#but the fact that its completely gone now. in time for them to truly work as one

[nyxi-pixie]

atsushi straight up losing akus coat is very funny but also hnnbnbnghg coat theory.........

something something atsushi being responsible for aku being clothed in something that isnt the scraps dazai left him

[leahsgf]

THE BIG BED – leah williamson

leah williamson x child!reader

you were beyond restless and had been for the past few days - struggling to settle regardless of how exhausted you were, and it was showing.

only a few hours, which felt like minutes after leah had put you down to bed, you awoke, fussing and crying out for her, which alone was a signal of how out of character you were being, not usually being a massive cryer.

“mama” you whined as she entered your bedroom, throwing your arms in the air and sitting up the best you could in your sleep sack, wanting her to pick you up.

“i’m here my girl, what’s the matter hm?” she scooped you up out of your crib - which any day now would be being transitioned into a toddler ‘big girl’ bed (when you actually slept) and bounced you slightly on her hip, yawning as she ruffled your tufts of hair.

“big bed” you mumbled, a mirror image of your mother’s signature frown splayed across your tiny features.

in any other circumstance, and if she wasn’t so tired herself - leah would’ve chuckled. you hadn’t mastered many words just yet, but of course your beloved ‘big bed’, which was really just her bed, was one of them.

you were her baby through and through, wanting nothing more than to be close to her at all times - something that she usually adored, but you had gradually stopped sleeping unless she was there, which meant she wasn’t sleeping, and the collective exhaustion was really hitting the both of you.

her own mother had always warned her to steer clear of letting you in the bed with her, telling her to let you essentially cry it out - claiming that you’d eventually have no other choice but to fall asleep. leah took almost all of her mum’s advice, but this was one that she struggled to get on board with.

“but your bed is so comfy!” she encouraged you gently, voice no more than a whisper - ignoring the image of your auntie keira laughing at her for her word choice in her head and slipping a dummy into your mouth in a last ditch attempt to settle you in your room.

you began to tear up almost instantly, knowing this routine too well by now, and that you were about to be placed back into your bed and left.

“no wanna s’eep with you, please” you blubbered, words almost entirely muffled by your dummy.

and at that, leah’s heart melted - her boundaries that weren’t really there in the first place cracking. you were still a baby, her baby, and she was prepared to do just about anything to get you both a good night’s sleep. she could handle her mum’s inevitable questions.

“it’s okay, bubba. come on then, i’m not going anywhere, let’s go to bed. you can come sleep with mama” she cooed, relenting. anyone who knew leah as a player wouldn’t believe how unbelievably soft she truly was. she herself from a few years ago wouldn’t of believed it either - but you brought a new, completely overwhelming but beautiful kind of love into her life, and changed her.

when she had said that the euros were her proudest achievement and always would be until she had children, she had meant it.

having you cleared every other moment in her life, even when you refused to sleep.

and as she padded back across the hallway to her own bedroom, for the first time in what felt like weeks, you settled, completely.

she tucked the pair of you underneath the duvet, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into her chest, soothing you even further with the touch of her bare skin.

“time to go to sleep now sweetheart, kay? its bedtime.” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your head as her fingers danced across your back, drawing little shapes and sending you off into a long awaited slumber - her touch working like magic.

and after shooting a text off to lia, celebrating the fact that you’d finally gone to sleep, leah allowed herself to drift off, cherishing both the closeness with you and the incoming well deserved and needed sleep.

[aleksanderscult]

Analyzing Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power

(I'm so sick and tired of seeing people use his "You are nothing now" words as a way to justify how he didn't love her that I decided to create a whole ass post about it.)

First of all, let's see what the powers of a Grisha mean to a Grisha, shall we?

For a Grisha her powers is the same thing as the oxygen is for all humans. The constant beat of a person's heart.

Indispensable.

And in a way it's implied that a Grisha cannot live without it. Just like birds can naturally fly, just like a fish can naturally swim. It's part of their nature, part of their body and soul.

Now let's see Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power.

The moment he saw Alina being unable to summon, he froze. At first he's in denial of what he sees.

How can a Grisha not being able to use her power? A power that is always there no matter what? A power that "feeds" them and keeps them healthy and alive.

We see Aleksander being in a state of shock as he tries to comprehend what is happening with her:

He had never seen anything like that. A Grisha losing her powers is unheard of. Impossible.

He tries again and again to summon her light and bring it to the surface. The fact that he can't feel it causes him panic and pain. In a way, he can't find her soul.

And the very fact that she also lost her collar and feter is impossible too. When a Grisha claims an amplifier, a connection is made that can't be broken.

Another fatal loss for Alina and a disastrous blow for Aleksander and his knowledge, since he knows more than anyone else how amplifiers work and how a Grisha's power work. All the hundreds of years he had spent watching and studying the ways of the Small Science and of power, have gone to waste right now as he tries to understand what is going on with the woman he loves.

His near immortality and rare powers always made him seek someone else to connect with. Someone to understand him and be on the same level as him.

People say that he never actually wanted Alina to be his equal. Well, based on his words and reaction here, I would say he wanted to.

Right now there's no pretense, no tricks or a façade. We see him "naked" and exposed showing us his terror of Alina's loss and despair for his fate. Of being alone forever.

"You were meant to be like me."

Aleksander wanted her strong and confident. Unafraid to rise above the others and to stand right beside him.

"You're nothing now."

I know it sounds cruel but it is true.

If a bird lost its ability to fly or a fish its ability to swim, would you call that normal? If a person stopped breathing or her heart stopped beating, would you call her alive and whole?

Alina lost the very essence of her being, her soul and identity. What happened to her was something completely unnatural and just wrong. Aleksander has lived for centuries and knows more about the Grisha than anyone else (except of course his mother) so he knows that what happened to her, has crippled her. She's not the Alina she was. And she's never gonna be.

It's not a statement of disgust, apathy or scorn. They're words of pain and mourning. Shock and anger.

It's a complete ruin for Alina.

A devastation and tragedy for the unfortunate Grisha that experiences it for the first time in their history. And an equal devastation and sorrow for the Grisha that watched it happen to the person he cared most about.

And it's actually funny how Aleksander seems to be the only person that was devastated for what happened to her.

Everyone else was:

"Alina lost her powers"

"Okay cool".

In a way you can say that it was proof of how he was the one that truly cared about her fate while the rest of her friends didn't seem to give two flying fucks.

The Darkling just gave up.

All he had fought for, all the patience he had mastered for years waiting for his equal to come, went to dust right in front of him.

In a way he committed suicide and just let Alina kill him.

Now if he didn't love her as some people say, why did he do these things after she lost her powers?:

1) Called her to his side and searched for her hand to hold it.

2) Smiled at her and stroked her tears.

3) Entrusted her with his last wish because he'd seen her kindness and believed in it.

4) Asked her to say his name one more time so he could hear it from her one last time. A name that he had probably never said to anyone else for centuries.

5) Begged her to not leave him alone while he died because loneliness frightened him.

I'm sorry but if I was dying, I wouldn't want anyone at my side but the people that I loved the most. And Aleksander wanted the same too.

There's no way he felt disgust or anger towards Alina even after she stabbed him. Whatever she did, he forgave. And whatever happened to her in the end didn't stop him from loving her and wanting her presence at his side until his own end.

(didn't really love her, my ass)

[spookypete-94]

Dark Horse-Matching Bands

Chapter 8 (Final Chapter)

PriceXFem!Reader

Reader is a single mother, working double shifts at a restaurant. Father of the child starts to become a problem while reader is at work and Price offers a solution. Slight age gap between reader around 25 and Price around 35.

This is it! This chapter is lots of fluff, happy ending. After this is completed plan on working some more Simon things and then have an idea of returning to this, but writing it through Price's POV. Will be darker in influence than this one however. Think our Captain is a little more selfish then what this story portrays. Kind of like the other half of the coin thing.

Thank you all for taking the time and reading this series, just really wanted to do something sweet. <3 I truly do appreciate this fanbase and its readers.

Adrenaline had worn off by the time you had reached your bed. Body heavy like someone had tucked concrete into it making relief fill you by the time you had hit your pillow. After it all, you really thought sleep was going to be hard… but honestly it was the easiest that had been delivered to you all night.

In fact, when you woke up in the morning, you felt so far out of it. Honestly, you probably could have slept for another 5 hours. Finally forcing yourself to come to, you realized it was your phone vibrating on the nightstand. Quickly picking it up, you palmed it until it answered.

“Mornin’, lovie.” Your heart mended and melted at the voice.

“John.”

“How’d you sleep love?”

“Honestly… not terrible.”

“Best you have in a while, huh.” He had wanted it to sound like a question, but instead it came out as a matter-of-fact statement. You both know why you slept so well. You had no reason to fear anymore. Your biggest fear was dead.

“Yeah… How’s Abel?”

“Still sleepin’, him, Johnny and Kyle stayed up late telling ghost stories.” There was a joke hidden somewhere in there, sleep just kept it hidden from you.

“He catch any fish?” You asked instead.

“He did, learned to clean them too. Had a proper day of teaching with him.”

It made you smile. The idea of Abel spending time with a male figure that was teaching him real life lessons.

“Good.”

“I’ll have him call you when he wakes up. Think you should probably go make a cuppa’ and turn the news on for now love.” A hint. An order what had been done last night.

“Ok, see you in a while John.”

Finally doing what he advised, you sat with a cup of coffee in your hands steam still rising off the top. The remote was on the table in front of you, parallel with the TV.

It seemed so far away and the thought of picking it up to turn the TV on almost too heavy for you. Like the concrete from last night had returned all at once. A heavy breath in, you reached for it, powering it on and flipping on the news.

The very first headline BODY HAS BEEN FOUND.

Instantly, you shut your eyes, seeing the murder scene all over once again in your small bathroom. Forcing them back open, you watched. Listening intently while the newscaster explained that a male body had been found in an alleyway after what looked like a bar fight gone wrong.

The face was so mangled from a beer bottle they assumed; they were having a hard time identifying the victim. Your heart pounded so loudly, Blood trying to reach your head filling your ears, rushing like an ocean and beating like a drum. You had done this. You had destroyed any facial recognition of him… all by your hand. The thoughts came in like a flood. The father of your child. What kind of monster were you?

A loud knocking on your door brought you back, making you jump and spill coffee down the front of John’s shirt. Quickly jumping up to look through the peephole, two officers stood waiting. Like the good girl you were, you opened the door for them.

“Morning Ma’am, may we come in?” They politely asked. Giving a wide birth on the door, you obliged.

“We’re here to notify you of some news…”

Afternoon had rolled around. You sat outside waiting for their vehicle to pull up. John had kept his promise to you, and Abel had called you shortly after the officers left. After Abel had passed the phone back to your husband he asked about your visitors. Finding it strange that you had not told John about the officers stopping by yet to give you a death notification, you still told him about it.

 One of the officers had known John, his name Alex Keller, a detective for the force. Alex had called you by your maiden name, politely you corrected him and explained how you were freshly married, what your new name was and who you married.

“Have known John for a long time. Good man.”

Maybe Alex had called John to let him know he met you and what had happened…

Seemingly they asked a few questions about your personal life with your ex. How long you had known him, how you had known him. The basic stuff. News to you however, your ex had been estranged from his family for years now. He had no relationship with them whatsoever. They had tried to reach out to his parents, but they had cut him off due to behavioral problems. How ironic his own knew what kind of person he was and chose to do nothing about it. All the officers were looking for was a few answers and a place to do a proper death notification.

“Do you see it possible that he could have been in involved in a bar fight?”

“Yes,” you honestly nodded.

“Did he have anger problems?”

“Yes.”

From there you told the tale of the physical and verbal abuse from the very beginning… all the way to his untimely end.

