scrolling through her social media she came across an article about the king’s 30th birthday celebration on the 9th. It was open to the public, and for a moment she considered going, but then she remembered the silky, high pitched voice emanating from behind T’Challa and decided against it. She’d rather not have to feel that embarrassment in public. Ashanti shut off her beads and closed her eyes, letting sleep take her for the night.

-------

The drummers were extra hype today, playing their hearts out as all of Wakanda danced and celebrated their king’s birthday. As they partied into the early morning T’Challa spent the whole time glued to his girlfriend Tamala, the Mining tribe princess. She had a habit of being clingy and wouldn’t allow anyone else to steal a dance. Around 1 in the morning, he had finally had enough and excused himself to go to the restroom. Making his way out of the venue, he caught the eye of someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Kwame?”

“My king,” he saluted T’Challa, but he waved him off.

“Please, you know me.”

“Better safe than sorry. Happy birthday man!”

“Thank you, thank you. Are you here alone?” T’Challa’s eyes scanned the crowd.

“No, I'm here with the usual people,” Kwame said, smirking in the king’s direction.

“So Ashanti is…”

“Over in the back corner avoiding you and the aggressive supermodel on your arm,” he took a sip of his rum punch. 

“I can understand that,” the king and Kwame stood there awkwardly, not knowing how to continue the conversation.  “It was good seeing you Kwame.”

“You too!”

The two quickly parted ways and Kwame ran straight to his friends at the table they had commandeered in the back. He sat down on Omar’s lap and told Ashanti of his interaction with the king, leaving out that he told him where to find her. Ashanti noticed Omar’s hands make their way around Kwame’s waist and she wished she could feel the king’s arms around her like that one more time. 

“I knew I shouldn't have come here, why did I let you two talk me into this? He has a girlfriend already.”

“Because your man knows how to throw a damn party!” Binta slurred a little, very obviously teetering between tipsy and drunk. Ashanti rolled her eyes at her ‘your man’ comment but agreed, looking around at all the happy partygoers. She sighed, wishing she could enjoy herself like they were. 

On his way to the restroom T’Challa was stopped by not one, not two, but three separate elders commenting on how good he and Tamala looked together and asking about marriage plans. T’Challa knew the council was anxious for him to get married and produce heirs, but no matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn’t see it with Tamala. She had everything he was looking for, but she was missing a special something. More like she’s not that special someone. She’s not her.

For the rest of the night, T’Challa avoided the elders and slyly kept his eye on Ashanti and her friends. He was mesmerized by her colorful curve-hugging jumpsuit and her natural hair that had grown much longer in the year they’d been apart. Her shoulders seemed to glow and her deep purple lipstick drew his eyes to her lips. His eyes travelled down her body, noticing that she had kicked off her shoes and he smiled fondly, remembering her disdain for heels. She looked up and caught him staring more than once, but he just couldn't stop. Everytime she caught him she’d quickly look away, too embarrassed to hold his gaze. His staring angered Tamala who also caught him staring more than once.

“Do you know her?” Tamala asked with an attitude, standing in his line of vision. T’Challa rolled his eyes because he sensed another argument coming. Tamala was a lot of wonderful things, but jealousy was her worst quality, hands down. He had never been one to have a wandering eye when he was with a woman, so normally her jealousy annoyed him to no end. However, this time he understood where she was coming from. 

“Yes, I do. She’s an old friend.”

“A ‘friend’ huh? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Tamala, please, not here. This is a celebration, try to be happy. For me, please.” 

The Mining tribe princess rolled her eyes and stormed off, shoulder checking Prince N’Jadaka on the way.

“Yo, me and your girl are gonna fight fight one of these days. Like, for real,” he said as he walked up to his cousin.

T’Challa chuckled as he sipped some more of his non-alcoholic ginger beer. 

“Let's go for a walk in the gardens,” he requested and the prince obliged. N’Jadaka pulled out a pre-roll and lit the tip, passing it to his cousin. “She’s upset because Ashanti is here.”

“Oh! She is, huh? Interesting...I’m surprised she showed.”

“I’m not,” he handed the blunt back to the prince, “she called me the other day. It was a very short conversation but...I still felt something and I think she did too. She looks good, really good. She asked how I had been but I couldn't really tell her the truth... She seems like she’s gotten so much better since the last time I saw her.”

The two walked in silence for a couple minutes passing the blunt back and forth before N’Jadaka broke the silence. 

“So you still love her?”

T’Challa didn’t even have to hesitate.

“Of course, I never stopped.”

---------

The next day, Ashanti and her roommates were all laying in the living room nursing hangovers while they half watched an old classic Wakandan movie. Ashanti was sick to her stomach, but she couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or the sappy love story she was forced to watch. After it was over, Binta pulled up the news and right as the meteorologist finished explaining the upcoming weather patterns, a huge picture of T’Challa and Tamala kissing took over the screen. Bile rose in her stomach as Binta scrambled to change the channel. Before she could, Ashanti heard the anchor say the very words she dreaded hearing, “Could there be a royal engagement on the horizon?” 

Binta turned the hologram off altogether, and the three of them sat in silence for a while until Kwame couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you ok?”

“I will be, it’s just rough right now. I’m happy he found somebody though, they look happy.”

Neither twin wanted to pry so they left it at that and changed the subject to food.

“I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like cooking.” Binta said in a huff, throwing herself back into the couch..

“Mood,” Kwame and Ashanti replied. 

“Ooh how about I grab some food from my parents? They’ve been wanting me to stop by,” Ashanti offered. 

“Bast bless you, my child.” Binta grabbed her hand and kissed it.

Ashanti threw her shoes on and was out the door in no time flat. She needed to get out of the house and clear her head. They looked so happy…

She was on autopilot when she reached the restaurant, barely even shooting a glance towards Taj’s before immediately heading back home. Chidi and Bisa could tell there was something bothering her, but chose not to pry.

Almost a week passed by with her being forced to see the new “it” couple everywhere she turned. It was starting to get to her so she called Jamila for a session, which turned into Ashanti seeing her on the regular. After a couple more months she no longer felt weighed down by her seemingly unrequited feelings for T’Challa and was genuinely ready to move on. She even downloaded a dating app on her beads and started meeting new people. Nothing really came of it, but she enjoyed herself nonetheless. Ashanti threw herself back into work, mostly focusing on her commissions while her employees handled Taj’s. Princess Shuri had spread the word about the artist after she received her necklace and since then Ashanti’s business had been booming. Everybody from farmers to nobility was knocking down her door for a custom piece. She even made a necklace for Shani, Chieftess of the Jabari. thAll was going well in Ashanti’s life and her therapy sessions were working, so when she saw the news of the royal engagement she allowed the grief to wash over her before shaking it off and going on about her day. On the other side of Birnin Zana, King T’Challa sighed as he watched the media coverage. He knew she was out there somewhere having to see it and he pushed back against the feeling of guilt that often tried to overcome him. He had to do it, though. He had been pushing the council to allow immigration into Wakanda and they just wouldn’t budge, just like he hadn’t budged on the issue of betrothal. It wasn’t until he announced to them that he had plans to marry Tamala that the council started to see things his way. This way everybody would be happy. He would be able to open up Wakanda more to the Lost Tribe, and they would have a queen and hopefully, soon after, an heir to the throne. A week later the news leaked to the press somehow and it quickly became all anyone could talk about.

