#anyways i hate this ghost i would say i hope he dies painfully but he already did

[afraidparade]

pazu's the main character! and you have to like him :)

i've done a few silly shorter animations in the past but this was my first time making an amv for any of my g/t ocs! it was very fun and i would like to do it again, i'm just in a constant state of forgetting that i enjoy animating

youtube link if you so desire

[beomglocks]

unlikely allies ; txt x reader

part: one ,, next chapter / previous chapter

plot: when a zombie apocalypse breaks out in your town, you're forced to team up with a group of boys from very different social standards in your school.

genre: fluff, angst, horror i guess?, not really that scary but alright, some funny moments

w/c: 3.6K

warnings: blood, gruesome scenes (kind of really detailed), cursing, everyone hates each other, definitely some major injuries, zombies duh, everyone kinda pining for mc

︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵

he sighs looking at the both of you. "if we wanna make it out of here alive...we're gonna have to fight."

silence. the room was engulfed in silence, save for the growling and moaning of the monsters outside the door. you and yeonjun stared wide-eyed at taehyun who was mirroring your expressions.

"excuse me what?" yeonjun blurted. "we don't even know what those things are and you wanna go out there and risk getting torn to shreds like the nurse? are you crazy?" all you could do was shake your head in fear. you were still shaken up from watching someone get eaten alive.

"s-she...i saw her get eaten and then she just s-stood up? she came back to life somehow?" you questioned out loud. the boys looked at you with fear in their eyes. yeonjun stared at your shaken state and frowned turning to taehyun. "see? if go out there we're gonna die!"

"well do you have any other suggestions? if we stay here we starve to death or something like that, it's better to go out looking for help and finding others before more of them corner us here!" taehyun was making a lot of points right now but going out there? where you just saw a woman die and come back to life? that would happen to you guys if you weren't prepared.

you tried to calm yourself by taking a deep breath, "ok i agree with taehyun...but we need to be really prepared. we may not be capable of murder at this moment but we can take them on enough to get away right?"

taehyun nods but yeonjun just paces around the room anxiously. "you guys are insane. i can't believe i'm gonna die here of all places." you and taehyun watch yeonjun tug at his blonde hair. he suddenly pauses. "i have an idea. what if we don't actually try to take them on." he looked at you both expectedly.

"what do you mean?" you asked. he rolled his eyes, "we could try to just trap them in here and make our escape." taehyun nods at yeonjun's vague plan, "i get what you mean. before we start though we should take some stuff with us. we got lucky that we're in the nurse's office, we can take stuff in case we get injured."

all three of you split up around the office to pick up anything that might be helpful. "its a good thing i brought my bookbag with me," taehyun chuckles dryly. you pack up all the stuff you grabbed and help him zip up the bag. "ok so here's how we'll go forward with the plan."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

yeonjun sighs shakily as he crouches behind the door. "this was my plan so why do i have to be the one to open the door?!" he angrily whispers to you. you're hiding behind the nurse's desk which is right beside the door, glaring at him, "just shut up and wait for taehyun's cue. if they hear you, we're screwed."

"will you two stop arguing. if anything i'm the one with the risker job," taehyun glares at you both. he's standing in the middle of the office, just a little bit away from the desk. "let's go over the plan just one more time so nothing unexpected happens," he's nervous and you can hear it in his voice. he's trying to act brave like earlier. yeonjun starts, "simple, i open the door letting the monsters in. they won't notice me since i'm crouched below the window." you sigh, continuing, "once the monsters come running in, i pull the stethoscope attached that chair other there as hard as i can. they'll trip over it sending them tumbling."

taehyun takes a deep breath, "and i'll be standing here as bait. once i see that they're both down, that should give me enough time to run out and shut the door on them." yeonjun bites his lip, "i hope this works...my heart is racing seriously."

since taehyun is now visible from the one lamp shining down on him, the monsters outside now have new adrenaline in them, viciously gnawing at the door's window. you don't realize it but you all take a deep breath.

"3″

"2″

"1!"

as soon as taehyun yells, yeonjun swings the door open. the zombies pretty much bum rush through it to get to taehyun as soon as a slither of it was cracked open, effectively managing to swing the door all the way to the wall. you watch it hit yeonjun's arm roughly and flinch. he tries to hold back a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut.

you turn your attention to your task and pull on the stethoscope. thankfully it's stretchy enough to cause the zombies to trip over it. they tumble over each other and skid across the floor. you get up to run out the door and pull yeonjun with you who's clutching his arm.

however, when you look back taehyun is not behind you, instead, he's scrambling to the nurse's closet. apparently you overestimated the recovery time of a simple stumble to the floor. they managed to get up quickly enough to chase after taehyun who thankfully was also quick enough to notice a flawed plan. "shit!" you yell out before you could think. the zombies turn their attention to you and yeonjun who are standing by the door.

they come running at you but you slam the door shut in their faces. great, now taehyun was in there and you both were out here. not to mention, he's the one with all the supplies.

"damn it!" yeonjun kicks the door in frustration. the zombies are tweaking out watching you both from inside the office. thankfully they don't notice the closet door slowly creep open.

taehyun sneaks out of the closet in a painfully slow manner, as to not get detected. he ducks behind the desk, holding his breath. he waits a moment before rising from his hiding spot and hurling a pack of unopened pens at where the cots are located. you watch the zombies whip their heads toward the sound and clamber in that direction. taehyun crawls out from behind the desk and runs toward the door. the lunch lady, who is behind the nurse, notices taehyun and runs toward him and at full blown speed.

your heart is pounding so fast, it genuinely feels like time is going in slow motion. the monster is only like a foot behind the red-haired boy. you throw the door open for taehyun and he launches himself like the outside hallway is home base. you and yeonjun once again slam the door closed on the zombie who face plants into it with a groan.

you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. sliding down to sit on the floor, you glance at taehyun. he's recovering from literally upper body diving out of the room but you figure he's fine since he's used to it from playing baseball so long. yeonjun seems fine too since he's not holding onto his arm anymore.

after a moment, you speak up, "are you ok?" it's not exactly a question directed at either of the two boys. you kind of are just asking yourself that but yeonjun answers anyways, "i think i'm ok, my arm is aching though. the door slammed on me pretty hard but im ok."

taehyun backs himself against the lockers opposite from you too. "i'm fine too." you examine him though you can't see him from the distance and the dimming hallway lights. his face is riddled in sweat and you can kind of see tears running down his face but he notices you staring and harshly wipes them away. he sighs letting his head rest on the lockers.

"i thought that would be easier...i thought i was gonna die back there. thanks for not leaving me," you feel like he means that so you make a noise of acknowledgment. yeonjun also nods at him but doesn't say anything.

it's dead silent in the hallway and you hope it's because the rest of the school is hiding not because they're dead. if you don't think of the circumstances you'd think it's somewhat peaceful.

taehyun breaks the silence, "what if there are other people in here in that same situation." he's not looking at you, he's looking into the abyss of darkness that is your school's hallway. once buzzing with students who you wished would shut the fuck up and move to their next class is now a ghost town. it's eerie and it leaves you with an unsettling feeling just thinking about what hides beyond the darkness.

"fuck no," yeonjun says. he's calm and you hope he doesn't lash out at what taehyun's suggesting. "taehyun..." you mumble. you don't want to say it out loud because you hate how it will sound. well, yeonjun says it for you, "did you hit your head on the way out. you almost died, dude! i know you're having some kind of epiphany about helping others and what not but think about this: those two zombie things aren't the only ones in this school. we could really die in here so we need to get o-"

"shut the fuck up!" taehyun spits. you can tell he's trying not to yell just in case there really are other zombies out here. "do you seriously only care about yourself? what if there really are other people waiting to be helped? we can't just leave them to die in this stupid ass school!" he gets up with some struggle, clutching his wrists again.

"look im not saying you have to help them but it would be really cool if you did...the more people that are alive the more likely we are to survive," with that he starts walking down into the darkness of the hallway. yeonjun scoffs and looks at you. you bite your lip. "i know it's risky...risking our lives for other people but i would feel like shit if i just let people die here while i run off like a coward."

yeonjun watches you run after taehyun. he's now left alone standing outside of the nurse's office. the zombies haven't quieted down and he wonders how much energy they have. he sighs dramatically, running after you both, "hey wait up!"

•·················•·················•

"so where are we headed?" your school isn't that big but it isn't that small either. there are three floors in total but most of the important rooms are on the first floor where you guys are located. taehyun clears his throat, "i was thinking we should get some weapons just in case. the gym's locker room/storage closet is where the team's baseball bats are located, we should be fine against those things if we manage to snag the metal ones."

once he answers you the silence surrounds you three again. you had been walking quite slowly since you didn't know if you'd encounter another zombie soon. it would be better if you could see but the power in the lights seemed to have died out. the school really did feel scarier when the lights were off.

"isn't it still day time outside?" yeonjun randomly asks. now that you think about it, he's right. if you were thinking about the time you took yeonjun to the nurse's office it was around 2 pm. "wait you're right," taehyun stops and turns around. "it was last period when you guys got to the nurse's office."

"damn it, i left my phone in my bookbag," you mumble. you thought it would be a quick trip to the nurse's office so you left it back in the class. yeonjun pats himself down and grumbles, "mine must've fallen out of my pocket during the fight. man, i fucking hate soobin! if i ever see him again he's dead."

you ignore yeonjun and look at taehyun expectantly, "sorry mines dead. i was playing with it while i was waiting for the nurse to come back," he answers sheepishly. you sigh, "we could've called for help since it's not late we could've called our parents or better yet, the police."

"don't worry, i'm sure they'll worry that we aren't coming back from school yet," yeonjun reassures. "i had practice today and my mom doesn't know i broke my wrist so she won't be expecting me home until after practice so i don't think she'll be worried until then."

yeonjun suddenly grabs taehyun's arm. you look at him in alarm because that was really random. this boy has just been full of spontaneous actions lately. "if you had practice today doesn't that mean the team would've been gathered in the gym by now?" a look of realization hits taehyun but he masks it quickly. "they're capable... they wouldn't have been turned into zombies, i'm sure there are some survivors," he sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than you guys.

as you're growing closer to the gym though, taehyun doesn't tell you that he's the best player on the team. he doesn't tell you that none of his other teammates can properly wield a bat. yes, any idiot can hold a bat but to properly swing it for the hit to have an impact takes real practice, practice that his teammates just haven't mastered. he doesn't tell you that he really doesn't think anyone in that gym has survived.

"you hear that?" yeonjun whispers stepping closer to the gym doors. there it goes again, the unmistakable moaning and groaning of the zombies. the sounds are harsher and louder being that there seem to be a lot of people in the gym at once. "damn that must be the team," you mutter. "there's no way anyone in there survived."

"we-we have to try and find out," taehyun tries. you eye him. you really don't think you'll get out of this one alive but you don't tell him that.

"we can cause some kind of distraction like last time," yeonjun suggests. "yeahhh no, im not doing that ever again," taehyun deadpans. "i think he means like what you did with the pens. that seemed to work...i think they react a lot to loud sounds."

there's a moment of silence where you all are just thinking. "your phone!" you turn to taehyun. he raises an eyebrow at you, "it's dead y/n." you shake your head, "look since it's dead and you really won't be needing it, we can just throw it somewhere in the gym. the impact of the phone hitting the wall will alert the zombies and they'll move. then we can maneuver ourselves through the darkness of the gym into the storage room to see if anyone's in there!"

both boys are staring at you with a weird look in their eyes but none of them say what they're really thinking. "that's... actually not a bad idea. the gym is big so there's no way we'll run into one. and since it looks like the lights are off they won't see us if we keep close to the walls," taehyun reiterates.

"ok so let's just get this over with," yeonjun mutters. you look at yeonjun who's staring into the gym, "you didn't have to come with us." you don't wanna sound rude but if he's just gonna complain the whole time then you'd rather be with just taehyun. "yeah right as if i'd venture off on my own in a school full of flesh-eating monsters," he rolls his eyes. "plus i'm the one who comes up with all the good plans, you guys need me."

"whatever," taehyun answers dryly. he's already starting to open the door to the gym, telling you guys that that's your cue to shut up. walking behind yeonjun, who's behind taehyun, you all crouch in a stealthy manner. you wouldn't call yourself the most athletic person but damn, why are your thighs starting to hurt? yeonjun cranes his neck to look back at you and when he sees you struggling to keep up, he slows down.

"what the fuck are you doing?" he whisper-yells. you don't know if the zombies can hear him but that sounded quite loud to you. you glare at him when the groans in the gym increase slightly in volume. "my thighs hurt, just- just leave me alone and tell taehyun to throw the damn phone." you see yeonjun purse his lips but turn to taehyun, telling him to get on with the plan. taehyun looks over to you with confusion and ?concern? written all over his face and all you do is nod at him.

he gets up slightly from his crouched position on the ground, still kind of in a half squat. he lets out a breath, preparing himself to pitch his phone. you watch in awe as you see taehyun get in the zone. you know this is a serious moment and everything but he looks good when he's focused.his eyes are trained on where he's made a mental target to throw to. even in this weird setting of a gym full of zombies of his own teammates, you can see that his breathing is steady.  you wonder why you'd never been to any of the school's home baseball games when you realize that taehyun had somewhat of a cult following. right, just like yeonjun everyone liked him and you just figured it was for nothing or that he was overhyped but you can see why now.

drawing you out of your thoughts was the sound of taehyun's phone crashing against the gym's wall. at the moment in which you were daydreaming about him, he must've thrown it. "ok cmon we gotta hurry, that might not keep them that occupied," taehyun whispers. you turn to look at the zombies which, thankfully, fell for your trick. they were all gathered in the direction where taehyun had thrown his phone. you all rose from your crouched positions and ran the rest of the way to the gym's locker room.

once inside you all let out a breath. "i can't believe that worked," you sigh. "i'm glad it did," yeonjun also sighs. "ok let's go get those bats, once we have them then we might be safe," taehyun leads you both to where he knows they are. walking down the locker room's hallway is even creepier than walking down the normal hallway. there are no windows plus the lights are out so it's even darker in here. once again you're the behind yeonjun who's behind taehyun. you feel uncomfortable and almost feeling like there's an eerie presence behind you. you never liked to be last; the shiver you get through your spine from the mere thought of something following you was weird.

just then you whip your body around but you feel it before you see it. a zombie that must've been in the locker room before you got here hovering over you. you're not sure what happened but it must've flown at you hard enough to knock your body to the ground. it was snapping and snarling in your face trying to get a bite. your eyes were closed but all your other sensed were heightened and you could definitely hear yourself shrieking wildly. you weren't sure what taehyun and yeonjun were doing but you guessed they were standing and staring in shock and horror. you are surely gonna die here.

just then, the back of the zombie's skull was knocked in with so much force that it came out through the front, effectively landing on the upper half of your body and face. just like that, it was no longer trying to devour you, instead, slumping down onto you like a lifeless doll.

you wanted to throw up but you bit it back. you figured the image of you on the floor with blood and a bashed brain spilling out of a once alive human on you was enough. 

the body was thrown off you in an instant and there stood choi beomgyu looking over you with so much concern that you were scared you turned into a zombie and were about to suffer the same fate as the corpse next to you. "oh my god y/n," his eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is agape. he kneels down to wipe the brain remnants off you but he does it hastily and not that gentle really. you flinch and he pauses, "s-sorry its just that...well i don't know. i didn't think anyone else was alive and then i see you but you're about to get eaten so i mean-." you cut him off with a shaky hand lifted when you realize he's rambling.

he wants to go in to hug you and shout for joy that thankfully his crush- i mean... thankfully you are alive but yeonjun steps in, "dude oh my god y/n, are you okay?" you don't turn around to look at him or taehyun because frankly, you're too shaken up to even stand.

"thank you beomgyu," you whisper the expression and you kind of hope it sounds spiteful towards the other two boys for not really doing anything to help. taehyun looks down and bites his lip and yeonjun just looks at you. beomgyu smiles lightly and helps you stand and when you turn around you see the other two boys flinch at what you look like.

you know you must look horrifying with blood all over you and you want to cry. not because you look absolutely disgusting in front of the two of the most popular boys at your school but because you almost died in front of them. you let out a sob and taehyun steps forward but beomgyu is already ahead of him. "oh y/n... it's ok. look," he wipes your face with his shirt and you feel even worse. "we're alive, you're alive, it's gonna be ok."

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

taglist: @fxd-skz​ (send ask to be added!)

[karlnapity]

we spent two years together, i thought in made her better.

(tws: death, violence, panic attacks)

jack manifold loses his last life on december sixteenth, and he crawls out of hell on the same day.

he has never stood down. he’s a stubborn bastard and he knows that, and he knows that standing against fucking technoblade is a bad idea, and he doesn’t care, because he won’t let him destroy his home.

technoblade looks him in the eye, laughs in his face, and drives an axe down the center of his skull.

>

he doesn’t quite register dying, doesn’t quite register the feeling of falling to the ground. 

he does register pain. he does register overwhelming panic. he comes to laying on the ground, blood stuck to his scalp and in his eyes, rubble scratching his back. 

he keens in pain, sits up slowly. he rubs his eyes, resting his head in his hands. he thinks, dimly, that everything seems dulled. explosions and screams in the background, the feeling of his hands on his face, the chill in the air. he can hardly feel any of it. he edges himself behind a large piece of rubble, safe from the conflict for now.

panic courses through his veins. what happened? 

he grasps at his arms, curling in on himself. everything feels wrong. everything feels wrong.

his breath quickens as he grows hysterical. tears start to fall as he hiccups, and as they trickle down his face he can barely even feel them.

and then it stops.

his hand flies to his throat. he tries to start breathing again, but as the seconds pass he finds he doesn’t even need it.

oh god, he’s dead. he’s really fucking dead. is he a ghost?

“oh god,” he chokes, curling in even further into himself. 

“hello?” someone else’s voice calls. he doesn’t bother sitting up.

“jack?” the voice continues, then, “oh fuck, jack!”

someone touches his arm, and he craves the contact. he can still hardly feel it, but he leans into it, arms wrapping around him and holding him so tight it would probably hurt, before.

“i’m so glad you’re ok,” they whisper. who is it? whose voice is that?

“niki.” his voice sounds raspy, contaminated from smoke and tnt and death.

“yes, yes, i’m here,” she chokes, and he can tell, faintly, that she’s crying. “you’re ok.”

he nods into her shoulder. he wants it to be true, but it can’t be. he can barely hear her over the ringing in his ears.

“i thought you were dead, i’ve been looking for you. how long have you been back here? didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

he almost snorts. what can he say? 

her hand moves from his shoulders, cupping around the back of his head. she massages a thumb over the nape of his neck where she used to when he got upset. her thumb brushes over dried blood and he can feel it flake off. 

her hand stills. “jack, you’re so cold. are you ok?”

he coughs. “i’m sorry, niki.”

he pulls back, looks her in the face. her eyes are sad. 

“jack, please tell me what happened. what’s going on?”

“i died,” he breathes. a shiver runs through him as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. oh god, he fucking died. he grasps for purchase on her arms, grounding himself as best he can. she grips him back.

a combination of confusion and horror fills her face. “you didn’t have any lives left, how…”

he shakes his head. a hysterical laugh bubbles from his chest. “i don’t fucking know, niki, i don’t fucking know.”

she cups his face then pulls him into a tight hug. “you’re gonna be ok, jack. we’re gonna be ok.”

>

it’s a hard thing, adjusting to death.

for one, he’s constantly cold. not only his temperature, but also his skin. it’s cold, clammy like a corpse. niki says it feels weird, but he can’t exactly tell. he piles on layers, spends as much time as he can in front of the fire and trying to warm the constant chill in his core, but it doesn’t work. 

he doesn’t breathe anymore. occasionally he’ll hiccup or gasp, as if his brain is trying to kickstart his body again, and he’ll sit in silence for a few minutes while nothing but pure panic floods his brain, telling him something is deeply wrong. the first time it happens, tubbo slams on his back thinking he’d choked, and jack devolves into a vicious panic attack before tubbo even has a chance to realize.

he doesn’t need to eat, and he physically can’t sleep. he didn’t realize how much people slept, before, and now he finds himself sitting on the snowchester porch in the early morning and realizing how lonely the world is.

he can hardly feel much of anything, and he can hear even less. his vision’s gone a bit fuzzy, too. it feels like his senses have started closing in on himself, and it’s terrifying.

the others have adapted, and he’s thankful. if niki comes up behind him, she’ll grab his arm hard, and tubbo will usually pinch him or slap the back of his head so he knows he’s there.

he’s decided not to tell tubbo. the kid doesn’t deserve that. he doesn’t need to know, long as jack doesn’t start falling apart like some sort of zombie. he’s pretty sure tubbo just thinks he’s traumatized, or that he’s lost some of his hearing from explosions like tubbo has.

and, well, he’s not exactly wrong.

>

it’s niki who starts it. they’re sitting around the fireplace, jack as close as he can get to try to get rid of the chill, and she says,

“you know, when you think about it, it’s all kind of tommy’s fault.”

resentment has been festering since tommy killed him, so he’s not exactly shocked, just curious. “what d’you mean?”

“he’s caused so much trouble on the server, and now he’s just gotten away with it.” niki sounds angry, and when she sounds angry it’s never good, so he turns to look her in the eye. she’s practically shaking. “he needs to suffer for it like we did.”

when he was alive, he woke up from nightmares almost every night of drowning in lava, of burning while tommy laughed and sneered and laughed, and now it only solidifies. he hates him. 

it’s tommy’s fault he’s dead. if tommy hadn’t killed him, he wouldn’t be dead now. 

niki stumbles to her feet and falls to her knees in front of him, pulling him into a desperate hug. 

he’s not sure if he can cry anymore, but the feeling’s there all the time as he clings to niki, grasping tightly to her shirt, and she pulls his head to her shoulder, curls around him protectively.

they stay there for a long time. every once in a while, niki will murmur an assurance. after long enough the words mutate, transform into something nasty, slimy. 

“he’ll pay for this.”

>

the nukes are divisive. jack doesn’t want tubbo to get hurt. niki doesn’t want jack to get hurt. they both want tommy to get hurt.

he’s not sure when it changed into “kill him.” he’s not sure when it turned from a want to yell, to hit, to wanting to destroy him with nukes, but the anger is fire deep in his chest, the only thing he can feel, and he wants it to continue burning.

niki says she doesn’t want jack to get hurt. 

“it’s not like i can get more dead,” he sneers. he doesn’t want to hurt her. he wants to hurt everyone.

>

tubbo can tell there’s something wrong. he can tell it in the way he rests his hand on jack’s back, even when he can’t feel it, in the way he stays up late and gets up early to spend time with him.

he comes up behind him, early one morning, and wraps his arms around jack’s chest. he buries his head in jack’s back and squeezes him tight. jack jumps at first, but soon relaxes into the content.

he can’t hear tubbo’s sobs, as quiet as they are, but he can almost feel the shaking of his shoulders.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, hesitant in case he’s reading it wrong. tubbo could be laughing, for all his addled senses can tell, but he deep down he knows. he can barely hear tubbo’s reply.

“i’m worried something is going to happen to you.”

something has already happened, he wants to yell. you just missed it.

he knows, faintly, that it’s not tubbo’s fault. tubbo doesn’t know, because he’s never told him, but he wants someone to focus on him, for once. he wants someone to realize, without him telling them. he wants someone to pay attention.

tubbo’s not that person. tubbo has friends, and a nation or two, and a history that extends beyond ‘stay alive.’ 

he pulls away, gently, promises something or other about him being fine, and goes back to planning destruction. 

>

their plan doesn’t work. tommy shows up only thirty seconds late, while the crater is still smoking. 

jack can’t help but feel like the universe is working against him.

niki is fuming. she’s shaking in anger, standing at the edge of the crater and staring at it, and jack goes to put his hand on her shoulder. she pulls away.

>

niki comes to join him on the porch that night. he doesn’t know she’s there until she says,

“why do you spend so much time out here?”

he doesn’t know how to explain that it’s comforting, being out in the cold, alone when he knows everyone is safe inside. he’s become a sentry almost accidentally, taking care of the only two people in the world he still cares about. he doesn’t know how to explain how comforting and devastating it is, and he doesn’t know how to explain that the cold calms him, so he just shrugs. she always understands him, anyways, or so he hopes.

she doesn’t stay outside for long. 

>

he wonders, sometimes, if he’s doing something wrong. tommy and tubbo are still friends, somehow, even after everything. jack doesn’t know how to ask if tommy’s ever apologized. tubbo’s always had a heart too painfully big, so he kind of doubts it. 

tommy’s never apologized to him. he’s not sure if he’d ever accept it.

he watches puffy and niki get pulled apart, and cringes a bit more each time niki comes home crying. he doesn’t know how to ask her if she still thinks they’re in the right. 

he can tell she’s not sure either. maybe none of them are.