“Well Mrs. Price, we are sorry for your loss. At this time, it is still under investigation, but it appears to us that he was involved in a bar fight. Was attacked with a beer bottle and then strangled. His wallet was left behind with his ID, but nothing else in it. It looks to be a murder and mugging. Here’s our contact if you need anything else from us.”

It seemed so routine for them, like they had expected this outcome from you already. The innocent baby momma rid of the evil that plagues her and her child. Towards the end, it was like someone had held up a seashell to your ear. You could hear the conversation… but it was like they were so far away at the same time. Shock was settling in. Thankfully it wasn’t long after that, they had left your humble abode. Pleasantries exchanged and not even a suspect on the list…  How was this possible?

And there you sat on the porch, waiting in a chair outside… Counting your lucky stars you were not placed in a jumpsuit behind bars. Still wearing the guilt all the same. Your happiness finally arriving on 4 wheels as a little boy jumped out to greet you.

“Mom!”

John had stopped to pick up dinner. Your favorite to try to cheer you up and thank you for letting him go on a trip shortly after you were married.

Finding the words finally at the dinner table, you explained to him to the best of your ability about his father passing.

Abel took it in stride. Yes, he was hurt and disturbed someone could do this his father, but he was the sweet boy you had raised after all. Abel did start asking a few questions, where John thankfully took over for you. He could tell it was hard for you to lie to Abel about what had really happened. It was something you would never ever tell him, wanting to take it to your grave now. John and his boys being the only ones who knew what had happened. Of course, none of them saw the sin in it like you did, they only saw justice. Simon, in fact telling you once that if was not you that really killed him, it was Ghost himself that had. Like it was a joke, trying to make you feel better. All it could do was place a sad smile on your lips.

“Worlds better of without him.” John had grumbled into your ear once you were both settled into bed, hand rubbing up and down your sides. That was the moment you tried to explain to John, it was not the fact that it was the man that had hurt you over and over since you were a teenager, but the fact it was a human life in general.

“Happens every day. Eventually bad behavior is answered one way or another.”

“But it makes me bad too.” You argued in a whispered hiss to him.

“No, it makes you a mother willing to defend what is hers. You really expect me to believe that you were goin’ to let him take you away from Abel and I? He paid his consequence. We could have worked it out like adults.” His hand had found your ring finger on your left-hand stroking over his mother’s band, something he seemed to do when you or he needed soothed.

Reaching for his hand, you realized it had a wedding band in return. Pulling it up out of the sheets glancing at it, knowing you had not given him one yet. It was opal on set in gold that matched yours.

“Had it made with the stone that Abel got on his field trip. The maker rushed it for me so we could match.”

“It’s pretty…” you whispered, holding it up yours. Husband and Wife finally made whole. Married for convenience for you, convenience you would ironically not need any more since your ex was dead.

It wouldn’t change anything for you though, you would pick John over and over in this lifetime and the next. He had shown you loyalty and love in a time and place no other stranger would… Except the other three of John’s that made it clear they envied their Captain that is. Who knew a group of men could care so much for a woman in dire need of it. Perhaps soldiers made the best lovers when created correctly? Who knew.

Life had changed so much in just a few years. Thinking back, you had always just pictured yourself working and slaving away at the diner. Yes, you were grateful for it, but a part of you would always want more for yourself and Abel. Here it finally was. In a new strong and sturdy house John had built for you. Working part time at the diner now, home at night with Abel and John. Sometimes John would be gone for months at a time, not always able to communicate with you either. Worry sometimes would fill your mind, but he always found his way back to you.

On one of his returns, he had given you a child. Now round with his seed, ready to pop he sat with you at the hospital. This time was entirely different. Instead of having to do it alone here John was with you. Not able to go to every appointment, he at least made the milestone ones. When worry and panic would rise within you from the pregnancy, he would quell it down. Thumb rubbing across your wedding band making you reach for his to do the same. Life was perfect. Honestly it left you confused on what exactly you had done to deserve such an outcome, but maybe if you didn’t question it, whatever greater force was out there would let you keep it.

Being thankful rewarded you with a healthy, beautiful little girl, a branch off John’s tree. Her bright blue eyes identical to his with his heavy brown locks. After all John had given you, you let him name her. A man of pattern and devotion, he named her after his mother. Sarah. So here you sat… babe bundled into a blanket in a rocking chair watching John and Abel out in the yard. No longer haunted, you were protected and loved. More importantly though, Abel and Sarah would be defended for their childhood. Something that was not provided to you or John.

Life is good.

Masterlists

Previous Chapter

Dark Horse Chapters

Taglist:

@cutiecusp @angeldemon28 @simplyymee98 @beebeechaos @cadotoast @talooolaaloolla @lhhlver @hon3y-cloud @spktrgantenk @generalruinsexpert @freshlemontea @hearmesingoutfromthelostandfound

[pikatsum]

Lights, Camera, Chaos | 1 | Todoroki Shouto / Reader

Summary: You and Shouto are forced to make your first televised appearance as a couple. What starts as an embarrassing invasion of privacy completely upends itself once you realize just how cutthroat the world of reality TV can get.

Tags & Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Quirkless Reader, Pro-Hero Shouto.

Part of the Pretty Boy Summer collab! [cross-posted on ao3]

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Being the partner of a pro-hero was the kind of thing that should really come with an instruction manual. And emblazoned on uncoated paper stock beneath chapter one, the golden rule that nine of ten couples managed to break: keep it on the down-low.

Those who didn’t faced the consequences— particularly civilians.

Their faces were ultimately the ones that got splashed across the front page of every gossip-rag in Japan. They became public pariahs, their names repeated ad nauseam on the news, whispered with glee in hair salons and social clubs. In the story of their life, everything became forfeit to the public— their friends, their profession, their dating history, their homes. All of it.

Now, for nearly three months, you’d been one of them. At the end of the day, that was the noodles’ fault, really.

The summer after culinary school, you’d scored your first full-time role, working as the head chef in a small noodle shop just a few blocks from your college campus, at the edge of the city. The owner, Okuda-san, had been in business for years, but the dreams of grandeur that had brought him to central Mustafau as a young man had long since been struck by reality. Though the quality of his meals had never diminished, he’d vastly scaled back his operations over the last ten years— gone was the opulent restaurant in the center of downtown with its sleek metallic architecture and warm ambient lighting. Gone too was his wife, or so you suspected, based on the mutterings you could pick up from the front office, when business ran slow.

The day you met Shouto, the rain had been coming down in sheets, blurring the windows and filling the reception area with a soothing white-noise as you oversaw reservation bookings, dinner preparations and engaged in a small bit of gossip-gathering on the side. It was that same rain that had led you to warn him about the biodegradable styrofoam that his takeout was packed in, and offer the restaurant’s tiny enclave seating to avoid having his meal ruined by the deluge. You’d shared polite conversation— mostly offering tips for balancing buckwheat dough to make proper soba noodles.

Over time, the street in front of Okuda-san’s little shop had become a well-worn patrol path for Shouto’s agency. Conversations turned to texts, and invitations out with his friends. After an unhealthy amount of pining, you’d finally steeled your nerves enough to ask him on a date— an awkward but effective kickstart to almost two years of the best relationship you’d ever had.

There truly was no protocol for having such an intimate piece of yourself revealed to the public, to millions of your partner’s diehard fans. There weren’t words to describe the moment you first laid eyes on the incriminating photo that had started all of this: the two of you, sharing a kiss on the way up to your apartment. Your longing, exacerbated by Shouto’s tedious travel schedule had faced off against your building’s perpetually-slow elevator doors and came up short.

One grainy picture, posted to one account incited a slew of Internet detectives, stealing your anonymity in a matter of hours.

At the very least, you’d been blissfully unaware at first— overlooking the increasing stares from the diners at Okuda-san’s, and glossing over the fact that the cab driver knew your name on the way home. You’d remained blissfully ignorant up until arriving home to find Shouto on the doorstep, still in his costume. He’d quickly shepherded you up to your apartment and barricaded the door. In full pro-hero mode, he’d guided you through the essentials to pack in a duffel bag, and then quickly brought you back to his, to wait out the full extent of the madness.

The worst of it was concentrated in that first two weeks. You’d been unable to turn on the TV without hearing the diminutive nickname the media had chosen for you— “Noodle Legs”— coupled with the same clip of Shouto guiding you up the steps into his high-rise building, over and over. Unfortunately, your legs had been wobbling, as the full magnitude of what was happening had finally begun to set in. In those first days, you’d sequestered yourself in the guest room with the blinds drawn, the drone of the TV only semi-effective against the catastrophizing taking place in your mind.

The public had judged your relationship with Shouto and you clearly had not met expectations. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Even a decade on from the war that had rewritten the operations of superhuman society, competent wasn’t a word that paired well with Quirkless.

As the media storm raged, you had never seen Shouto so upset. In the first few days, his schedule was particularly erratic, his whereabouts always announced by text and sticky notes left on your door, or the bathroom mirror in tight, neat script. Often, he was out amidst the public, speaking to media outlets on his own, trying to stem the influx of public opinion about you that had become the nation’s topic de jour. As you slowly began to emerge from your cocoon of solitude, you saw just how oppositely this ordeal was affecting him.

When he was home, Shouto paced, relentlessly. He completed a book of Sudoku puzzles as you absently cooked enough udon to feed a small army— or at least four of his pro-hero friends. Each night, he scarcely settle in on the couch next to you before noticing a stray sock or a flickering lightbulb, some small thing to put right. Nothing was enough, anymore, and even as you asked him to come to bed— his bed— he only ever seemed to sleep on the couch, if at all.

After nearly a week, his mania and your melancholy finally collided, spectacularly. You could still remember the whisper of the paper against the hardwood, as it slid under the bedroom door, late that night. Nearly two pages offered a handwritten letter apologizing for the upheaval of your entire life, and his absence in the aftermath. The third carefully recorded the plan he’d been building to mitigate the fallout, mentioning the friends he’d enlisted to help him and proposed ideas for a manufactured scandal, enough to take the limelight off you. That moment of shade, he argued, would allow you to distance yourself.

“I promise to help you establish a future that will make you happy.” the letter concluded, “And I understand, if that future no longer includes me.”

It was carefully-worded, largely self removed and so quintessentially Shouto that it nearly broke you all over again. Not much about your future was determined that night, apart from one, indelible truth: you didn’t want a future without Shouto in it. If that meant you’d have to face the public— the cameras and opinions and bigotry— so be it.

You’d casually perused enough gossip magazines to know the general strategies that hero & civilian relationships used, publicly. Some couples went on luxurious (sponsored) vacations, their devotion shamelessly showcased through glossy magazine spreads and corny ‘What’s in Our Suitcase?’ Q&As. Others used their moment in the limelight to launch one partner’s passion project — a private art studio, a taproom, a crossfit gym— often trendy, always overcrowded and never necessary public infrastructure.

The rest wrote memoirs. So. Many. Memoirs. You’d just finished “Catching the Copycat. — How I Fell in Love with Phantom Thief” earlier that month, and it wasn’t half bad. Amidst the unending slew of public attention and the realization that you were going to have to market yourself somehow, the idea of writing a novel was contenting. At the very least, your partner’s versatile Quirk meant there was no end to the pithy puns you could come up with for a title.

And then, Shouto’s PR team put out a press release announcing that the two of you would be starring in the next episode of Split Shift— the Hero Network’s one and only reality television program.

‘Think you’ve got what it takes to be a hero? Think again!” announced its pithy tagline, in the promotional packet,’ Each week, Split Shift lets its viewers experience a day in the life of the nation’s top defenders, exposing their personal sides, through the eyes of their inner circle!.’