During his weekly visits to the Merchant tribe T’Challa tended to avoid the Bazaar for fear of running into Ashanti, but this time he decided to venture in. People greeted him as he walked through, perusing the merchandise, and stopping periodically to chat. This is why he loved coming there, everyone was always so cheerful and bright. He had crouched down to talk to a nine year old girl who wanted his attention, and on his way back up he saw a woman in a purple headwrap walking out of a storefront, going in the opposite direction. He would’ve recognized that walk anywhere. T’Challa wanted to call out to her, but didn’t want to embarrass her or start a scandal. He watched her turn the corner and disappear from his sight. The king said goodbye to the little girl and her baba before heading off in the same direction she went, almost leaving his Doras in the dust. When he rounded the corner he stopped abruptly at the absolute vision staring right back at him. She was in shock, obviously not expecting to run into her newly engaged ex.

“T’Challa, h-hi.”

“Hi,” he said back, wanting to kick himself for not being more articulate.

“Um, congratulations on your engagement. I saw the news, well, everywhere.”

“Oh, uh, Thank you.”

“What brings you down here?”

“Just my usual weekly rounds.”

“Oh yeah, I remember those.” She smiled at the memory and his heart thumped a little louder in his chest at the sight. “You always looked forward to Mondays just for that…”

“I still do.”

They both awkwardly stood there, neither one of them saying what’s on their mind.

“Well, I uh, I have to go open up the store. I’ll see you around T’Challa.”

There was so much that he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t get it out. Being in her presence again after so long had him freezing up, something he never did.

She saluted him and winked before turning around and heading towards Taj’s. He couldn’t help but watch her hips twitch as she walked away and something told him she knew he was watching. She did.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@maddeningmayhem, @theblulife

[andromedarune]

Bede x Hop Request: “Just Desserts” (p1)

REQUEST ~ “I have one, it’s a hop x bede where bede feels bad for being mean to hop, but is too scared of apologizing to him in fear of rejection. Due to his past at the orphanage and his overall fear of being left alone again. So he decides to send homemade desserts to hop with secret messages ,anonymously . Hop Figures it out when the desserts stop coming after bede gets sick badly ( maybe a bad fever from exhaustion, anything that stops him from baking will do). You can include opal or the other gym leaders teasing hop on who could be sending the treats. I hope this is okay.”

A/N: Lolol this is a 2 parter bc my dumbass couldn’t stop writing even though I was in agony writing this (only bc I'm just not sure if it’s any good lolol). So, uh, please give me validation, haha - Hope y’all enjoy and the second part should be coming up sometime soon (when my brain decides to return into a solid shape).

The third time Hatterene hissed at him from across the room, Bede figured that he needed a better distraction. Obviously pacing wasn’t doing much to ease the frustration in his gut. The boy sighed, pausing to fix his neatly ironed white button-up shirt before turning on his heels and walking out the room. There were better things he could be doing with his time, anyways.

Things certainly have changed for the boy ever since he joined the gym challenge that fateful day. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. But he allowed himself a moment of gratitude, despite his usual vocalizations of annoyance in his current position in life, at how it was only a year ago that he was sitting in a poverty-stricken orphanage with a bunch of abhorrent adults pitying him every day. But he’d never let anybody know that, of course. The last thing he needed was people pitying him again; that was even more annoying than people trying to be his friend all the time. People could be so bothersome, it was sickening.

Bede made his way down the hall, unconsciously tip-toeing past Ms. Opal’s bedroom, where she no doubt was resting. Her age seems to finally be catching up with her, these days, since she seemed to be taking more naps than normal. The boy made sure not to comment about it. He didn’t need a lecture from that crazy old bag. Once clear, he made a sharp turn, stepping down the spiral staircase to find himself in the empty dining room. Once upon a time, large parties were held here, no doubt filled with beautifully rich people mingling to some classical music. Thankfully, no such nonsense happened here anymore, which meant Bede had relative free-reign of the house so long as he didn’t cause trouble. He meandered around the long mahogany table, keeping his steps as quiet as possible against the old wooden floorboards, and he made his way into the kitchen.

For years, the only thing Bede could reliably use for stress-relief had been battling. All his frustrations could come loose, he could speak his mind, and relish in the cool, refreshing glow of a victory after everything was said and done. Of course he would end up being pretty damn good at it, after so much dedication and practice. But then he joined the gym challenge, and that all went to pot. Suddenly, he started losing battles. Him? Losing a pokemon battle?! He had never even considered that to be a possibility before, but it was happening. Each and every battle suddenly became so personal, finding every possible weakness in his opponent to expose it and attain yet another beautiful victory. And for most opponents, it worked, and he hardly wasted another thought on the matter. But not all of them left his mind.

Bede frowned, crossing his arms with a huff as he leaned against the counter. These pesky feelings were really getting annoying. Maybe all these sweet-natured and emotional fairy-types were starting to affect him in more ways than one. He ran a hand through his curly locks as if the motion would magically clear his mind. It didn’t.

Well, there still is one thing that might ease his tensions. The youth dug through the kitchen, picking out some of the things he would need, and began his work.

Baking was a guilty pleasure of his, something only his pokemon and Ms. Opal knew about (and she only knew because she caught him in the middle of the night). The only reason he ever considered giving it a shot was because he had a serious sweet tooth, but growing up poor meant that it was hard to buy all those fancy cakes and cookies he longed for in the big bakeries of Wyndon. So he started making them himself. At first, everything was incredibly inedible, but he was stubborn about it. He collected books and articles about baking - all in secret - and eventually became good enough to where he figured that his confectionaries rivaled that of big businesses in the region. He’d probably make a killing off selling them, but he’d never even consider that possibility. The boy would probably die of embarrassment if anybody else found out about his skill in baking. It was bad enough being the fairy king of Ballonlea (as people seemed to be calling him, nowadays); he didn’t need people thinking he was some sweet-hearted weakling, either.

By the time he was whisking away the batter, his Sylveon pranced in, eager to try to steal a taste. The pink pokemon purred at his thigh, wrapping its ribbon-like appendages around his waist while he tried to ignore them.

“Don’t,” Bede snapped at the pokemon. “I’m not giving you any more batter.”

Sylveon barked, attempting to stand on its hind legs to blast a classic Baby Doll Eyes on it’s trainer. It’s not very effective.

“Sylveon.”

The pokemon pouted, slinking off to a corner to watch with a pitiful expression. Bede clicked his tongue, returning to his work in order to avoid falling for Sylveon’s little trap. The last thing he needed was Sylveon getting sick again. The boy worked in near complete silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional bang of a pan or a utensil against the countertop. He didn’t need to bother putting on an apron beforehand; he’s practically perfected his routine to where he hardly ever makes a mess, and if he does, he cleans it up right away. It was lazy to continue working in a dirty station. He eventually pours the dark chocolate batter into a circular pan, carefully tucking it into the preheated oven to cook.