>

puffy approaches him one day. it’s her first time visiting snowchester, and her white first gleams in the sunlight reflecting off the snow. he’s at his usual post, and he gives her a half-hearted wave as he sees her.

she returns it, but her face is grim. she comes to stand beside him.

“i know what you’re trying to do,” she says, quietly, and he has to strain to hear her. he pretends he didn’t all the same. 

“sorry. hearing loss.”

she gives him a look, but raises her voice all the same. “niki says it’s a bit more than that.”

he balks, stumbles back a few feet on the wood of the porch and almost his balance. puffy reaches out and steadies him. “pardon?”

“i’m sorry about what happened to you, jack,” she starts. he can’t tell what emotions he’s feeling, but it’s overwhelming. he tries to think of something to say, but she continues before he can force the words out.

her hand on his wrist twists, and he tries to pull it away when he realizes she’s searching for his pulse. she holds on, then her face tightens and she yanks him into a hug.

they’ve had hardly more than two conversations, but he feels safe in her embrace. he holds on tight, and she runs a hand through his short-shaven hair.

“i know you’re hurting,” she says, and he knows he’s made a mistake.

>

jack finds tommy back near l’manburg. it took him a couple more weeks to even gather up the courage, but eventually he spoke to niki. 

he tries not to think about the conversation.

tommy seems surprised to see him, but they settle at the edge of the crater. 

tommy looks better than the last time he saw him. he tries not to be jealous.

“i think i owe you an apology,” he says. tommy balks.

“what? i owe you an apology,” he comes back with. “i fucking killed you!”

“i tried to kill you too,” he starts, but tommy cuts him off.

“it was kinda deserved. can we just agree not to anymore?” he sticks out his hand.

jack smiles. 

snowchester seems warmer, that night.

[fascination-street-writing]

Jumping on Someone Else’s Train | Narancia Ghirga x GN!Reader

His is the face of the one who lost everything, found everything, and lost it all again.

A Canon Divergence AU, in which Narancia does not follow Bucciarati on the boat in Venezia

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece I for @vergissmeinnnicht​ -

Content Warnings: Regret, Angst, Mentions of Alcoholism, & Mentions of Other Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Men and women clad in suits of varying styles and colors stand along the proscenium of the tracks, waiting for the first wave of commuter trains from Venezia. With thoughts of unfinished reports, soccer practices, and uncertainties of whether to have spaghetti alle vongole or ai ricci for dinner, no one pays heed to the three battered teenagers seated just behind the line – who, mind you, certainly ought to be in school.

To your left, Fugo fumes; and yet, despite his ever-apparent anger, there is unbounded despondency in his violet eyes. Despondency indeed, perhaps for the mutual decision of yours and his, or otherwise, because of Bucciarati’s blasphemy. Although, you suppose that you cannot fault your former Capo. He has always had a proclivity for saving undesirables – yourselves, included. But his kindness is not your own.

To your right, Narancia leans over and slouches, clutching his head between two hands that have not yet healed from his scuffle with the first man of the assassination team. You cannot help but to notice that several of the crackling scabs have been picked open. You regret deeply that you had not offered to run Trish’s errands with the black-haired boy. And, though he will not admit it, as does Fugo.

The sound of a shoe tapping against the concrete flooring would be irksome to you if it were anyone other than Narancia’s doing. You cannot decide if he is merely growing impatient for the train to arrive, or rather, unequivocally conflicted about what has transpired within the past hour. A shuddering breath slips past his lips, expelling as his shoulders begin to quake. He might never forgive you for letting him snivel in public.

Gently, you place your hand on his back. Narancia stills at your touch and allows his own to fall from his reddened cheeks. Reluctantly so, he meets your concerned gaze. He fears he might disintegrate into nothing more than bones if you keep looking at him this way – like you adore and loathe him all the same.

You speak his name softly, reminiscent of some kind of lullaby that his mother might have sung to him during his early adolescence. “We need you to be here,” you tell him.

His nod is an automatic response. He contemplates the bluntness of your words, understanding well enough that they have sprung from a good heart. You have become more like Bucciarati, he thinks; your pension for austerity in love rivals his, to be sure. Narancia swallows and nods once more. “I’m here,” he insists.

He would wince at the cracking of his voice if you had turned away sooner. You pull your hand back and rest it atop your leg, curling your fingers into the threadwork of your pants. “Stay with us, then.”

The rotors of the train squeal as the machinery lulls to a stop. In truth, you would never like to board another train for as long as you should live. But this is not a luxury you can afford.

“Now boarding from Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia to Napoli Centrale. Total travel time – seven hours and thirty-nine minutes. First stop: Ferrara.”

Within the compartment of the train, Fugo sits beside you and pours over a bit of reading that he had swiped from a kiosk before embarking. Narancia determines that the book the younger boy reads must be painfully dreadful, or implausibly wonderful. His brow furrows, as if deeply embedded in his own thoughts, but his fingers never bend to turn the page.

A quivery sigh escapes as you stare from the window, appearing to be as bored as ever. The Italian countryside passes by in blurs of likewise colored landscapes. Narancia wonders how it is that you can tell the difference between a vineyard and a farm against the speed of travel. Or maybe you cannot, though you try to anyways.

You stifle a yawn, finally succumbing to the exhaustion that has accumulated over the past several days. And yet, despite it all, you are still living. Narancia feels his own jaw beginning to twitch, and his mind drifts elsewhere, to the interlude of youth before life with Bucciarati became quite so complicated; good thoughts to keep him grounded amidst the unrest of divided loss.

As it were, he remembers the day when he first met you as if it were yesterday. Before Mista, Abbacchio, and certainly Giorno – back when the two of you, Fugo, and Bucciarati made for the greatest family whom he had ever known. The only other time Narancia has ever seen such strain upon your face was when Bucciarati took you into his home, still clothed in street-rags and muddied shoes. You had not even joined Passione yet; their then eighteen-year-old leader had acted of his own volition to take you in. He always has had a way of saving people.

Narancia knows your strife as if it is his own. Your mother died and your father neglected you; you took to thievery and pickpocketing to find whatever you needed to spend a night without an empty stomach. It was only a matter of time until, provoked by the unfortunate solidarity of utter hurt, you had clicked with the two boys.

But it was not always this way.

In truth, your eagerness to snub the boy is, of some emotional gravity, debilitating. He has always believed friendship to be deserving of the highest value of any other virtue in life. When you observe his struggles to solve seemingly simple math equations during tutoring sessions, with such an unreadable look on your face, he dreads that your hesitation has born itself from an aura of superiority that you harbor against him. The moment you turn away as Fugo’s chastisement rains upon him, he wonders how he might ever be good enough to earn your favor when he cannot be good enough for himself.

When he speculates his plan to befriend you, he thinks without fail that it must be the most brilliant little scheme in the world. Narancia begins by buying you a chocolate bar from the corner store down the street, because what peer of your age does not like chocolate? By the time he has returned home, it has begun to melt in his pocket. He hopes you will not mind, and if you do, he has already decided that he will go back and purchase a second one – cognizant to carry it instead, rather than stuffing it in his corduroys.

To his chagrin, you turn your nose up at the creased, seeping parcel. “I hate sweets,” you tell him with a heavy insistence and no succeeding explanation or defense. Never mind that he had caught you sneaking cake from the kitchen last night when you thought everyone else had gone to bed.

Alas, his resolve is strong. He supposes that it was wrong of him to assume that you would indulge in a chocolate bar, because it is simply not the same thing as cake. During an astronomy lesson with Fugo, a fetching optimism takes over. That evening, he forgoes dinner to sweep the terracotta roof of dead leaves and earthly dust. He rummages through his closet for the softest blanket he owns – blue gingham that had once belonged to his mother.

He runs into you in the hallway on his way to your bedroom; budding with courage, he asks if you would care to watch the stars with him on the rooftop, because the window in his room leads right to the widow’s walk. You roll your eyes and turn away, muttering, “Constellations make me dizzy.” But did you not tell Bucciarati in passing yesterday just how much you love searching for the little dipper when the night skies are forgiving?

Narancia’s spur is beginning to wane, though he cannot blame you. Perhaps he has been reading you wrong. He simply has not pinpointed your interests – that is all. Flipping through the channels of the television, he stumbles upon a culinary program of an older man demonstrating how to prepare bucatini alla carbonara. Struck with inspiration, the boy rushes to the market for pancetta, parmesan, and dried pasta; he has never quite had the patience for making fresh dough, so he settles for pre-packed bucatini. Surely, you will understand.

And so, he leads you into the kitchen with a grin on his face. While pointing to the array of ingredients on the counter, he asks you to lend a hand and to help him prepare dinner. You are all in need of a reprieve from Il Libeccio. “I don’t like cooking,” you say, disinterested. It surely must have been a ghost who prepared the rigatoni al pesto on this past domenica, then.

Narancia does not have high hopes when he extends to you the offer of catching the movie Panni Sporchi in the theater with Fugo and he. His crushed spirits know better by now. But it never hurts to try.

You set down whatever magazine you have snatched from the corner store and cock an eyebrow. “Comedies aren’t my thing,” you utter. “They’re not even that funny. Besides, they’re just poor imitations of life. So are romances. And dramas. Thrillers – horrors . . . Actually, I hate movies.”

He bears it with a curt nod, choosing to ignore that you had held a private viewing of Auguri Professore in the living room yesterday. His head tells him that you do not wish to be his friend, amongst other things – but his heart insists that one day, you will.

It is by chance that he should wake up this night with the irrepressible urge to use the bathroom. On his way back, skin still damp from the sink, Narancia tiptoes along the embroidered vines of the carpet. It is a solitary game he only partakes in when no one is around to question his antics. When he hears a hiccup, he surmises that he has been caught. His sock-clad feet sink into the floor as he stills and prepares himself for whatever beratement is sure to follow. Instead, there is only another gasp for breath.

No, not a hiccup, he notices: it is the sound of grief that came from your bedroom. With little regard to your privacy, he peaks his head through the cracked door.

“What are you doing, Narancia?” you demand as you wipe the back of your nose and hoist the blankets – wetted by your tears – up to your shoulders. “Get out of my room.”

In this moment, it is as if the clouds have parted and clarity canvases the sky. All this time, he truly was enough for you – it was you who was not adequate for yourself. And here you are, curled up in your bed with swollen eyes that beg him to stay even though you had told him otherwise. You are tormented by bad memories that ought to be shed like snakeskin.

Narancia steps forward. “I just wanted to tell you, uh, it’s okay to cry,” he says with a certain tenderness that seems so unfamiliar to you. He rubs the back of his neck, averting your gaze. “Even if you don’t think so.”

You gawk at him and say nothing, for words have failed you. The silence is deafening, all the same. It is an audacious move, but he smiles to you – a gesture of compassion – before turning to leave. He has overstayed his welcome, and your unrelenting stare does not make him feel any better.

“Wait.” He stops, anticipating your delayed retaliation. “Could you . . . Can you spend the night with me?”

As he lies in bed next to you, distance kept by a pillow wedged between your bodies, Narancia beams – but you cannot see outline of his grin in the darkness of the room. This night and many more will pass, and you slowly become something of a beacon. He is beholden to you, because you make him feel appreciated in the ways that not even Fugo or Bucciarati can. For this reason, he will always cherish you – a talisman encapsulated within a friend.

And now, though the seeds of regret have already begun to spring roots within him – hyacinths embedded in his heart –, he will stay strong, for you are like a pharos to him. If not resiliency for his own sake, then certainly yours.

At least, for as long as he can.

“Hey, Narancia.” Startled, he jumps in his seat and clasps his knees tightly. “Is there something on my face?” you ask.

“I – Huh?” he stumbles over any response that might have come to mind. “What do you mean?”

You chuckle. “Well, it’s just that you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes.”

“Uh . . . I  . . .”

Fugo drags his gaze from his book to your face. “I don’t see anything,” he assures with a shrug. “Actually, come to think of it, I think your nose has gotten bigger.”

The banter of humor between you and Fugo is lost on the black-haired boy. Or rather, he is far too distracted to mimic it. He stands from his seat abruptly and reaches for the door to the compartment. “I have to piss,” he mutters.

He is gone before either of you can comment on his sudden brashness. In his absence, you nudge Fugo and gesture towards his book; just as Narancia had noted, you realize that your strawberry blonde friend has not gotten past the first page of the novel ever since you had departed. You left nearly an hour ago.

“My head is just elsewhere, I guess,” he confesses to your proclamation. He closes the book and sets it down on the seat. “I’m fine, though. As much as I can be. But Narancia isn’t.”

You hum in agreeance. “I’ll go check on him.”

Water rushes from the faucet and pools in the porcelain, ceramic bowl of the basin. Steam wafts towards the ceiling, blanketing the mirror in a cloud. Narancia’s fingers curl around the rim of the sink so tightly that the coloring flees from his knuckles. He feels like a phantom, for a part of him has surely died back in Venezia.

In another world, he imagines that he might have followed Bucciarati – as would have you and Fugo. But this is nothing more than a nonsensical thought that can never be anything more than an instance of intangible pondering. He does not wipe the fog from the mirror, because he cannot bear the sight of the boy who will greet him in return.

His is the face of the one who lost everything, found everything, and lost it all again. His stomach churns and his head whirls with aches. He has never been the type of person to boast of his character; it takes a humble attitude to realize that there is nothing special about oneself – until there is. Truly, Narancia once believed that he was a proper man, because he worked for someone as virtuous as the young Capo, whose confidence bred itself and more.

“I guess I’m not much of one now,” Narancia mumbles aloud with a sigh of vexation. “Not like Mista, Abbacchio . . . or Giorno.”

He taps the tip of his shoe against the linoleum floor. As it were, his socialization into Passione – no, into Bucciarati’s squad – has taught him the moral necessities of defending the weak who cannot otherwise safeguard nor vindicate themselves. Betraying him is a dreadful regret. How can he ignore the voice in his head that affirms his folly and tells him that he is no better for abandoning Trish in all her temperamental, vain ways, either?

When the sound of knuckles rapping against the door startles him from his thoughts, his first impulse is to lash out at whoever has disrupted his mind chamber of self-reflection. “Hey, can’t you read, idiota?” he demands, angrily. “Bathroom’s occupied.”

“Narancia, it’s just me.” The scowl on his face falters as he recognizes your voice. He turns the squealing faucet until it has dried. He does not stop to catch his staggered breaths before opening the door, and perhaps he should have. Even though you have become such close companions, you still make him feel like a child under your anatomizing gaze – as if there is something particularly interesting about him after all, which takes him for a good subject of study.

Your look of concern is jarring. For a moment, it is difficult to breathe, and he wishes he had tried to calm himself first. So much for staying strong for them. You step forward and lock the sliding door behind you. If it were anyone else – even Fugo – the proximity of your body to his might have made him uneasy. You drag a finger through the film of steam on the mirror. “I’m going to ask you something,” you begin to say, “and I’d like you to answer me, honestly. Are you alright?”

He chokes up at your words, because yes – he is perfectly fine; healthy, albeit a bit battered still from his fracas with Formaggio. As soon as he manages to stop himself from instigating the scabs on his knuckles, they will heal, and he will be left with nothing more than pink scar-tissue as an everlasting memento of these past few days.

But, in other contingencies of prosperity, he is unequivocally not alright. Against his better sense of control, his eyes well up with tears, and his cognition scatters.

“Narancia?”

There are many things that a person indulges in as a means of coping, some safer than others. Men fall to the bottle, like Abbacchio – and men lash out in violent rages, such as Fugo. He could keep picking at his scabs, find an emptied compartment to scream in, or pull out his unkempt hair. Contrition moves through him like a venom, and he supposes he should find a way to suck it out before it kills him.

His hands meet your arms in a shockingly gentle, clammy grasp; he jerks himself closer and suddenly, his lips are on your own and he is kissing you. His teeth scrape against your own and he pulls you flush, as if he cannot get close enough to you already, desperate to suffocate the detrimental notions running through him. Stunned and too preoccupied with dwelling on the sweet taste of his mouth, you have forgotten how to reciprocate.

You break apart and shrug the grip on your arms, unsure of what to say as his desperate indigo ogling gauges you for a reaction – whether you should berate him or express your equal adoration, anything is preferable than the silence. “I . . . I’m sorry,” he finally says when you have not.

“It’s fine,” you insist, an unreadable poignancy sweeping your face. “You can do it again, if you need to. I don’t mind.”

He must have heard you wrong; surely, you did not give him such a blessing as this. And yet, when he cups your jaw and meets your lips halfway, you do not shove him off. Instead, you repay the gesture and swipe your tongue along his own. His heart sings for you, like a schoolboy’s choir: thank you, thank you, thank you. You swear that your legs have become melting gold, for they quiver and you can no longer stand on your own.

Or maybe it is because the train has lurched forward. Despite the separation of your lips, Narancia catches you in arms that harbor unassuming strength, but make you feel guarded, all the same. It is strange, you reflect: he has always been something of a haven to you, ever since the night when you had cast aside all hesitations of welcoming him into your circle and did exactly that.

“I just want you to know that everything will be okay,” you tell him – about the kiss, about the train, or about your shared regrets, he does not know. No matter the intent, he enjoys listening to your voice. “You aren’t alone in this, Nara. We both made the decision to leave. You don’t have to suffer on your own, because I feel just as guilty, too.”

He frowns.

“Besides, we have all we need. You, me, and Fugo. I’m glad you’re here, you know; I couldn’t do this without you.” He hastily wipes away the tears that trickle down his cheeks. Stop crying, he sneers to himself. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You pull his frantic hand away from his reddened face and lace your fingers with his, so that he might not try it again. “It’s okay to cry, even if you don’t think so.”

He blooms and comes undone, sobbing into the crook of your neck and clasping your shirt so tightly that the spooling contorts and wrinkles. You trace shapes against his back, creasing the leather with your nails. Slow, tentative, and soft. He wishes to stay like this forever, bathroom or not – just so long as he has you.

While Narancia straightens himself and splashes fresh water upon his face, you wait for him at the door. He hesitates to follow you back to the compartment, because he can lose himself to grief exactly where he is without repercussion. You know this well, and so you extend your arm for him to take with a sense of hushed encouragement. His fingers meet yours, only this time, it is not to stop him from swiping at his face until his skin is raw. “We should check on Fugo, yeah?” you suggest.

“Yeah . . .”

Down the corridor, he trails behind you like a lost stray to his savior. In a way, that is exactly what you are, he thinks. And he will forever be grateful for it. It is not until you have returned to the strawberry blonde that Narancia lets his grasp fall from yours. You return to your seats, and Fugo offers his own attempt at a smile to you each. His book lies in his lap, untouched and unmoved.

“So, Fugo.” You drag out his name, as if deep in thought. “Did you get past the first page yet?”

| 3704 Words |

[rokas-magical-gateway]

Undeniable Truth

Count Lucio x Gender Neutral MC

EDIT: I recently re-realized that this is the first thing I've seriously written in literally 10 years so, constructive criticism is definitely welcome... Thank you!

Fanfiction inspired by these pieces of art:

Left: @jyuukichannart

Right: @imaridraws

Tags: Scars, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Rating: PG-13?

He shivered a little as they gently grazed the tips of their fingers along the scar on his ribs, already lidded silver eyes falling the rest of the way closed as a soft sigh slid past his lips...

The fingers of their other hand continued to reverently caress thick, golden locks as they slowly glided through the silken strands, but then the fingers of their previous hand ghosted along fair skin to lovingly trace the occasional lines that mark it: his ribs, across his toned stomach to jump to his wrist, caressing the lines that criss-cross that arm...

He almost wanted to tell them to stop; he hated it when people paid so much attention to his scars; he had other, far more lavish features to admire, he could never understand the bemusement toward the abhorrent imperfections. He melted under their touch, though, & despite his mild uncertainty, he found himself keeping silent to simply enjoy the feeling of their hands on him, the touch he always craved.

Fingers tenderly continued along across his neck - earning the slightest shiver as he was brought back from his musings - to the mark leading to the junction of his shoulder & neck, falling lazily to trace along his clavicle until it met cool metal, where it changed course to begin to outline the anchor for the golden prosthetic & before either could think his other hand had their wrist in a vice like grip.

The sudden force surprised them & they couldn't help the flinch before they looked again & their eyes met the steel of his irises beneath his now deeply furrowed brows. It winded them for a moment, that stare, before they recalled that the only steel in that gaze were the bars put there to hold the emotions in check. After a moment's hesitation, their free hand continued through his hair, just as reverently, nothing but love as they managed to hold those guarded, yet burning eyes.

"Please...?" They pleaded gently which drew a flush to his cheeks, immediately softening the rest of his features a little.

He was certain they'd said "please" before, but the weight of the plea despite the softness of their voice would have floored him had he not been resting in their lap already. Even on the occasions when he took the dominant role he couldn't help but to love & spoil them without abandon, unable to leave them want for anything, but...

Searching their eyes for some answer, his grip on them relaxed just enough & they brought their hand away from the place that had so offended him to caress the side of his face. He'd started worrying at his lower lip so they leaned down to take it from him, gently sucking it into a kiss as they used their hands along his face & in his hair to pull him to them just a little, earning another soft sigh as he relaxed a little more.

"Please...?" They whispered again, a little breathless, but just as weighted.

"Yes, anything you want," he answered so quietly, unable to resist them, but so reluctant.

They didn't move away as their hand slowly, *carefully* eased back down his neck & along his shoulder again, instead pressing reassuring little kisses to the corner of his mouth & down along his chin.

He shivered again tangling his fingers into their hair & hoping to distract himself from his nagging thoughts as his partner found the anchor again & traced down along it until they found the deepest scarring where the prosthetic met his shoulder. He nearly whined with the effort to keep from snatching up their wrist again, instead tightening his grip in their hair, tangling his fingers a little deeper, his golden hand starting to tremble a little.

"It's alright," they found themself gently cooing against his lips as they affectionately rubbed their noses together. "I love you, Lucio."

"I love you, too," he breathed lifting his still trembling hand to slide underneath their hair & rest against the back of their neck, the cool metal making them tremble just a little before he pulled them in to close the short distance between their mouths, eliciting a soft whine of surprise before they melted into his trembling lips.

Their hands continued caressing him, one barely resisting the urge to tangle & pull his pretty blond hair, continuing instead to adoringly stroke him like a treasured pet & the other falling to continue following the line of his prostethic, tenderly stroking along all the scarring there. As they traced the junction of flesh & metal underneath his arm, his fingers tangled painfully tighter into their hair as some sound between a whine & a moan escaped from him into their mouth making them shiver & pull back just a little to gaze down at his flushed face. They were taken aback by the tears as they began to slide from where they'd collected around his silver eyes, causing them to glitter beautifully despite the heart wrenching expression across his normally proud features.

"Oh, Lucio..."

Both of their hands made their way to his cheeks so that they could caress his face, carefully thumbing away the tears & trailing eyeliner around his eyes; a fruitless effort as they continued down his cheeks & their hands anyway.

"Why...?" He managed to choke out around the sobs he was trying to hold back.

At first they didn't understand & they didn't want to hesitate too long while he was so fragile, but thankfully as they opened their mouth to respond, they realized what he meant.

"You're beautiful, my love; I just crave to touch you," they answered, managing what they hoped was a convincing smile which was hard with how worried for him they were.

He looked away. Actually turned his whole head to look away. They didn't like that; even fully submitted to them, he didn't do that.

"Not that part..."

"Yes, that part!" They used their hands still on his face to make him meet their eyes again. "ALL of you! Every centimeter!"

His eyes widened a little before he turned them away, teeth finding his lip once again. He'd planned to disagree, but knew better & bit back the protest.

When they shifted his head from their lap, freeing him from their grasp & convincing him to loosen his own, so they could stand up, he was certain they'd given up & would leave. He almost wished they would, but he knew that if they did he'd remember how worthless & alone he felt & yearn for them again only to have chased-

Familiar weight settled across his waist & the plush couch sank beneath him as he gazed with tear blurred vision up at the being straddling him, moisture collecting & threatening to fall from their eyes, too. While they had his attention again, they leaned down over him, curling their arms around the back of his neck to tangle their fingers back into his hair as they pressed their body as close to his as they could, crushing their mouths together once more. They shivered against him as he moaned into the kiss, wrapping his prosthetic around their waist while his other arm snaked up their back so that he could rest his hand along the nape of their neck, pulling them impossibly closer.