The two of you had tried to fight it. Oh, how you had tried, your combined efforts quickly spawning endless hours of email chains. But Shouto’s public relations team was relentless— apparently, the clamor of the public for more details, photos, evidence of your leaked relationship was stronger than any villain in the known universe. And without it, they warned, Shouto’s rank in the heroics charts was severely at risk.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” Omori Mika, Shouto’s head of PR, explained, fingers flying across her keyboard as a window of metrics popped up, “a significant portion of Shouto’s fanbase finds him anywhere from “considerably” to “highly” attractive. Early this year, he dethroned Best Jeanist to win Quirk’d Magazines’ “Hottest Hero Alive.”

“Oh, yes— well deserved.” you nodded, sparing a glance to your own well-loved copy, resting on the coffee table. The cover-shot had really captured his intensity, the haunting contrast of his heterochromatic gaze in low lighting.

From the other side of the couch, Shouto cleared his throat, and you found yourself impishly delighted by the fact that he refused to meet your eyes.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because that faction in particular wants to know — why her?” Mika made a brief gesture towards you as she expounded, “Why, out of every person in the nation— the world, even— why is she the one you chose?”

Shouto blinked, glancing between you and the laptop.

“Do they want a list? I’d have to ask Midoriya for—“

“—evidence is the name of the game, Shouto.” Mika broke in, “Photos, maybe, but what people really want is footage.”

“Footage that we have to get by being publicly humiliated, got it.” you sighed.

A notch appeared between Mika’s perfectly- plucked eyebrows.

“I know you’re both unhappy about the booking, but the Hero Network is the best platform to showcase Shouto’s capabilities. The nature of the show won’t just remind people why they trust him— it’ll show that he’s chosen a capable and resourceful partner, as well.”

You flushed and averted your gaze. Capable and resourceful were just about the last things that you were feeling, at the moment.

“And honestly, Split Shift is tame in comparison to some of the shows that have been asking for you.” Mika began to flip through her color-coded planner, “Let’s see… Quirktastrophe, Save my Love Life… oh, you’re lucky we didn’t put you on Zero to Hero, I hear that host is a real piece of work, off-camera…”

“Message received.” Shouto intoned, cutting off the diatribe. You moved your legs enough to allow him to scoot over, leaning forward to minimize the chat window and zoom in on a contractual document, written in a font size in the single-digits. He met your eyes

You took a deep breath and sealed your fates with a nod.

“Where do we sign?”

The devil worked hard, but apparently the scheduling team for Split Shift worked harder. Less than a week later, the two of you were arriving at the studio at the crack of dawn, for what promised to be a grueling day of filming. The process began two blocks before the filming lot, a two-man crew driving out to meet in an adjacent parking lot. You and Shouto were each asked to step out of the car in order to have a microphone pack strapped and secured beneath your clothing. They also hooked a small portable camera to the dashboard, to “capture your authentic reactions to arriving on-set.”

In a mutual act of defiance, you and Shouto remained dead-silent for the remaining two blocks. It was a welcome respite, especially given that it seemed those silences would be few and far between for the rest of the day.

Two steps out of the car and you were being accosted by a human gale-force. She arrived in a cloud of cherry-scented perfume, and wasted no time in handing over the two smoothies she was carrying. The badge pinned smartly to her dark blazer read “Noujuu Yōko”.

You’d just barely opened your mouth to offer a ‘thank you’, but the woman barely spared a glance before she turned and circled a finger in the air to follow.

“You’re seven minutes late.”

“Your crew was delayed and there were a number of road closures en route.” Shouto fell in line, his cooler hand lacing with your free one, “We weren’t—“

“—I sent a reminder email at 2:45 AM with these details. Your coordinator should have shared them.”

You watched as a notch appeared in your partner’s brow, a subtle display of his annoyance. Before he could retort, you broke in with a small laugh that felt as awkward and forced as it sounded.

“Sorry about that.” you said, “This is all… very new.”

You didn’t receive a response, nor at this point were you particularly expecting one. Avoiding the wires criss-crossing the asphalt while keeping up with her brisk pace was taking enough effort, anyways. Unfortunately, an experimental sip of the smoothie in your hand revealed that it tasted like chalk.

“Don’t feel the need to apologize.” Shouto murmured, as you slowed your pace. This close, notes of mint and jasmine stood out in his cologne as he leaned over to murmur to you, “She’s just high-strung. They can film and record as they like, now— I’ve already seen a camera following us, from the right. They’re looking for reactions.”

“So, no public meltdowns— got it.” you smiled weakly, a chill going up your spine at the prospect of indirectly being ‘on-air’.

Yōko led the way back to the first of the sound stages as she explained that Split Shift was filmed in a “psychologically-backed” sequence. The core of that process was candid footage, occasionally guided by interviews.

“You’ll be interviewing throughout the day, both separately and together.” she explained, at the door, “At midday, we’ll have a thirty-minute lunch, and a touch-up with hair and makeup. The afternoon will then be dedicated to wrapping up the heroics case.”

“The… what?” you asked, glancing at Shouto, “Is there something you’re supposed to look into?”

“Not that I am aware of.” Shouto said, “Although I assume, based on the increasing number of cameras that have tracked us here, that this is meant to be some kind of dramatic twist.”

It took you a moment to begin to spot them— angled around corners, hidden in the shrubbery and eaves of the soundstage. There was even a drone flying overhead, high up enough to muffle the whine of its motors. Apprehension bloomed in your chest, counting at least fifteen cameras, knowing there were likely more.

The tone Shouto adopted was pure apathy— but you knew it as a defense mechanism, to hide the anger he hated to show.

“Is there a particular direction you’d like us to face, to express our shock?” he said.

Yōko’s chartreuse eyes narrowed in a silent declaration of war.

“This way will be fine.”

In the next instant, a loud metallic screech made you jump. Whirling around, you realized that the garage door of the warehouse was opening, and although you couldn’t see much through the gloom, the sun’s rays did catch off another two camera lenses, at least.

“We’ve made a few changes on set.” Yōko had to raise her voice to speak over the shuffle of the film crew as they filled in the space, the descending screech of the drone, “Audiences used to prefer viewing the world of heroes at street-level, through the eyes of those they loved most. Now, they want to experience it, for themselves.”

You weren’t looking at her, though, or any of the multitudes of cameras. Instead, your gaze was focused on the mannequin angled in the center of the sound stage, and dressed in a disconcerting blend of lycra and tactical gear— specifically an all-too-familiar vest and utility belt.

Yōko’s voice rang out behind you, sending a chill up your spine as the full scope of what you had gotten yourself into began to click into place.

“So, [Last Name] [First Name]. Are you ready to become a hero?”

[spooky-bunnys]

Bonten didn't know what to do right now. (Name) has been letting off extremely sour pheromones all day. Sanzu wasn't here yet, so they knew he was more likely the reason behind it.

But when he came in? They could figure out what was going on, from the scent coming off him. It was a female Omega in heat. The scent was practically rolling off the Alpha. It didn't take them long to add it together.

Especially since (Name) had asked Bonten, to keep them separated. From the broken look he had, and the way he avoided Sanzu. They knew exactly what happened, Sanzu had cheated on his Omega.

They knew it wasn't there business, but the sour smell was getting to be too much. "Hey (Name), could you do us a favor and get lunch? We were thinking (favorite food)." The Omega slightly perked up at the mention of his favorite food.

As Bonten's secretary/personal assistant, (Name) was always running errands for the gang members. When (Name) had gotten everyone's orders, as he quickly left, Mikey sent Kokonoi with him. For "insurance" purposes.

Once the Omega was out of the building, the others turned and started at the bubblegum hair Alpha. "What?" They continued to stare. "What did you do?" The Alpha shrugged. "We had a fight last night. So I went to the club and stayed there." Mikey gave him a blank look.

"What'd you fight about? Your cheating problem, or your drug problem?" Sanzu looked shocked. "How'd you-?" Takeomi cut him off with an annoyed look. "We can smell the Omega on you. It's like you fucking bathed in the scent." Sanzu shuffled uncomfortably.

"Does that mean-" "He knows dumbass." Sanzu flinched. "I-I didn't mean-" Rindou cut him off this time. "You didn't mean to cheat? You were high? Listen druggie, if you cheat drunk or high, it's still cheating." Sanzu frowned. "He'll come back. He always does."

Ran coughed out a laugh. "You do know Kokonoi is already trying to shoot his shot right?" Sanzu froze. "What?" Kakucho shared a look with Mikey. "Sanzu did you seriously not know? Everything you fuck up, Kokonoi is there to comfort him."

Sanzu growled standing up. "He's after my Omega!" Mochi rolled his eyes and huffed. "He's not your Omega anymore. Haven't you been to your office? He left his courting collar and extra key on your desk." Sanzu quickly dashed out of the meeting room, practically tearing his office door off its hinges.

There they were sitting on top of his paper work. The collar Sanzu had given (Name) when they stared to court, and beside that the extra key to his penthouse. Sanzu's heart broke. He softly grabbed the items. Was (Name) truly done with him?

The other members shook their heads. "He had a wonderful Omega, and he just completely fucks it up." The others nodded. "I don't know why (Name) dealt with it for so long honestly." Ran had a thinking face. His brother shrugged. "Maybe (Name) truly loved him. I don't see how, but maybe he did and was hoping he'd change."

Takeomi sighed. He brother threw away the best relationship he could've ever had. The other listened carefully hearing Sanzu destroy his office. Mikey shook his head. "He did this to himself. Nobody to blame but him. Anyways back to the meeting."

They continued the meeting only stopping, when (Name) brought them lunch. They noticed how cheerful he was, the sour scent now gone. It made them feel better. Although from the winde grin Kokonoi had, they could guess why (Name)'s mood was better.

They were glad, he didn't deserve to get hurt. He deserved happiness and love. (Name) happily talked about the adventure he and Kokonoi had. Ignoring the fact that Bonten's 2nd was missing. Which they didn't say anything about.

Until he talked about the car chase they had.

[honorarysimp]

9: Cold Soles, Lost Souls

series masterlist

Two months.

It’s been two months since that gathering, since you collectively set all responsibilities and beliefs to the side to fight alongside people you barely know.

Against something you can’t even touch.

Two more people have gone missing, it’s the two men who’d volunteered to scour the bottom of the lake to find Wes, it makes you sick.

The water is truly tainted.

That’s one thing that’s consistent, like clockwork, one disappearance per month.

Everyone is working day and night for a solution, but it seems there isn’t one.

You and Tara have gone through everything, everything. So have Dewey and Sam.

You begin to question everything, disgusted with the fact that you understand now why nothing has been done.

Let’s look at the facts:

This thing uses water as its source of power, the lake to be more specific. It feeds once a month, chances are you’re more likely to be taken if you’ve touched the water.

You can’t stop everyone’s heart every time this thing puts a target on someone’s back, and that’s if you manage to catch the signs early.

It comes and goes when it wants. For however long it wants. No reason for who it picks. It wants the whole town, for why? Tara says it’s probably some nature spirit ‘been-here-longer-than-you’ bullshit.

You laughed, Sam didn’t.

The documents Sidney had aren’t much, majorly town historical documents dating back to when it was founded. Mentions of the lake having underground channels beneath town, thanks to blueprints from the town’s original Public Works layout.

It’s like a spiderweb, probably not completely accurate since the blueprints are older than any of you, and there’s no telling if they’ve grown or gotten bigger over time.

With those facts into consideration, it leads to more questions.

Theres one thing you do know, you can’t fucking stand Stu.

Surprisingly, Billy leaves you well alone. He plays his role as a good husband to Sidney, he lingers a lot now that you’re more present. Well, you and the Carpenter sisters.

Stu actively likes pushing your buttons, whispering warnings to you, trying to antagonize you, as if he wants to see you pop off the handle.

You know he’s only desperate for something, you see how he can’t stand seeing Billy dote on Sidney as if the ground she walks on is blessed.

You also know it’s all bullshit. But, it’s nuclear warfare, and you know you could easily drop this information at any point. However, one brown haired, brown eyed, freckled first responder has you keeping your mouth shut.