Ah, yes, the time he hated the most - waiting. Thankfully, it wasn’t some giant, triple-decker cake that would need an eternity to cook; just forty minutes would suffice. He tidied up the kitchen a bit, washing some of the utensils and bowls he had borrowed before his mind started to wander yet again. He reached for the whisk when that terrible sensation in his gut suddenly slapped into him again, nearly forcing him down to his knees. The whisk tumbled down into the soapy water, sinking the bottom with a soft clank. Bede bit his lip, trying to keep his mind focused on the present. He didn’t have time to be wallowing in the mistakes of the past - he was better than that.

But still it remained. A bothersome guilt pulled him from the depths of his stomach, reminding him all the bitter words and heartless accusations he had thrown at so many people over the years. He thought that all of his training and efforts under Ms. Opal would be enough to push all those thoughts away, but they only increased with every day that went by. Though the world seemed to be forgiving him, he couldn’t help but hear the whispers of disdain amid the crowd with every match he participated in. It wasn’t like him to care about anybody else’s opinion. But here he was, running through every possible way he could make amends to the world. How pitiful. Bede shook his head. There’s no way to make everybody happy with me, he reminded himself, so just focus on being better. He was right; he couldn’t make amends with everyone, he couldn’t make everyone he hurt suddenly happy. But as Bede reached down for the whisk one more time, he couldn’t resist the want in his chest to try and reach out for the person he had hurt the most.

Yeah, that really wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Bede near slapped himself in the face. What was he even thinking? Reaching out to someone like that?! Pathetic. He should be ashamed that his brain even came up with such a worthless idea. With another huff, the boy finished the dishes, moving some more things out from the cabinets to begin making the icing. It would be a travesty to put simple whipped cream icing on a chocolate cake, so Bede started working himself through a familiar buttercream recipe. Which was fine; everybody likes buttercream. Well, everyone with a soul likes buttercream. At least in Bede’s opinion.

The oven dinged not too long after. The boy paused his work to pull out the aromous dessert, setting it delicately on the middle shelf of the brand-new blast chiller that he received as a gift from Ms. Opal. He returned to the icing, popping in some pastel pink dye for reasons. The task would likely be complete by the time the cake was an acceptable temperature. He had done this a thousand times. Everything was second-nature, at this point.

Soon enough, it was his favorite part of the process. He scooped all of the icing and stuffed it into a frosting bag, pulled out the cake, and began his work. Out of the entire process, the icing was his favorite. Delicate, precise, no room for error. His mind would go completely blank as his hands did all the work, sculpting elegant rose designs along the sides of the cake. Never anything too elaborate (not that he couldn’t make it fancy, of course), never anything too plain. A perfect work of art - a declaration of love, if you will. But perhaps that was an interpretation that only Bede could recognize, much less appreciate. Finally, it was complete, sitting before him in all its beautiful, delicious glory. Sylveon trotted back up to its trainer, trying to stand up a little taller to get a better look at the result. Bede stared down at the cake, unsure how to feel. It was just what he envisioned. No doubt it would taste as good as it looked, probably even better. He poured his emotions into making this work of art, as he always had. But why did he always hesitate? Hadn’t he made this for himself to eat?

Bede shook his head, trying to hold back the trembling sigh from his lips. He wandered back to the kitchen to wash his hands, Sylveon watching with a perplexed expression. When the pokemon called for his attention, he finally slumped forward, leaning against the counter with his eyes slammed shut.

“I can’t do it,” he scoffed, unsure of who he was even talking to. “I do this every time, and I still can’t do it.”

Sylveon returned to his side, pressing a wet nose against Bede’s elbow. The boy absentmindedly reached down for the lovely creature, running his hands through the soft fur in hopes that it would ease his frustrations.

There was one other reason that Bede baked. He had always thought that food was the way to someone’s heart, especially sweets. Surely it would be enough to earn someone’s forgiveness, as well.

But the idea of actually doing that was terrifying. There was simply no way he could head all the way down to the laboratory in Wedgehurst, knock on the door with his heart in his hands, and beg for forgiveness from the person he had been so sure that he hated with every fiber of his being. And why? Because he was jealous? Confused? Like anybody would believe that nonsense. Even the thought of looking into those brilliant golden eyes again filled him with so much anxiety that it was difficult to breathe. Even thinking that person’s name would be a death sentence for Bede’s decrepit heart. Did he even still have one? Surely he must - all these pesky emotions had to be coming from somewhere. You would think that years of self-inflicted bitterness and anger would wring that stuff out of you, but apparently not.

Sylveon nudged his trainer yet again. Deep magenta eyes peered down, still trying to seem irritated with the pokemon’s constant interruptions.

“What?” he frowned.

The pokemon just stared up at him, that hopeful twinkle in its eyes gleaming with just a hint of… knowingness? The boy flicked up an eyebrow.

“You’re not serious,”

Sylveon barked happily.

“Most definitely not.”

A whine. Bede ran another hand through his hair, shaking his head. There was no way his pokemon was going to convince him to do something so childish. Right?

And yet, there he was, standing in front of the Wedgehurst Pokemon Laboratory, simple white box in his trembling hands. A small pink envelope rested on the top of the box, devoid of any signature or address. Just a quick drop-off gift to ease his conscience a little, nothing more. Sure, he had spent nearly three hours writing a letter - constantly writing then rewriting then rewriting some more in an attempt to make his words sound less annoying - but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Not like he would even know who sent this stuff. Bede made sure of that. So, with a deep inhale, the pink-clad boy gingerly placed the gift on the welcome mat, giving it a much too sentimental pat before racing off. Sylveon, following its cue, slapped the doorbell and scampered off after its owner, hiding beside the side of the building. Bede scooped up the pokemon, holding it to his chest while his heart raced inside of him. Was he making a big mistake? Would he even feel any sort of comfort from this? He wasn’t expecting any sort of forgiveness - he didn’t even sign the note! Maybe this wasn’t exactly his best idea.

The door opened with a creak, halting the gym leader’s breathing for a moment. A hefty bleat burst into life from the porch. No doubt that was Dubwool. Bede held his breath a little longer, clutching onto his decently sized pokemon for dear life.

“Hey, what’s this?” Hop’s voice wafted into the air. Bede could have died right then and there. Already he sounded so different - hadn’t it only been a year since they last spoke to each other? He sounded so much like his brother, but more youthful and bright…. But Bede tried not to think about that too much. “I don’t think Sonia’s expecting a package today.”

It’s for YOU, you dolt, Bede wanted to scream, feeling his face heat up to a rather unsightly shade of pink. Well, if pink could really be unsightly. But the sounds of shuffling and the following shut of the front door soon ease all the tension from the gym leader’s shoulders. Sylveon squirmed a bit in his hold, but Bede was too busy peeking around the corner. The box was now gone, no doubt in the hands of the professor’s assistant. Everything was out of Bede’s hands. He had technically made his amends, and could live his life in peace. With a smug nod of his head, he left the laboratory and made his way back to Ballonlea.