They stayed like that for a short time: tightly wrapped up in one another while they eagerly explored each other's mouths, gasping desperately between soft sounds of delight as they lost themselves in one another, their tears momentarily forgotten in their affection for each other. But, finally, the pair parted for an actual breath; they stayed hovering inches over him while both of them gazed into one another's red-rimmed eyes.

"I love you, Montag," they declared shakily, "I love every part of you. All I could ever see when I look at you is indefectible beauty, why don't you believe that?"

His breathing picked up a little at the sound of his birth name on their lips. They were the only one he allowed to know & use it, though they seldomly did. He hung on to every word, silently cursing himself as he felt his throat tighten again.

"How can..." he had to swallow back the tears once again, "how can you say that any of this," he stopped to shift his shoulder a little beneath them, emphasizing his prosthetic, or rather, the scarring associated & surely the rest of his scars, too, "is beautiful?" His voice started to waver making his already distinct accent a little more pronounced. "If I'd been stronger, I'd have been able to better protect myself. What kind of warrior loses an arm? & days after the fact to AMPUTATION?!" He was frantic, nearly seething by the end.

"A *strong* one," they pressed firmly, emphasizing it with a slight tug on his hair to redirect his attention back from within himself to out there with them. "A warrior who could have died, but *lived*. A warrior who has seen countless battlefields & endured much pain to get to where he is." They allowed their voice to soften as his expression did; he was truly listening now. "A warrior who *perseveres* instead of submitting to death under the guise of honor. A true warrior."

A hand slid from his hair to gently rest along his neck, thumb stroking along the underside of his jaw. His face wasn't wholly relaxed yet, but he looked a little more serene under the touch, his eyes softening slightly & his lips parting just a little; he was processing what they'd said.

"Y-you really believe that."

It could have been a question, but the tone made it a statement. They felt a smile tug at the corners of their mouth at that child of a man. Gods how they wanted to just hold him tight & help him forget all the bad things that had made him grow to feel the way he did about himself.

For the time, though, they ghosted their lips along the other side of his jaw, earning yet another shiver & a soft gasp until their lips reached his in a featherlight touch so they could give him their answer:

"Absolutely."

His own lips parted with some other sound, but they swallowed it in a kiss that had him trembling beneath them as soon as their lips met his. Fingers eagerly slid up into their hair inspiring them to trail theirs down his chest to rest over his fluttering heart with a gratified moan.

"Mm, Montag~" They managed, pulling back only enough to focus on lidded silver eyes.

"Yes, my Deity," he answered, his voice slow & husky.

His golden hair was tousled beyond any quick fix, strewn here & there with a few pieces having fallen felicitously in his face, drawing to his eyes. The makeup was smudged & streaked & they were still a little puffy & bloodshot from his tears, but it only made the softness behind, those foxy eyes more apparent; the truth he tried so hard to hide from everyone laid bare for only them to see: he just wanted to be loved & to share that love in return without fear of admonishment.

Their lips brushed the shell of his ear as they whispered to him,

"Let me show you how comely I think you are~?"

A gently posed question, with deep promises that finally brought some of that familiar mischief to his face; his eyes starting to twinkle as the smile began to play at his lips.

"I am putty in your hands ready to be molded to your whims," he started with quiet confidence only to writhe with a whine as they licked along his ear to gently nibble the lobe. "P-p-please show me h-how fet-fetching I can be..." Their lips trailed to his neck nipping a little so that he moaned the last part. "I'm yours~"

And sometimes it was absolutely impossible to believe but, as they sat all the way back to admire the flushed, disarranged mess that was the Count of Vesuvia, more at ease & completely vulnerable below them, it proved to be absolutely undeniable truth.

[fangirlovestuff]

A Very Colin Christmas - Colin Shea x reader

Ch. 2 - The Proposal

a/n - hey lovely people!! here goes chapter 2, and this is where things really start to get interesting... enjoy;)

read ch.1

Summary: You help Colin with some Christmas decorations, but it turns out he does have one more thing to ask you...

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: curse words, innuendos

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

After Colin left to try and get a tree, you went back to your apartment to tidy up a little and write cards to give out. You wrote all the big ones first, for your family and close friends, and then wrote the ones for coworkers and other people for whom a simple "Merry Christmas" would suffice. It was a little extra to write cards for all the presents you gave out, but it wasn't too much of a bother.

You were just putting the cards in place when you heard a knock on your door. "Just a second!" you yelled out and finished with the cards.

You opened the door to reveal Colin, smiling. "Let's go," you said, locking the door behind you and going with him to his apartment across the hall.

When you entered you were greeted by the sight of a little tree in the living room, but more importantly with the delicious smell of takeout. You were painfully reminded you hadn't had dinner yet when your mouth watered at the smell.

"I got some takeout on my way as well," said Colin and made his way to the kitchen. "You want some?" he yelled.

"Yeah, I'd love some," you said, grateful. You started to look at the pile of decorations on the couch, wondering where it would be best to put each one.

Colin came back with two very delicious smelling plates, one of them you accepted before sitting down on the couch beside him. You ate and chatted a bit. He asked you a little about your job and you ranted about your shitty boss for a bit.

"Well, lucky for me I'm the boss of me. And I gotta say, I'm a pretty great one," Colin replied, smirking.

"Oh yeah, how's that going for you?" you asked. A week ago, you had seen him in the park with some kid and he tried to hide from you. "The babysitting business must be thriving with you in it," you grinned.

"Ha ha," he replied dryly. "For your information, that was my nephew, and I definitely did not get paid for that," he grimaced slightly. "But my actual work, which is music, is going great, thanks for asking."

"I'm glad," you chuckled.

When you finished your dinner, it was time for decorating. At first you were hesitant, asking Colin if the place was okay for every single ornament you hung, but you quickly realized he didn't really care, and started getting more and more confident. Eventually, you were telling Colin where he should put the stuff he was hanging.

At some point Colin started to put on some music from his phone, blasting a cheesy Christmas playlist. You started mindlessly humming along, and so did Colin. Gradually, you both started swaying to the beat, until eventually you were both just dancing around, singing at the top of your lungs. You grabbed a candy cane and started using it as a mic, offering it to Colin every other line, and he gladly sang into it, laughter dancing in his eyes.

When the song ended you both collapsed on the couch, side by side, each breathless to some extent. You looked at him and started laughing, and soon he joined you, your laughter booming through the apartment. Another song was playing now, but he lowered the volume so you could speak comfortably.

"Wow, you really are musically talented," you said once your laughter had died down, "I'm impressed."

"Thank you, thank you!" he got up and bowed with a flourish, waving at an invisible crowd. "You're not too bad yourself," he said once he sat back down.

"Thank you!" you said, your hand on your heart, feigning deep gratitude. "It means so much when an expert like you says that," you rolled your eyes.

"You sound like my mom," he raised his eyebrow and reached for his beer on the table, taking a large gulp.

"I can't tell if that's good or bad," you chuckled.

"Definitely bad. She's still waiting for me to give it up, and so is my entire family. They seem to forget I've been doing this for years now. My mom is very adamant that it's a phase. She is, of course, forgetting my expertise, as you framed so nicely," he said with a bitter smile.

"Sounds like a lovely lady," you smiled.

"Yeah. I love them but loving them from afar is easier. Soon they're gonna be here, so don't be surprised if you hear some shouting," he smiled.

"Why would you shout? It's the holidays!"

"Exactly. It's gonna be all 'Colin, why don't you have a job?' and 'Colin, when are you gonna settle down with a nice girl?' like I'm a fucking baby," he took another swig of his beer. "And because I do have a job, and I tell them that, that's when the shouting begins," he said with a shrug.

"What about the nice girl?" you smirked, and Colin just looked at you with a puzzled expression. "I mean, you just told me your answer for the first question, but why don't you settle down with a nice girl?" you raised your eyebrow at him.

"Well, it's simple," he leaned closer, putting his hand on the couch beside you, "I like 'em naughty," he murmured and smirked.

"Okay," you rolled your eyes and pushed him away playfully. "I hope that's not what you're gonna tell your mom."

"No," he sighed in defeat, "but it's sure as hell what I'm gonna tell Andy," he smirked, "that jerk doesn't know what fun is. He was like that even before he got married. Pity," he shrugged.

"Andy?"

"My perfect big brother. Perfect idiot if you ask me."

"You don't actually hate him that much," you said, convinced you were right.

"Not really," he admitted. "But he's a lawyer with a wife and a kid. You can do the math as to what expectations that sets for me."

"So you're jealous of him."

"God no, I wouldn't be a lawyer if you paid me in gold," Colin chuckled. "It looks so fucking boring."

"But you're jealous that he's getting your parents' approval," you remarked.

He stayed silent for a moment. "Maybe," he shrugged. "Whatever. It's not like that's going to change anytime soon."

"What, like you want it to? Colin, you've come to hide out in my apartment three times in the last week. I know enough to say you're not really looking for a girlfriend," you chuckled.

"I know, I know," he said, "but I kinda wish I'd have like, a girlfriend for the weekend, you know? Like a fake girlfriend to prove my family wrong, and then I'd go back to normal," he shrugged.

"Why not post an ad? People will do anything for money."

"I'm not buying a girlfriend!" he scrunched up his nose, "even I don't stoop that low. That's really fucking pathetic."

"Okay then," you chuckled, "how about ask one of your hookups?"

"Something tells me they wouldn't be up for it," he grimaced, taking another sip from his beer.

"Really? What about Stella from a couple of days ago? Two days isn't that long to ghost a girl," you shrugged.

"Oh, is that what I said her name was?" he furrowed his brows.

"Okay, I see your point," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I do have an idea… but you have to promise not to hit me if I tell you," he grinned. You contemplated it with a smile before motioning for him to go ahead. "Maybe… you could pretend to be my girlfriend for the weekend?"

You reached out to swat him but he dodged your blow quickly, "You said you wouldn't hit me!" he pouted.

"That's before I knew you were going to say something stupid! Besides, I didn't actually say anything," you objected, but crossed your hands on your chest nonetheless.

"C'mon, it'll be fun!" he smiled hesitantly. "What are your plans anyway?"

"Sit in my apartment and watch Christmas movies," you grumbled. "My family usually meets after Christmas, because 'roads are always jammed on the holidays', so I stay in."

"See? Your family's weird, so you can help me get my annoying one off my back!"

"Hey! Only I can call my family weird," you bumped your elbow into his side. "But I guess I don't have anything that much better to do," you said after a few seconds.

"Yes!" he pumped his fist in celebration, "I promise you won't regret it, baby," he leaned in and you rolled your eyes and pushed him away.

"Okay, Casanova," you chuckled, "but I do have some ground rules. First of all, PDA to a minimum, okay? No kisses," you raised your eyebrows at him and he pouted in response.

"Cheek kisses?" he asked.

"Maybe," you sighed. "Rule number two – no funny business," you gestured vaguely.

"What does that mean?" he chuckled.

"I don't know," you said, "just… be normal?"

"I thought the entire point of this was that I didn't seem like my normal self," he scratched his chin as if in deep thought.

"Well, I meant be a normal person in normal people standards."

"You got it," he grinned.

When you got back to your apartment, he escorted you to your door.

"See you, Colin. Goodnight," you smiled.

"Goodnight. And… thank you," he smiled back, "for saving my ass. Today and hopefully over the weekend."

"Don't thank me yet," you smirked, prompting him to chuckle. "Bye," you said as you closed your door behind you.

So… looks like you're going to have a very interesting weekend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tell me your thoughts!! honestly i have mixed feelings about some of the dialogue in this one, because i really like it but at the same time idk... anyways i hope that you enjoyed and have a wonderful rest of your day<3

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12

A Very Colin Christmas Taglist: @janaygrant

if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

[jawritter]

His Old Ghost

Created For: @spndarkbingo

Summary: Some things from the past just never really want to let go, do they?

Square Field: Mobster AU

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x John Winchester

Word Count: 1672

Warnings: Heavy Trigger warning!! Suicidal!Dean, heavy suicidal ideals and implications as well as prompts, control, manipulation, talk of death past and present, depression, language, angst, I think that’s it. Sorry if I missed something.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! <3

A/N: As always please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! This is the last fic for this Bingo! Hope you all enjoy!

**Masterlist**   ~  **Become A Patreon**

The deep amber brown liquid swirled easily around the tumblr that Dean  held tightly in his grip. His gaze was fixed on large rain drops falling against the window that was behind his desk, blurring the lights of the city that seemed to sit miles below his penthouse office on the 51st floor. 

Below him were thousands of people, young and old, going about their daily lives, only worried about their own little bubble of problems. Most of them were unable to even see past the cell phone that seemed to captivate their attention as they moved about amongst each other. 

With a disgusted snarl on his lips, Dean lifted the tumbler, and downed it in one pull. The burn of the alcohol has stopped affecting him a long time ago. Now it was the only warmth he felt.. 

“Those people, they’re ungrateful for what we do son,” John’s voice sounded from somewhere in the back corner of the room. 

Dean had known he was standing there watching him. When you have lived many years with people trying to kill you, tend to heighten your senses in a way you couldn’t turn off. 

“Get out of my head old man,” Dean’s voice drew out unamused. “I couldn’t give a fuck what they want or don’t want, see or don’t see. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Dean could hear John moving closer to the desk, and the wood creaking attop it, as the smell of cigar that seemed to constantly linger around his father, misted with just a hint of some expensive Italian cologne and whiskey let Dean know he’d perched himself on the corner of the desk.

“If it weren’t for us, half of this city would be in ruin. Their businesses  would be shut down, their schools and churches would be sitting empty, and they wouldn't even have a roof over most of their heads. Still, look at them down there, walking around without a care in the world, and you’re  telling me that doesn’t bother you? Not in the least?” 

In truth, it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t mad that most of them were ungrateful, and lived in blissful ignorance.In fact, he envied them. He wished he could walk around in the same happy little bubble they walked and lived in everyday, not knowing what really went on behind closed doors, or the sacrifices other people made at their expense. “It’s just good business,” or so his father always said. Dean was starting to beg to differ. 

He hadn’t  known when he’d take over his father’s ‘family business’ it would come with so much pain, and heartache or so much death. Now here he was, The Godfather, as it were, but it wasn’t anything like it was in the movies. No, it was darker, and colder, and lonely as the grave he’d seem to keep lowering his friends into. 

He thought he could have it all when he was younger. He thought that he could have it all, ruling the city on his throne of control as the people  moved about like his little pawns in a game of chess only he could master. He was wrong. So very fucking wrong, and now? Well, now he was just left with the ghost of the past.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Dean said with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. John’s dark chuckle sounded from behind him as he got up and moved closer to the window, putting a hand on the cold glass as he watched the rain slip down the pane, determined to ignore the old demon that seemed to come and visit him after every failed job. 

“Sure is a long way down isn’t?” John’s voice said from directly next to him now, as if he was looking down at the city below him just as Dean was now. “You know, it wouldn’t be hard right? The fall? In fact, it would almost be peaceful. Hell, they say by the time you hit the ground from this height your heart’s already stopped anyway, and you're dead before you even hit the ground. It’s as easy as falling asleep.” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he closed his eyes and fought against the thoughts that were clouding his judgement. “Fuck off,” he growled, but John just laughed in earnest, sending a familiar shiver down Dean’s spine. 

“Come Dean, what do you really have to live for anyway?” John taunted, walking around him like a lion stalking down his prey, getting ready to land the deadly pounce that would ultimately destroy the poor, worthless beast that was weaker than he.

“She will never love you Dean, you know that right? First time shit goes sideways, she’s gonna do the same as every other bitch you have ever used to get your dick wet. She’s just there for the money you hand her, and you know it.” 

John’s hot breath blew against the back of his neck as the next passing words were made in a whisper against his sweat damp skin. 

“But, you had to fuck around and get feelings, didn’t you boy?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Dean roared, but it only seemed to edge on his torturer even more. 

“No! Feelings make you weak, make you vulnerable!” John’s voice sounded louder than his own, and Dean flinched as if he’d raised his hand and struck him. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised, you always were too weak. You and your feelings were the reason I’m dead today Dean. Sam would have made a better leader. He was smarter, stronger.  You were never even able to protect him.That’s why you let him go off to Stanford, isn’t it Dean, because he’d be safer out of the life.” 

Dean’s fist pounded against the glass in a hollow thud, and he gritted his teeth almost painfully, “Sammy deserved better than this. He deserved to get out.” 

“Is that what Benny deserved today Dean? Was that round through the heart his way of ‘getting out of the life’.He’s in the ground right now because you sent him on that delivery Dean, he’s dead because of you.”

“I said, fuck off!” Dean growled, but to no avail. 

“Do Y/N a favor. Open the drawer where you keep that 45, and end it. A simple shot to the temple and it’s done. She’ll be free of the coward that she’s tided too.”

Dean’s eyes shot to the small drawer at the bottom of his desk, and his pulse quickened.

“That’s it son, do it, end it.” John's voice growled deep in his ear, as one large tear rolled down Dean’s face. 

His legs felt weak. His breath was coming in short spurts as a grip tightened around his pounding heart, like a vise in his chest. John’s voice repeated, growing in his ear to “end it, do it now.” the same tone he’d used his whole life to order him around, and Dean had never been able to disobey an order. 

Maybe his dad’s ghost was right, and was weak. Maybe you would be better if he just ended it, took the cowards way out of this shit show, and let you move on. He’d make sure to leave you enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life.You’d be better off if he were dead.

Before he could even move from his spot against the window, two hands, much smaller than the ones that felt as if they were gripping his throat, slipped around his chest, and your scent seemed to push through the fog of self hate and regret that was weighing on him from years past. 

“Dean, baby breath, it’s okay,” your voice soothed over him, and he turned to lean into your embrace, thankful that you had come in just in time to once again chase the old ghost away. 

“I know, it’s just one of those nights,” Dean murmured into your hair, letting the scent of his favorite shampoo that you always used calm his racing pulse. 

“It wasn’t your fault baby. I can see you literally blaming yourself. Benny knew the risk of what he was going to do, he knew that it could go the way it went. You couldn’t have stopped it if you wanted to,” you try to sooth him. 

Dean’s eyes flickered to the corner of the room, where a pair of glowing yellow eyes shone like cat eyes in a dark alley, and his father’s face disappeared into the darkness. He was never gone forever. He was always there, always lurking, always haunting, taunting him. 

“Come on handsome, let’s get some sleep,” you tell him, grabbing his hand, and leading him from the dark, cold office to the master bedroom were you could keep an eye on him, keep him close to you, and help fight off the old ghost of his past that never seemed to want to let go. 

Tonight he’d win against them again, but there would always be a battle, always a struggle with demons that had their hooks in him so deep, that one day they’d drive them to his grave. Tonight though, he’d hide in the safety of your arms, and your warm embrace to get up and do it all over again tomorrow. Until one day, by an enemy or by his own hand, he’d be lowered into the ground, and with a hero’s funeral to cover up a black soul that had more blood on his hands than the devil himself. 

As long as he had you, and as long as you were here, he could find his resting place here. This was as close to heaven as he’d ever get, and when he’d died, and they covered him in gold, he’d be able to say he had you, for just a little while. For just a little while, he got to see heaven, and it was all because of you. His hiding place. His sanctuary. A place where his ghost couldn’t find him. 

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling   @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​

[sparklecryptid]

blood on the water

i MEANT to post this here too but forgot. anyway here's the first chapter of blood on the water. warning for temporary character death and timoteo eating a kids flames and being a general asshole.

also on ao3 here

Naoki is a sick child. He hurts and hurts and is clumsy enough that he has broken and dislocated more bones than a child his age should have.

Naoki is a sick child; but he knows that his mother loves him, he knows that his brother loves him. That Tsuna brings him treats when Naoki can’t go to school and Tsuna holds his hand when the doctor comes toward them with something scary. Tsuna is his brother.

And Tsuna has swore to protect him. Naoki believes him, believes that Tsuna will protect him. Believes that with his whole heart but when he sees a man reach toward Tsuna with a hand full of fire Naoki runs and jumps in front of the old man that their father brought home.

Something is Naoki screams to him that his man is bad, that he is terrible and no good and that he needs to grab Tsuna and run.

The man is faster, he takes his hand and places it on Naoki’s belly, the fire that the man wields (almost like his and Tsuna’s but the man’s fire seems dark and scary) reaches into Naoki and latches onto the warmth that Naoki holds close to him. The warm that brings the fire he and Tsuna play with and Naoki wants to scream but he can’t. His scream dies in his throat, he’s being torn apart, his fire is being taken and taken and he’s being eaten alive and he can’t do anything. The old man is eating him and gorging himself on the fire Naoki has and Naoki can’t do anything.

He wants to scream for Tsuna but he can’t, behind him his brother is frozen. Shocked and still and Naoki loves him. Naoki loves his brother. Naoki loves his brother and will not let anyone like this old man hurt Tsuna.

He refuses.

Naoki doesn’t scream or run because that would mean the old man would target Tsuna and Naoki will not let that happen.

It seems like it lasts for hours. It lasts for less than three minutes and Naoki falls to the ground.

-

The truth of things is that death comes for everyone. It is a consuming thing, a thing that takes and takes and takes. Death cannot be stopped or halted, merely postponed, and to a man such a Timoteo the idea of being conquered, of being consumed by such a thing is preposterous.

Timoteo has torn lives apart, has bathed himself in blood and gore until all that he touches is stained red. Timoteo is the type of man who regrets little, and as he stays into the bright orange eyes of the Sawada Naoki - the boy who had told Timoteo no - he is consumed by a terrible hunger.

‘You could take him,’ A voice, dark and terrible whispers to Timoteo, ‘Take him and feast on his Flames until he has nothing else to give.’ Because the twins Flames are strong, and only one would be needed to give Timoteo the strength he needs to continue, only one would be needed to extend Timoteo’s reign by another few decades and then the other could be used.

Iemitsu only needs one child, to fulfill his urge to be parental, and it would be a waste to let one man’s desire for a family ruin everything Timoteo has worked so hard for.

There is no regret when he consumes the child’s Flames. No regret when the child falls limp and broken in front of him, there is no regret when Naoki eyes go dull with the mask of death and when Timoteo looks at Tsuna the other boys eyes are bright and glowing and the child launches himself at Timoteo, as though he knows that Timoteo had done something terrible.

It takes no time at all to seal away Tsuna’s Flames, to put the boys together under a tree and wait for Tsuna to wake and realize that Naoki had passed away in his sleep.

Naoki was always a sickly child after all, it should be no surprise that he died.

-

Tsuna wakes up. He wakes up to his brother lying limp at his side and Tsuna wakes to a world that is grey. Everything seems muted, as though he’s watching the world through dirty glass and he hates it because it’s wrong. He turns to his brother, to ask Naoki what happened only to see his brother staring at him with dead eyes.

“Naoki?” Tsuna asks, moving away from his brother only to watch Naoki fall into the space Tsuna was in previously, “Naoki!” Tsuna scrambles toward his brother, slipping on nothing and landing on his brothers chest and Naoki doesn’t move.

Doesn’t wake.

Doesn’t breathe.

And Tsuna can feel his own heart rate pick up, can remember all the doctors visits he went with mom and Naoki too and Tsuna does not know death but he knows that death exists. That Naoki was always sickly and hurting and that sometimes mom clung to him and cried because she was hurting because what if Naoki disappeared? What if her baby died?

Tsuna knows that death means that something is gone, that they disappear and his eyes hurt with tears as he stares at his little brother. As he stares at his twin who he promised that he would protect no matter what and Naoki doesn’t move.

Tsuna screams, and the adults come running.

-

Death is a thing that should only happen to someone once.

Should is the keyword here. When Naoki dies, determined and regretful he finds himself in a dark space full of stars. The black of the area around covered in nebulae and constellations. The sight of a star going supernova burns his eyes and he blinks rapidly to clear the spots in his vision as the light of the supernova dies and he finds himself blinking at an adult who looks like him but older.

The man has a cane by his side. The cane has lavender and wisteria burned into it and then the flowers are painted in their respective hues. His skin is a light brown and his hair is the same. The man’s eyes are the only part of the man that looks different than Naoki. Rather than the brilliant orange that Naoki himself sees when he looks in the mirror the man has eyes that are a shocking shade of indigo.

“Are we related?” Naoki asks, looking up at the man who seems as confused as he is.

“I-“ the man stops, and stares at Naoki, taking in the similarities between them and then blinking like he’s seen a ghost. Naoki supposes that that part is true at least, Naoki is dead after all.

“I don’t know?” The man finishes awkwardly.

“Oh.” There’s silence between them for a moment before Naoki makes a choice. “I’m Naoki.”

���Huh,” the man says, “That’s my name too.”

Naoki beams at older Naoki. “That’s great! We are name twins!” Older Naoki watches as Naoki falters at the last word.