For now at least you do, you don’t want to put her at risk. Sam too, you’re pretty sure you’re friends at this point. Regardless you’ve already put Tara through enough, and Sam seems to agree as she just… never speaks of it.

Tara is a raging ball of spitfire any time either men look at you, and to be honest, you kind of like how she gets when she’s angry.

Especially when it’s not directed at you.

It’s another late night, Tara and Sam had left a while ago to grab some food from the diner, for once you find yourself alone with the Mayor.

You’re yet again going through town records, bags under your eyes more prominent than ever, the coffee mug off to the side long cold.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to give you the answers you need right now.

A fireplace crackles softly in the corner, providing a welcome source of warmth on the cold night, as well as a silence filler in between pauses of conversation.

The flickering light from the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, mockery of an innocence that doesn’t exist.

“How’d you know?” You find yourself asking, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

Sidney looks up at you, she looks fairly exhausted herself, but she wears it well. You write it down as years of practice from blindsiding and polished by a talent for withholding information.

“Know what?”

“Jill said her aunt was the one who told them you had to stop your heart for that thing to let you go” you follow up, forearms dropping to the table as your eyes meet hers across the table.

Sidney hums, nodding absently, tiredly.

“I’d been marked. Like you, like Kirby. Like the others. I’d been having the nightmares, waking up with gashes, seeing things that weren’t there. We all were the superstitious bunch, we stayed away from the lake. Except… that doesn’t exactly keep you safe does it?”

You sit up straighter in your seat, your muscles aching from sitting still for too long. You’d asked Sidney this question before, she’d give you a ‘now isn’t the time’ response.

“There was another one of us, in our group, he found the method. He never said how, or why, but we were desperate. People were disappearing left and right, it was a bad time. We’d already so lost people close to us, friends and family. As you’ve learned, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The Mayor's forehead was creased with a frown, her fingers rubbing at her temples in a vain attempt to ease the tension of a headache she was sporting.

You incline your head slightly, brow furrowed with a bit of curiosity, “what was his name?”

The ghost of a sad smile tugs at her lips, her eyes flicking up to meet yours again “Randy Meeks, I’m pretty sure you’ve had the pleasure of meeting his niece and nephew, friends of Tara’s.”

You sit up a bit straighter at the recollection. You hadn’t seen either of them since Wes’s disappearance, you know Tara has been in touch with and seen them. But you wouldn’t be surprised if not as much lately, all things considered.

“Randy, he… was the last one I was ever sure could find a solution. Before he up and left town right after saving my life, he didn’t even stick around for graduation” Sidney begins to explain, wringing her fingers atop the table as her gaze gets cloudy, staring off at nothing specific “no one has seen him since, and out of respect for my… oldest friend, I never bothered him. I owe him my life after all.”

“He just… left? That’s it? You never tried to find him? Bullshit.”

She glances off again, clenching her jaw, “I don’t blame him for running alright? We all should have, but this place? It sucks you in and you just- you don’t leave.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair “super reassuring, thanks-“

“Don’t be a smartass” Sidney cuts you off, stern expression on her face, “I would never force Randy back here, he left for a reason and I will always respect that.”

A pause, and then “even if it means never knowing why he left? You’re okay living with that?”

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the faint crackling of the fire and the quiet breathing between the two of you.

Sidney is giving you a hard look, “you go find him then, ask him yourself.”

You laugh, dryly, because it’s not actually funny “what?”

“It’s what you do, it’s what you signed up for. Find missing people? Find Randy, find out how he learned about the method, maybe it’ll give us something-“

“Are you fucking kidding me? You do it” you shoot back, crossing your arms, “he’s your friend, he saved your life, don’t you think he’d wanna see you after all this time?”

Sidney looks away, and you can tell there’s more to it. There’s more to what happened back then, why she never went looking for him.

And then, a thought occurs to you. It hits you hard in the face, so hard you can’t believe you didn’t see it sooner.

“Is Randy the reason you’re allowing your husband to have an affair?”

For a moment she looks horrified, and you think you’d misread your conclusions, but then her expression falls and her shoulders slump.

“Billy… walked in on us together. Not that it’s any of your business, but Billy and I were dating at the time. I didn’t learn about him and Stu until about three years ago, I never said anything because, well… it made sense honestly.”

Your brow furrows as you lean forward, “and that makes it okay for him to sleep around with someone else? Sidney-“

“You don’t get to judge me” she cuts you off, expression cold and hard “I love him and support him, he’s all I have after-“

She stops when her voice cracks, steeling herself, “Randy left, Billy is here. Stu has been a good friend-“

“They buried me alive, Sidney” you blurt out, horrified by the revelation that had escaped you.

Only, she seems to take it metaphorically “I get it, I appreciate you keeping this to yourself but this secret doesn’t have to bury anyone.”

“No, that’s not what-“

“Just let it be, okay? That way everyone is happy” Sidney says, which has you looking at her in complete bafflement.

Her denial, delusion, runs so deep that it physically hurts you. Even if you sat here and tried to tell her anything, she won’t accept it.

“You’re not hearing me out-“

“The only thing that matters is ending this thing for good, Randy may be a key in solving this” Sidney says, more resolute as she completely steps around what you’d been talking about.

“Sidney-“

“That’s Mayor, Detective” she corrects you, completely shutting you down now, leaving you slumped in your chair and dumbfound.

She’s giving you nothing, and you’re practically hitting brick walls, so you just… drop it.

Sam and Tara will have a field day on this one.

“Fine, but if your psychopath for a husband comes near my friends I’ll kill him myself” you say lowly, pushing up to your feet, making the chair groan and protest as it scrapes against the wooden floor.

You aren’t capable of much physically, considering the fact you aren’t much of a fighter, however… the thought of someone bringing harm to Tara or Sam makes you feel a level of unhinged fury that scares even you.

Sidney jolts in surprise at your abrupt action, mouth opening to speak but she’s clearly taken aback, you don’t give her the chance as you walk out briskly.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, and mind racing. You exit the town hall, your breaths uneven as you fish your phone out of your pocket. You pull up Tara’s contact, then hesitate. She’s with Sam. And you’re not entirely in the mood for a grilling from her for word vomiting.

So you head for your car and shoot Tara a quick text, letting her know to meet you at your hotel room when they finish up.

By the time you get settled, boot up your laptop, and start digging, your phone chimes with a reply from Tara.

You pause and grab it, not even getting a chance to open it before there’s a knock on the door. A moment later, it opens, by the graces of the spare room key you’d given her weeks ago.

“Do I even want to ask?” Tara starts, a plastic bag dangling from her hand as she bumps the door shut with her foot behind her.

“I’ll explain on the way” is all you offer, eyeing the bag over your shoulder as you return your attention to your computer, typing in a few more commands “those leftovers for me?”

“Explain what?” Tara asks, walking over and dropping the bag on to the desk to your right, you feel her grab the back of your chair from behind you and lean to look over your shoulder.

Her eyes scan the screen as you write down the address you’d found, “Randy Meeks? Like, as in Chad and Mindy’s uncle? What-“

“Explain on the way, no time” you say as you stand, shoving the paper into your pocket as you scoop the bag of food and turn to her, “Sam?”

“With Danny, I convinced her that just because we might all die doesn’t mean she can’t work on her commitment issues” Tara says as she heads for the door, making you cast her a curious look as you reach around her to open it for you both.

“Danny? Who the hell has the balls to date your drill Sargent of a sister-“

“You’ve got questions, I’ve got questions. You show me yours, I show you mine how about that” Tara shrugs far too casually, somehow finding a bit of humor as she exits, making you laugh through under your breath as you follow.

“Perv.”

____________________________________________

Finding Randy was the easy part.

Getting him to open the door is the hard part.

When Tara bangs her fist against the apartment door once more, aggressive and irritated, you’re about ninety percent sure it’s on the cusp of being kicked in by her.

“He might not be home-“

“He is home. And I’ve got some fucking questions-“ another hard slam of her fist against the door, “-that need answering.”

You purse your lips, glancing down the hall both ways. No one had come out to complain, or yell, or anything. But then again with the area you’d found the complex in… you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone tends to mind their business around these parts.

“COME ON! WHAT WOULD CHAD AND MINDY THINK, HUH ASSHOLE?!” Tara shouts, and as much as you admire her dedication and persistence because yes - you’re in the same boat with your frustration at the lack of your progress thusfar - but your fairly sure threatening the man won’t do any good.

That, and bringing up his family he’s neglected all these years.

Tara looks to you, angry, as if it’s your fault. You quickly raise your hands and take a slight step away from her, expecting a punch to the arm as you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Maybe we should go-“

“Not happening” Tara says sternly, looking back to the door, “if anything I’m getting answers for my friends.”

She raises her fist, unrelenting, but it freezes mid air as the sound of a chain sliding followed by a bolt unlatching can be heard from within. You both take a step back as the door finally opens.

A man, goatee and tousled hair, peers at you both through the crack of the door. He looks wary, distrusting, and tense.

“You’ve got five seconds before I call the police for harassment-“

“How’d you know to stop a heart to get Ghostface to release a victim?” You say bluntly, exhausted with your patience and blunt with the reason you’re here.

Almost instantly he reacts, his eyes widen in fear at the question, and he tries to slam the door shut. But you’re quick, reflexes sharp. You manage to shove the door open before the man could close it, and for a moment you get a jolt of deja vú.

But your patience is clearly wearing thin, and this time you’re not alone in the face of confrontation. Your expression hard as you take a step inside the apartment, forcing Randy to move back.

"Answer the question, Randy" you demand, voice cold and uncompromising.

As Randy scrambled backwards, he makes a desperate attempt to pull out a gun hidden in his waistband. You panic, because you’re not a fighter, instinctively moving to stand in front of Tara as you reach for your own weapon. But to your disbelief, Tara is quicker than you both. She lunges forward before Randy can aim the gun, disarming him in a swift, practiced motion.

The move was almost too easy, a testament to quick reflexes and skill. You watch in complete awe as Tara held the gun in her hand, her eyes trained on Randy who now looks even more terrified, blubbering a quick “okay! Okay! Jesus Christ let’s just relax man-“

With a smooth, practiced movement, you watch Tara remove the magazine from the gun and releases the bullet from the chamber. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses the gun aside, her gaze never leaving Randy’s as it clatters across the wooden floor and out of sight.

You’re not really sure what to do with the way that makes you feel, but goddamn.

“Dude” is all you can say, which has her bravado falter, those brown eyes flicking over to you as she simply offers a shrug, a pink tint rising to her cheeks.

“My sister is a cop, you seriously think she didn’t force me to learn self defense?”

You don’t question it, turning back to Randy and plastering on a more professional and unyielding look.

Your voices cold as you repeat the question. "I'll ask again. How did you know that the entity releases its target victim when the heart stops?"

Randy raises his hands in surrender, his eyes wide and panicked. "I.. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about," he stammers, his voice shaking.

You see right through his lies, and so does Tara who couldn't hold back a scoff. "Bullshit," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Your calm facade cracks, giving way to a wave of anger and frustration. You clench your fists at your sides, eyes narrowing as you spoke.

"Do you have any idea how many innocent people have been lost in the void because you were too goddamn afraid to come home and help? I mean, you clearly know more about this thing than the rest of us” you snap, voice harsh.

Randy’s expression darkens, his own anger flaring to match yours. "You just don't get it!" he exclaimed, his voice growing louder. "I can't come back! It won't let me!"

He takes a step forward, his eyes glinting with a manic light. "You think I just chose to disappear? To stay away from my family? You have no idea what I've been through, the torment I've endured! The sacrifices I’ve made!”

“Enlighten us then, Randy” you say firmly, unwavering as you stare him down.

He shakes his head as he turns, storming further into the apartment. You follow, Tara one step behind you. You both watch him after a brief search beneath a loose floorboard in his living room, he pulls out a weathered old book. It looked ancient, the pages yellowed and the cover warped.