But then next week came along, and the feelings returned again. Bede could hardly focus on his training because of it; those terrible anxious feelings curled around in his stomach, but this time were tinged in a strange sensation of - dare he say - longing. Had Hop read the letter? Had he eaten the cake? Was it good? Did he even like chocolate cake with buttercream icing? Bede paused at that. Everyone likes chocolate cake with buttercream icing, he affirmed to himself, those who don’t are soulless and tasteless wretches! But still, these emotions didn’t seem to be leaving him any time soon. Sylveon pranced up to him as he stomped out of the stadium, frustrated with his own distraction, and offered a knowing yip. Bede didn’t even try to argue. He just grumbled a frustrated affirmation to the pokemon and hurried back to Ms. Opal’s house.

Within the next couple of hours, another elegant cake was crafted, just as perfect as the last. This time, though, he decided upon a chaste vanilla batter, along with a basic cooked frosting that was dyed a pale blue. Unlike the last, this cake was considerably more simple, but still managed to hold an elegant touch thanks to the delicate rose sculptures dancing along the top of the cake. While Bede was positive that his last cake was absolute perfection, he figured that a change of flavors could be appreciated. There was no way that Hop would have disliked something so perfect, no? Bede didn’t let himself entertain that thought.

As he wrapped up his cake, however, he noticed Sylveon trot away from his place at his feet. Before Bede could ask what was the matter, his eyes caught sight of that familiar old woman gazing curiously at the boy from the threshold. Bede grimaced, trying not to seem so guilty.

“A-ah, Ms. Opal, I….”

“Feeling frustrated, I see?” she spoke as plain as day, giving the pokemon a few pats.

Bede looked back down to his creation, wishing that she would just leave him alone. It wouldn’t be the first time anybody would do that.

“I was just feeling unsatisfied with my performance today during training. Nothing more.”

“Hm… And might I add that you’re looking considerably more pink than you usually are.”

Bede grumbled, raising a hand up to his cheeks. Sure enough, they were warm.

“D-don’t you have anything better to do?”

Opal shrugged, seeming content to watch the boy squirm underneath her sharp glare. He was an adorable little thing, if a bit ornery. Well, incredibly ornery. Eventually, though, she began to shuffle off, waving a withered hand in her farewell.

“Go on - make your delivery before the cake gets stale. Wouldn’t want that sweet little Hop eating a stale cake, now, do we?”

“Ah, yes, of course - WAIT WHAT?!?”

But she was already down the hall, hooting to herself in her crazy old laughter. The pink on his cheeks flared into a strawberry red, burning through his body like he was hit with a powerful Will-o-Wisp. How could she have seen right through him? Was he really that obvious? Before he could scream at her that she was misinterpreting things, Sylveon nudged the boy’s side. Well, maybe that could wait until after the cake was delivered. Bede pursed his lips as he finished boxing up the cake, and hurried off to scratch out an acceptable letter to go with it.

Just one more should do it, he reminded himself as he reached the laboratory yet again, depositing his anonymous gift onto the welcome mat just like before. And then my conscience will be clear and I can focus on more important things. He nodded to himself before scrambling away, letting his Sylveon ding-dong-ditch just like last time.

“Oh, another?” Hop’s voice eventually rang out, snagging something deep in Bede’s chest. “I wonder if it’s from the same person?”

Of course it is, you moron! Bede silently fumed from the side of the laboratory, waiting for the door to shut. A few moments went by, filled with a strange silence. Bede crossed his arms, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread in his gut. Just take it inside already, he wanted to shout. But that’d be unwise, exposing himself in such a childish manner. So the gym leader remained silent, counting the seconds as he fought the urge to peek around. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the door eventually closed, releasing the breath that Bede had been unconsciously holding the entire time. He glared down at Sylveon, who seemed incredibly happy at the moment as it danced around Bede’s feet.

“Alright,” he whispered, pointing a finger at the jovial creature, “that’s the last one. No more after this - got it?”

Sylveon wagged its tail, staring back with those big dumb eyes to its trainer. Bede let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He figured that reprimanding the pokemon would be fruitless, so he just decided to leave now while he had the chance. The last thing he needed was to get caught while engaging in an unsightly shouting match with a rather clueless Sylveon.

[sunagitsunee]

Achilles Heel

Hurt / Comfort, Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoe

POST 115 FIC

ALSO IN AO3

The patterns of the exposed beams of the ceiling were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Levi had been past his major self-loathing stage, one that immediately kicked in after his stupor post the explosion. He’d been through despondency and helplessness after realizing the mishap took out parts of him that were necessary for battle. Denial was there, too, with the fact that he was a diminished version if himself after the accident—that he might not be the strongest one anymore.

What was eating him away was the guilt: survivor’s guilt. Or more so, having to bide his time until he could fully recover just so he could return to the battlefield.

Basically, he had to stay put, bathe in peace, while their allies were dying by the minute. 

To him, it was an indirect murder by his hands, because he failed.

Once more he was unsuccessful in fulfilling his promise to his previous commander, just because he was being uncharacteristically reckless. And to make it worse, his current commander was stuck nursing him back to health instead of watching over the poor kids left to finish what they had started.

It was all fucked up.

No—scratch that. It was beyond fucked up.

Levi had already faced all kinds of defeat ever since his memory had afforded to remember. And he thought losing his mother, his dearest friends, his own squad, and even Erwin, were already the peak of the damnation of his existence. He was clearly mistaken.

Because this time, he had lost a little more than himself, and gained back one thing he had forsaken a long time ago.

Well, he had spent the last decade redeeming himself from the clutches of the underground. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, that was what everyone called him. He walked and talked the reputation. He devoted himself to his host and to the cause of saving humanity that the supposed burden became his second skin, to the point that his emotions got in the way—so he got rid of it.

As they say, they had to become what they wanted to kill. And he, including several other members of the original Survey Corps, became monsters to eradicate other monsters. Living with the armor of ferociousness for so long made him forget what it was like to feel despair. People had died left and right and tears came out reservedly, away from a mere human being’s gaze. No big deal.

Before the accident that rendered him catatonic for days, he had the impression that he would outlive everyone, so he had no problems of thinking about who would die next. Normally, his soul would be crushed and be forced to move on the next second because everyone counted on him to carry on the will of the dead.

However, the brush with good old death had changed things drastically.

He can die, alone and powerless. The truth was cold and unforgiving. It hit him like a brick wall. And he hated it.

Years and years of bravado and confidence had led up to this point. And the biggest problem was, who will carry on his will and those who died before him once he is gone? Who was strong enough to bear all the weight he carried in his back? All the lives which were sacrificed, if he couldn’t let them live on through someone else, would they have been wasted all for naught?

Who would care to remember him if he was to suddenly disappear, and no one else was around?

That was not even the worst.

The most fucked up thing that ever happened in that incident was being in the brink of oblivion, almost fading out, but then meeting the gaze of someone else that was filled with terror and sadness over the fact that he was, in fact, perishing.

It stung so bad, that it made him cower at the thought of biting the dust just like that.