“Did you have a twin?” Older Naoki asks, his voice painfully gentle as he sits on the nothingness that suspends them in the starlit sky. Naoki sits next to him.

“Yes.” I died for him, Naoki doesn’t say but Older Naoki seems to know that regardless as sorrow enters his gaze.

“That sucks,” Older Naoki tells him, his indigo gaze softening as he looks at Naoki. “So do you know why we’re here?”

“We died.”

“Well yes,” Older Naoki says, “I know that. But what do we do now?”

Naoki pauses. “Could we go back?”

Older Naoki looks as though he’s just seen the sun dawning.

“I think we might be able to,” Older Naoki says, “Do you want to try?”

Naoki reaches out into the sky with his flames, brilliant and orange, searching for confirmation that they could go back and Older Naoki’s flames, indigo and rolling like mist are pulled out and into the search as well.

“What-“ Older Naoki looks down at himself, glowing indigo and then at Naoki who is glowing orange with fire.

Above them the stars dim and Naoki looks at Older Naoki and knows the man in front of him as himself.

“We’re dead.”

“Died at the same time,” this facet of him agrees and hands Naoki his cane. “Live for us?”

“The old man ate too much.”

“Yes, but we’re the same aren’t we? I don’t see why we can be one.”

“I want to go back,” Naoki says, as the last of the stars vanished, “I want my brother.”

-

Naoki wakes up not to the blue sky that sings to him but to the sight of the wooden lid of a coffin.

He sighs. He knows that his family is mourning, that he’s been dead for a while but did they have to bury him?

Of course they did, a part of him whispers, They love us.

“Yes,” Naoki says to himself as he uses the smokeless flame of his Sky to burn away pieces of the lid, “They do.”

Doesn’t mean that he appreciates having to dig himself out of his own grave. But he does, because he’s alive again, because he has a brother to protect, because the Older Naoki is also Naoki now and he might be weak and small and a child but he still needs to get out of this grave.

So he digs.

And digs.

And pull on the Mist to make it his body believe that there is more air in there than there is.

And he digs some more, and breaks through the surface in the middle of the night gasping for breath as they let their illusion fade. Naoki pulls himself out of the grave, his shoulders sore and aching and he hopes that he didn’t pull or dislocate something again.

He closes his eyes, to rest just for a moment, but a shadow falls over him and he opens his eyes to see a man with white hair staring at him.

Naoki waves.

The man looks mildly amused but mostly irked, as though something has happened that was unexpected.

“Hello,” Naoki says, “Do you have any water?”

-

The man takes him in. His name is Kawahira and he says that Naoki can’t go back to his family. Naoki bristles at that, bristles at the implication that his family doesn’t need or want him.

He opens his mouth to protest but Kawahira reminds him that Timoteo is still out there.

Timoteo.

The beast of a man. That man that had taken Naoki’s Sky and killed him. The reason why Naoki’s Flames now have jagged and sharp edges, the reason why his Sky and Mist are stitched together by death and the reason why Naoki remembers.

There was a life where Naoki was a Mist. Where Naoki wandered and stole and killed. Where he stayed out of Mafia business as much as he could and just as he was planning on retiring he had been killed. Caught in the crossfire between the Vongola and another family.

And now that Naoki is him, and he is that Naoki, and together they are one person with a shared past and Flames that will never be as beautiful or while as they once were.

Naoki knows his Mist is small compared to others, that his Sky despite being vast is broken and missing pieces. Naoki knows no one will want him as a Guardian or a Sky and that he will have to protect himself in order to protect his family.

That he cannot let his family know that he is alive lest they get caught in the crossfire.

He will also admit that a part of him is scared, terrified of being found by Timoteo again. Terrified that Timoteo will take and take and take. That the old man will consume Naoki until there is nothing left and as much as he yearns for his family he thinks that perhaps he is more terrified of Timoteo.

“What do I do then?” Naoki asks, a pleading note in his voice, “What can I do?”

“Become someone else,” Kawahira says, “Isn’t that what Mists are known for after all?”

-

Sawada Naoki is dead. He is dead and buried. Thrown into a grave and left to rot.

Sawada Naoki is dead, but Tanaka Naoki is still alive.

-

[mustyrosewater]

𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚. 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.

𝙟𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ( 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧 )

𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 : 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵. 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 : 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘫𝘢𝘷𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘺, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 8,189

𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 : 𝘙 18+

if someone were to have told you a year ago that you would not only sleep with, but develop weekly bouts of flirty back and fourth banter with a dea agent, you'd have laughed in their face and told them they weren't thinking straight; now, that was exactly what was happening. had you known that this is was the result of having what you thought was a one night stand, a quick fuck to deal with a stressful week? you would have done it all anyway. it didn't matter, because you were loving every minute of it. it had only started becoming a noticeable routine after the second time javi visited the store. the first time was complete coincidence, you knew that, or at least that was what you were telling yourself. you weren't as stupid as some might think, you knew that since being arrested the dea would have needed to look you up in the system, they would have seen your place of work. hell, they probably knew your full name, your parents name and what high school you went to as well. you were aware that the possibility of javi going to the effort to track you down at your place of work was long shot, but some part of you did secretly the love the idea that he was so struck after your night together that he just had to see you again. ok, now it sounded like one of those cheesy romance movies that were always on tv. the second time that javi had come into the store was hardly coincidence. it had been just under a week since his first surprise visit, along with your flirty back and fourth across the counter and stealing of one of his cigarettes, which still sat snugly by your ashtray at home, ready for when you needed a particularly intense unwind after a hard day. until then, you were sitting in your usual spot on the stool behind the counter, once again scrolling through lifestyle magazines that you cared little for but still read to pass the time. the routine that you were usually so content with was suddenly becoming painfully boring and you knew exactly why. javi's absence was notable each passing day, like a little school girl waiting for the boy she liked you found your head whipping up to the door every single time the electronic jingle of somebody entering filled your ears, with exasperated disappointment each time you looked up to find just another customer and not the man you were looking for. it had gotten to the point that the likelyhood of actually seeing him again was starting to feel less and less. you hated to admit that you'd found yourself wanting to see him again, even if it was only for two minutes to buy the shitty coffee from the machine at the back of the store, just a chance to see his face one more time, even if he didn't say a word to you. as that thought crossed your mind, your brows furrowed as you caught yourself, could you sound more desperate? the last time you were this infatuated with a man, or more so, a boy was with your ex, and that was a man you were so obsessed with you'd moved to columbia with him. you didn't exactly feel like a reminder on how that had ended. you shook your head slowly, shutting your eyes and letting out a sigh, some small attempt at snapping out of the utter trance that man had managed to put you in. the nights spent with you hands between your legs had only worsened since he'd asked you if you'd been a good girl. maybe the reason he hadn't returned had been your reply, should you have said yes? been complacent? he certainly hadn't had a problem with that two weeks ago when you were sucking his di- the bell went off once more, causing your own thoughts to be cut off. this time, unlike practically every other time someone had entered, you didn't look up, simply kept your eyes glued to the magazine in front of you. starting today you were going to get javi out of your head; he'd obviously made it clear that this was a one time thing to him, and if that was the case, it was going to be a one time thing to you as well. neither of you had even stated whether or not it was supposed to be a one time thing. stupid, you thought to yourself, he was an agent fucking someone he arrested, of course it was a one time thing, how could you have been so blind. this thought caused you to let out another sigh, much louder and more noticeable than you would have preferred. you let the magazine fall from your hands a land onto the counter with a soft thud, leaning your head forward and shutting your eyes, resting your forehead on your palms. "if that's the reaction i get i can leave." if your head shot up any quicker, you're fairly certain that you may have broken your neck. standing just a few meters away from the counter, hands on hips and aviators tilted slightly down his hooked nose, was javi. it was as if the universe was trying to play a cruel joke on you, just as you had begun convincing yourself that it was not worth it to obsess over this man, here he was, as if the very mention of forgetting him had called him to you. "javi." was all you could manage to breathe out in your state of mild shock. if he saw how much surprise his presence had caused you, he certainly didn't show it. he still looked as relaxed as ever as he strolled up to the counter and laid one of his hands on it flatly, leaning down ever so slightly to make sure you could hear him. "just a pack of cigarettes." you were almost insulted, he didn't even ask how you knew his name, he'd never told you and yet you knew. of course, it was his partner that hold told you in the first place, but he didn't know that. he wasn't even the slightest bit curious as to how you knew his name. if that's how he was going to be, you could give it back just as much. maybe you were being stupid, maybe you just needed to remember that just minutes ago you were reassuring yourself that it was a casual hook up and nothing else, he didn't owe you anything. but then why would he flirt with you last week? could you have even called what the two of you did flirting? hardly. you say nothing as you take your sweet time getting up from the stool, making sure to pull it out and make a loud dragging sound as you do. turning to the shelf of cigarette boxes, you stare at them for a few moments, hoping he remembers that you know exactly which kinds he smokes. "which kind?" you ask, still not facing him, partly so that you can really rub it in but mainly so that he can't see the smug grin that has befallen your face, you were already having fun. you want to turn around to see his expression so badly, but you know that you have to let this sizzle, wait and see if he catches on to the game you're playing. he seems to pause before telling you the brand and specific type, of course, you already knew. if it were even possible at that point, you go even slower to reach for the box, twirling it around in your hands and inspecting the label, reading it quietly to yourself. you pause once more, basking in the silence and the annoyance you must be causing him. if anything, this was payback. "these ones?" you finally ask, holding them up so that he can see the box but still not facing him. you hear him take a shark intake of breathe and feel your grin grow, knowing that you had him now, all of his attention was on you. "yes. those ones." he repeats your words back to you. you can hear the edges of a mocking tone to the way he repeats your own words, almost mimicking the way you said it. finally turning to face him, you don't bother hiding your satisfied smirk, knowing you'd managed to struck a nerve with him made you feel so in control, giving him a taste of his own medicine filled you with satisfaction. and the best part was that you weren't even close to finished with him. for a brief moment, some small part of you, the part that was rationalizing this all out in your head, questioned whether or not it was right to keep tormenting him. maybe you should just hand him his cigarettes and let him leave. it wasn't like he owed you anything, he was probably busy as well. unfortunately for you, that small part was quickly snuffed out by the memory of the sheer amount of times he'd been in your fantasies, the amount of times he'd filled your mind with images of him doing downright sinful things to you, things that could give your catholic madre a stroke. that was the part that quickly gained control over your thought process. scanning the box of cigarettes with a soft beep, you repeated the price to him, the same price they'd been since last time, probably the same price they'd continue to be for years to come. as he reached behind him to grab his wallet, your curled your nails under the plastic and ripped it open without hesitation, taking extra care to make sure it was audible enough for him to pick up on. watching his expression, you almost missed the ghost of a smirk that came across the corners of his lips when he heard the sound of the plastic, almost like he was expecting you to open the packet right in front of him, purely just to spite him. oh, now you were committed. you didn't even look away from him as you opened the packet and used your fingertips to pull out a single cigarette. as you did so, he finally looked up from his wallet and made direct eye contact with you through his aviators. just as they were before, his eyes resembled that of a lion watching over an antelope in the sahara, a predator, looking at its prey. only this time it was different, this was a lion staring down a lioness, one that he could try his hardest to tame, but more likely than not wouldn't be able to. tucking the cigarette into the same spot as last time, your front pocket, you gave him a devilish smirk. your intentions of pushing his buttons were made clear, this was done out of pure spite and an attempt to keep his attention. maybe even a your own little way of keeping him on his toes. "can i ask what the tax is for this time?" when he finally spoke after a tense bout of silence, his voice was low and his attention was focused on you and you only. just the way you wanted it. in your haste to actually open the box and take out one of his cigarettes, you hadn't actually been able to devise a witty comeback. what was this one for? capturing your bottom lip in your teeth, you let your eyes rake over his figure as you rested your forearms on the counter, leaning forward. all this while making no attempt to hide that you were mentally undressing him right there. there was no need to hide that sort of behavior seeing as he'd already fucked the daylights out of you. deciding to be completely truthful, you simply admitted it right then and there. "no reason." you shrugged, tilting your head as you finally regained eye contact with him. he didn't seem to care for your answer either way, if anything, he seemed to impressed that you were willing to admit that there really was no reason for taking the cigarette other than the purpose of getting under his skin. maybe he was used to most women playing coy and finding excuses to garner his attention, you wouldn't know. what you did know was that whether or not it had been due to your answer, javi was now leaning against the counter, his face growing ever closer to yours until you could smell the traces of spearmint gum on his breath. he was so close that you could note every nook and cranny in his slightly aged face that still looked so handsome it was practically criminal. whether it was the sex, or his ability to keep you on your toes every minute spent in his presence, you weren't sure why, but you were absolutely infatuated with this man. every single time your mind would begin to forget about him, he returned to your thoughts, invading your mind practically every minute of every day. so much so that you both loved and hated it. did he know how downright crazy he was making you? did he realize that the mere scent of his cheap cologne was enough to make you weak at the knees? if he did know, he certainly didn't show it. whether or not that was the result of him being clueless or humble you weren't sure. everything about him left you in shambles, the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, especially to you; everything he did was like walking sex and he may not have even known it. you had been so caught up in your own train of thought that you hadn't even noticed the fact that you could feel his heavy breaths falling directly on your lips, your faces were now so close together that you could see the golden flecks littering his dark eyes, you were able to concentrate on the way his pupils dilated. you were so close it was intoxicating. you weren't exactly sure what your thought process was, but giving him the satisfaction of your lips touching felt too easy. for a brief moment there you forgot that you were even playing a game, a game that you desperately needed to win. so you waited, refusing to move your head in the slightest, you simply held yourself in place, waiting oh so patiently for him to make the next move. it seemed that patience was not a virtue for javi, who was only able to wait for a few moments longer before moving his head forward in an attempt to place his lips on yours. you moved your head back quicker than you realized you were capable of and turned your head to the side in the process, quickly managing to thwart his attempt at kissing you. the sound that he let out went straight to your core, causing you to take a sharp intake of breath. the sound that he'd made was practically animalistic, the sound derived from pure instinct and need. you knew then and there that you'd captured him in your web. that had been just over a week ago now, at the time, he'd left without another word, only exchanging another smirk with you before taking his cigarettes and leaving. you had to admit, you were incredibly satisfied with your work. since that day he had returned twice, each time continuing your routine of him buying a packet of cigarettes and allowing you to steal one. it had become more than a game at this point, even by your standards you were growing more and more impatient with both him and yourself. where was this even leading? was he going to do something eventually? make some sort of move? or was it all up to you? he’d spent one day getting you so worked up that you needed to go home and smoke one of the stolen cigarettes. you had your own packet, but it was something about smoking his that calmed you even more than yours regularly would, maybe it was the knowledge that you’d taken them from him, or the emotions you connected with stealing them, either way, it always left you in a state of bliss when you smoked one of them. his visits became more and more frequent, with you and javi finding more and more ways to torture one another. you were particularly proud of what you’d come up with on this day. after finding a particularly low cut shirt from the market earlier that week, you bought it without hesitation and were now wearing it to work, taking extra care to put on one of your more expensive bra’s. you’d even made a bit more effort with your appearance in general, wearing a pair of small hooped earrings that your madre had sent you for your birthday. the day went by painfully slowly, every single time somebody came through the entrance doors, your head was shooting up to see who was coming inside and each time, it wasn’t javi. for the first few hours you were able to hide you growing worry, this was one the days he came in every week, he hadn’t let you down so far. By the time the six or seventh hour of your shift rolled around, it became increasingly difficult not to seem upset by javi’s absence. One of the sweet old ladies that came in every few days to get cat food and a jar of coffee had actually noticed and asked why you seemed so upset. Despite reassuring her that you were fine, she was easily able to see through your lie and forced you to fess up. you explained how you’d made yourself pretty for a man who always came in on this day and that he still hadn’t shown up. She quickly reassured you that was sure it was going to fine, but not before taking the time to reminisce about when she would make herself pretty for the boy who lived down her street. You always enjoyed her company, a friendly little abuela who barely even reached your shoulder and always had some sage advice about life. now you were back on the stool behind the counter, chin resting snugly on your hand as your gaze shifted to the small digital clock on the wall, displaying the time in neon red numbers. numbers that read the time, which had just clocked around to 11:23 pm. You almost felt like you were going to cry upon the realisation that you close in less than fourty minutes. Almost twelve hours had gone by and not once had javi appeared, you’d made such an effort for nothing. as you sat there, you began to realize how stupid it actually was to be getting upset about this. the man was a dea agent, of course he was busy, it wasn’t like the two of you had agreed on a set time for him to show up or anything. you mentally kicked yourself as you sat there and let out a tired sigh, you suddenly felt so pathetic, more pathetic than the day you spent sitting in your room with tears streaming down your face after kicking your ex out. You were able to fight back the first few tears that you’d felt burning on your eyes, but after that first round, the second one hit you just as hard and within seconds you felt the tears sliding down your cheeks. not wanting to risk the embarrassment of your boss or worse, a customer, seeing you cry, you stood up suddenly and walked into the bathroom, trying your hardest not to slam the door behind you. as you stared at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but cringe, the t shirt that had made you feel so confident before had now left you feeling self conscious and wishing that your vest covered more of your chest, the hoop earrings that you had left home adoring now made you feel trashy. and worst of all, the small streams of mascara running down your cheeks made you feel beyond messy. frantically ripping a few paper towels from the dispenser, you rinsed them and wiped off the small amount of makeup you’d put on that morning, leaving you bare faced with red puffy eyes. at least the rest of your face being red from the scrubbing had seemed to hide the fact that you’d bee crying. your hair that had been left out all day was now getting in your face and annoying you, so you instead chose to tie it up in a loose ponytail, leaving a few wisps of it to hang around your face. letting out one last shaky sigh, you dried your face off and left the bathroom, willing yourself to forget about this day as soon as possible. no, willing yourself to forget about javi as soon as possible. you weren’t just upset, you were disappointed, in yourself, you’d let a man take over your life again, hell, the whole reason you were even in Columbia in the first place was because you’d let yourself become utterly whipped by a man; and like. An idiot, you’d let it happen all over again, had you even learnt your lesson? now you were paying the price for being so stupid. just as you’d sat back down on the stool and managed to get your breathing back to a regular pace that was no longer shaky, your boss poked his head out of the back room and looked across from you. ”hey chica, you al good to close by yourself tonight?” You knew he wasn’t really asking, this was just his way of kindly telling you that he was going home and that you would have to close, you’d learnt that very quickly when you first started working there. nodding your head, you gave him a small wave and wished him a goodnight, telling him you’d seen him tomorrow. now here you were, bored out of your mind and still upset, waiting for the last ten minutes before you could finally lock the doors and leave for the night. the only thing you were able to do to pass the time was rearranging the cigarette boxes that had been misplaced by your boss countless times. As you rearranged the smal boxes, you picked up a box without even thinking and caught sight of the packaging, realizing that they were the kind that javi bought. you couldn’t help but feel bitter as you stared at the box of cigarettes in your had, you could physically feel your heart rate speeding up as your breathing became shaky. Less then twenty minutes after finally calming down, you had suddenly been just as upset as before, if not more. you weren’t a hundred percent sure if you held any ill will towards javi himself, he hadn’t done anything objectively wrong other than just not showing up when he’d given you little reason to believe he even would in the first place. If anything, you were the wrong party in this scenario, and it only upset you more. what you realised you truly felt was disappointment, in yourself, for letting thoughts of a man you’d slept with a whopping tota of one time fill your head for weeks, for getting utterly hypnotised by somebody you’d had a quick fuck with, you hadn’t felt this pathetic for so long it almost felt completely foreign. standing from the stool, you walk around the counter and towards the sliding door where you slip the open sign to instead read closed. You turned it over a minute early, but if somebody was willing to try and show up one minute until closing, you wouldn’t want to serve that type of person. turning away from the door, you begin walking back to the counter when you hear a car pulling up to the store. Letting out a long and annoyed sigh, you silently pray that whoever it was would just pay attention to the ‘closed’ sign and be on their way, you really didn’t feel like dealing an annoying customer. hoping to avoid any sort of interaction, you walk behind a stack of shelves and stand there, hoping that this person would see nobody was around and decide it wasn’t worth trying to get service. whoever you were praying to was obviously not listening, because less than a minute after you retreated behind the shelf, you heard the electric chime do the door sliding open and immeadiately hung you head forward and let out a heavy sigh of deep annoyance. “we’re closed.” You said loudly, not bothering to hide your tone of voice, you were in no mood to make acceptions and we’re good tired to even attempt keeping your customer service voice on. rather than being deterred by your tone, whoever had come inside was only walk-in closer to you, you were able to hear the clicking of their shoes getting louder as they approached. deciding to meet them halfway, you began to walk out from behind the shelf. “listen, i said that we-re closed so ju-“ you almost bump into the person in front of you, only making eye contact with their chest at first. The second you look up to see who’s just walked inside, you feel like you want to crumble up and die then and there. Standing in front of you, hands tucked into the pockets of those tight jeans, stands javi. just like last time, the minute you actually begin to be over this man, he appears, as if by magic. It infuriates you. shaking your head, you don’t even say anything, just side step and walk back to the counter “we’re closed.” You repeat. we’re you being petty? probably, you didn’t have the energy to put up with this anymore, you were already remembering crying in the bathroom earlier that day because of this man, you weren’t going to eat it happen again. nothing but flirting for nearly two weeks was enough to drive you insane, somehow miraculously it hadn’t been able. To just yet, and you weren’t going to let it. you weren’t sure whether or not javi was surprised by your response seeing as you refused to even look up at him. Even if you told yourself that you were completely over him, some small part of you knew that there.   Was still a chance that you’d fall for the charms all over again, and you weren’t going to let that happen all over again, you’d just be back, where you started. out of the the corner of your eye, you could tell that javi was now standing across from you on the other end of the counter, you could see his hand resting flatly against its surface. you weren’t going to let him do that, he would just have to take no for an answer tonight. standing up quickly, you turned and headed for the storage room, quickly unlocking it and heading inside. you didn’t really need anything in here. maybe it was just a way to let javi know you weren’t in the mood for his shit, or maybe it was you running away from him, either way, you didn’t really care so long as you didn’t have to be within five meters of the man. you couldn't help but feel a bit stupid thanks to the fact that you were essentially running away from the man, but his presence sent so many different emotions flooding through you all at one that it was hard to keep a stable train of thought, for this you couldn't help but feel a growing dislike building towards him. maybe that was petty and truly showed your bitterness, you didn't exactly care. as you walked inside the storage room, you reminded yourself to throw out the two cigarettes of his that you had left when you got home, you knew that smoking them would only leave you feeling more hurt, getting rid of them completely was your best chance at making you forget about javi, which was all you wanted to do in this current moment in time. it seemed that despite being a dea agent, javi was unable to take the hints that you didn't want to speak to him and instead followed you to the storage room, leaning in the door frame and watching you began a feeble attempt at making yourself look busy by stacking and rearranging a few boxes, letting out a few small grunts, partly because the boxes were heavy, but mainly using it as an excuse to let out the noises of frustration that couldn't be channeled. you felt his eyes on you the entire time, finding that the longer he stared at you, the more you could feel your frustration bubbling in the pit of your stomach. why couldn't he just leave you alone? could he really not understand that you were upset and obviously didn't want to see him? his stubborness and oblivious nature immediately reminded you of your ex, only leading to you feeling more resentment towards the two men, honestly? all men in general. you couldn't have just been a lesbian couldn't you, no, you had to like men as well. "what do you want javi?" you finally asked, slamming one of the boxes down and turning to face him, finding that he was now only inches away from you. you'd been so wrapped up in your own internal ranting that you hadn't even realized his current proximity towards you. your tone of voice wasn't even as angry as you thought it would come out as, you sounded more tired than anything, almost edges of helplessness to it. this only made you feel more frustrated, the idea that you my have appeared vulnerable was disgusting to you. it was obvious that this was an issue raised by your ex, ever since the day you'd realized you were now alone in columbia, you'd refused any help that was offered to you, even from your parents. that was why you were still here in the first place, to show your ex that you could make it on your own. you'd promised yourself that you weren't going to let another man have that much power over your life ever again, and now here you were, getting the smallest bit of attention from a man and ending up as putty in his hands, you couldn't even keep your own promises. maybe he wasn't so oblivious after all, though it could just be because you snapped at him, but it seemed that javi was finally able to tell that you were upset. tilting his head, he reached up and placed a hand on your upper arm; his touch caused you still your movements almost instantly, within seconds, you'd forgotten what you were trying to do. you refused to look up at him, instead choosing to focus on his chest, staring at the brown buttons of his shirt, some small attempt to regain some of your own dignity. the soft, reassuring squeeze you felt on your upper arm was not helping, if anything, it made you want to wrap your arms around javi's waist and hug him, and yet you remained still. it was only when you felt his thumb graze against your chin that you formed your lips into a thin line, attempting to turn your head to the side only for your chin to be grasped by javi, his fingers digging into your cheeks ever so slightly. the grip he held on your jaw didn't hurt despite how he was holding it, he only used it to force your head back towards him, making you look into his eyes for what you realized was the first time for the entire night. looking into his eyes was the final nail in the coffin for you, as if you hadn't cried in the bathroom about him hours ago, you were once again entranced by this man. and you'd be lying if you said you didn't hate yourself for it. he still hadn't spoken a word to you, all he did was stare you down like a lion. in this moment you were no longer the lioness you'd been trying so hard to be, he was the predator and you were the prey. you were no longer able to deny it. your breathing had become shaky, one of the many ways you were unwillingly showing this man the affect he had on you, the sly bastard probably knew that he made you weak in the knees every time he touched you. "what is this..?" you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper, it was all you were physically able to muster without your voice cracking as his head began to lower until his face was only inches from yours. he had become so close that you could feel his breath on your lips. the fact that he didn't reply only served to make you even more desperate, desperate for anything. you weren't even sure yourself what you wanted him to do. kiss you? obviously. hold you? maybe. your eyebrows furrowed as you stared back at him, unblinking. "what do you want from me javi..?" as soon as those words left your mouth, he left little time for anymore words to leave you when his lips were on yours. the kiss was aggressive, far more aggressive than you were prepared for, causing your immediate reaction to be bracing yourself by placing your hands on his broad shoulders. you melted into the kiss instantaneously, pressing your body against javi's, who seemed more than accepting of the physical gesture, returning it by wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off of your own two feet. being suddenly lifted off of the ground caused you to wrap your legs around his waist as he lowered one of his hands palm your ass through your jeans, showing no mercy in squeezing it as he carried you towards the desk in the back of the storage room where records and stationary sat. sitting you down on the desk which immediately began to creak with your added weight, javi finally broke away from the kiss, panting heavily and resting his forehead against your own. its only now that you've gotten the chance to breathe that you realize how much your lungs were burning for air. maybe that was just another symptom of the many affects javi had on you. when he finally speaks, it's like music to your ears. his voice is husky and velvety, almost makes you think it was all worth the wait. "i want you." you're unsure whether or not he means physically or emotionally, hell, even both; but in that moment, you really can't seem to find the energy to care. you both physically and mentally exhausted, and if there was one thing you knew would relieve some of your stress, it was getting fucked silly by the man in front you. you don't say anything in reply, simply grip the back of his head and bring your lips back onto yours, resulting in a low growl to admit from deep within his throat. the sound itself rock you to your core and sends shivers throughout your entire body, a chilling reminder of the effect that he had on you. there is so much just in the way he kisses you, it's reminiscent of a man starved, desperate and full of lust. the way his lips mold against yours feels like two puzzle pieces designed for each other. him grinding himself against you sends waves throughout your entire body, making you shake and whimper. that was the effect he had on you. he utterly destroyed any train of thought you attempted to keep hold of. his fingers manage to weave their way into your hair, barely even giving you time to enjoy the feeling before he grips a fist full of your locks and pulls harshly, breaking the kiss and forcing you to tilt your head back with a small hiss of pain leaving you. as soon as your head is tilted back, his lips trail from your jaw to meet the soft skin of your neck where he immediately begins to suck and nip at it, leaving a painting of small bruises and love bites littering your neck and collar bones. from what you can tell based on his reaction, he appreciates the shirt you were wearing, and takes the time to kiss the top of your breasts roughly, leaving red marks along your cleavage. your eyes have already fluttered closed at this point and your letting out a series of small mewls and whimpers, holding your mouth open and running your fingers through his own dark hair. there is little hesitation when you feel his fingers pulling at the shirt to untuck the bottom of it from your jeans. the moment he free's it he pulls it over your head with little remorse, leaving you there with the bra you had specifically pulled out on display. he seems to take a moment to appreciate the lacy detailing as he pulls at the buttons of his own shirt, ripping it off of his own body and throwing it to the floor with little regard. maybe its because of the fact that you were emotionally drained, or maybe it was because you'd been lusting after him and craving his touch for nearly two weeks, but you want him even more than you did that first night in the police station. your desperation to feel him inside you outweighs anything else in this moment, it's all you can think about. every inch of your body craves his touch and it's enough to drive you insane. you don't have time for foreplay, all you can think about is how much you need him inside you, the two of you could worry about the rest later. reaching down to his waist, you pull at his belt buckle, showing little regard for how to undo the stupid thing, instead only tugging at it until you feel it click open and immediately pull it out of the loops in his jeans, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clang that you pay little mind to. the jeans themselves are just as tight as always, hugging his legs and perfect ass in just the right way. you quickly undo the small golden button at the top and pull down his zipper with shaky hands. within seconds his hands clamp around your wrists and stop your hands from venturing any further. for a few panicked seconds, you think he might be having second thoughts, that he wants to stop. the thought alone is enough to make your heart beat faster if that were even possible. you don't even want to think about how embarrassed you would feel. your worried thoughts are proved wrong when he instead reaches for your own jeans, repeating the process of unbuttoning them. however this time, he curls his fingers around the waistline and tugs harshly, barely even giving you time to lift your hips in order for him to pull them off of your legs. as soon as you legs are freed from within your jeans, javi is back to standing between your legs, once again leaning forward to capture your lips within his own. you can feel his hand travelling further and further down your stomach and find you are unable to stop the small moans from leaving your throat already, just the sheer proximity of his hand and your core as you aching for his touch. when his hand finally slips past the seam of your panties, you can't stop yourself from grinding against his hand and letting out what you think is the most desperate little mewl you've ever head leave your own body. his fingers trailing through your folds feels like pure heaven and you can tell by the sound emitting from between your legs that you are already soaked. "this all for me?" he grunts against your lips, starting his slow torture of massaging slow circles against your clit as you grind against his hand. the sheer desperation you feel for him has even you taken aback and yet not exactly surprised, you'd imagined him taking you every which way so many times, the fact that it was actually happening again was obviously causing you to be just a little bit eager. for a brief moment, you wonder if you're dreaming; that any minute now you were going to wake up and find that you're laying in bed, completely soaked between your legs and needing to take care of the problem yourself. you tell yourself that that isn't the case, that this all feels so real that i couldn't possibly be a dream. you're broken from your thoughts by the growl that leaves your throat, finding that you've gripped javi's wrist tightly, stopping his movements. within seconds, your eyes are staring into his and the look on each of your faces portrays exactly what the other is thinking. "please javi..." you breathe, taking note of the way your chest rises and falls with deep panting. "i need you." you finally whisper. your words seem to light a fire within him, because the next thing you know, javi has pulled his own jeans further down and is now fishing his cock out from within his boxers, hard and ready. you can't help but look down at it and let your teeth find your bottom lip as memories of sucking it through a jail cell fill your mind. now, all you can focus on is how much you want it buried inside you. quickly reaching down to pull your panties off, you can't even be bothered to unhook your other leg from the hole, instead letting them hang slightly past your knee as you spread your legs for him, reaching down and using your fingers to feel your on wetness, taking care to make sure you were ready for him to enter you. he hardly even bothers to line himself up before he slipping inside of you effortlessly. the stretching feeling of his cock inside you is enough to make you tilt your head back and cry out, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. his movements are slow for the first few thrusts, only in order to establish a basic rhythm that the two of you are able to get used to. as soon as that is established his speed quickens rapidly and his thrusts only get harder, slamming into you with little to no remorse, desperate to chase after the release that you both crave more than anything. his grunts and groans are music to your ears, even just the sounds he's making is enough to send tremors through your body. "been waiting...all week...to have my cock inside this..god..perfect little pussy.." the words he's growling into your ear are downright pornographic, the things he says are so filled with lust and his tone of low and breathy, its intoxicating. his own words are quickly muffled when he buries his head into the crook of your neck, his breathe hot and heavy against your now sweat slicked skin as he continues to thrust into you even harder if that were even possible. your hands have once again managed to find themselves buried in his hair, your fingers curling to tug on it harshly, resulting in javi growling against your skin. "such a good little girl, always taking your papi's cock so well.." the words themselves catch you off guard for about half a second, but the reaction they cause your body to have is enough to ignore any and all surprise caused by his dirty talk. "fuck, papi. please don't stop." the words flow out of you naturally, there is no embarrassment caused by the names, it only makes you feel more alive. you'd never used those sorts of words during sex before, though you were now wondering why you never did. arching your back, you feel him begin to hit that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars, stroking it to perfect with the head of his cock. "fuck, right there, papi, please.." you manage to choke out, shutting your eyes again and wrapping your legs around his waist in order to keep his concentration on that one spot. "say my name.." he's able to breathe out against your collar. you quickly comply, leaning your head down lightly to whimper his name into his ear; as soon as you do, his thrusts get noticeably more rougher. one of his hands reaches from around your back to place itself flatly against your chest, pushing you down until your back is flat against the desk, which is now creaking audibly and rocking back and fourth with javi's thrusts. before you can even focus on the thought of breaking the desk, you can feel javi's fingers curling delicately around your throat and begin to place light pressure on it as he squeezes softly in order to test the waters. you give him confirmation by reaching up with your own hand and squeezing his wrist softly, your small sign of encouragement. that is all it takes to motivate javi to apply more pressure. hastily adding more until he is choking you fully. the lightheadedness you slowly begin to feel creeping up on you is what finally sends you over the edge; you tighten around him suddenly and arch your back, letting out a cry mixed with what you assume is a whimper as you cum around his cock which is still pumping in and out of you brutally, showing no signs of letting up. while riding out your high, you whimper out his name several more times which causes javi's thrusts to turn into glorified ruts as he lets out his own loud growl. you can feel his cock twitching inside your now numbing entrance, yet you can still feel the exact moments he floods you with his cum, coating your walls and filling you. it's only when you feel your head grow heavy with pressure that you tap javi's arm, to which he immediately relives your throat of his hand, resulting in you gasping deeply for air. he's still resting inside of you by the time you both come down from your highs, panting heavily as he leans down to lay a series of soft kisses along your chest and collar bones. you lay your head back on the desk and let your hand stroke the back of his head softly, trying to ignore the somewhat uncomfortable feeling of your own hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. you don't have time to be disappointed in yourself for once again succumbing to the man now resting on top of you, the experience that you've just had was too close to euphoria for you to even care about the consequences; you're too dazed by your own pleasure to think about what was going to happen tomorrow. leaning your head down, you try to escape your own lingering thoughts by kissing the top of his head; his reaction is to hum happily and lift his head to rest it on your chest, staring deeply into your eyes with what you could have sworn was hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. for what feels like the first time in just under a year, you find yourself wanting more than just sex from this man. this man who each time, without failure, has made you feel like an absolute goddess every single time you've been together. even if he's only fucking you, he's still managed to make you feel more worth than your ex or any other man for that matter, ever had. you want to keep him in your life, and yet you have no idea how and it scares you. you're not sure whether or not you can tell if your thoughts are going in that direction, maybe your face gave it away you didn't know; but javi leans forward to capture your lips in another kiss. this one is different, it's not as lustful or aggressive, its simply a kiss; which he quickly follows through with laying another to your sweat covered forehead, shutting his eyes softly as he does. you inhale slowly and release it with a long sigh. unable to focus on any of the negatives any longer. the only thing you're able to focus on for the rest of the night is the fact that you were indeed absolutely smitten with this man. and you still didn't even know his full name.