The atmosphere in the room shifts almost instantly, a sudden sense of unease rippling through the air. The energy in the room suddenly warps, the air becoming thick with an heavy, oppressive aura. The old book in the man's hands seemed to radiate an almost sinister energy.

"This..." he said, his voice quivering with disgust as he held the book out. "This fucking cursed book. It all started when I picked it up. That's when it smudged me."

Both you and Tara exchange a puzzled glance at Randy’s words. Tara is the first to speak up, her eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean, smudged?" she asks, her voice laced with confusion.

Randy grimaces, his grip on the book tightening, as if his personal vendetta against it makes him wish he could tear it to pieces. "Smudging," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a term I use to describe what happens when you touch this goddamn book. It attaches some kind of bad energy to you, or something, tainting your very essence. Ghostface can sense it.”

Randy’s eyes darken as he recounts his harrowing experience. "Any time I’d get within a five-mile radius of town, that thing would comes for me, man," he said, his voice quivering. "It's like it can sense where I am, like it's tracking me down. It's brutal. Rageful. Unstoppable. I can hear it, feel it, even when I'm asleep. You thought you knew what a nightmare was before? Think again. It's always there, in my subconscious, watching me."

Uneasy, you ask, "What exactly is this book? And how did you find it?"

Randy’s eyes flick to the book, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "I don't know exactly what it is, but it speaks of the entity. It’s how I learned the method" he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I just... I found it. Out in the woods. Just laying there, waiting to be found."

Your instincts tell you Randy is holding something back, that there is more to the story than him conveniently stumbling across the book. You lean in, gaze intense, and press for an answer.

"You’re a shitty liar, you're not telling us everything," you said, voice firm. "Where did you really find the book?"

Randy shifts uneasily but stood his ground. "I can't tell you," he repeats, his tone defiant. "It's... safer for everyone if you don't know."

“Why don’t you just tell us what’s inside it then?” Tara prompts, “I mean, you have read it? Right? So just-“

“No” Randy firmly shakes his head, eyes hard and unwavering, “reading from it only makes it worse, I need you to understand the severity of this thing.”

Despite your initial skepticism, you relent for now. But as Randy continued, a warning in his voice, the tension in the room thickened.

"You need to understand," Randy says, his eyes boring into yours. "Once you touch this book, there's no going back. The more you read, the more of a threat you become. The more of a threat you become? The more determined it will be to kill you. The entity will be able to sense you, to track you. You'll be smudged, just like I am."

Randy then held the book out, offering it to you. "Look, you want it? Take it," he said, his voice trembling. "But you have to understand, man. Once you have this book, you're fucked. Ghostface will come for you like it did me. You'll never know peace again. You sure you want your hands on this thing?"

You hesitate, knowing the burden that will come with possessing the ominous tome that promises answers.

But at what cost?

Randy’s warning echoes in your ears, the implications clear. This book is more than just aged paper and ink. It’s a cursed artifact, a beacon for the entity that has been stalking and terrorizing this town like a predator for decades now.

But the need for answers burns deep within you. You need to know more about the entity, to better understand what exactly it is and perhaps find a way to defeat it.

Your hand hovers in the air above the book, almost touching the leather-bound cover. But just as you’re about to grasp it, Tara snags your arm, her grip tight.

"Wait," she said, her eyes wide with worry. "You can't just take it! Are you crazy? You don’t even know if it’ll be worth it! Don’t make what I did be for nothing.”

You look at her, sympathy in your gaze. You know her concern is genuine, but you also know you have no other choice. Randy is locked up like a fortress, you’re lucky enough he’s terrified of it this book to pass it off to you.

Hell, lucky probably isn’t the right word to use.

"What other options do we have?" You mutter, voice gentle yet firm. "People's lives are at risk here, and we've been making zero progress for the past few months. We can't keep running in circles. We need this book, no matter the cost."

“Not when the cost could be your life” Tara says firmly, the look in her eyes makes something in your chest ache. You know why she’s against this, it’s the same reason you’re doing this.

“And if it’s you next? Or Sam? Or Chad and Mindy?” You push, knowing it’s a low blow but you remind her there are other people at stake.

Tara’s expression softens, the fear in her eyes replaced by a flicker of resignation. She knows you’re right. You’re desperate, and there are no other options.

But then Tara looks to Randy, her expression a mix of frustration and empathy. "You've already been smudged," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The book has done its damage. You can't hide from it forever. And your family... they need you. Sidney needs you. You can't keep running away, leaving them in the dark like this. Help us.”

The moment he registers Sidney’s name, his entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. He looks at Tara, utterly defeated with deeply rooted conflict in his eyes, torn between the danger entailed and the promise of potentially being able to go home.

In this moment, you find a bit of clarity. Randy left because he cares too much, took a risk and sacrificed his entire life for the woman he loved and his family. But he is also a man with scars, a damaged man with cold feet, a man with years of wear and tear on his lost soul. Cracks in foundation that can’t be filled, and it shows as he slowly resolves his moment of vulnerability, those walls building back up faster than they came down.

Randy bristles at her words, his expression darkening. "You can take the book or you can get the hell out of here," he said, his voice cold. "But I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here, where it's safe."

The situation had suddenly grown hostile, the tension thick in the air. You lay a restraining hand on Tara’s that still grips your arm, your eyes conveying a silent message. This wasn’t worth a fight, not when the book possibly offers some sort of answers.

Clearly still against it, and frustrated with the lack of cooperation from Randy, Tara pull her hand from you and turns away with a shake of her head. Jaw clenched and face stricken with rebuke.

The room is filled with a palpable suffocating pressure, the decision weighing heavily on you all. The risk of taking the book, of drawing the entity's attention, is real. But at the thought of Tara, her safety, you rationalize that’s more important than anything. You remind yourself that you only came back to solve this to ensure she would be okay. You’d already concluded a while ago that you would do anything, risk anything, to ensure she is safe.

With a mix of grim determination and trepidation, you slowly reach out and grasp the book. The moment your fingers touch the worn leather, you feel a sudden wave of unease wash over you. The room seems to press in around you, and the air grew thick with a pervasive sense of dread.

Randy wasn’t kidding, this is fucking heavy.

The book seemed to thrum with an unknowable energy, and you feel its malevolent presence, like a dark shadow lurking at the edge of your perception.

A single thought is brought to the forefront of your mind, loud and harsh as it bounces around in your head like an echo through a dark chasm.

This action will have consequences.

previous, next

[gatorbites-imagines]

Y’think we could get more of The Deep and his gills? Some sort of gill worship? Or maybe he cums from only having his gills played with. His gills have me in a chokehold too honestly. I’m a real sucker for the guys whimpering and making all kinds of noise too. Your work is great man, keep it up!

Kevin Moskowitz/The Deep x male reader

Headcanons

There’s just something about gills, huh.

I know canonically its uncomfortable for someone to touch or finger Kevin’s gills, but lets completely ignore this for the stories sake. Let’s say they’re just extra sensitive on the inside instead.

Kevin didn’t know how sensitive his gills truly were before you two started dating. They had always just been a part of his body that he was quite insecure about and always tried to hide. It led to him always wearing shirts, no matter what.

You never demanded to know exactly why he never took his shirt off, even when you cuddled or slept together. You wanted to leave it up to him to decide when he was ready to talk about whatever was bothering him.

It would probably take a few months before Kevin felt secure enough to show you, and its most likely a spur of the moment kind of thing, where he just tells you he has something to show you and takes his shirt off.

He will expect you to look at him in disgust, maybe even verbalize how gross he looks, but to his surprise you just smile and thank him for showing you.

Maybe you even brush your hands down his side, gracing your palm over the outer part of his gills and telling him they just make him look more attractive.

After that it would take even longer before either of you ever actually thought about using his gills for anything, since you both assumed it would hurt a lot to do so.

That is until Kevin somehow gets something stuck inside his gills after a mission or similar, where he ends up in The Sevens private bathroom, his shirt off and his fingers skirting around the edge of his gills.

Kevin would struggle if he should actually do it, scared that it’ll hurt. But whatever is stuck in his gills is annoying and bothers him, so he finally pushes his gloved fingers into the slit of his gills and wriggles them about to get whatever is bothering him.

To Kevin’s surprise it doesn’t hurt, far from it actually. He immediately has to clamp his free hand over his mouth as his eyes roll back, his knees growing so weak he has to sit down as his gills clamp down on his fingers.

When he finally comes to his senses a bit, he keeps working to get out the thing that’s annoying him, choking back his whimpers and moans as he does, struggling to stay quiet the entire time.

When he succeeds in getting the item out, he just sits there panting, rock hard in his tight pants and his hands shaking softly in his lap at how good that had felt. Kevin feels too ashamed to push his fingers back into his gills though, even though it had felt so good, so instead he just waits for his hardon to lessen and he hurries back to your shared apartment.

After that Kevin would try and act like nothing had happened, but his head would be full of fantasies featuring his new discovery, and you being the one to touch him.

You would notice how he seems less insecure about his torso nowadays, as he covers his upper body a lot less than before now. But you just assume its because he feels more secure in your relationship and in the fact that you won’t judge him.

Kevin would never be able to muster up the courage to tell you during any normal day, so its probably in the heat of the moment he spills the beans. You would be getting down and dirty, maybe him riding you after you’ve gone multiple rounds already. He would be close, and his head would fall back, and he would beg you to shove your fingers into his gills.

You would freeze up in confusion, which would make Kevin realize what he said, and he would be horrified and embarrassed and would immediately start sputtering and trying to make up an excuse, say that he was joking, or play it off like a spur of the moment kind of thing.

But whilst he’s trying to play it off, you look closer and notice how he seemed to have tightened up at the idea of you doing that, and looking at his gills you can see him fluttering, like just the idea of you doing what he had asked excited him.

So, whilst he’s babbling you reach up and push just the tip of your finger into his gills, causing Kevin to whimper and stop dead in his talking, his face going bright red as he looks at you.

When he doesn’t say anything to stop you, you push the rest of your finger into his gills, curling it in a way that has Kevin aching his back and crying out in pleasure. That night you only use one or two fingers, but Kevin has never been so loud and sensitive before.

When you realize just how much Kevin likes to have his gills played with, there is no end to it. It becomes one of the way you two have quickies, since it just feels so good for Kevin and you like watching him.

Its not unusual for you to show up to The Sevens meetings as Kevin’s partner, or different kinds of meetups and alike where Kevin needs to go. When you can see Kevin dissociating or when he just stops paying attention or gets a little too cocky, you’ll pull him away to “give him a break”

But instead of a break you pull him into a hidden corner or bathroom and push your fingers up under his shirt and up into his gills, moving them about until Kevin is a gasping mess.

He always has to clamp both his hands over his mouth to try to stay quiet, though it is extremely difficult for him, especially if you’ve got both your hands up under his shirt and inside him.

It always results in Kevin humping your thigh or the air as you make him cum from just that, at times you even have to kiss him to stop him from crying out loudly from the pleasure it gives him.

After cleaning him up Kevin will go back to whatever you pulled him away from, everyone none the wiser to what just happened. Except for maybe Homelander, that guy could hear and smell everything, but he just looks at you guys with disgust in his eyes. As long as it makes The Deep a more marketable hero, he doesn’t care.

[epiclamer]

Villain is DEFINITELY NOT SICK and as they are in a fight with Hero, wounded and exhausted, they collapse with fever and Hero is “obligated” to help them.

Villain proceeds to insist they don’t need help, you take the plot from there :)

DEFINITELY NOT SICK—

Definitely Not Sick

Villain would be the first to tell you that if you got sick, you could just push through it.

Villain was also a criminal.

Moral is; you should not trust a single word that comes out of their mouth.