He had never thought about it before, to be honest. But back then during his last breaths, when he had the sliver of chances to look upon the face of the person who was calling him back to reality: he saw that expression. Anguished was not even enough to describe what he witnessed. Fear, confusion, resolve, despair, longing… hundred more waves broke through his savior’s—Hanji's—facade while they held him gently, while he clung to that warmth as if it was his lifeline.

Which was stupid. Because they aren’t normally like that. They’d laugh and shout but not once did they throw those sentiments at him without holding back. They were strong like him. They’d lost people too, but they stood up and fought on.

So why, why did the glimpse of their face in sorrow made his wounds ache a thousand times more than they should?

Pathetic. Levi had convinced himself over these past few days that it should be the last time that he’d let them go through that. He wouldn’t go out like that. He’d never want to see Hanji’s eyes, the most vibrant pair he’d ever met, be clouded again in his dying moments.

He would have to make do of what’s left of him to push through, no matter how lamentable the outlook seemed.

 “Knock, knock.”

As if on cue, his rumination was disrupted with the voice that retrieved him from the underworld. The door revealed Hanji’s resigned frame, and light steps against the wood followed after as they approached his rigid figure in the tub.

Levi slowly turned his head towards them and took note of their sullenness behind the pretentious but affable smile.

“What? Don’t tell me you wanna take a bath with me?”

“Maybe. But I suck at doing it. You blasting me with water is still the best way to do it.”

Scoff. “It’ll be a different experience since I have less fingers to blast you with.”

He watched how they winced for a split second, probably a knee-jerk reaction after being reminded of his current setbacks. Hanji finally let out a sigh after holding their breath for several seconds before setting by the floor, absentmindedly playing with his bath water by dipping an entire arm.

“I talked with our hosts. The Azumabitos are displeased with how we are doing. Understandably so. But they are willing to hide us until you’re fully on your feet. Thanks to them, I’ve sent a coded message to Mikasa for our current status.”

“Yeah. And are they still all alive?”

“Presumably. Eren was dead for some time, but as expected of shifters, they can transfer consciousness and heal.”

“Fuck those shifters.” Good thing the kids were still kicking, but man, fuck Zeke and his existence. He spearheaded all this fuckery. And he’s still out there thanks to him.

“Our forces have withdrawn for the meantime… They have control over our new recruits, and most of our leaders have been transformed to…titans… I’ve instructed Jean to gather our remaining allies and rummage for whatever is salvageable. I'm—”

Hanji paused and bit their lip before punching the edge of the tub with their other hand, so hard that he felt the tremors from the impact. Levi knew them all too well, they were frustrated, more so with themselves rather than anything else.

“Damn… We’ve lost so much. I was never suited to be this. I’m such a fucking mess. Erwin would have pulled a miracle out of our asses by now. You know that. I’m sure you think the same way.”

NO! Obviously! Erwin was gone, right? And Levi chose it to be that way. He still doesn’t regret the choice of letting him rest, keeping him safe from this abhorrent world. Except that seeing Hanji at the end of their wits was every bit of torturous for him, too. But still…

“You said it before, Hanji. Outcomes aren’t determined by a single choice. Don’t take all the blame.”

Another fist hit the keg. “But I am at fault. I failed to draw a good gamble, and I got you injured by a flaw in the weapon that I made. I’m… I’m sorry, Levi. I’m not even sure if that amounts to anything anymore….”

Jeez.

Hanji was at it again. His guilt was already a thing, but theirs were like a second punch in the gut. They needed to be coherent as soon as possible for all their sakes, and Levi was one of the handful who could knock some sense into them.

“That’s the fiftieth goddamn apology you’ve managed to spew, and as far as I know, you aren’t supposed to be a deprecatory ass.” He spoke a little louder, making sure to emphasize every word. “Maybe if you stopped gambling and living in Erwin’s shadow and be precise like you used to be, those words would actually bear something.”

They went silent for a while, with only the drops from the faucet accentuating the stillness. Hanji was crouched away from his sight, probably pondering on their shortcomings, wallowing on the hurt from his statements, or perhaps repeating his harsh preaching like a mantra until they were consequential.

In the first place, they were the only person who could read between the lines no matter what foul words he spat out.

What he meant, anyway: Hanji had always been the better person, and if there was anyone who could get their stride back, it was them. They just had to get out of their slump, and they need to be back to their usual self. That he trusted them, and that he would do anything for them.

His speech seemed fruitful, much to his relief. When they straightened up, there were less shadows on their face, albeit the weeks of sleep deprivation and stress made the frown lines seem permanent.

Hanji tapped the surface of the water, purposefully splashing on his body, and some, hitting his face.

“Asshole,” they said. Levi kicked lightly and the ripples overflowed until they got into their clothes, too. He got a stifled gasp as a response.

“That’s the shitty glasses that I know.”

They chuckled but stopped abruptly to move closer until their faces were the same level. Their chin rested against the tub and their fingers hovered on the new scar that adorned his visage.

Caressing without touching, that is. For some reason it relaxed Levi; it was as if they were accepting his impairments instead of intruding upon him. It was their usual dynamic, one that went off-track when the war had started.

A thorn got dislodged from his heart knowing their thing was finally back.

“I’m sorry, Levi. Just this once, I say not as your commander. I truly am sorry.”

He shifted fully to his side so their good eyes could meet. There was something thick building up in his throat; he could have ignored it but decided against it. If he didn’t say it on the spot, he may never have the chance to do so.

“Thank you. And this is personal. You could’ve left me there. A dead man served no purpose to your goals, but you ended up putting your life on the line as well. You’re that dumb, but you saved me. I owe you. Everything.”

Hanji smiled and let their touch graze his jaw, right where the gash ended.

“I will admit, I was being selfish in that one. I could have let you rest, but I was scared. I… couldn’t let you go in the end.”

His chest drummed at their words and how they rolled off from their tongue.

“Scared, huh.“

He was, as well. Openly. For the first time. And if the situations were reversed, he’d risk his life to save them, too. Maybe the fear of losing them was a big part of his weakness now, but it’s a weakness he’d have to live with moving forward. "Maybe we are humans after all…”

“Yeah, you monster… I… just realized I needed you. Only humans do that kind of thing, I guess…?”

Needed. By the way the russet in their eye glinted, he knew they meant it in every sense of the word, and he too, felt the same way. More than they could both comprehend. More than the bonds of the dying breed that they share.

It was needing in a much, much, intimate level. And it took that recent trip to demise to bring those feelings bursting to the surface.

Levi’s hand met theirs, and he immediately appreciated the familiar warmth in contrast with the cold water. He held it down by his neck and rested against their palm. Hanji lightly squeezed on his skin.

“Hey… Don’t die alone, Levi. Don’t die before me. Get our freedom in my stead if I go. Promise me.”

He could feel their breath grazing in his face, and it nearly wanted him to breach the small distance that kept them apart and catch their lips. But no, this was not the time for it. It was unfair. War had no space for such ties.

He decided he would do it when they’re finally free, only then, since they deserved the whole of him. They’d start a new life together, that was his new resolve.