[luna-spacedoodles]

Soooooo I’m I wrote a little something👉🏻👈🏻 It’s a Ghostbur resurrection fic! I know that the resurrection is tomorrow but I hope you read it anyway! It’s 1,877 words and probably not the best but this is my first time posting any of my writing so I hope you like it!💜 Enjoy!

The sky was a deep gray, and as the rain poured down thunder groaned. Long and angrily it groaned, as if it were warning them. Telling them that messing with the forces of nature, of death, are forces that should not be reckoned with. But what could thunder do more but give a warning? The thunder could not stop them in their tracks, thunder could not change their motives, thunder could not stop a sword from slipping through the body of the dead, it could only intimidate. Nothing more. So even though it groaned, it’s attempt to scare them off did nothing but become background noise. No one could hear it over their own thoughts anyways.

What remained of the physical embodiment of L’manburg had been blocked off, there wasn’t much point in going there than just to mourn an area of land and structures that, at its core, only meant memories. Tommy crouched under the barricades he built and the rest followed suit. Not many had come, not many knew, but it wasn’t just Tommy and Ghostbur. Tubbo, Quackity and Eret had all come along as well. Ghostbur stayed close to Eret to hide under their umbrella.

Four days ago he’d stood in L’manburg’s grave and didn’t try to hide from the rain. Melting wasn’t fun, poking in and out to sizzle was fun, but standing still and letting himself melt was not fun. He didn’t really know why he did that, he didn’t really remember why he wanted to be resurrected in the first place. But he knew he wanted it, that was enough for him.

Quackity was nervous, he didn’t know what would happen when Alivebur was resurrected. No one knew, Ghostbur had said that everything he was would be dead and Alivebur would be back. But what did that mean? His memories as Ghostbur would just disappear? What would he remember? Would it end off from when Phil killed him and start back up when he lived again? Well, if that was the case then he couldn’t be too worried about him, they had an alright relationship when he had died so in terms of himself he was safe.

Ghostbur had thought Eret would be able to resurrect him because he was king, unfortunately she didn’t know how. But he was for the fact that if they brought back Alivebur, Fundy would have a father again. He didn’t think he was doing a great job at the moment and that it was too late to start being a good parent. They wanted what was best for him and this seemed to be the best way.

Tubbo wasn’t sure what to feel, around his end his relationship with Wilbur wasn’t very clear. Was it good? Was it bad? What would he say to him? He had a feeling that Alivebur wasn’t going to be happy that they brought him back. He had to admit that he was a little scared of what he’d do, what would he think of what L’manburg had become? Tubbo thought he’d be happy at the sight of a broken and blown up L’manburg, beaten down beyond repair, to see the damage done that he could never achieve.

Tommy was probably the most nervous, his brother was about to be brought back from death’s tight grip. Wilbur would be back, the real Wilbur. The one who bullied him, the one who started L’manburg with him, the one who went mad, the one who died to his father’s sword, and at the end of the day, the one who cared for him. Who even in his destructive decent, still kept him safe, the brother he’d looked up to and lost. He’d be back. After months, he’d be there, in front of him. Would he be proud of him? Would he start to hate him? Just when he’d come back Tommy couldn’t bear to losing him again.

“Tommy, are you going to be alright?” Tubbo placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I- uhm…….yeah. I’ll be alright, I think.” Tommy replied, trying to not to sound as worried as he was. Tubbo looked at him with a slight sense of doubt.

“Okay, big man.”

They all walked down the severed arm of the Prime Path and reached the edge of the crater. For a hole it was very intimidating, a hole with sharp, messy edges that went all the way through the earth, down to bedrock. The more Quackity looked down at it the dizzier he felt, he felt like he was standing on a small pillar that reached build height, looking down into the void. It sent shivers down your spine, as it called out to you. Begging for help, redemption. He shook his head out of the trance and continued walking along with the others.

They made their way around the rubble and climbed their way to where Wilbur’s button room used to be. It had since blown up, there wasn’t even a floor left to stand on. Tommy jumped down and placed some stone down, making a half open crevice, just like it’s been all those months ago. It wasn’t exactly the same, but this’d hopefully be enough, hopefully.

Everyone hopped down to the small platform and waited. They were all prepared for the worst, physically at least, all they had to do now was wait for the person that could do the job. And as if on cue, the sound of flapping wings could be heard over the pounding rain. Everyone turned their heads to see the man of the hour arrive, Phil wore his arctic clothing as he had been for a while now. Most everyone wasn’t as pleased as they’d usually be to see him, not here, not in that outfit.

“Helloo.” He landed carefully and waved.

“Hey, Phil.” Tommy said blankly, it wasn’t a pleasure to talk to Phil anymore. But today wasn’t about hating Phil, for now he had to remain calm, as calm as someone who’s talking to one of the people that blew up his home could be.

“Hi.” Tubbo greeted him quietly. Eret gave a small wave, Quackity said nothing.

“Phil!! Hi!! I’m so glad you’re here!! We haven’t spoken face to face in a while!” Ghostbur cheerfully smiled and waved at him.

“Hi Ghostbur,” Phil gave a sad smile, “I guess we haven’t.”

Tommy gave it a moment before interrupting the awkward silence, “So, you’re going to bring him back or what?”

“Well, resurrecting the dead isn’t just a sword to the chest. It’s more of a ritual.” Phil slipped a brown leather bag off his shoulder and plopped it down in front of him.

“Ohhhhhh is this gonna take long?” Tommy whined.

“Yes it might take a bit depending on what happens, you just gotta be patient.” Phil unpacked his satchel, spreading out books, scrolls and weird looking objects no one recognized.

“What do these things do?” Tommy crouched down and reached out for them to try and get a better look.

“Ah! Don’t touch any of it!” Phill swatted Tommy’s hand away from the strange tools.

“Hey what the fuck! They can’t be that dangerous!” Tommy yelled back.

“When you know what you’re doing, no. But you don’t even know what these things are so for you  they’re most definitely.” Phil scooted the tools away from Tommy and continued preparing his things.

“Meh meh meh! I’m Philza Minecraft and I have a wife! I blew up a country once! Philza Minecraft! Meh meh meh!” Tommy mocked.

“Oh my god that, that was one time!!” Phil chuckled.

“Wasn’t that like four days ago?” Quackity commented, he wasn’t wrong. Phil carefully read through the books he’d laid open and picked up the weird tools. They all sat in silence and watched as Phil carefully picked up and put together the tools, somehow they fit together, clicking and turning and twisting into place. Finally they all snapped in place and stopped moving, the resulting object glowed a purple-pinkish color, like the eye of an enderman.

“What’s that?” Quackity asked, pointing at the alien object.

“It kinda looks like a ghost!” Tubbo pointed out, “It's got a face and is all swirly at the end!”

“Exactly, this is a homemade soul stone! It’s gonna help with the resurrection.” Phil vaguely explained. He attached the object to a leather strap. Then, he pulled out The Sword, the same one he killed Wilbur with. It was netherite now, but still all the same as the one that pierced through his son. Phil wrapped the leather strap around the handle and held it out.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Phil looked up to Ghostbur, who’d been patiently watching him work.

“Yeah!” Ghostbur nodded, ready to die.

“There’s a chance you won’t come back if you die again.” Phil warned.

“That’s okay! I wasn’t meant to be here, but the symphony wasn’t finished, so I had to stay. I think it’s for the best that he comes back.” Ghostbur’s words echoed off the crater’s many walls, this is what he wanted.

“Phil, are you sure this’ll work?” Tommy asked, he started to let his emotions slip, become more prominent than he’d like.

“Tommy, I’ve read all the books I could find on this, everything’s ready, there’s no doubt it’ll work.” Phil reassured him.

“Okay.” Tommy sighed, he still didn’t feel relieved, if anything he got more anxious. It was about to happen, Wlibur would be back, really back. Phil stood up and he and Ghostbur walked into their positions.

“Are you ready?” Phil asked.

“Yeah,” the thunder groaned again, one last warning, “I’m ready.” Phil could already feel the tears welling up, just about a few months ago he was standing here, about to kill his son. Now here he was again, same place, same sword, different intent. Phil raised the sword shakily, he raised it high above his head, he wasn’t ready. Everyone held their breath, they watched as Phil decided whether or not to kill his son again.

“STOP!” a voice tried to intervene in the distance, but it was too late, Phil thrusted the sword downwards and into his son's undead chest. A deafening noise started to rise as Phil fell to his knees, he held Ghostbur in his arms and sobbed. Ghostbur apologetically smiled and closed his eyes as he shed one final tear. The noise grew louder and a blinding white light started to break through the disappearing cracks of Ghostbur. The light grew brighter and the noise got louder to where no one could see or hear a thing, just a ringing white noise covering Ghostburs painful screams.

After painfully long seconds, everything stopped. There was no more light, all that could be heard was the rain, and Ghostbur was gone. Phil was no longer holding a dead man’s ghost, just a sword that killed the same man twice and with it’s new decoration that now glowed a sad cyan. No one spoke except for the voice.

“Wh-what did you do?”

They turned to find a soaking wet fundy. He looked angry. But whatever he came to do, he hadn’t made it in time. Ghostbur was gone.

It was time for the dragon to breathe once more.

[mostlydysfunction]

From The Stars, Part 5

Chapter Summary: Kira talks with her dad and then makes a discovery in her barn. The Xenomorph is almost ready. 

Warnings: Talks of death and grieving as well as some non-con touching at the end. 

Author’s Note: Yeah, I have no control. I just really want to get the next part written cause that’s when things finally happen. But you do get a bit of Kira’s backstory in this one. I’m trying to keep things a little ambiguous because you’ll see later on in the story. But anyways, I hope you enjoy! 

MASTERLIST

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Kira chews on her lip as she sits across the living room from her dad. He looks good, tired and older than she remembered, but good. The last time she’d seen him he’d been storming down the driveway towards his car, not even looking back. Guilt and regret ate away at her stomach, twisting it painfully. He wasn’t even looking at her, studying the grain of the wood the coffee table was made of. He had cut that tree down himself and handmade it for her mother. Their initials were carved in the bottom. She had told him to take it with him, but he had said it belonged in that house. The house they’d built specially for them. The house they put so much work into. The house he’d rather forget was real. 

“I um...I was heading out of town for a few days and I thought I’d come by and see how you were on my way out.” Her dad finally says, breaking the awkward silence around them. “I heard about the fire...wanted to see if you were alright.” 

It had been almost a week since the explosion and he was just now checking on her. “Yeah, I’m okay. It didn’t make it this far.” 

He nods. “That’s...that’s good. We could hear it and see it all the way in town. It’s too bad, the wreck.” 

She had read that online. The cover story. An oil truck had been hit after a semi driver fell asleep at the wheel. The fire had caused the oil truck to explode. It was hard to believe as they didn’t get many semi’s in their area, but the people in this town were so desperate for something exciting to happen they’d believe anything. 

Kira nods. “It was loud, the explosion. Woke me from a dead sleep.” 

“I bet. I am glad you’re alright, though.” 

It’s silent between them for a while before her dad finally stands up, going to the wall with the photos. He looks over them all, taking in the old memories. 

“You left them up.” 

Kira nods. “Yeah. Felt weird taking them down. Empty.” 

He picks up the picture on the mantle of the three of them: her, her dad and her mother at the top of a nearby peak. Her mother had convinced them to hike it. Her being only 10, she had gotten tired halfway up and her dad had carried her the rest of the way to the top. She still remembers that day. Her mother had been so happy outside. 

“I’m glad you kept them up.” He places the picture back on the mantle. “Remember all the happy times.” 

Kira nods again, watching him as he makes his way to the kitchen. She gets up, following. He glances at the towels haphazardly thrown on the floor but thankfully doesn’t ask as he moves to the back door, looking out at the yard. 

“The garden looks good.” One of her mother’s other joys. “You’ll have to send pictures in a few weeks when it really starts to bloom.” 

“I will. I planted a lot this year.” 

He nods, looking out past the garden to the barn. “The barn looks different.” 

Kira glances out as well, looking at the barn. It did look different. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but something had changed. She hadn’t touched the barn since her mom died, so she knows it couldn’t have been her doing. 

“Yeah, I was, uh, cleaning it up a bit. Maybe set it up and get a couple of animals again. It gets...quiet out here.” 

The two sheep had been her mother’s favorite out of the animals they’d had growing up. She’d loved them almost as much as she’d loved Kira. 

Her dad nods again. “I think that’s a good idea.” He looks down at his watch. “I uh, should hit the road here. I just...wanted to make sure you’re alright.” 

“I’m okay, dad.” Kira nods. “It’s...” She chews on her lip. “I like it out here.”

“I’m glad.” He moves to the door, Kira following. “I, uh, I’ll see you later, I guess.” 

Kira nods. “Yeah. I’ll be around.” 

Kira watches him walk to his car, remembering the night he left. 

It had been a week after the funeral. Kira knew it was coming, she’d seen the way he looked at the house, seemed to just wander around like a ghost. He’d stare out the window at the half-finished garden, stand in the doorway of the bedroom staring at nothing and everything. He was lost in the constant reminders of her and he couldn’t stand it. 