Hero knew that, they recited it to themselves through every battle and every discussion. Constantly replaying it in their head to distract from any lingering and easily manipulatable thoughts. If Villain got a hold of one of those, it meant they had an opening.

With an opening, one could be tricked. One could be killed in this line of work.

Hero never let that opportunity present itself.

Except now, as they stared at the sweaty, hyperventilating and delusional villain on the ground, they couldn’t keep their facade on any longer. Letting their mind chant drop just enough to slow their movements to a stop.

It was dangerous. That, Hero knew. But they also refused to believe that someone could fake the fever shakes and hallucinations.

Honestly, if Villain was faking, Hero deserved to be caught. The criminal had earned it with this performance.

“Villain?”

The other didn’t respond, struggling to even push themselves to their hands and knees. Grunting and wheezing in pain and overexertion as they attempted to get back up.

“Villain, this isn’t funny.” Still no answer. “If this is some sick joke to hone my compassion, it’s not working.”

False. It was working. Very well actually.

The criminal did nothing but pant heavily in response, head bowed to the ground as they swayed on their knees. They only lasted another three seconds before their inevitable collapse.

Hero’s initial instincts finally kicking in as they rushed forwards, picking up the villain from the ground, cradling them in their arms. The crime-stopper waited for a moment, suddenly all of their anxieties rushing back and they were immediately set on edge, but nothing happened.

Villain didn’t pop up and strangle them, nor did they stab a knife through their chest. No, they stayed completely limp, nothing but a few groans indicated their sign of life.

At first, it was relieving. That they hadn’t been duped and weren’t facing their imminent death because of a kind gesture. Then they were terrified once more. Something was severely wrong with the villain. They were hot to the touch yet out cold, babbling nonsense yet entirely unconscious.

It didn’t make any sense.

The criminal was the strong and stoic character. Never blinking, never faltering and most definitely never holding back when it came to a fight.

Half the time Hero came home looking like they had just gone through an incinerator with built in katanas. Villain was definitely the last person they expected to collapse sick with a fever at their feet.

In fact, Hero had done nothing but scoff when they trapped the villain in the alleyway and they had mumbled something about “not feeling good”. They had expected a practical joke, not whatever this was.

They shook their head, they didn’t have time to battle with their inner turmoil of thoughts at the moment, Villain was at death’s door. They needed to act, and fast.

One hand releasing its hold on the villain, as it wrapped around to grab the emergency provisions water bottle on their belt. It was tiny, probably about the size of a can of pepper-spray, but it was for emergencies, which was exactly what was going on.

Flipping open the cap, Hero took off their mask.

Stupid decision number one.

Dumping all of their water onto the fabric as it soaked it up quickly. It made for a good makeshift cold cloth to press against the criminal’s forehead.

Wiping down their enemy’s face with it to try and cool them down. Truly, it seemed to help if even just a little.

They made the quick decision of deciding to leave the once-over for when they got some place more discreet. If they were to go ripping at the other’s suit in broad daylight, someone might just find them in an unexplainable predicament.

But from the sticky substance that coated their fingers through the villain’s shirt, Hero knew they had to be quick with a safe location.

It couldn’t be a hospital or friend’s house, nor the heroes base or an abandoned structure. None of those options were inherently safe.

It would have to be their place.

Stupid decision number two.

Treating the villain properly would take up the rest of their pay-check for the month. But if they didn’t do it they would die.

A sacrifice could be made for their favourite nemesis, right?

Stupid decision number three.

So, they began their excruciatingly long walk home. And the hero prayed that whatever Villain had was fixable with a home remedy.

[yellowbluemoonshine]

Toga & Dabi Relationship;

Lets take a moment for Toga and Dabi’s relationship. Unlike the fanon idea, canon Toga-Dabi wasnt as good as now and they actually disliked each others a lot and this is why i find it interesting the later interaction they have.

At the start when they met Shigaraki, despite the fact that both of them had interest in Stain, it was completely opposite reasons. Toga for her own type, Dabi for his ideals. Toga who always honest to herself and Dabi who who always deny his feelings. You would think they are complete opposite but actually, they are similar in core. Because in the end, both of them was driven by personal feelings. Toga for idea of love and Dabi for revenge.

Shigaraki, Dabi, Toga. They had that ‘i will kill you’ moment when they met but at least, their relationship with Shigaraki changed, not much later. Every decision Shigaraki made, the fact that he made league, that he gave a speech about messed up society, and later actually become a leader, accept them, treat them with care and respect, even later to save them etc etc. With every move he made, Shigaraki eventually won their heart one by one or all together. He gained Dabi’s respect and Toga’s care.

But that wasnt the case between Toga and Dabi, really. Just because they are in same group doesnt mean that they are super close, after all. He constantly look down her and call her crazy. To him, she is just crazy and thats it. And Toga, of course, dislikes anyone who doesnt accept her.

Toga vs Dabi Smash Bonus;

-Before the match-

Toga: Dabi, you are not cute.

Dabi: Yeah, I agree.

-Toga wins-

Toga: I wanna go home. You’re annoying.

-Before the match-  

Dabi: You’ve got a few screws loose, y’know.

Toga: Uh-huh, and that’s fine!

-Dabi wins-

Dabi: See? We don’t need you.

Source.

Of course,  even their dynamic change since legaue is home for them. Toga tease him and worry about his wounds while Dabi seems to be a little softer to her than before. (He is smilling, unlike before). Like sibling dynamic.

I always thought that Toga and Dabi are the ‘selfish’ ones in the group when it comes to working together or doing things for the sake of group because they both always focus on doing their own things more than doing thigns for group. Compare this to other members;

Shigaraki is literally leader and despite the fact that he doesnt have to, he does his best to making their wishes come true. Twice is too who always live for the sake of group. Even Mr compress, he also has his own goal too but still, he become the caretaker of the bunch of children in a sense. Spinner isnt really much a caretaker of group but still, he follows his leader and after Twice’s death, he is the one who try to put the group together. I think, compared to them, Toga and Dabi didnt realize that how lucky they are to have their this weird family, until they loose it. After Shigaraki is gone (and Mr Compress too), and especially after Twice’s death.

I think thats when Toga and Dabi’s relationship truly changed because Dabi changed his perspective of her. The way she reacts to Twice’s death like that shows that she cared, that she is not just selfish crazy girl.

And later, Dabi most likely saw Toga’s home. How she was forgotten, abandonded, just like him. Maybe first time he ever really related to her and he reach out to her, comforting him by burning her house, giving Twice’s blood and telling her to smile. Thats also the first time he calls her with her name, i think. Look at Toga’s warm smile, how happy she is.

And we later see in official picture that Toga imitates Dabi’s frankeinstein move and Dabi softly smile. Note; Toga only imitate people she loves.

And later, they work together, to not let heroes forget about sad man’s parade. Of course MVP is Spinner and he did a lot but i love their character developments too. We also see Dabi’s first time saying ‘we’, not just ‘him’ because its not just about him anymore. Its about them and what society did to them.

Personally, i never thought their interaction and characters would improve this much, i am so proud of them. I might’ve made similar meta about their relationship before but anyway, i wanted to talk about them again because i feel like they grow up a lot since then.

[farfromstrange]

Can I suggest something with angst (because angst with no comfort is my forte) like a daredevil x vigilante teen reader (?)  They are like siblings by blood. (The reader is treated by Matt like family, and he is so overprotective of them.) They have been together for a long time. Then something came up: the reader got caught by their enemies, and the daredevil was on the run to save the reader, or something like that. (I'm bad at explaining things, but I hope you get it.) Thank you in advance. I hope you're having a great day! love u

I am so sorry for the long wait, nonnie! I feel like I owe you for making you wait so long. Since you said angst with no comfort, I decided to completely shatter you with the angst, and I hope you're okay with that! I felt a shorter piece for this request would do better to convey the emotions. I'm nervous to post this, but I hope you like what I did with this!

Slipping Through My Fingers | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x teen!vigilante!Reader

Summary: You get hurt and Matt fails to save you.

Warnings: ANGST, TW: Death, hurt/no comfort

Word Count: 1.5k

A/n: Not tagging for this fic because the topic isn't for everyone.

He’s running. The city sounds, the noise, the sirens and the blood-curdling screams follow him everywhere. The stench in the alleyways seems to cruelly try to distract him from what he’s focused on, but he can’t give up now. He is close, so close. 

Matt Murdock lost the only family he had when he was just a boy and he believed he was alone, truly alone, for a very long time. And then, one day, you stepped into his life. He was at the police station when he ran into you. Well, you weren’t running, you were stuck in a holding cell. When he found out why – you were caught punching a guy to a puddle for attempting to hurt an elderly woman – and when he asked Brett for your file and confirmed that you were, in fact, only a teenager, he chose to help you out. It could have been him, after all. In his mask, getting caught by authorities, and he would have wished for someone to bail him out, too. Besides, your sassy nature when he told you he was your lawyer drew him in. You tried pushing him away at first, but then you went out again the next night, and there he was, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and he taught you a lesson or two about being smart when it comes to being a vigilante. That was the day you started working together, and you have become his family. You’re like his little sibling, and he’s never had one, so it feels right. He can mentor you, protect you and make sure you don’t get yourself in too much trouble, and in return, you breathe some fresh air into his life. It works, and he doesn’t feel as alone now anymore. You even moved in with him. 

Last night, everything seemed normal. You went out on parol together, busting up a drug ring you had been investigating long before that, and you seemingly succeeded. Though when Matt came home after work a few hours ago, he found the apartment empty, your suit still at home, and he couldn’t make out your heartbeat. When he called, you didn’t answer your phone. You didn’t text back. And you made a deal at the beginning of this that you would always call back. If you don’t, you told him, not even after five tries, and he can’t hear your heartbeat across the city, something isn’t right. But Matt doesn’t need to remember your deal to know that something happened; he can feel it in his bones. 

His chest contracts as his heart grows heavier. The fear is etched deep into his bones. He has gotten so used to the sound of your breathing, not being able to hear it is torture. Like minuscule needles drilling into his brain, the agony wraps its claws around his soul and drags him down into a dark hole. 

He’s running, and he won’t stop until he finds you. 

Something must have gone wrong last night. Someone must have remembered he isn’t working alone anymore and grabbed you to get to him. He has an inkling, but he can’t say for sure. He’s simply following the clues that are smaller than a grain of salt, and he’s struggling to keep up. For hours, he has been running, and you are no closer to being back home than he was before. 

At this point, you could be dead. You could be bleeding out in a ditch. These men could have shipped you off to Russia, enslaved you, used you– He can’t think about that now or he will stop and smash someone’s head into the nearest wall, maybe even his own. He swore to protect you and he failed, he always fails. If anything happened to you, he once told himself, it would be his fault, and it is. He should have been more careful the night before. He should have paid more attention to his surroundings. Things always end badly when he’s involved, and he believes he has doomed you. Yes, he must have doomed you and now you’re gone because of him, possibly even dead, and he is going to have to live with that for the rest of his miserable life. 

Then, he smells it. The wind comes in from the right direction and he catches the slightest whiff of your shampoo, your clothes, and your blood. The latter is what causes all fuses to blow in his mind. His already burning vision turns redder, his senses blaring with the alarms in his brain and he runs even faster. He jumps rooftops, chasing after your scent – and then he hears it. The faintest hint of your heartbeat is in the distance, but it is weak, and you’re losing blood at a pace that is weakening your body. 

He’s not sure for how long he runs, but eventually, his feet are sore and his muscles ache, and he can finally hear your voice calling out for him, “Matty!”

He finds you on a rooftop. Your body lies limp between two blocks of cement. The gash in your side is large, and the pool of blood that surrounds you keeps growing by the minute. Your breathing sounds labored. You reach out when you see his silhouette, barely conscious, but you have gotten used to his presence. 