Instead, Levi smiled and brought his handicapped grip to nestle on their cheek.

“Don’t be stupid. If you go down, I go down. If you live, I live. So do your damned best to survive, and I would keep at it too. That’s what I can promise.”

Hanji turned their head to press their lips longingly to his palm before speaking.

“Of course… that seems fair to me.”

[avis-writeshq]

Shawn Mendes x Reader: Like To Be You

Here’s a fic to make up for not posting recently ;-;... eh, it’s... long?

Requested: No

Warnings: Angst and crude language I suppose.

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Fem!Reader

Other: Based on the song “Like to be you” by Mr. Mendes >.< Y’all, I ain’t saying Shawn is that big a Baka that he wouldn’t help his s/o with her stuff… Imma just put that out there.

Word count: 2,489

 Things you probably wanna know, for all you ‘x reader’ illiterates:

(Y/N): Your Name

(H/C): Hair Colour / Color

(E/C): Eye Colour / Color

(N/N): Nickname

(B/F/N): Best Friend’s Name

B/F/N/N): Best Friend’s Nickname

Two years. You and Shawn have been dating for two years. You would have thought that sometime during those two years he would have taken some time off to spend time with you. You would have thought that he would have taken some time off from the tours, took some time to relax, and just do nothing for a few weeks. Heck, even a few days would have been enough for you. But for almost the entirety of those two years, he was either at the studio, partying, or touring the globe.

You were proud of him. Of course, you were! You were proud that he found something he loved as well as millions of people. But sometimes you felt as if he didn’t even care about you. The first year he would apologise and make it up to you the next day, just spending a few minutes to talk to you, take you to a coffee shop for lunch, go to the movies to snack off the popcorn... He would take the time to kiss you goodnight and even that was enough. But lately, things weren’t up to par.

He spent 4 months on tour. Four freaking months without seeing him. Sure, you called each other, but every time your conversation was cut short.

“I’m really sorry, but the soundcheck is happening in five.”

“I’m sorry, baby, but the makeup crew needs me.”

“Sorry, honey, but I have to go.”

“Can we talk in the morning? The concert was draining.”

No more apologies. No more ‘making things right’. It was all ‘I have an excuse to leave’. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you stared at your phone. Without Shawn, the condo felt emptier than usual and you couldn’t take it. More than often, you would leave the apartment by 7 in the morning to go to work and return at 9, just so you can avoid it.

The café you were in wasn’t very busy, and for that you were thankful. You didn’t need people asking questions as to why you weren’t with Shawn or some random crap like that. You bit your bottom lip in agitation. You didn’t need this right now. With the stress of work and keeping food on the table, you didn’t need more stress in your life.

***

Shawn came back to the condo at the end of the tour, exhausted beyond his mind. After all, how could you expect him to not be with his partying until 2am and greeting his fans all the time? But that was 2 weeks ago. Surely he had time to get used to being home. His living standards were definitely up to par; he didn’t put away his dishes, turn off lights after he leaves the room, he doesn’t even pick up his socks! But you promised yourself to be patient. He has always had it harder than you, so you might as well try to be understanding.

“Hey Shawn,” you smiled as he came out of the bedroom, 7 o’clock in the morning. You were wearing your usual work clothes and was already packing your lunch and breakfast in your bag. Shawn stayed up late that night at Brian’s house, despite the fact he had work the next day. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, (Y/N), just really tired.” He let out a yawn, “I might take the day off today.”

At those words, you perked up. “Really?”

“I’ll try. I’m going to call Andrew. I’ll be right back, hun.”

You nodded as he retreated back into the bedroom, phone in his hands. Maybe now you could spend time together. Maybe go to the movies. He was always a Marvel fan, wasn’t he? Far From Home was released a few days ago, why don’t you go watch that? Before you could even think twice about the option, Shawn emerged from the room, letting out a huge sigh.

“How’d it go?”

“He said I could stay home,” he said, running a hand through his curls.

“Great!” You grinned. “Do you mind helping me with the dishes?”

“Why can’t you do them?”

Your smile faltered for a split second before you let out a breath. “I have to call my boss so I can have a day off, to spend more time with you. Besides, I’ve been living alone for the past few months and you barely did anything to help…” you trailed off, biting your lip.

“I’ve been touring the world, remember?” Shawn rolled his eyes. “I need a break.”

“It’s just a few dishes,” you mutter under your breath, “helping out isn’t going to kill you.”

“Then why don’t you do it? You’re making a big deal out of this!” His voice was starting to rise and you flinched slightly.

“Shawn, I was just asking you to help out,” you closed your eyes tightly. Why didn’t you just put the dishes away yourself?

“I’ve been away for 4 months and you’re mad at me for not helping out?” You could hear the agitation in his voice. “You don’t understand what I do!”

“Shawn-” You pleaded, tears prickling your eyes.

“I’m fucking tired, (Y/N)! You could at least help me!”

“I don’t want to fight about this…” you mumbled, looking away. Your attention was drawn to the clock that was already pointing at 7:15. “Crap, I’m going to be late!”

“Wait, (Y/N)-”

“I have to go; my boss is going to kill me.” And with that, you picked up your bag and bolted, thankful for the quick escape.

“(Y/N)-” But you were already gone.

Shawn let out a deep sigh, putting away the dishes that you left in the sink. He was an idiot. The plate on the counter had breakfast all ready to go; an apple cinnamon muffin with a cup of coffee. A small note beside it caught his eye and when he read it, guilt was pouring out.

‘Don’t work too hard! With love, (Y/N)’

The 24-year-old groaned, tugging at his hair. This wasn’t how he intended this morning to go! Why didn’t he just help you out? He wasn’t going to do anything, anyway. He was on tour for 4 months with minimal contact with you. He should be helping and loving you with every fibre of his being! Not making a mountain out of a molehill!

He grit his teeth in frustration. When you get home tonight, he was going to apologise and do everything in his power to fix things. But you never returned home.

***

“Thanks for letting me stay over, (B/F/N),” you smiled, tugging your work bag.

“What are friends for?” She grinned back, carrying a pillow for you. “What happened between you and Shawn?”

You groaned at the thought, plopping yourself down on the couch. “We had a fight. You know how he’s been on tour lately?”

Your best friend nodded thoughtfully, “to Europe, right? I thought he would have called you.”

“Yeah,” you roll your (E/C) eyes, “for five minutes. But now that he’s back, he wouldn’t even help me put away dishes.”

“Well, that sucks,” she sighed, sitting next to you.

“But it’s my fault, anyway. I should have just done them myself. He’s been on tour for 4 months. He’s tired. I should understand,” shaking your head, you hug the pillow. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for him, (B/F/N/N).”

“(Y/N) (L/N), don’t ever say that about yourself. It isn’t your fault for expecting him to pick up some slack and it definitely isn’t your fault for causing the fight. And you are more than enough for Shawn. You’re kind, sometimes too kind, smart, beautiful… need I go on? You coped for months without him. If anything, he’s a trash boyfriend,” she shrugged, hugging you by the shoulders. “He didn’t even ask about your day when he called?”