It had been six years since the day that he told her he was leaving, that he couldn’t stand being around the memories, around her. She was haunting him in that house and he told her she could stay, he’d keep the property, pay for it. But he couldn’t stay. He had left her there, running from the memories of her mother, the woman he’d loved since they were children. It had been the last time he’d stepped foot in that house as he carried the last box to his car, not looking back as he drove into town, leaving her and the ghost of her mother behind. 

At least, until his unexpected visit. Things had been awkward between them since her mother’s death. She had been the glue that held the three of them together and after she died, there was nothing there to hold them anymore. Kira knew he felt guilty for leaving her there, for running. She knew it was pride that had driven him back, pride that had brought him to check on her. He hated seeming like a coward, for leaving his 20-year-old daughter to move into an apartment in town to escape the memory of his dead wife. 

Kira didn’t blame him. She’d seen how he just left himself when she died. It was like a part of his soul died with her. He had left to try to find it again, but six years and he didn’t seem any closer to fixing it. That’s what he did. He fixed things. Kira had long ago accepted that her mother was gone, that she wasn’t coming back. She missed her terribly, but all she could do was keep her memory alive while her father just wanted to forget. Everyone has their coping mechanisms. Everyone grieves differently. Kira just wished she hadn’t been so awful to her father when he left. Hadn’t said the things she’d said to him. 

******

It’s late afternoon by the time Kira can peel herself out of the chair in the living room. She’d sat and stared at the driveway for long enough. The visit from her dad had brought up too many memories, too much to try to process in one day. She had things to do, and a barn to investigate. 

She pulls on her boots and grabs a flashlight before heading out to the barn. It was far enough away from the house that the true damage to it couldn’t be seen. She hadn’t touched the barn in six years, and it certainly looked that way. She was glad for that, especially when she saw why it looked so different. 

She slides the door open, nearly dropping the flashlight. All around the inside of the barn is a hard black substance. Lining the walls, across the floor, up onto the roof. It was like something out of a science fiction movie. She takes a hesitant step forward, having to step up onto the substance. It was slightly sticky and gooey, her boots making suction noises with every step. She shines the flashlight around, the only light coming from the window high in the loft. The goo had covered the others, making it dark and unearthly inside. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye, whirling around and falling backwards as she finds herself face to face with her alien. 

She gasps in surprise, pointing the flashlight on it from her place on the ground. It hisses slightly at her, almost a sound of annoyance than anything. So this is where it disappeared during the day. It seemed it had done this in the week since it had arrived, making its own home in her barn. 

The alien stands over her before dropping down so they’re face to face. Its hands are on either side of her, trapping her between it and the sticky ground. It nudges at her shoulder, making it throb in protest. She turns slightly, holding it away from him as he goes to nudge it again. 

“Why did you bite me?” 

It hisses at her; the sound vibrating the surrounding air. It seemed so still and stagnant in the barn with the goo around her, the very air seeming to vibrate with every movement. The air ripples as the alien moves, picking her up before moving deeper into the barn, towards the back wall. It settles down so her back is against a wall of the goo, holding her. Kira huffs out a sigh, having no choice but to relax in its grip. 

“So it seems you’re not going anywhere.” The alien hisses in response. “You need a name. Something I can call you. Do you have a name?” She doesn’t get a response. “You’re not a very communicative species. Or maybe humans just aren’t smart enough to figure out how to communicate like you.” 

The alien finally hisses, moving Kira rather roughly so her back is pressed against the floor now. It’s hunched over her again, one leg on either side of hers. I guess that was enough talking for now. Kira feels trapped as the alien lifts a hand, four fingers curling around the neck of her jacket before ripping downward. The fabric tears easily, revealing her bra. The air inside the barn is cool, making goosebumps form on her skin. Her heart is pounding despite the fact she knew this was coming. She knew this would happen soon. 

The alien presses its face up against her bite mark again, making it ache and throb in response. Kira groans, attempting to get away from the pain, but the alien hisses dangerously in her face. She swallows thickly, drool starting to drip on her bare skin. The alien sits back slightly, a clawed hand reaching out towards her face. Its skin is rough as it runs its fingers over her face, feeling her. Her eyes close as it moves lower, claws pressing into her skin as it moves down her neck and onto her chest. Her breath hitches as its palm brushes over one of her breasts, causing it to pause before slowly moving lower over her stomach. 

It lets out a soft hiss as it moves over her stomach, Kira holding her breath as it moves lower. The alien shifts over her, its hand brushing over the top of her pelvis. Kira moves as well, her hips shifting in response to its touch. Her eyes fly open as the alien presses its palm against her, clawed fingers curling around the hem of her jeans. Her brain catches up to her, beginning to process what was happening, and the panic begins. 

“No!” She kicks out at the alien, landing one against its chest. It hisses at her, but she doesn’t cower in fear, wiggling and fighting her way out from under it. 

As soon as she can she’s on her feet, racing from the barn and back towards her house. The fear that the alien could easily catch her, pounce on her before she even reaches her door drives her on faster. But she makes it inside, slamming and locking the sliding back door before she collapses to her knees, dry heaving as she sobs. 

It wasn’t the fact that the alien was touching her. She knew that would happen. She had been expecting it. 

No, she was upset about the wetness between her own legs. She had been enjoying it.

Part 6

[shotgun--rider]

Displacement

A Dean x Reader oneshot 

Y/N gets into a tight spot on a hunt and Dean handles it about as well as you’d expect. 

Word Count: 2660

Warnings: Dean (briefly) being a dick, your average grab bag of monster killing violence, Dean Winchester’s emotional awkwardness special 

A/N: Yeah, quarantine really got me on the Supernatural fic train. Sorry?

Y/N grunted with the effort of shoving a headless vampire corpse away from her, turning as quickly as she could to fend off the one creeping up behind. He snarled, lunging forward, but she was faster, dispatching him in much the same way with a swift swing of her machete. 

Pausing for a heartbeat to take a breath, she surveyed the carnage around the empty space. From the outside, it looked as if the building had once been a factory or a warehouse. Inside, it had been stripped and re-organized by the largest nest of vamps that either Y/N or the Winchesters had ever seen. Across the cracked concrete floor, she could see Sam wrestling two of the creatures at once, blood streaked across him that she could only hope wasn’t his.

Briefly, Y/N contemplated running over to help him, her thoughts cut abruptly short as she was slammed bodily into the nearest wall. She gasped involuntarily, lungs working to take a breath against the force of the impact. The weapon in her blood-slicked hand went flying, and she watched it skitter across the floor, just out of reach. Shit. 

Towering over her, one hand compressing her throat, an intimidatingly large vampire snarled down. Y/N’s vision was already filling with black spots all too rapidly with her airway being crushed, and even if she’d been at full strength, the vamp was built like a brick shithouse. Her weak struggles seemed to have no effect on the larger man. 

Come on, Y/N, she growled at herself. She’d gotten herself out of worse situations before. Mustering all of her remaining strength, she hooked her foot around the back of his knee, yanking roughly and sending both of them crashing to the ground. He let go of her throat instinctively to catch himself on the concrete, and she coughed desperately, her head spinning with the fresh rush of oxygen. 

Quickly, she scrambled forward on hands and knees across the gritty floor, reaching out for the discarded machete. Her fingertips were inches from it when a hand landed roughly on her ankle, dragging her backward with fingernails digging into her skin. A strangled cry escaped her lips, equal parts frustration and fear. A quick glance through the hair falling over her face told her that Sam and Dean were clear on the other side of the warehouse, preoccupied and unaware of her plight. Even if she screamed, they’d never get to her in time. 

Damn it, come on, she snapped internally. She was a fucking hunter and this was not how she was going to die. Meanwhile, the vamp had forcibly flipped her onto her back, snarling at her with a distinctly predatory glint in his eye. Blindly, her hand shot above her head, scrambling around for the feeling of the machete she knew was somewhere nearby. 

Then, everything was happening too fast to process. The vampire lunged forward, pinning Y/N to the ground with his full body weight just as her hand finally, finally closed around the machete’s grip. Adrenaline singing through her veins, her arm swung with the machete just as a separate shout echoed through the empty space. 

Just before her blade reached his neck, the vamp’s head went flying, leaving Y/N pinned to the concrete by the dead weight of a corpse that was rapidly bleeding out all over her chest. 

She looked up to meet Dean’s green gaze, his face scowling with a fury she couldn’t remember ever seeing before. “Seriously?” she huffed, gesturing to the body she was still struggling under. The smile pulling up the corners of her lips died instantly when that fury didn’t fade. 

“Why didn’t you ask for backup?” he practically spat at her, kicking the body to the side with one boot. 

Y/N scrambled up hastily, grimacing at the feeling of warm blood soaking into her clothes. “I was a little busy. Besides,” she glanced at him almost defiantly. “I had it handled.” And she had, in the end. She’d gotten her weapon back, she’d been ready to kill the creature herself. Dean didn’t need to know how much of a battle had ensued earlier. 

He scoffed, turning away from her. “Oh, yeah. That looked handled.” Ignoring her protesting shout, he stomped off, making his way to the entrance of the warehouse.

And they were right back to normal. Y/N sighed, shaking her head and following his retreating figure back toward Sam. Dean was probably the best person she knew, and one of the only people she’d bothered to open up to after losing her sister. Lately, though, he’d pulled away more and more, treating her more like a frustrating child than one of his best friends, and it was killing her a little bit every time. Of course he would get tired of her eventually, she’d figured as much. She just hadn’t ever really thought of what she would do when that actually happened. 

Well, looks like it’s time to figure that out, she thought bitterly. It didn’t really help matters that she’d been a tiny bit in love with him from the first moment they’d literally collided working the same case. Maybe more than a little, but it wasn’t like it mattered anyway. Dean didn’t do attachments, and he certainly didn’t go for girls like her. And now, it seemed, he was done with her platonically as well. 

“Whoa, Y/N, are you okay?” Sam’s eyes widened as he took in her bloody appearance, and she offered her best smile to the friendlier Winchester, shaking herself out of thoughts that weren’t important.

“It’s not mine,” she assured him quickly, ignoring the irritated huff as Dean brushed past both of them to load his weapons back into the Impala’s trunk. Not for the first time, she wondered what she’d done to make him hate her so much. 

Sam seemed oblivious to the tension, cheerfully hopping in the backseat and leaving shotgun for Y/N, which was, incidentally, the last place she wanted to be. In her experience, it was always better to just avoid Dean until he got his head on straight, which wasn’t going to happen if she was sitting two feet away from him for the next seven hours. 

Wordlessly, she turned her back on the boys and changed into a spare t-shirt, not wanting to risk further ire by bloodying Baby’s front seat. It was an ill-fitted AC/DC shirt that Dean kept in the trunk for emergencies, but she’d rather wear that than stew in vamp blood all the way back to the bunker. And it wasn’t like that was the first time she’d stolen either of the brothers’ clothes. 

She got in the car reluctantly after that, trying to focus on how much her legs appreciated sitting down as opposed to the grouch in the driver’s seat. She lasted barely a half hour of Dean’s green eyes flicking repeatedly between her and the road before she was reaching out to shut off the radio, resisting the urge to slam her hand on the dash. It wasn’t Baby’s fault that her owner was behaving like an idiot. 

“Okay, what is your problem?” Y/N demanded, wincing as Sam’s eyes startled open in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, Sam.”

Dean huffed a sarcastic laugh, focusing on the empty highway stretched out in front of them. “My problem? It’s not my problem if you keep trying to get yourself killed.”

“You sure seem to think it is,” she shot back. “A vamp tackled me, so what? I would have ganked him just fine if you hadn’t decided to rush in and play hero.”

A muscle shifted in Dean’s jaw, but he didn’t reply. 

“Do you think I can’t take care of myself or something?” she persisted, irritation running through her veins. “Dean, I hunted on my own for years before I ever met the two of you and I was fine.”

“Yeah, doing what? Simple salt and burns?” Dean rolled his eyes. “We deal with more than ghosts, Y/N, and every damn time I turn around you’re covered in blood.”

Simple salt and burns. Dean knew she’d jumped straight into the deep end of hunting from the start, chasing the demons that killed her little sister. There had been no journal, no Bobby, no connections, and everything she knew was learned through some seriously risky trial and error. He was the only one who knew how bad it had been. She forced herself to look out Baby’s window, blinking back the sudden stinging in her eyes. 

“I don’t have time to keep looking after you because you’re too stupid to remember to look over your shoulder.”

A humorless laugh escaped her, and she shook her head in disbelief. “I may as well get out of your hair then, right? Wouldn’t want to take up too much of your precious time,”

“Dean,” Sam started from the backseat, at the same time as Dean finally turned to look at her, guilt flickering on his face. 

“Y/N,” he started, as if trying to figure out how to walk back the argument he’d let go too far. 

“Whatever, Dean,” she cut him off, not willing to hear whatever excuse he was probably going to offer. “No point in staying where I’m not wanted. I was always better on my own, anyway.”

That much was just a blatant lie, but at this point she’d say just about anything to just end the stupid argument. Tears stung at her eyes again, and she glared resolutely out the window at the highway.  

The rest of the ride back to the bunker was painfully silent, broken only by the argument the boys seemed to be having while they waited for Y/N to get out of the gas station bathroom they’d stopped at halfway. Both of them fell immediately silent when she approached, but it made her feel marginally better to see that Sam was also getting growled at. 

It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from breaking down crying in the car, and when they finally arrived back at the bunker, she walked to her bedroom without a word. Behind her, Sam was arguing with Dean again, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

Y/N locked the bedroom door behind her, but now that she was finally free to cry in peace, the tears wouldn’t come. She was tired, and empty, and she just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until the ache in her chest stopped trying to rip her apart. 

Instead, she pulled the suitcase out from under her bed and started methodically packing. So this was it, then. She was going to leave and no one was going to stop her and she was going to be alone again. It always ended up that way, eventually, and she didn’t understand why it hurt so much more this time. 

The doorknob rattled, and then someone was hammering insistently on the door. Y/N sighed, not even having to ask who was on the other side. “Go away, Dean.” Maybe it was a childish response, but she didn’t think she could take seeing him. Not now. Was it too much to ask of him to let her go quietly? 

“C’mon, Y/N, let me in!” he persisted. 

She said nothing, resolving to ignore him while she stuffed another flannel into her suitcase. She was pretty sure it had originally belonged to one of the brothers, but they wouldn’t miss it. And she had to take something with her. 

The lock clicked behind her, and suddenly Dean swung the door open, a familiar set of tools in his hand. 

Her mouth hung open. “Did you just break into my bedroom?”

He had the grace to look sheepish. “Maybe?”

“Dean, what the fuck,” Y/N sighed out, having absolutely no other response to give. She turned back toward her closet, her fingers itching for something to do. 

“You’re really gonna leave?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, pushing down a wave of emotion. “It doesn’t matter, Dean. Just forget it,” she went on, trying to get ahead of whatever half-assed apology Sam had probably forced him in here with. 

He crossed his arms and then his ankles, leaning back on the wall opposite her as he helplessly watched her pack up her life with them. “You’re not...unwanted,” he said awkwardly after a pause. “I didn’t mean any of it, Y/N, I shouldn’t have said--”

“So why did you?” she cut him off. That was the part she still didn’t understand, what had prompted this whole mess to begin with. “Why the hell do you hate me so much?”

His eyes widened almost comically, and in another situation, she might have laughed. “Damn it, Y/N, I don’t hate you.”

“So what, then?” She went back to rolling up a pair of her ripped jeans, stuffing them into a corner of the suitcase. 

He didn’t reply at first, and she waited. Knowing him as she did, she knew that a conversation like this was probably the last thing he wanted to be doing. 

“You scared the shit out of me, okay?” Dean burst out finally, staring at her with a haunted look in his green eyes. “I thought I was gonna have to watch you die, and I still don’t know how to tell you--” he trailed off, looking unbelievably uncomfortable. 

Y/N’s nose wrinkled up. “Tell me what?” She had never considered herself a particularly intimidating person outside of killing monsters, especially not to someone like Dean. 

“That I l-love you.”

Her heart leapt in her chest like the little traitorous worm that it was, but she knew he didn’t mean it like that. Still, that didn’t explain why he was saying it to her now. She cocked her head at him, her eyes tracing over the constellations of freckles on his face. “Yeah, I love you guys too, you know that.”

Dean huffed, looking somewhere between nervous and amused. “No, Y/N, I--” he ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry for being such an ass, Y/N, I--” he stopped again. 

“Dean,” she cut in gently, trying to remind herself that she was still mad. “Just spit it out,” This was officially the weirdest conversation she’d ever had with the older Winchester, and watching him struggle was kind of painful. 

“Fuck it,” he said suddenly, and then he was off the wall and coming toward her, catching her with one arm around her back as she stumbled over a forgotten shoe in her surprise. 

His other hand came up to tilt her face up to him, lips crashing against hers. For a moment, Y/N’s brain short circuited completely, because Dean was kissing her and none of the day’s events had remotely suggested this as a possible outcome.

She caught up to the situation with a jolt, wrapping her arms around his neck before he could think she was rejecting him, and sank into the kiss, quickly losing the battle against keeping track of everything she was feeling. Her hands gripped the flannel he was wearing and for the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to lose yourself in someone else. Her heart was racing, and all she could think was that after every night and every bar that he took someone else home, every hunt that nearly killed one of them, every fight, he was here, now, with her, and he felt like home. 

She smiled against his lips, her eyes opening to see his green ones sparkling as he pulled back just enough to speak, still holding her against him. “Still leaving?”

She smacked the back of his head lightly, smiling back. “Call me stupid again and I’ll kick your ass, Winchester,” she warned, trying and failing to summon a glare. 

“I think I can live with that,” he whispered back against her lips.

[corpse--diem]

Ghosts That We Knew | Blanche & Erin

TIMING: A few hours after this PARTIES: @corpse--diem & @harlowhaunted SUMMARY: When Blanche wakes up in the hospital, she has something to tell Erin. CONTENT: House Fire tw (mentions)

Blanche dreamed of darkness until she awoke to a steady beeping and a too-bright light in her eyes. She let out a quiet moan. Her limbs were filled with cement, and she couldn’t really move as she tried to orient herself to her surroundings. Blanche was in the hospital. Oh, the hospital. Fan-fucking-tastic. Properly admitted too, or so it looked from the hospital bracelet around her wrist and the IV coming out of her arm. It took her a second to remember the fire, and it was only then that Blanche forced herself to sit up in bed, chasing away the tiredness that hung around her. Her back hurt. Her everything ached. Her eyes shot around the room, and she saw Erin in the bed next to her. “Erin?” Blanche croaked, voice hoarse and thick. She coughed once, before the questions spilled out of her before she could stop them.  “Erin? Where’s Rio? What happened? Are you okay? What’s - I mean - What’s going on?”

Erin didn’t want to be here. She could leave against medical advice if she really wanted to - wasn’t like she had handcuffs securing her to the bed, which was a surprise in itself. The police had come through to talk to her about the fire and Roland’s death. As far as she knew, she wasn’t a suspect they were prodding too hard. Not yet, anyway. Maybe it was just better judgment keeping the more pressing questions from the woman who’d gone through a trauma like that until later. Turning her head slightly, she peeked behind the half-drawn curtain that separated their beds for the fifteenth time that hour. The guilt needling her bones each time. Still quiet, still sleeping. She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t. Erin could only hope it was restful. Rest. Roland jumped out in her mind’s eye. She kept seeing him falling over and over into the flames, stuck on a loop. Closing her eyes, she ground her teeth down hard. No. Not now. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, and knew if she allowed those thoughts to permeate, she wouldn’t be able to keep it together. She couldn’t lose control. Not now and not ten feet from Blanche’s bed. What right did she have to mourn him, anyway?

She opened her eyes, forcing her attention to whatever As-Seen-On-TV kitchen appliance was being overhyped on the screen. When she heard Blanche stir, she instinctively shot up, wincing as her bandaged arm hit the side of the bed. “Fuck,” she grumbled. Medication could numb that pain at least. Mostly. She reached over as far as she could, holding a hand up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Rio’s fine. You’re fine.” Her chest tightened at her other questions. “There was an accident at the funeral home. Do you--do you remember anything that happened?”

Blanche coughed some more, looking at Erin as she tried to calm her. “I -” She still had the lingering headache that told her she shouldn’t have pushed herself too hard. Her hand rose to her forehead, squinting at Erin. “I remember what happened. Rio and I … I picked us up food while we were both on our breaks. The smoke alarms didn’t go off.” And oh god, the fire had been so horrible. Blanche could almost feel the thick smock scratching the back of her throat as she slumped against the wall, waiting to die with Rio. Things went hazy after that. Rio picked her up and passed her through the door to Erin and the police officer… Her heart sunk in her chest. The police officer. What had his name been? Roland. Blanche saw his burned form once they were finally outside, lingering over Erin while her wounds were getting treated. His words burned her ears. He said her own name as Blanche faded back into unconsciousness, unable to do anything else. “That…. Man.” Blanche didn’t see him fall through the floor, but she had heard it. She had seen the aftermath. The flames leaping out of the hole. She looked at Erin, her mouth going dry. “The one who helped us. He was there and…” She rubbed her aching forehead, shifting in the bed to pull her knees up to her chest. She sucked in a deep breath. “How did it start? The fire?”

The severity of her injuries reflected how much longer her and Rio had been exposed to the smoke and lack of oxygen and Erin physically cringed at the sound of Blanche’s painfully dry coughs. Didn’t have the courage to keep eye contact. Rio was recovering surprisingly well from when she last checked and she had to wonder if that had anything to do with the way he literally punched through that door. Blanche had a rougher journey ahead of her. “Roland. He’s--was the police sergeant,” she said quietly, easing her legs over the side of the bed to better face her. Shoved that swelling in her chest away as hard as she could. Blanche deserved to know the truth, she’d almost died for it, but the words kept sticking in her throat. “This is my fault,” she finally answered with a stoicism that surprised even herself, even if she could only meet her eyes for a few seconds at a time. “My boss. He did this. The one I told you about?” She recalled their conversation very clearly, remembered promising her she had it under control. So much for that. “Let’s just say I gave him my resignation and he didn’t take it well. I think I started something I can’t stop.” That was all Blanche really needed to know. She lifted her chin to face her properly, finally, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Blanche. You shouldn’t have been in any part of this. This is my fight and that sick fuck took it too far--” she paused, chewed at her cheek when her voice rose and nodded firmly at her. “I’m going to make this right.”

Roland. She remembered being an ass to him online. Her heart tightened, and she cleared her throat again as she shook her head. Blanche looked at Erin, pressing her lips together as she digested Erin’s explanation. The situation with her boss - the one that Erin was supposed to have under control. Only for a moment did Blanche feel a spark of anger. But that wasn’t fair, and she knew it wasn’t fair. “This isn’t your fault,” Blanche found herself saying, shaking her head. “You didn’t… You didn’t set the fire. You didn’t lock us in. The only thing any of us can control is ourselves.”  Rio and her were shut in there on purpose. The lock had been tampered with and they were barricaded in, left to die of smoke inhalation and fire. A cruel death, likely meant to get back at Erin. Blanche remembered glumly thinking about how much it would hurt before she lost consciousness the first time. She shifted on her bed again, trying to find a more comfortable position that had her back aching less. Blanche washed a hand down her face, looking away from Erin to stare at the stark white sheets and blanket they put over her. “... I need to talk to you,” Blanche finally said, glancing back at her. The heart monitor picked up the anxiety she felt, and Blanche shot a glare at it. “About… Roland. I saw something. Before they… Before they loaded us into the ambulances.”

Erin didn’t say anything when Blanche insisted it wasn’t her fault. It was. She knew it was and arguing about it with Blanche in this sad, dark hospital room wouldn’t change that. Sure, she hadn’t touched the fire to the house but there wasn’t any question about who had ignited the flame. She shook her head, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Either way, after we get out of here, I need you to keep your distance. No joke. From me, from the funeral h--” She froze, shoulders tensing, face flushing at her glaringly obvious error. The structure stood still, stubbornly intruding on the skyline. From what the police had told her, with enough money and perseverance, it was salvageable. Probably. Not great news but it was better than what she expected. “Stay away from anything to do with this or me,” she said, the edge in her tone sharp and unforgiving. This wasn’t a suggestion and she needed to make sure Blanche realized that. Her eyes narrowed at the mention of Roland, uncertain but far softer than they had been seconds ago. “What do you mean? What about Roland?” He was dead, there was no question there. The doctors had delivered the news personally after she had been taken care of and bandaged up. “What did you see, Blanche?”