“No,” he chokes out and gets on his knees beside you. He pulls off his mask, pulling your head into his lap. His hand flies to your wound, but it’s not the only spot you’re bleeding from. 

Bare fingers glide over your face, checking for more injuries. He finds a cut on your lip, your eyebrow has been cracked, as has your skull, and you look completely destroyed. Your life is in his hands, and you’re slipping through his fingers. 

“Who did this to you?” Matt growls. 

“They’re gone,” you whisper. Even though you are injured, you don’t sound scared, you’re not in pain – you have accepted your fate. A fate Matt refuses to see.

“I’ll get you out of here. You just have to hold on a little longer, and then we’ll end them together. I promise. We’ll come home tonight and we’ll have Tacos and–”

“Matthew,” you reach for his face, “It’s okay.”

But it’s not okay, he thinks. You’re bleeding out, you’re dying, and you’re too far from the nearest hospital for him to even try to make a run for it. Even an ambulance won’t make it here in time. It’s not okay, no matter how badly you want to convince him of that, and just like that another wave of blood gushes out of you and into his hand. It feels heavy, like your life’s essence is trying to escape but he doesn’t want it to. You can’t die, he promised he wouldn’t let you. 

“No,” he says again, more sternly this time. “Don’t even talk like that, okay? You’re gonna be fine, you hear me?” He calls your name.

You feel yourself getting dizzier by the minute, but you’re oddly content. “I– I won’t make it–” You’re cut off by a cough, and you taste the copper on your tongue now, too. 

“Shh, yes you are. Stay with me, sweetie, stay with me!”

He can say it all he wants, it won’t change the brutal reality of the situation. 

You’re dying, and he can’t save you. 

You pull him down by his sleeve. “Promise me,” you breathe into his ear, “That you’ll– you’ll take that trip to Eu-Europe. Promise me, Matthew. Promise me you’ll l-live.”

“Stop talking like you’re dying, I–”

“I am.”

“No. We’ll get you an ambulance and then you’ll be fine.” 

A tear slips from his cheek and onto your face. 

“Matthew, please, just…”

“No…”

“Thank you,” you whisper, “for everything. For- for being my brother.”

He calls your name, but the noise fades into the background. 

“I love you,” and these are your last words before the dark void grabs you and hands you over into the hands of the Grim Reaper. 

You look over your shoulders on your way to the light, the last thing you remember being the tears on Matt’s cheeks and the scream he lets out as you leave, your life slipping through his finger like the sand in an hourglass. 

You’re gone, and he couldn’t save you. The one thing he promised to do, he failed at. He failed, and you paid the ultimate price for it. 

He stands alone at your funeral. Just like him, you didn’t have anyone. He made the men that did this to you pay for what they did, and the bruises on his knuckles still burn as the sun shines down on him. It doesn’t rain, which he sees as a sign from you, a silent encouragement that it is okay for him to move on and find the light as you did, but he can’t accept it. He can’t accept that you’re gone. 

You were too young to get dragged into this, and now you’re gone. It’s his fault, and beating the ones responsible to the point they fell into a coma still didn’t feel enough.

He sends a silent prayer up into the sky, but God doesn’t listen, and he doubts he ever will. Mercy is something he doesn’t deserve, and he will carry the guilt with him until the day he dies. 

[unicornjoking1111]

Success story from Neville Goddard's book (The Law and the promise) (chapter: there is no fiction)

*this is not my work but a copy paste from Neville's book*

Spoiler alert!!! *this story is really amazing! its about a 19 year old dancing teacher who didn't believe in imagination but took up the challenge to owning a studio (Arthur Murray dance studio franchise) to making it much bigger and meeting Arthur Murray himself*

As my story begins at the age of nineteen I was a mildly successful dancing teacher and continued in this static state for almost five years. At the end of this time I met a young lady who talked me into attending your lectures. My thought, upon hearing you say ‘Imagining creates reality’, was that the entire idea was ridiculous. However, I decided to accept your challenge and disprove your thesis. I bought your book ‘Out of This World’ and read it many times. Still unconvinced, I set myself a rather ambitious goal. My present position was as an instructor with the Arthur Murray Dance Studio and my goal was to own a franchise and be boss of an Arthur Murray studio myself! “This seemed the most unlikely thing in the world as franchises were extremely difficult to secure, but on top of this fact, I was completely without the necessary funds to begin such an operation. Nevertheless. I assumed the feeling of my wish fulfilled as night after night, in my imagination, I went to sleep managing my own studio. Three weeks later a friend called me from Reno, Nevada. He had the Murray Studio there and said it was too much for him to cope with alone. He offered me a partnership and I was delighted; so delighted, in fact, that I hastened to Reno on borrowed money and promptly forgot all about you and your story of Imagination!

“My partner and I worked hard and were very successful, but after a year I was still not satisfied, I wanted more. I began thinking of ways and means to get another studio. All my efforts failed. One night as I retired, I was restless and decided to read. As I looked through my collection of books I noticed your slender volume, ‘Out of This World’. I thought of the ‘silly nonsense’ I had gone through one year ago before getting my own studio. GETTING MY OWN STUDIO! The words in my mind electrified me! I reread the book that night and later, in my imagination, I heard my superior praise the good job we had done in Reno and suggest we acquire a second studio as he had a second location ready for us if we desired to expand. I re-enacted this imaginal scene nightly without fail. Three weeks from the first night of my imaginal drama, it materialized — almost word for word. My partner accepted the new studio in Bakersfield and I had the Reno Studio alone. Now I was convinced of the truth of your teaching and never again will I forget. “Now I wanted to share this wonderful knowledge — of imaginal power with my staff. I tried to tell them of the marvels they could accomplish, but I was unable to reach many although one fantastic incident resulted from my efforts to tell this story. A young teacher told me he believed my story but said it would have probably happened anyway in time. He insisted the entire theory was nonsense but stated that if I could tell him something of an incredible nature that would actually happen and which he could witness — then he would believe. I accepted his challenge and conceived a truly fantastic test. “The Reno Studio is the most insignificant in the entire Murray system because of the small population count in the city itself. There are over three hundred Murray Studios in the country with much larger populations, therefore providing greater possibilities to draw from. So, my test was this. I told the teacher that within the next three months, at the time of a national dance convention, the little Reno Studio would be the foremost topic of conversation at that convention. He calmly stated this was quite impossible. “That night when I retired, I felt myself standing before a tremendous audience. I was speaking on ‘Creative Imagining’ and felt the nervousness of being before such a vast audience; but I also felt the wonderful sensation of audience acceptance. I heard the roar of applause and as I left the stage, I saw Mr. Murray, himself come forward and shake my hand. I re-enacted this entire drama night after night. It began to take on the ‘tones of reality’ and I knew I had done it again! “My imaginal drama materialized down to the last detail. “My little Reno Studio was the ‘talk’ of the convention and I did appear on that stage just as I had done in my imagination. But even after this unbelievable but actual happening, the young teacher who threw me the challenge remained unconvinced. He said it had all happened too naturally! And he was sure it would have happened anyway!

“I did not mind his attitude because his challenge had given me another opportunity to prove, at least to myself, that Imagining does Create Reality. From that time on, I continued with my ambition to own the ‘largest Arthur Murray Dance Studio in the world’! Night after night, in my imagination, I heard myself accepting a studio franchise for a great city. Within three weeks Mr. Murray called me and offered a studio in a city of one and a half million people! It is now my goal to make my studio the greatest and biggest in the entire system. And, of course, ‘I know it will be done — through my Imagination’!” …E.O.L., Jr.

[heartcereql]

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀

☆neteyam sully x fem!omaticaya!reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒-  quaritch was defeated, yes, but it cost neteyam the light of his life.

𝐂𝐖- minor cursing, implied reader's death.

𝐀/𝐍- it's short (like my ex's peepee but oh well), buuuuut i'm working on some longer fics mwah.

dearest y/n,

i know it's pretty stupid to write to you now, especially now, but dad said it might do me good. said he wrote to grace when she left.

i miss you. i miss you so incredibly much. there is not one second i spend without thinking about you. and about how unfair it was. if i had known it would be the last time, i would have kissed you harder. what the fuck am i saying; if i had known it would be the last time i would've taken your place. because you didn't deserve it. nobody does, but especially not you. you were the best, you are the best anyone who knew you has in their lives.

i see you everywhere. i can still make out your figure dancing under the pale moonlight. remember that night? your did your hair up- i think you let tuk help you. you looked so alluring. we were laughing and dancing and just enjoying, you know? feeling alive. feeling electric. see, you had a gift with words. you always knew how to make things sound so melodic. my mind will subconsciously drift to you when i hear a beautiful word.

i know what you would say, yet i can't help but feel guilty. i let you come to the reef with us. if i had been more rational, if i hadn't been so easily convinced, i could've persuaded you to stay. and none of this would've happened. so let me blame myself a bit, yeah? just because i put my feelings first, because i wanted you with me, i lost everything.

and here i though i had it all. i thought nothing scared me anymore. guess you have to lose something to really miss it, as they say. you completed me, y/n. in a way no one else could. so, losing you was losing a part of me. and i know for a fact that i'm not the only one feeling like this. you left your mark on everyone. the whole clan grieves. even the metkayinas, even the ones that barely knew you.

i know you'd want me to move on. hell, i can even hear you. "i'm no longer here, but you are. you go on. you have a life to live to its fullest, doesn't matter if i'm here or not". something along those lines. and though i can't feel nothing but utter love for you, aching to be in your arms again, it enrages me that you could ever think- and would probably think- that i could keep going without you. that my life would eventually brim with colour and light again, that i would find somebody, that i'll be able to bury your memory, to just keep you in a corner of my heart. because that's not possible. it's not and it never will be, y/n.

i'll miss you forever. like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky. sounds like something you would say. and i'll remember you forever. i'll remember you when i glance up at the moon, i'll remember you when i find a flower i'd like to keep forever, i'll remember you when i hear a beautiful melody, i'll remember you everytime someone takes care of me. i'll remember you for the rest of my life. someone once told me that nobody is truly gone if there's someone who remembers them. well, you've got plenty of those.

teach the stars how to shine, my angel.

forever yours,

neteyam.

© heartcereql, 2023 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[kanerallels]

I wrote today's @monthly-challenge fic as a kind of follow up to this prompt I wrote for a couple months ago for @auroramagpie. I just couldn't really get the world and the idea behind it out of my head, so I thought I'd write some more! Today's prompt from Spring Fling was garden, for context

The Dume Library was unusual for a lot of reasons. The foremost being its librarian— a blind man who was rumored to be an ex-musketeer, one of the more famous ones. It was said he’d worked alongside Hera Syndulla, who was one of the best, if not the best herself.

When asked about it, the librarian rarely gave a straight answer. Usually, he just laughed it off or made some joke, and gently turned the conversation to a different subject. So no one could be quite sure what the truth was.

(well. There was one person, but she was different. She had lived it.)

One of the other things that made the Dume Library unusual was the fact it had a garden. It was fairly large, starting at the front right side of the entrance, and curving around in a wide sweep of flower beds and vegetable patches, bracketed in the back by rose bushes, made its way to the far end of the property, where it took up a large chunk of the back yard area.

The back door of the library led out into it by a path that wound past a fountain and a bench looking out across the property, to the beds in the back. It was this path that Hera took now, down to where the figure of the librarian was hard at work.

She’d only been in this garden a few times since Kanan had finished work on it— though with a garden, one could rarely ever be truly finished— and Hera paused to admire it. It was something of a motley patchwork of beautiful flowers, glowing with colors and beauty and sweet smells, and of carrots and onions and potatoes, looking comfortably sturdy and inelegant next to the peonies nearby.

It was a strange sight, but one that was completely on brand for Kanan, and Hera couldn’t help but smile at the sight. At the memory it brought her.

“When we retire,” Kanan said thoughtfully, studying the elegantly trimmed rose bushes around them, “we should have a garden like this.”