“Not exactly…” you trailed off, and, seeing (B/F/N) disapproving stare, you quickly covered your comment up. “But he was really busy! Andrew kept calling him to fix something up… it’s really not a big deal…”

(B/F/N) let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Brian called, though. Shawn’s worried about you. You missed 4 of his calls.”

Your eyes widened in realisation, “really? I didn’t know.” Rummaging through your bag, there really were 4 phone calls as well as 8 text messages, 5 of which were apologies. You sighed, putting the phone down onto the couch.

“You aren’t going to call him back?”

“What if he’s still mad at me?” You bit your lip. “What if he just wants to finish the argument?”

“Why would he still be mad at you? (Y/N), if he’s still mad at you, he wouldn’t have called.”

Clenching your fists, you avoided any possible eye-contact, your anxiety shooting through the roof. “You know how long Shawn holds a grudge for…”

“And you know how much he loves you,” (B/F/N) pointed out. “(Y/N), you have him wrapped around your finger. He’s completely smitten with you!”

“I don’t know… he seemed really mad…” you frowned, leaning into the couch, flashing back to his frustration.

“Look. If you need space, you got it. Just… call him when you’re ready, okay? Don’t leave him hanging.”

“Yeah… okay.”

***

“Shit, Bri, I messed up big time,” Shawn groaned, collapsing on the couch. “I should have called her! I should have just done the stupid dishes for fuck’s sakes.”

“Mmhm,” Brian nodded, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to pretend that you didn’t mess up, because you did, Shawn.”

“But she doesn’t know how hard it is to be… me!” He scoffed, “I’m the one touring the world all the damn time!”

“And she’s the one you’re leaving behind every year to tour the world. She had to work, sleep alone, and all the while you didn’t call her,” the man huffed. “Why can’t you get it into your thick skull that she’s got it harder than you?”

“Because she doesn’t! You don’t know how much I missed her, how much I wished to be back here instead of thousands of miles/kilometres away from her!”

“Then tell her that, Shawn!” Brian let out another frustrated sigh. “You love her, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“Then talk to her, but maybe not right now. She’s probably still upset.”

“Right, yeah, of course. I’ll go tomorrow.” With that, Brian left him to his wallowing.

Shawn tugged at his hair, guilt clawing at his heart. He should have helped you. He loved you more than anything, and he made you run away. He shouldn’t have complained, but he did it anyway. He was so used to having people do things for him that he never even bothered to do things himself! He rubbed his face to calm himself down. He needs to apologise to you before he messes things up even more for both of you.

***

“Sometimes I’m kinda grateful that Shawn is such a huge rock star,” you admitted as you stirred the pot of soup. You were helping (B/F/N) with dinner as a thank you for letting you stay over. Your phone was in your pocket, earbuds blasting out a song.

“Why’s that?” She asked, looking up from her book.

You shrug, turning your attention back to the soup, “I can listen to his voice whenever I want.”

The woman burst into laughter, rolling her eyes. “You really are smitten, (N/N). I can’t believe Shawn would pick a fight with you. You’re so precious.”

At those words, you scoff, turning down the heat of the stove and moving to wash your hands. “I am not precious, and I am certainly not innocent. I’ve done more things with Shawn than you have in your entire life.”

(B/F/N) let out a mocking gasp, a small notepad flying your way. You snickered, dodging it with ease. “(Y/N), you’re such a freak!”

“You love me, really!”

A few hours later when you were sitting on the couch, your phone buzzed with another notification. (B/F/N) was already asleep, but you were reading a chapter of your book. Picking up the phone, a small smile made its way onto your face as you read the text.

Shawn <3: Goodnight, baby

Shawn <3: I love you

You rolled your eyes, typing back a quick response.

You: ILY 2

Chuckling to yourself, you put your book down, “what a sap.”

***

By 7 o’clock in the morning, you were awake, a fresh plate of pancakes and strawberries on the counter. You weren’t very tired, even though you stayed past midnight reading your book. You were strangely energetic, having woken up at 6:30. You were just about to call (B/F/N) out for breakfast when the doorbell rang.

“Were you expecting someone?”

“No…” she groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Who in their right mind would be here at 7 o’clock in the damn morning?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a knock.

“WHO’S AWAKE AT THIS UNGODLY HOUR?!” (B/F/N) demanded, glaring at you.

Raising your arms in surrender, you went to open the door, only to be met with a familiar pair of brown eyes. Only, instead of the usual cheekiness, they were red from tears. “Shawn?”

“(Y/N)! I thought you weren’t going to open!” He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper. He wasn’t wearing his usual black jeans and t-shirt. Instead, he was wearing sweatpants and his Harvard jumper.

You frowned before opening the door wider to let him inside. “Shawn, what’s wrong?”

“Everything! Dammit, (Y/N), you leave without saying anything, barely responding to my text and sh-” he quickly caught himself before looking you in the eyes. “You were right. (Y/N), you’re always right. I should have just helped you out. You were living alone, and I barely called! I should have done something!”

“What? No, you’re right! I have no idea what you do or how you do it. You‘re exhausted beyond your mind and I should have helped you out. I should have known that you were tired and I should have done something about it.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “You’re touring the world, Shawn! I should be more supportive.”

“No, baby, you are supportive. You’re always so good to me. You do everything back home. If you weren’t there, I would have no clothes for months and the only food I’ll be eating is cereal.”

You manage a small giggle through your tears, “you really are hopeless when it comes to food.”

“What I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry. I’ve been a trash boyfriend and I should have helped you out more.” He offered a small smile and he barely had any time to react when you wrapped your arms around his waist. The curly-haired man let out a sigh of relief, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Shawnie.”

[yhs-silly]

Hang on there buddy #2

Trigger warnings: suicide mentions, character death, murder mention, ghost s, self harm, self harm mention

After another week or two, people began to notice how Grian was getting; he stopped joking around with Sam and Taurtis, he just sat quietly during class, he never really ate much- Chan had even spread a rumour that she’d seen him drinking from a bottle of wine in the bathroom at lunch, no one was sure if it was real or not as Grian refused to comment. In all honesty he figured he could use it to cope, he didn’t mind the taste, though it was a little bitter. The real reason he drank it was he thought it could help him cope, it was what his mother had used after all, his father used something else but they didn’t sell vodka nor whiskey in the store, so wine it was.

Grian kept up the cutting, as soon as his money had been transfered he went straight out and bought a pack of razors. The cuts got longer and deeper but he cried a little less everytime. He felt like he was coping at least a little when he did this, the fresh cuts hiding just under his sleeves reminding him just how much of a terrible person he was and how he shouldn’t do anything to display his emotions- he simply didn’t deserve them. Sometimes this mentality meant he felt guilt whilst cutting, like it was only a plea for attention and not a way to cope, but he pushed those thoughts out of his mind when the steel made contact with his flesh.

But that wasn’t the only change happening, when Grian moved into the apartment, they told him that there were only two beds but he was fine with it, he didn’t mind the sofa.

That wasn’t the issue he had with living with those two.