The words were cold, but familiar. She hated that they had come from Erin though. Blanche’s eyes closed as she once again adjusted, unable to find a comfortable position longer than thirty seconds. Her legs had this irresistible urge to move; despite feeling like her limbs were weighted down in cement, she wanted to leap out of bed and start screaming. The anger that was there before was back in just a brief instant, her fists curling around the cloth until the skin stretched across her knuckles turned white. Stay away from me. Stay away from danger. “Yeah. Okay,” Blanche said, blankly. “You have it under control, right?” It was a snide comment, but it wasn’t like Blanche had asked for any of this to happen - like she asked to be put in a burning building from some asshole who had a vendetta against an organ dealer. Blanche had grown up used to disappointment, but hearing that from Erin made her so angry that it took her a second to remember the responsibility she had.

That responsibility hit her like she’d been punched in the stomach. The damn ghost situation. Blanche felt the tears prick her eyes, and she felt so ridiculous for feeling so upset over something so stupid when someone had died for her and the rest of them. They couldn’t do a single thing for Roland now. Blanche would have to go and make sure his soul was gone, but other than helping him find peace, there was nothing anyone could do for him now. Blanche pressed her lips together in a thin line, not looking at Erin as she answered her, instead looking at the silent TV trying to sell her some fancy juicer that would break after using it two times. “His ghost,” Blanche said, finally. “I saw his ghost. He … said things to you.” Blanche finally looked at her, her tone softening slightly at she remembered the man’s words. “Do you want me to tell you what he said? Or do you want me to wait?”

Erin wasn’t expecting her demand to go over well but the anger she saw Blanche tensely hold back caught her off guard. Of all people, Blanche deserved to be angry, and especially at her. Stung a little but if that’s what it took to keep the younger woman at a safe distance, she could take it. What hurt more was the question that followed. It hurt because the implication wasn’t wrong. Hurt because it came from Blanche. Guess she deserved that. She clenched her jaw, settling her gaze on the dark window at the far end of the small room, shrugging. “I’m working on it,” she answered simply.

Her attention turned back to Blanche, bristling at the word ‘ghost’, piling onto the confusion that followed immediately after. What would he have to say to Erin? She almost didn’t want to know. He’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything to do with her after the arrest and she shifted uncomfortably as her imagination ran wild. He also had no reason to forgive her. Making her feel guilty about his death from the other side didn’t seem like his style. People could surprise you, though. She’d surprised him after all. After a long silence, she nodded her head. “What did he say?” She asked, her voice small but sure. Whatever it was, she could take that too.

Maybe Blanche wasn’t being fair, but right then and there, Blanche didn’t want to be fair. Stay away from anything to do with me. Blanche heard that before, and it meant trouble and pain and, now, it meant death. She thought of the police officer again, how he was so ready to literally carry her out of there, and how his last action was to throw her to safety as the floor gave way beneath them. It wasn’t fair, Blanche realized, to let her anger mask over her duty to the dead. “He said he was sorry,” Blanche said stiffly, her cheek resting on her knee as she stared at a patch of wall. “That he doesn’t understand how you got mixed up in something like this, but…” Blanche was unsure how to word it, and she didn’t want to get it wrong. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if the memory she had of Roland’s voice was right. But didn’t Blanche owe it to Erin to tell her what she thought she heard? “But he wants you to find your way out of whatever this is.” Her voice hardened again, despite herself. The anger she felt was real, and she was having trouble swallowing it back as she became more and more aware of just how much everything hurt. The pain gnawed at her like an aggravating itch she couldn’t get rid of, even though she was sure they had given her something for the pain. Her fists clenched around the blankets, and for a second she thought the whole room was going to consume her. Breathe, Blanche. Her eyes closed, and slowly, she forced herself to relax out of the stiff position she wound herself into.

“I don’t know if he passed on,” Blanche finally looked back at Erin. “I… couldn’t stay awake any longer.” She was uncomfortably guilty about that. “I’ll have to go back and check later. Once…” Blanche looked around, squinting out into the dark. “Did they say how long we’re stuck here? I want to go home.”

Erin had naively thought she was ready for whatever this fight would potentially give or take away. The nights she couldn’t sleep, which were most nights, were spent picturing the 1001 ways this could go wrong. As if armoring herself with any foreseen pain could make the actual thing more bearable. Didn’t work like that though. Emotions couldn’t be planned out ahead of time. She could suppress them, switch autopilot on when it was necessary to get the job done. She’d gotten good at that. The way Blanche was looking at her--or more aptly, not looking at her--seared a white hot guilt through her chest that rivaled the literal burn on her arm. A look she had thought she had prepared herself for--the anger, disappointment. Roland’s final words only added to the noise in her head. “He’s sorry?” She blurted out while the rest of his final words processed. “Why would-- For wh--” Her jaw slacked as her mind tried to catch up, to try and understand his reasonings. It never quite got there. The man had nothing to be sorry about. No good reason to hope for the best for her. She had gotten him killed and still, he was more kind to her than she ever deserved. Angry tears clawed at her throat, burned behind her eyes until her vision blurred. Oh god, she couldn’t break down right now. Not here. Not in front of Blanche. Wasn’t fair to put that on her on top of everything she’d already endured. “Thank you. For telling me,” she nodded earnestly when she finally pulled herself together.

“I don’t know. They couldn’t tell me how you were doing,” she finally managed after Blanche asked the question. Something about HIPPA or whatever. She pulled her covers up a little higher, afraid if she moved too abrasively or made any sudden movements, the whole room would crumble in on itself. Home sounded good. She wanted to go home. Wanted to disappear into Nic’s arms for a little while. She ran a hand over her cheek, took a deep, sharp breath. “Do you want me to call anyone for you? Or get the nurse to?”

“That’s all he said. I’m sorry.” Granny said a medium’s gift was for the living just as much as the dead, but she couldn’t give the living answers that were not there. What was Roland sorry for? The fire? The way things went between them when he was alive? Blanche didn’t know, and she couldn’t give Erin the answer she wanted. Her job was to speak for the dead, not to put words in their mouth and lie, even if making something up seemed better now. Remembering Granny’s words kept Blanche stone faced as she stared at the wall, not responding to Erin’s gratitude. She didn’t want her thanks, she didn’t want any of this.

Her icy facade only broke when Erin asked if there was anyone she could call for her. A name caught in her throat before everything hit her at once. Everything was fucked. Erin’s home, Roland’s life, Rio, how quickly she gave way to the smoke and how tired she was. Why did this keep happening? If things were just normal she would be sitting here, her mother and father and brother at her side already. If things were normal, Blanche wouldn’t be here at all. She wouldn’t even be in the state. She’d be in Massachusetts, getting ready for her senior year of school if she could have just held on for a little bit longer. It was thoughts she had before, and Blanche knew that dwelling on them would do nothing for her now.

Tears had come out of her eyes before she could stop them, and Blanche crumbled in her bed, right in front of Erin, suddenly too viciously upset to be embarrassed. Her arm with the IV jerked. Blanche knew there was only one person in the entire world that could give her any comfort. “I want Granny,” Blanche said angrily, knowing just how impossible it was. “I want to go home.”

If Erin had known the question would set Blanche off into a torrent of tears, she would have kept her mouth shut. Concern spiked through whatever grief or guilt clouded her thoughts. Granny? The one Blanche had been mourning, who had crossed over not long ago? “Oh, Blanche…” she murmured softly. Words failed her the rest of the way and they died in the air.

Comfort usually came much easier than this but her own pain and exhaustion refused to let better words come. Instead, she shifted tenderly off the bed, wheeling the IV attached to her arm to Blanche’s bedside. “Blanche, I’m s--” she shook her head, sitting at the edge but close enough to rest her hand on the younger woman’s arm. Apologizing again felt hollow. She tried to meet her watery eyes, her sobs piercing her skin like knives. “Please. What can I do? Who can I call? Let me just--please let me help you,” she pleaded. Even if she could just sit there while she cried, to help her feel a little less alone right now, she’d take it. If she wanted to scream at her for putting her in this position, she’d take that too. Anything at all would be better than helplessly watching her fall apart.

She wanted so badly to rip the IV out of her arm and shove Erin away from her. What was she doing? What were either of them doing?! This was so stupid. This was all so stupid! Granny was gone, someone was dead, and they were almost burned alive. Blanche cringed away from Erin’s touch, wanting to rip her arm away from her. What was the point? What was the point of any of this? Delivering messages while she sat in a shitty hospital bed, in pain, exhausted, and angrier than she had been in a long, long time. Hadn’t she accepted this when Granny moved on? Her mediumship was her duty and her responsibility, no matter the circumstances because so few could give a voice to the dead. Who else would have heard Roland? And Roland should be heard, his words and his wishes should be heard. But, Jesus Christ, why did it have to be her? Why did she have to sit here in this shitty hospital room and look Erin in the eyes after she just told Blanche to stay away from her? Why did she have to provide her that comfort? Granny would remind her to be kind and have compassion, but at that moment, Blanche had no kindness or compassion for Erin.

She shook her head, wiping her tears away in fury with the back of her trembling hand. “I want to go back to sleep.” Blanche snarled, finally wrenching her arm out of Erin’s grip. “I want to go home. I want Granny. I want Adrien. Nell. Rio. I just want - I want it all to stop! Can you make it stop Erin?” Blanche looked at Erin severely, unable to truly focus as the hot tears blurred her vision. Erin couldn’t make it stop, and that wasn’t her fault. She was grieving the loss of her home and that policeman she saw - the one who whispered to her before she died. This wasn’t fair to her either, but Blanche was done being fair. Her energy was spent, and she had nothing left to give. Maybe she would regret it later, but now? Blanche just shook her head, pulling the thin white blanket up and over her head as she curled back down into the thin mattress and shut her eyes tight. She could deal with Erin later. She could text someone later. She could deal with anything later as long as she didn’t have to deal with the weight of the world now.

There was nothing Erin wanted more in the world than to make it stop. Make this all stop. The death, the destruction, the fresh pain rippling through town at the hands of this monster. Monster. It wasn’t a word she used lightly anymore but there was no better descriptor for Roy Chambers. Roy and the easy smile he wore while he flippantly decided who lived and who died. Who had to bear the burden of the ash he left in his wake. Erin could take it. She would, whether she liked it or not. She’d signed up for this. Rio hadn’t. Blanche hadn’t. Roland sure as fuck hadn’t. Nothing Erin said or did right now was going to change or dull the pain that Blanche was feeling right now either. She wouldn’t take back her demand, either. This was exactly why she needed Blanche to stay away. Space was the only thing that would keep her safe. If that meant she’d hate Erin for the rest of her days, Erin could only be thankful she had those days to hate her with.

Still, the rejection that came when the blanket was pulled over Blanche’s head gutted her like a knife. She sat quietly at her bedside, hoping maybe she’d rip the blanket off and even scream at her if that was what Blanche needed. When it became clear not even that was going to happen, Erin padded slowly across the cold floor back to her side of the room. Grabbed the curtain that separated the both of them, sparing one last look to the rumpled bed. I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me. I’ll always be here if you really need me. She didn’t say any of those things and knew it was probably better that way. The less she confused the young woman about her previous demand to stay away, the better. She’d done enough damage as it was for one night. With a heavy heart and tired eyes, Erin drew the curtain shut.

[gascon-en-exil]

Bottom Ten Three Houses Characters

I decided after a while that I couldn’t fulfill an anon request to do a top 10 list for the whole series, because it would overlap too much with ones I’ve already done - lord privilege is a thing that exists, and I’ve ranked those before - and because it’s really difficult to compare so many characters (~600 if we’re being thorough) across so many different games.  Instead I decided to go negative with it, although around 2/3rds of these ought to be totally uncontroversial at least in my corner of the fandom. Starting from the one I dislike least:

(Dis)honorable Mention: Anna, for putting in such a lackluster showing that she doesn’t deserve a spot on this list despite technically being in the playable cast. It’s not only the lack of supports, although that hurts, but also how obvious it is that the writers have no new material for her. Anna’s gimmick worked fined when she was an NPC and perhaps for the space of a single game as a playable character, and Fates originated the meta idea of making her paid DLC so you have to shell out real money to use her, but that’s the extent of her here too. As a unit she’s far from spectacular, and her paralogue isn’t even good for much but a ton of (mostly mediocre) drops and a tiny bit of context for that Pallardó guy from non-CF Chapter 13. Here’s a revolutionary idea: for the next original FE it might be good to have Anna back to being only a wacky dimension-hopping NPC shopkeeper.

#10 Constance - It pains me that she’s on this list, more than anyone else by far. I really wanted to like Constance, and at first glance she’s right up my alley as a haughty impoverished aristocrat coping awkwardly with her diminished status. I like the dark flier class she’s built around, and her default personality is an even louder pre-timeskip Ferdinand whom you know I love. However, it’s that “default personality” bit that sours me on her, because she’s got two of them. What could have been an interesting take on Constance’s struggles with identity and self-esteem in the wake of her family’s disgrace is presented in such an over-the-top comedic manner that it’s impossible to take her very seriously. It’s more reminiscent of FE13′s Noire than anything, and at least she has the excuse of a mother who performed dark magic experiments on her and fractured her psyche. Constance also supports Jeritza and yet somehow they do no more than lightly allude to their personality issues which is as much a missed opportunity as you can get with such a terrible character (see below), opting instead to try softening Jeritza with his fondness for roses. Lovely.

#9 Leonie - Fandom exaggerates her Jeralt fixation, although it does pop up at the worst times (see: her Byleth support right after his death). As I’m not very concerned with Byleth’s nonexistent feelings though this placement more comes down to general indifference. Leonie feels completely disconnected from the rest of the Deer, and although she’s a supposed reflection of the house’s more egalitarian bent there’s nothing connecting her to the politics or larger culture of the Alliance until you learn about her student loan debt. She really is best understood as a Jeralt fangirl first and foremost, which is why perhaps the most surprising thing about her is when reality comes knocking in her endings and it turns out she picked up her mentor’s vices as well. Jeralt himself would be even further down this list were he playable, but as he isn’t I’ll have to settle for side-eyeing all of his adoring fans. Which brings me to....

#8 Alois - Remember that dating sim Dream Daddy that people were talking about a few years ago? The one that willfully misunderstands what the term “daddy” means in gay male spaces to write fluffy dad joke-laden romances intended for a presumably not-gay audience? Alois is the spirit of that game personified as an FE character, which is not something I ever would have thought to know that I didn’t want. He’s got some funny lines here and there, but that’s the most you can say about him when otherwise he’s just passable midgame filler (of a unit type each house including the Wolves already has one of) standing in Jeralt’s imitation Greil shadow. I don’t even mind the platonic S support all that much because it’s still only Byleth, but it occurs to me that just about the only thing that would have made Alois memorable would be if his S support was romantic but he remained married to his wife. I can’t think of a time when this series has allowed the player to indulge in adultery, so even if it had been limited to an option for f!Byleth it would have been a fascinating option.

#7 Cyril - This isn’t about his devotion to Rhea, which is fully understandable given his circumstances. Nor is it about his performance as a unit which in my experience at least is actually rather good for a Donnel/Mozu-style villager archetype. No, what gets me is that he’s a self-righteous workaholic which makes for quite the grating personality trait. I understand that he finds meaning in his work and that he’s got some entertaining supports calling other characters to task for their terrible work ethics or ignorance of the lives of commoners (VW should have really dug more into his back-and-forth with Claude), but the lectures on not interrupting him or telling Byleth to get back to work are as tiresome as they are frequent. It’s petty I know, but one can only hope he grows out of it eventually. At least he doesn’t wear a pot on his head....

#6 Mercedes - Like Constance, she’s the type of character I wanted to like from the start. She’s pious pseudo-Catholic clergy, with a quirky thing with ghosts and some quiet lesbianism with her BFF that I can take or leave but that I know some people really enjoy (and also she’s bi-for-Byleth, but no one talks about that). Unfortunately as I touched on when talking about Marianne in my Top 10 characters list, Mercedes’s appealing points are sharply contrasted against her more annoying ones. The breathy voice acting I can mostly get used to, but her backstory is unnecessarily convoluted - three families and two flavors of evil adoptive father - and as is also true of Constance her association with Jeritza drags her down a fair bit. To this day I still have no idea what we’re meant to make of the Lamine siblings’ dynamic, but Mercedes’s eagerness to overlook her brother’s crimes and unrepentant bloodlust so she can coo over what a sweet boy he is deep down say some pretty odd things about her personal moral code. Maybe it was implied all along with the paranormal fascination that she’s not as orthodox as she appears to be, but the dissonance is real especially in CF where she gets a support line with Jeritza that tries to woobify him and affirms how much she loves him...and meanwhile in monastery exploration she’s wringing her hands over how much she hates the idea of fighting Faerghus and the church. There’s no through line here, and as justification for characters siding with Edelgard go this one is pretty flimsy.

#5 Gilbert - Similar to Cyril, I don’t dislike Gilbert for the reasons that most of the fandom does. Yes, he’s a crappy father, but as I’m pretty indifferent to Annette and to father-child bonding in general I can appreciate the fresh spin he places on the archetype of the devoted knight. In short, he’s a knight who wasn’t devoted and ran away from his duty, and his arc in AM is all about making up for his past failures both to his family and to his liege. This is an angle to knighthood FE doesn’t delve into often, and it makes him an explicit foil of Dedue as explored in their supports. The reason that Gilbert is on this list though in fact has more to do with that opposition, because I am painfully aware that had AM not killed off Dedue by default in service of self-insert romance Gilbert would not have had to be scripted as Dedue’s replacement both as a unit and as a retainer figure. It’s not his “fault” of course, insofar as one can ever blame fictional characters for the actions of their writers, but whenever I’m running AM and have to take those randomized supply run quests from Gilbert instead of the route’s actual retainer I’m reminded of how we were robbed of power couple Dimidue (in AM anyway - CF of all routes delivers on this point). Gilbert could have been father of the year to Annette and freely given Byleth his (grand)daddy dick and it still wouldn’t overwrite the fundamental problem that Byleth screwed over all three AM-exclusive characters in different ways. As to that, well...look at #1.

#4 Raphael - It’s hard to describe just how much wasted potential there is to this guy. Along with Ignatz and Leonie he could have illustrated the greater social mobility of the Alliance and the increased opportunities non-nobles enjoy there, but all three are mostly side characters. He’s repeatedly positive in the face of tragedy and remains motivated by his love for his remaining family, but 90% of his dialogue revolves around either eating or training to the point that he’s arguably the closest FE16 comes to gimmick character writing (something almost every FE is guilty of, but that has come under heavy scrutiny in recent years because of how much Awakening and Fates used it). He has a sweet friendship with Ignatz with even a bit of chemistry that sits in good company with the kind of simply affability he has with almost everyone he supports, but they have a no homo ending involving one of the game’s eternally offscreen characters. He supports Dimitri, but the bara content is thin on the ground and their line stands out as easily the least substantial of the house leaders’ cross-house supports. Even as a unit he’s lackluster, in the same repetitive category as Alois with nothing that makes him really stand out from the other axe-and-brawling guys. Highest HP growth in the game...whee. I’ve seen arguments that Raphael’s simplicity is the source of his charm, and while I can sort of see that he feels like he belongs in a game like the GBA or Tellius titles where characters have a much smaller amount of overall content to their name. In a game like Three Houses the sheer torrent of lines about food and training wear thin quickly.

#3 Bernadetta - see #8 here. To sum up, she’s annoying, her sex appeal falls flat with me and is frankly just kind of confusing, it bugs me that a significant portion of the Ferdibert fandom headcanons her as Hubert’s bestie when the man clearly does not do besties, and the most positive thing I can think to say about is that based on her habit of befriending known murderers among other things she might be a bit of a sociopath. That’s not very flattering, but at least it’s somewhat interesting. Oh yeah, and Edelgard setting her on fire at the Gronder rematch is good for a meme although I suppose that isn’t technically attributable to Bernadetta.

#2 Jeritza - Jeritza sucks. Everyone, apart from the small number of fans into Bylitza for some reason, is aware that he sucks. He’s a bloodthirsty serial killer we’re meant to like because he killed his father to protect his sister and also because he likes ice cream and kittens...and because he’s clearly mentally ill in some way and Edelgard is weaponizing his illness for her war which means all the murder is okay, I guess. Jeritza is like FE7 Karel if he was somewhat important to the plot and that instead of a redemption arc between games he got Karla and some other characters swearing that he’s really sweet deep down and also he can romance the male self-insert - yay. I love the line of thinking sometimes espoused in anti circles that M/M Bylitza is the only non-Problematic™ Byleth ship because he’s their only gay romantic S rank partner who’s not one of their students, a loli, or Rhea who is obviously the most evil character in the game. As I’ve mentioned above Jeritza also makes other characters he supports worse by association, although he’s not quite as bad in that regard as #1. Do I even need to bring up the painfully affected voice acting? It’s ironic that the vocal director for the English localization turns in unquestionably the worst performance among the named cast, and I have to assume he picked the role for himself solely because he sounds like an imposing Death Knight and not because his voice is at all suited to the troubled twunk underneath the armor. Just about the only thing that would have salvaged Jeritza for me would be if he and Hubert got to have an epic competition to determine once and for all which of them is more evil. Hubert would wipe the floor with this poser.

#1 Byleth - see here at the bottom. They fail as a self-insert, they fail to be a properly realized character even more than previous Avatars, they damage other characterizations and arcs all over the place, and Three Houses overall would have been vastly improved if they didn’t exist or at least weren’t the PoV character. In that previous post I listed just two reasons why I still prefer Byleth to Robin as an Avatar, one being that their significance to the plot is set up before the game even begins and the other being that their lack of a voice makes f!Byleth a less obtrusive presence when it came time for me to have her S rank all the guys to fill out the support log...not enough to where I could treat her as a self-insert, but any amount helps. I do however have to add a third small bit of praise for Byleth, in that they apparently drive antis up the wall for the most asinine of reasons which is always entertaining to witness. I recall when this game’s school setting was first revealed that everyone in the fandom nodded their heads and made the easy prediction that there would be teacher/student sex because that’s just how FE rolls, but somehow still there’s outrage over it. Even so, Byleth is horrible by every significant parameter, and it’s a shame we’ll only be able to imagine what FE16 would have been like had the developers not felt the need to write the whole thing around an Avatar.

[luci-cunt]

Ok so when I said I was writing fanfic for AW I planned on doing a lighthearted cops/robbers kinda thing and then last night i woke up at 4am and wrote this all down and the only way I can describe it is as “Markus Zusak meets William Goldman” and I’m very sorry.

Anyways, here’s 

“This is a love story”

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

There was blood on the linoleum tiles, it shone in the garishly bright lights of the store. Everything looked slick, and hazy, and Izetta laid out on her back with her head resting next to the gasping man. 

They both stared up at the ceiling--the man because he couldn’t move other than to wheeze a few more desperate breaths--and Izetta because she was waiting for someone. 

“Bi--bitch,” the man dying managed to choke out. 

It just made Izetta smile. “Yeah.”

This--as unbelievable as it may seem--is a love story. 

Not between these two, however, but something a bit more… unexplainable. The concept of love predates the concept of hate, or murder--if you believe in a dusty book with just about one thousand too many words trying to explain the utterly unattainable seeming concept of: do not be a dick. Of course, maybe you follow a different religion--they all have a book though--the big ones at least. 

However, I was there--at the beginning of all time, and I can tell you this one particular thing: no one started it. 

The universe was created on a wild coincidence, and the planet you’re currently sitting on was forged in the opulent expanses of pure, unadulterated, chance. 

One thing that is for certain is that--no, I will not be explaining who I am because I don’t matter--remember, this is a love story and I am but a concept given a typewriter and a fuck ton of a magical substance called caffiene. Remarkably, I find it tolerable, despite the fact that I watched you humans learn to chew the beans by watching goats get high. 

I digress, back to Izetta and her stained linoleum floor. 

The man laying beside her, dying painfully slowly had a name. It doesn’t matter though, all that does matter is that he was taking far too long to reach the end of life. 

Finally, finally, the man wheezed his last breath and his eyes went dark and his body limp and lifeless. Izetta grinned, still staring up at the ceiling, her ears perked for any sign of her expected visitor. 

As usual, there was no sound. At least, not until she wanted to be heard of course. 

“Sloppy,” Ivory said, making Izetta’s grin widen painfully. 

“Hello darling,” she said, pushing herself up to get a good look at the woman looking distastefully down at the man on the floor. 

Something to note: after death you have the opportunity to become a guardian of sorts. You can watch over someone of your choosing and assist them through their life, keeping them safe. Most people stick to their families, others will latch on to total strangers just for the excitement, and others still--well, they’re Ivory. 

Ivory has a brother, who has a husband. She has two nephews and three godchildren. She is also too good at her job. Despite the--for lack of a better term--OP seeming possibility of guardians, they are still human, they still make mistakes and death does not make you omniscient. Ivory however, is clever. Her brother survived four natural disasters, an attempted hostage situation, and a very messy run-in with a garbage disposal. 

This couldn’t be tolerated, people do have to die at some point--thus is the circle of life. And so she was forcibly reassigned. 

This is when she met Izetta--another woman horrifically good at her job. She worked as an assassin, hunting and killing people and she noticed when Ivory appeared. Most don’t, guardians are silent things, they watch over you and keep you safe in subtle ways. Izetta however, had a bit of a… shall we say… remarkably idiotic streak. 

When she noticed Ivory she began actively trying to kill herself to test just how far her newfound ‘luck’ would get her. 

And that was when Izetta met Ivory. 

On your deathbed is the only time you can see a guardian, they’re supposed to explain the concept to you, offer you the choice, and then move on to the next family member or just off into the ether. 

Izetta had to drop four toasters into her bathtub and blow her apartment up with C4 to see Ivory. 

And then it became a game. 

Izetta began to literally flirt with death, an affair that wasn’t unreciprocated. But then Ivory ran into the same problem she’d run into before--she was too good at her job. 

They’re last moment together was a quiet one, both sprawled out in a bed, skin slick with sweat and breathing heavy as they stared at the ceiling with their heads together. 

“How did you die?” she asked bluntly. Honestly she had expected something flippant as an answer. Ivory was a strong woman, she took every hit with her teeth gritted and her fists clenched just waiting for the next opening. 

So when Ivory went quiet, Izetta was surprised enough that he turned her head to see Ivory’s dark expression. She was quick to push herself up and bring a hand to Ivory’s cheek, all mirth draining from their conversation. Ivory’s eyes looked dull, empty. 

“You don’t have to answer that I didn’t mean to--” 

“My mother,” Ivory cut her off. Izetta blinked, she didn’t get the chance to speak though, because Ivory was speaking again. “I died saving my brother from my mother.” 

There was a long, endless stretch of silence. “Fuck,” Izetta whispered. 

And then in the next moment Ivory was gone, vanished into thin air. It was always impossible to tell when Ivory’s will to keep her physical form would reach an end, usually it was sudden, but in this case it made Izetta ache. 

She laid awake, alone in bed for a long time, before she finally made up her mind. She caught a bus, taking it to the last place Ivory had mentioned living--Wyoming--and she found herself a phone book and she searched the entire state until she ended up on Monte Cyron’s doorstep. 

She knew she’d found the right person as soon as she saw him, they could have been twins. He furrowed his brow when he saw her, there was a toddler on his hip and a man a little farther in was cooking something in the kitchen and chatting with another child. 

Izetta felt out of place, uncomfortable, and she drew a blank on what to say. 

“Can I help you?” the man asked. 

“I need you to come with me,” Izetta said. A shitty, half baked and terrible plan forming in her head. 

The man breathed something akin to a laugh. “Uh, no?” he said. 

“Ok,” Izetta said, and then she turned and left. She waited until the man closed the door and then snuck around the side of the house. She could hear them talking inside, quiet murmurs of confusion and concern. Izetta groaned quietly and pulled on her hair, gritting her teeth and cursing herself. 

Then she looked upwards, even though she had no way of knowing where Ivory was watching her from (behind her and a little to the left, her expression dangerously dark but with a glimmer of curiosity) and she whispered. “Sorry, I really hope this works out but just--trust me? Please don’t kill me I’m trying to be nice,” Izetta said.

(it didn’t help Ivory’s expression).

Izetta waited until night had fallen thick and hot over the flat plains of Wyoming, she listened intently for any sign of movement after she heard the two men put their children to sleep, and then, when everything was quiet, she broke into their house. 

Despite her rash personality, Izetta was still a highly experienced assassin who was excellent at her job, breaking in without making a single noise was as easy as slipping into sleep and she carefully crept upstairs. She slipped into their closet, neither man stirred from their sleep, and she waited patiently until one of the children in the other room started crying. 

The two men groaned awake, and then Monte shoved Sinclair off the bed, which was met with a curse and a light-hearted promise of vengeance, but he left the room. Monte himself rolled over, trying to slip back into sleep, and Izetta took her opportunity. She left the closet, quiet as a ghost, and locked the bedroom door. Then, without any hesitation, she jumped on Monte and strangled him half to death. 

To his credit, he fought well, and he almost got away, but Izetta was desperate and she refused to let go. 

Then, right at the last second, she dropped him. He lay still for a brief second, and then gasped, quickly sucking in air and shoving Izetta off of him. She went, scrambling to the far side of the room and then grinned when she noticed the new figure in the room. 

“Monte,” Ivory said, and Monte froze in his vicious attempt to follow after Izetta with the lamp on his bedside. He turned slowly--so very slowly, and then dropped the lamp when he laid eyes on Ivory. 

“Ivory?” he whispered in disbelief. 

They crashed into one another in the space between blinks and held each other so tightly it looked painful. Ivory’s eyes were squeezed shut and she held the back of Monte’s neck as he pressed his forehead into her shoulder and held her arms in a vice grip. It looked so practiced, so easy, like it was second nature to fall into the embrace. 

Then Ivory opened her eyes and glared at Izetta. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” she growled, sounding like she was barely hanging on to her composure. 

Monte pushed away quickly. “What?” he yelped, and Ivory shook her head. 

“Not you--her,” she explained, and Monte jumped at the reminder of Izetta, who waved and tried her best to look polite. 

“Wait--yeah what the fuck?? What the hell is going on?” Monte demanded. 

“Sorry about that whole--choking you to death thing, I was trying to be nice,” Izetta said. 

“You had no idea it would work, you’re a fucking idiot,” Ivory snapped. 

Izetta just shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, but it did work.” 

“Monte--” Ivory said, grabbing her brother’s shoulders and stealing his attention again. “I don’t have much time, I just--” she stopped, like she didn’t know what to say. “I’m so proud of you, and so happy for you.” 

“I don’t--” 

“It’s harder to stay here for someone who isn’t my charge, I’m already slipping but just know--you mean everything to me, and if I could do it all over again--I wouldn’t change a single thing.” 

Ivory didn’t let Monte speak again, she just pulled him into another tight embrace and whispered, “The wedding was beautiful, I’m sorry I could be there for you,” and then she was gone. 

“What--what the fuck,” Monte whispered. 

The doorknob turned, and then Sinclair’s confused voice called out. “Monte?” 

“Shit--ok, I gotta go,” Izetta said, jumping for the window. Monte caught her arm at the last second and she let him, for just a moment.

“Wait--what--?? How--?” he tried, and just shrugged. 

“Sorry I’ve got no idea, bye now,” and then she was gone. 

Again despite her brash personality, Izetta was actually surprisingly observant. She noticed that Ivory wasn’t around her anymore--it was hard to miss. It felt like an aching hole in her chest that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and she was sure it was going to drive her mad. 

She knew Ivory had been forced to leave her brother because she was too good at what she did, and so she just assumed that was what had happened, and she made it her life’s mission to make Ivory horrible at her job. 

And so we meet back at the beginning of our story, with a man bleeding out and Izetta grinning up at the love of her life. 

How she managed to track down an invisible, unknowable entity--I personally have no idea. How she managed to do it for the rest of her life? 

Well, I told you, 

This is a love story.

[bettydice]

(Planning the Day) To Meet You

Wangxian, Modern AU, Slow Burn, E-Rated

[READ ON AO3]

Chapter 4

Tuesday, Eleventh Day with…

Wei Wuxian does not come.

Lan Wangji keeps looking at the pathway between the bookshelves, hoping to see a messy bun and a blinding smile.

What if Wei Wuxian has decided that he has no interest in going to the library to read random books anymore? What if something happened to him? What if anything happened to A-Yuan or Wen Ning? What if he moved to a foreign country? What if he never sees him again?

Lan Wangji curses himself that he’s declined Wei Wuxian’s offer to exchange phone numbers.

( “We’re friends now, Lan Zhan! What if I need to contact you?”

“No reason for Wei Wuxian to contact me.”

“What if I get offered one million Yuan on the street but I can only have it if I sign something and I don’t have a pen and Lan Zhan is the only person I know who carries pens???”

“No reason for Wei Wuxian to contact me. Don’t sign things on the street. Scam.” )

If only Wei Wuxian had asked him again a few days later. But he didn’t. And Lan Wangji didn’t ask, because he’s never asked Wei Wuxian anything, hasn’t he. He has not asked, nor has he shared anything about himself. Nobody would know to tell him anything because Lan Wangji is nothing to Wei Wuxian.

He waits through lunch and into the afternoon. He could… he could call Nie Huaisang. Wei Wuxian is a real person and not a figment of his mind and he knows people Lan Wangji knows (this still sounds surreal to him, because Lan Wangji barely knows any people). He could call and ask. And Nie Huaisaing would ask him questions back, he’s sure.

Lan Wangji stares at his phone for twenty minutes, willing it to give him an answer, to make a decision for him. When it suddenly lights up, because someone is calling him, he almost throws the phone across the room in shock.

Nie Huaisang is calling him.

“Huaisang.”

“Hellooooooooo, Wangji.”

This does not bode well.

“... Hello.”

“Mhm, you must be wondering why I’m calling you, why I went through all the effort even though I know I won’t get more than single word answers that are brimming with the sentiment that I should please just hang up and text you whatever information I have, so you can leave me on ‘read’ for months.”

Lan Wangji really wants to hang up, but there are bigger issues at play here, so he’ll have to suffer through this.

“Why did you call?”

“Are you really just going to ignore what I said?”

“Mn.”

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I expected. Anyway, I’m calling you, because Wei Wuxian wanted me to tell you something.”

Lan Wangji almost drops his phone again and then squeezes it hard, so there’s no chance of him missing what Nie Huaisang is about to say. Except the line stays silent.

“Huaisang . ”

“Hm? What is it, Wangji?”

“Tell me.”

“Oh, I will tell you, don’t worry. But will you first promise to at least reply ‘No, thank you’ the next time I send you an invite? You know, I spend a lot of time making the graphics for my party invites and-”

“ Nie Huaisang. ”

This would not be happening if they were talking in person. If Nie Huaisang could see Lan Wangji’s expression right now, he would not be drawing this out.

“Just chill, will you? Wei Wuxian wanted me to tell you that he can’t come to your library date today because something something daycare holiday and he has to take care of Wen Yuan because Wen Ning is feeling under the weather?”

“Tell me his exact words.”

“Are you being serious? I don’t know, dude! Can’t you just give him your number? I offered it to him but he said some bullshit like ‘respecting Lan Zhan’s wishes’ or whatever. I said I’d prefer to disrespect your wishes instead of playing messenger, but-”

Lan Wangji ends the call.

Wei Ying is okay. He’s not leaving the country. His husband does not seem to feel well, but it doesn’t sound like something serious is going on. Wei Ying even went to the trouble of making Nie Huaisang inform him.

He’s not nothing to Wei Wuxian.

A knot in his chest becomes undone and the rest of his body follows.

Wednesday, Eleventh Day with…

He hears Wei Wuxian before he sees him.

“Ghost!”

“No, I don’t think they have the Ghost General book here, A-Yuan. And remember, we have to be quiet! Shhh!”

“Shhh!”

“Yes! Or Lan Zhan will be annoyed with us! We don’t want that.”

“Quiet!”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Gege quiet!”

“Wonderful. A-Yuan, you’re so smart!”

Wei Wuxian is here and he brought… his son. They’re here, together, in the library. And every moment now, they’ll appear between the bookshelves and Lan Wangji will have to interact with them. Are children even allowed in this library? He has never seen one here! Though just because Wei Ying brought a child, doesn’t mean it is allowed.

Then he feels bad about thinking about children as things to be “allowed” or “forbidden”. But he might be panicking a little, because he didn’t expect this and he does not know how to interact with children and what if Wei Ying’s son hates him? What if he accidentally makes him cry? What if -

Oh no, there’s Wei Ying’s hair… and there’s the rest of him. He’s holding A-Yuan perched on his hip and carrying a very large, very stuffed messenger bag.

As soon as Wei Ying spots him, he smiles one of his beautiful smiles.

“Lan Zhan! You’re here!”

“Mn.”

He wants to say more, wants to say “I missed you yesterday” and “I was worried” and “Please, let’s exchange phone numbers, I cannot do this again”. But A-Yuan is staring at him, eyes huge in his little face and Lan Wangji isn’t sure what to do.

Wei Wuxian laughs and then comes closer and sits down on the table again. Lan Wangji doesn’t dare to break eye contact with A-Yuan. Wei Wuxian seems to find this hilarious.

“Lan Zhan, are you scared? Don’t worry, A-Yuan is the sweetest kid! He won’t destroy your books or disturb the peace of the library! A-Yuan, say hello to Lan-gege?”

A-Yuan stares some more and Lan Wangji tries his best to look friendly and approachable. He doesn’t have a lot of practice though, so he’s sure he’s doing it wrong.

“Hello.” A-Yuan even gives a little wave. His stare has become less threatening too.

“Hello, A-Yuan. Nice to meet you.” Lan Wangji awkwardly returns the wave and then looks at Wei Wuxian, hoping that he takes a hold of the conversation.

“Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry about yesterday.” Wei Ying is now perched on top of the table, sitting on Lan Wangji’s notes and his thigh almost touches Lan Wangji’s fingertips. A-Yuan has grabbed a strand of Wei Ying’s hair and is in the process of chewing on it. “Were you waiting for me? Did Huaisang call you?”

Whenever Wei Wuxian asks several questions at once, he finds it overwhelming. But he is glad that Wei Wuxian never expects him to actually answer all of them.

“Were you waiting for me?” He’d been waiting for Wei Ying for all his life and hadn’t even realised it.

“Mn.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Ah, it was just a bit chaotic at home and poor A-Ning isn’t feeling so well at the moment and needs some peace and quiet and the daycare is closed this week and obviously there’s no peace and quiet when me and the radish are around and-”

“Gege quiet!”

A-Yuan puts his hands over Wei Ying’s mouth. Lan Wangji makes a soft noise of approval. Wei Wuxian puts on a look of exaggerated betrayal.

“Shh!”

This is followed by a short interlude of Wei Wuxian opening his mouth to make weird growling noises and A-Yuan trying to cover his mouth with his little hands, while switching between laughing and shushing him. Neither of them is quiet, but Lan Wangji simply enjoys watching the scene. Until he finally says: “We’re in a library.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, of course.” Wei Ying turns to look at him, lowers his voice an insignificant amount and somehow manages to talk casually while moving his head around to evade A-Yuans flailing hands. “We’re leaving now, don’t worry. Just wanted to… well, I wanted… to make sure that you’re informed-” (“Gege quiet!”) “Not that I expect you to care what we’re up to, but just in case you were… “

“I care.”

“Oh…” For a moment, Wei Ying simply stares at him and it is long enough for A-Yuan to hit his mark. Wei Wuxian extracts his lips from A-Yuans grip and smiles at Lan Wangji. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re so sweet. Of course you care when someone misses their library time! Anyway, we’re off to the playground now, I think, maybe visit some ants-” (“Ants!”) “Do you want to… no, what am I saying, you’re busy and you don’t like grass, I imagine that sand is even worse.”

But Lan Wangji wants. He wants so much that he ignores his need to think about his actions for a long while before they happen, closes his laptop, packs his bag and gets up.

Lan Wanji stands in front of Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan, both lifting their heads to stare up at him, and gives them a determined nod.

“Playground.”

“Huh? Lan Zhan, do you mean…?”

“Let’s go.”

Wei Wuxian looks as though he would have fallen over, if he wasn’t already sitting. Before Lan Wangji can start thinking instead of going ahead with this reckless spontaneity, he turns around and leaves.

Lan Wangji hasn’t been on a playground since his mother died. (Lan Qiren didn’t have an explicit rule against it but that’s more due to the fact that even the idea of asking Lan Qiren to go to the playground had seemed ridiculous and scary.)

It feels as though he’s walking in a memory. It is colourful, yet very quiet; they’re the only people here. If he turns around, maybe he’d see six year old Lan Wangji running through the sand into his mother’s arms. Lan Wangji wonders if he also stopped running eventually… He runs on the treadmill, but when was the last time he ran because his heart wasn’t patient enough to walk to his destination?

Loud shrieking pulls him out of his thoughts and he turns to see A-Yuan basically throwing himself out of Wei Wuxian’s arms and running towards a little house with a slide as fast as his legs will carry him.

Wei Wuxian drops his bag onto a bench with a heavy thud and then sits down with a slightly lighter thud. Lan Wangji painfully realises that he is wearing white trousers and everything on this playground is very sandy, even the benches. Well, it is too late to back out now. Not that he wants to. He was going to do laundry tonight anyway.

He gingerly sits down next to Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian demonstrates once more that he cannot sit properly. He turns around to Lan Wangji, puts one foot on the bench and rests his arm on his knee. Because he’s wearing shorts again, Lan Wangji can see the tiny mole on his knee. Lan Wangji determinedly moves his gaze to Wei Wuxian’s face, which is only marginally better, because Wei Ying is smiling at him.

“Lan Zhan, you’re using this as an excuse to take a break from studying, aren’t you? Even Lan Wangji must get bored in the library eventually, right?”

Lan Wangji frowns slightly. Yes, he should be working on his paper instead of irresponsibly abandoning it, before lunch even, and spending time on a playground. However, he’s still unwilling to look closer at his rash decision, lest he can manage to talk himself out of it, so he says:

“Is it alright to let A-Yuan play unsupervised?”

“Huh?” Wei Ying turns around to look at A-Yuan, who is using the slide over and over again while talking to himself in a language Lan Wangji doesn’t understand. “Oh, he’s fine! You’ll hear it if we need to give him attention, don’t worry.”

Lan Wangji is not convinced, but he’s not a father.

Wei Wuxian is looking at him again, smiling and not saying anything, which is very unnerving.

“Wei Ying.”

“Hm?”

“Is your… is Wen Ning feeling alright?”

“You’re so sweet, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying puts his hand on Lan Wangji’s arm. The tips of his fingers brush against the sensitive skin in the crook of his arm. It’s difficult to notice anything else. “So nice of you to worry, but Wen Ning is fine. He just needs a few days of rest and quiet!”

Wei Wuxian’s hand is still on his arm. He’s sure Wei Ying doesn’t mean anything by it, doesn’t collect every touch to keep them close to his heart. Wei Ying’s touches are not deliberate, they come naturally to him and usually, Lan Wangji envies him a bit for it.

However, they’re currently talking about Wei Wuxian’s (probable) husband. In light of this, his fluttering heart is a shameless thing.

Lan Wangji moves his arm slightly to the right, so that Wei Ying’s touch is no more than a lingering memory on his skin.

A frown hushes across Wei Ying’s brow and the fingers that had just been touching Lan Wangji curl up into a fist. But as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, and Wei Ying’s expression is as clear and sunny as the sky above them again.

“GEGE LOOK!”

They both turn around, just in time to witness A-Yuan flying down the slide headfirst, on his belly. He lands with his face smushed in the sand. Wei Wuxian jumps to his feet. Lan Wangji’s heart skips several beats. For a second, everything is quiet and then… A-Yuan lifts his head, sand all over his face, and he laughs.

Wei Wuxian laughs too, as he walks over to A-Yuan to wipe the sand from his face.

“A-Yuan, not on your belly! Do you remember the last time, when you got sand in your eye and it hurt?”

A-Yuan doesn’t care for this walk down memory lane and instead runs back to do it all over again. Wei Wuxian rushes over to him and holds on to him, so he can’t slide down.

“Ah, ah! Only on your butt, feet first! Do radishes get planted upside down? No, no, you put the feet in the ground first.”

“Gege mean!”

A-Yuan complains, but lets himself be lifted and turned around until he’s in a proper sliding position again.

“Stopping you from getting hurt is not mean. That is not a convincing argument; you need to do better, if you want to sway me!”

A-Yuan sticks out his tongue, Wei Wuxian replies in kind and Lan Wangji watches them make faces at each other.

Playgrounds are… stressful. When he looks around, he only sees places children could fall down from, or get their hands jammed in. But seeing Wei Ying be so sweet with A-Yuan, who is clearly very fine, has calmed down his heart.

But why does A-Yuan keep calling Wei Ying ‘gege’? Maybe this could lend credibility to Xichen’s “Wei Wuxian is not married” thesis. But…

Wei Wuxian is crouching down at the bottom of the slide, so A-Yuan can slide down right into his arms. It is an image so full of warmth, how could they be anything less than the closest family?

Eventually, A-Yuan loses interest in the slide (to Lan Wangji’s relief) and starts playing in the sand. Wei Wuxian returns to the bench and his improper sitting pose. He also goes back to smiling at Lan Wangji, who had just managed to calm down his heart.

“Wei Ying”

“Lan Zhan.”

“May I ask… Why does A-Yuan call you ‘gege’”?

Wei Ying looks terribly confused and Lan Wangji’s palms begin to sweat. Has he overlooked something very obvious, has he somehow insulted him, is this an improper question, has he-

“Well, he’s two - all boys are gege to him.”

Mhm. He supposes that that is possible.

“Besides, what else should he call me? Shushu? Xiongzhang? No, no, I’d feel so old!”

“... Mn.”

He should ask now. He really should. “Wei Ying, is this your son? Are you married?” There’s plenty of evidence pointing at the possibility that maybe it isn’t so. But the moment passes and Lan Wangji stays silent. Would it really make a difference if he knew for sure?

A-Yuan calls for Wei Wuxian again after a while, to show him his sand creations. Wei Wuxian is appropriately impressed. And then…

“Tall-gege!”

They’re both looking at him, expectantly. Lan Wangji realises that he must be ‘Tall-gege’.

“Tall-gege, come!”

Lan Wangji slowly gets up and walks over to where they are both sitting in the sand. He does not sit down, but crouches down next to them, careful to not mess up his trousers more than necessary.

“What can I do for you, A-Yuan?”

“Cake!”

A-Yuan points at a pile of sand in front of him. Ah, that must be the cake.

“That appears to be a finely baked cake.” It has a good colour and is decorated with little pebbles. Lan Wangji is not an expert, but he thinks as far as sand cakes go, this is a very good example. “Well done.”

A-Yuan stares at him, waiting. Lan Wangji glances at Wei Ying, unsure what is expected of him. Wei Ying mouthes “Eat” at him and then makes a gesture that could be interpreted as eating. Oh.

“A-Yuan, this looks wonderful, but I can’t eat sand.”

A-Yuan’s expression is crestfallen and Lan Wangji desperately looks at Wei Ying again.

“Ahaha, Lan Zhan just doesn’t know how to properly eat one of your delicious cakes! Don’t worry, I’ll help him!”

And then Wei Ying pretends to take a piece of cake and holds the pretend cake in front of Lan Wangji’s lips. Lan Wangji takes a pretend bite of the pretend cake. He should feel silly, but instead there’s heat crawling up his neck. Wei Ying grins and winks at Lan Wangji. His ears feel hot, too.

“Lan Zhan, how is it?”

“... Wonderful.” He’s still looking at Wei Wuxian as he says this. Wei Ying slowly lowers his hand, blinking rapidly and then busies himself with helping A-Yuan make more sand cakes.

After baking a few more, A-Yuan insists that only Lan Wangji is allowed to taste his creations, not Wei Wuxian (despite loud protests and lots of pouting), and Lan Wangji never knew that pretend cake could taste so sweet.

Eventually, they move on to eating real food. Lan Wangji shares his lunch with both of them, though he’s glad to see that Wei Wuxian isn’t feeding prawn chips to A-Yuan and brought some fruits and milk bread. When they’re done, A-Yuan becomes… moody and refuses to get down from Wei Wuxian’s lap.

“Ah, I think it’s time for us to leave. A-Yuan needs his nap. I hope the bus isn’t full; it’s not easy to stand with a sleeping child on your arm, haha!”

“I live close.” Lan Wangji’s mouth really is reckless today.

“You’re so lucky! You can sleep much longer, even if you have an early class! Ah, I’m so jealous.”

“I mean… “ Wei Ying misunderstanding gives him an out. One he doesn’t want to take. “A-Yuan can take his nap at my apartment.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open and Lan Wangji resolutely looks at A-Yuan, whose eyes are getting smaller and smaller.

“Lan Zhan, are you serious?”

“Only seven minutes walk.”

With that, he stands up, dusts off his trousers and holds a hand out to Wei Ying.

“Bag or A-Yuan - what should I carry?”

And that’s how Lan Wangji ends up carrying a sleeping A-Yuan back to his flat, Wei Wuxian chatting happily at his side. He should be reckless more often.