Grian was no stranger to emotions, that was obvious. But positive ones always seemed to elude him, lately though, he’d been feeling very warm and fuzzy around his friends. He hated that feeling, he didn’t deserve to be happy, he simply didn’t.

Then it happened, he realised what he was feeling. Sam had started cooking, just small things like savory muffins and omelettes, veggie burgers and the like but Grian and Taurtis always enjoyed them, even if they were bad. He was currently making some strawberry pancakes using Yuki’s recipe, Grian could smell it as soon as he woke up, Taurtis hadn’t woken up yet so Grian was just sat there, playing with his hands and breathing through the pain coming from his arms. He watched Sam lazily, the rabbit had the radio on and Grian couldn’t help but smile at how Sam’s left ear bobbed to the beat, twitching up and down in time.

Grian didn’t even realise he’d been humming along to the radio until Taurtis walked in and sat next to him, yawning and leaning against him. “Nice humming there G.” He chuckled a little before getting comfy, his head resting against Grian’s shoulder. Grian felt his face heat up and his heart both swell and drop, he liked them. He realised with that awful sinking feeling setting in, he had a crush on them, his two best friends in the worlds and he was here acting like a creep. He felt awful, these were his friends, he wasn’t supposed to like them, he felt like a pervert for simply looking at them.

Grian sat in class a few hours later, staring out of the window, he was remembering being small, he used to sit on his aunts lap and tell her all about his cool idea and thoughts. He remembered how Gareth was there sometimes, the poor guy always tried to talk to him, to play with him, but Grian didn’t like him, he always smelled of smoke and he was so sappy and boring to be around. Any normal kid would avoid him, Grian knew that- he just wished he at least tried to make the guys life a little easier. He wished he hadn’t drove the man to suicide, he didn’t know how to fully grasp what he’d done and he didn’t want to think about it- he’d start crying, and he didn’t want to cry in the middle of class.

Then there was the fact that he’d developed feelings for his best friends, or maybe it was just his desperate desire for validation that fooled him into become in love with the first people to show him kindness, maybe it was just him being dramatic. He was straight after all, he wasn’t gay whatsoever, sure he dated Ellen and they happened to not be female but that wasn’t really Grian’s fault- or maybe it was and he was just being an assuming bigot? He really didn’t know and his mind felt like it was messing with him, he watched a little bird fly around outside the window for a few moments, just letting his mind wander like that.

“Grian? Grian are you listening?” Okamis voice rang in Grians ears harshly, tearing him from his thoughts and back into the classroom. He jolted up in his seat, slightly embarrassed that he was called out. He looked up at her with an awkward smile, it was clear that Okami was waiting for him to say something. “Uhmm…”

“You weren’t listening were you Grian?” Okami sighed when Grian shook his head in shame, walking back up to the board. “I asked you what the primary colour set are.”

“Oh!” Grian perked at that question, he knew that- he’d been educated with the upperclass for the first six years of his life, are was taught excessively. “It’s magenta, yellow and cyan.” He rolled his eyes at everyone snickering and saying that he’s wrong, he knew he was right- he might be worthless but at least he knew his damn colours.

Okami smiled and went on the explain how he was right, Grian couldn’t help but smile at that. That was until he realised why Okami was teaching art- she wasn’t normally the art teacher.

Jane used to be the art teacher, she used to teach art and english. No wonder those subjects were ones Grian loved so much, his dear aunt was the one that influenced him the most.

A few hours later, Grian sat on the school roof, it was late at night, maybe the morning- he was unsure. He looked down to the pavement bellow, if he fell then he could die. Dying sounded pretty good for him, he didn’t want to bother anyone- Sam and Taurtis had offered to let him sleep on their sofa but after catching feelings he really didn’t want to trouble them. He’d caused everyone enough pain anyway, moving in would just hinder them more. He caused the death of one of their teachers and now he was crushing on them, he’s better off not living with them. Poor miss Okami has to cover the lessons of two teachers now, not just her own. Grian had never felt guilt like that before, it felt like thousands of eyes were glaring at him- bearing down on him like a layer of water with the texture of a blanket and the weight of a world. He hoped no one could see the pain he was in, he’d hate to appear weak in any way.

He could see a lot from up here, he could see the yakuza going about their business in the town. They looked so small from where he sat, he felt strangely safe up here. The ghosts that haunted the school, Gareth and Salex, Gareth avoided him for good reason- Grian couldn’t blame him but he did wish he could tell him how sorry he is. Salex sometimes joined him on the roof, he supposed she felt a duty of care- Grian was friends with her boyfriend after all. He hated the way she looked at him, with pity, she never spoke of him and always sat a distance away- like she was scared of getting too close.

“Please say something…” Grian muttered, glancing back at Salex who’d been watching him in silence for quite a while now. She merely lowered her gaze in response, not even gracing him with a single word. He sighed and turned back to watching the yakuza, Yuki’s father owns it- that he knew. Yuki was a sweet girl, a little troubled but who isn’t these days- at least she has a good reason. Grian grew up in high society, sure he might not have been given as much attention as he probably needed and maybe he run away at age seven but they had found him again at eight. He’d had such a good life, one that most people would kill for. Yet he’d still driven a man to death, he really was a monster- there was something horribly wrong with him and his friends didn’t deserve to be around him, they deserved better.

It was then that Salex decided to speak for the first time. “Poor boy, blinded by guilt, unable to see his friends and instead wallowing in selfish grief…” She wasn’t speaking to him but about him, he could hear her whispers from over where he was sitting- it wasn’t her fault that a ghosts voice isn’t masked by the wind. Grian had to agree that he was selfish, he must be so selfish she’s right. But he doesn’t know how else to feel, the only thing he really felt strongly these days was guilt. Other emotions felt weak and hollow, he could be laughing one moment and empty the next. He never forced a laugh nor a smile but he always felt they were fake.

“Do you hate me Salex? Do you hate me for who I like?” He turned to face the ghost, his tone was slightly confrontational but even though he hated himself for liking his friends it was the only thing he was currently sure of.

Salex looked at him, her ghostly features portraying surprise. “I don’t hate you anymore then I do Chan for dating him or Yuki for killing me.”

Grian sighed and frowned. “That doesn’t answer my-” His eyes widened as he processed her last question. “Yuki killed you!!?” He couldn’t believe he’d been privy to such information, that freudian slip gave him so much insight into Yuki’s life. He scooted closer to her along the side of the roof and leaned forward towards her. “Did she mean to? Was it murder or did she just make a mistake??” He stared at her with wide eyes.

Salex blinked at him, shaking her head in disappointment as she faded away. “You stupid boy, focus on yourself, stay away from other people before you get hurt- they don’t need you butting in.”

She left Grian feeling worse then before, he didn’t really know how to feel but bad. He wished Salex had stayed silent, he felt like he would’ve been better without her input. He looked back down at the edge, maybe he should jump? He felt the world would be better without him.

But he was angry now, Salex was so rude to him. If he died now it would only grant her the satisfaction, he refused to do that. He took his hoodie off and balled it up to act as a pillow, he pulled a blanket from his backpack and wrapped himself in it, laying down to sleep. He counted himself lucky to get such a good view of the stars to sleep under.