Hera snorted in her champagne glass. “Like this?” she said, gesturing at the topiaries trimmed in strange shapes, the grass trimmed to just the right length. “Seems a little… fancy for you, dear.”

“I can be fancy,” Kanan scoffed. “But no, not exactly like this. I was thinking about the roses. They’re nice, right? And there’s a patch of lavender over there that smells amazing.”

Letting out a thoughtful noise as she scanned the crowd of the party they were at, Hera remarked, “I never took you for a gardener.”

“I’m full of surprises. Besides, nothing wrong with some good hard work. It’ll keep us busy once we retire. Assuming you ever plan to retire, that is.”

Hera rolled her eyes. “Sure, when the bad guys decide to retire.”

Kanan didn’t laugh, like she’d hoped. Instead, his face was serious as he said, “You know, the world’s never going to run out of problems for you to fix. But it is going to run out of time. You’ve got to decide what’s most important.”

Pushing down a swell of shock, Hera kept her face calm as she said, “You’re serious tonight, aren’t you?”

His smile came back. “I’m always serious about you.” Setting his glass on a nearby stone statue, he held a hand out to her. “Dance with me?”

They hadn’t danced then. Hera had spotted their target who’d been at the party when they were two steps away from the dance floor. And then there had been a chase and a duel that Kanan had joked was just as good as a dance, and another criminal was brought to justice.

Those days were long gone for Kanan. But the garden was here. And Hera could smell the roses as she approached Kanan, who was kneeling next to one of the flowerbeds, carefully pulling weeds.

“Hard at work, I see,” she said, and his head went up at the sound of her voice.

“I wasn’t expecting you today,” he said as Hera knelt next to him. She saw a smile tilt up the corner of his mouth, a smile that always sent a flutter through her chest, and made her want to smile back. “I’m glad I was wrong, though. How did the Pryce thing go down?”

“We got Sato’s son back,” Hera said. “And Pryce was taken into custody. Thank you for your help— we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Tugging up a weed and tossing it onto a pile to the side, Kanan said, “My pleasure, as always. How’s your new partner doing?”

There was no sorrow, no bitterness in the question. But Hera still felt a twinge of remorse tugging at her chest. “She’s… doing well,” she said. “Eager to fight, but she’s learning not to charge headfirst into things.”

“It’s a good thing she has you. You and I had to learn that lesson the hard way.”

Hera snorted. “With the amount she listens to me, she’ll be learning things the hard way, too. She’s more stubborn than either of us were.”

“Even you?” Kanan ducked as Hera swatted at him, grinning. “Alright, I got it. Well, you’ve put up with a partner far more frustrating than she is— you’ve got this. I know you do.”

“Thank you,” Hera said. She sat for a moment, watching Kanan weed around a bed of nasturtiums, somehow miraculously avoiding the flowers and only pulling up the weeds. Finally, she said softly, “I miss you.”

He paused, just for a heartbeat. Turning to face her, he quietly offered her his hand, and she took it. His fingers were smeared with dirt, but gentle as he squeezed her hand. “I miss you, too,” he told her, and Hera had to swallow back a lump in her throat.

She’d never wanted to leave her partner behind. And not just because he was the best with a rapier she’d ever met, or because his plans were crazy, but they worked. He could always pick up on what she was thinking, and fighting side by side with Kanan was almost easy. It was like a dance they both intimately knew the steps to, and they were far better together than apart.

But then, they’d gone after a mad man. They’d had backup, which they’d sorely needed. But in the end, she and Kanan had been separated. And the mad man had blinded Kanan and ran.

Things had been hard for a while after that. It had taken a long time for Kanan to heal, both physically and mentally. Hera had been by his side every step of the way, even as it became clear that his time as a musketeer was over, far too early.

She had, briefly, thought about retiring. About stepping away and staying with him as he figured out what his life would look like next. And eventually, Hera had brought it up to him.

He’d laughed. “Hera,” he’d told her, “not a chance. You have the ability to keep helping people, and I’m not going to ask you to step away from that. Not yet, anyways. Just don’t forget me.”

“I could never,” she’d told him fiercely.

And she hadn’t, even as their lives grew and changed without the other fully in it. He’d found a way to keep helping, and Hera had come to see him whenever she could. Things were different, though, and she hated that. Hated being without him.

“How long can you stay?” Kanan asked, as if he’d heard her thoughts. Sometimes, Hera really did wonder if he could. 

“At least through the night,” she replied. “Sabine’s visiting her family, so I’m all yours.”

“Good.” Rising to his feet, Kanan helped her up, not letting go of her hand. “Come on. You can help me with dinner, as long as you stay pretty far away from the stove.”

Hera laughed, and for a minute it was like nothing had changed. She held onto that feeling as they headed into the library together, and felt a little peace settle in her heart. She was with her partner, even if it wasn’t forever. It could be enough for now.

[jujutsutrash]

My apologies for delivering something without smut right in October, instead of kinktober (unless body swapping is your kink) let's call this one kenjakutober. I dunno, this weirdo has been in my mind a lot recently, maybe because he was my second fav behind gojo, and oh, well, gojo got boxed for good. Guess Kenny wins.

Kenjaku x Reader. 1.2k (tw: death, and Kenjaku's flavor of body swapping)

Honestly, the whole experience since meeting you was something Kenjaku could describe as unique. not, by any means, bad, but definetly unexpected - though, not unwelcome. you were a powerful sorcerer, in fact, too powerful for your time. it had been a couple hundred years since the Heian era, and in this age of blades and samurais, jujutsu had been losing its strength. that made you a stranger in your time.

At first he'd seen in you a good tool to aid in his plans, a source of power that could prove itself useful. you were a sorcerer with strength but no actual purpose, and he could give you one - although, it would be his. you took to the job without hesitancy, wanting to escape the fate decided to you by your clan. an arranged marriage, a waste of your life on someone who'd certainly resent how much more powerful than him you were.

Now he clearly understood that what you saw on the deal he offered was a chance at freedom, to live your life unchained by anyone. it seemed a worthy shot, even if you could tell his motives seemed not to be fully on the clear. but you didn't care, figuring it better to be involved in something possibly bad than to be involved in nothing at all. better the evil you don't know than the one you do - better to take this leap than be chained to domestic servitude, wasting away your existence doing nothing interesting.

To be quite fair, he found that thinking admirable. maybe that was why Kenjaku started to grow found of you. In these new times, few were the people willing to take the gamble, willing to get their hands a little bloody to live life how they wanted to. oh, you truly were like a treasure from a time long gone. brave and powerful, curious and unafraid, unshaken by the things he did and the ones he had you do. and above all lustful for a life that's not mediocre. lustful for a life that would be better than just good enough. to achieve things, to see things, to experience more.

You were almost like kindred spirits. and overtime that was probably how he let you work your way under his skin. one day he just found himself desiring you, and soon enough he was working his way under your clothes. You were beautiful - that had been undeniable since day one, but hadn't really had any importance until this sudden shift. what Kenjaku originally wanted from you was your ability to work. but then things changed, he wanted that and something more - an useful setup, really, two birds with one stone and all that.

It was a convenient situation. on one hand you completed every task and job given with almost brutal precision. on the other you were an entertaining company and a good source of pleasure. it was fun. just a satisfying circumstance. or at least that was the case in the beginning.

Without even noticing Kenjaku started growing to like you - feelings he never really expected to have. that that he actively shunned them, he still had his priorities straight and the sentiment existed in the background, a fun little side task. it was just surprising to see it happen anyway, something to take note off. it was good knowing life could still surprise him at least, even after a couple hundred years around.

it was good, something fun to stave off the boredom and monotony. not only a warm body on cold nights but one that willingly came to him - even after having known exactly what he was. a normal person would have been afraid, but not you. he could appreciate how you put your need to have what you desired over even any sense of self preservation. you were definetly an interesting company - it explained how he came to feel for you.

Though, no good thing can last forever. well, not so much a rule for Kenjaku, but one for almost everybody else - you included. your end came at the hands of a curse, one that he managed to exterminate himself, but then it was already too late. he found you laying dead in a pool of your own blood, body covered in smaller wounds, clear sings that you didn't go down easy. though, he had realized that earlier, the curse was powerful but he found it in terrible shape. you fell, but you fought to the bitter end, that too was admirable.

So Kenjaku did the only respectable thing he could think of doing.

His first thought when he found your body was to turn you into a cursed object, so he could revive you at a later point. it would be useful, but somehow it felt lacking. though, as he looked at your bloody form for longer, a thought crept into his head. you had a great cursed technique, a powerful body, and there was a curiosity in him, a wondering that wouldn't cease. what would it be like to occupy that body?

The idea just seemed right. and as he looked down, witnessing your cold hands warming up, it felt right too. looking at the mirror for the first time after switching bodies always seemed a little odd, but this time it didn't, not quite so much. things just seemed to sit right as he moved to brush a strand of hair away, watching as your soft hand reach out to pull the hair back, leaving clear the still fresh scar across your forehead. Well, Kenjaku's forehead now.

The wound was so fresh that liquid still pooled around the points where the stitches connected the two parts of the skull. what would you have thought? you probably wouldn't have minded, you were never quite so squeamish. and it just felt right. Kenjaku's soul seemed to just sit right in this body - no longer you, but still yours in ways kenjaku knew so well. one last gift from the grave, a body that fit so easily.

Looking at the mirror again, warm hands reached to adjust the soft locks of hair just like you did it. oh, yes, that looked perfect, gazing at the reflection, Kenjaku could almost believe it was you. but she was a different person, although a related one, this time around. one that, having full access to your memories and experiences now she could be sure, was certainly part of what made you, well, you.

It was strange, seeing her own life in third person. but that was a good strange, a interesting experience for sure, getting to go through all these years again, but from a new perspective. to feel everything as you felt it - from pleasure to pain, oh, and love, of course. It was different, interesting, something Kenjaku wasn't sure if she'd be able to do again any time soon. yeah, taking your body was the right choice. it was powerful, beautiful, and most definetly a remarkable experience. what a great way to end something good.

[bau-drabbles]

Hi Lia!! I was thinking maybe a drabble where the reader has to leave hotch (because of enemies?) but he was only complete because of the reader especially after Haley? I hope this makes sense but no pressure !! ❤❤❤

aww i love this, thank u sm baby 🤍 hope you enjoy some rushed hotch angst. forgive the mistakes! :')

(request are open!)

written in the stars

his eyes stared at you with such an intensity, you felt like you were burning under his gaze. the argument wasn't supposed to be this bad, every couple had their fair share of fights, this wasn't supposed to be anything more than a couple angry words and then hugs and kisses to make up for it.

except this time it was entirely different. you had been receiving calls threatening to harm hotchner and they had even come close in harming jack. he remained unscathed for the most part, a little scratch on his forehead but it was a close call. and that couldn't happen again.

you wouldn't allow it

meanwhile the words you had just spat at him suffocated his air, his blood turning to ice when he saw your expression harden

"you would do that?" hotch's voice was caught in his throat, setting down his fork. his appetite was long gone, instead he found himself almost pleading with you. it hurt you to hear how small he sounded, how frightened he truly was

"you'd leave us?" his voice was barely above a whisper, already feeling the pit of doom stirring in his stomach. as though everything was spiralling downwards and he had no control over anything.

"i..." it felt like there was a crushing weight on your chest, the words you wanted to desperately say died on your lips. nothing would come out. you couldn't tell him about the threats or the death letters about him, the fact that this person also sent video proof. and somehow they were always a step ahead of you, despite hiring several private investigators. they never knew.

every second you remain silent, your lovers eyes shine with tears

"you're going to leave jack.... and me? just like that?" he repeated and you helplessly look on your plate, unable to think and ration your next move. tonight you were forced to do the one thing you never want to do. something that would haunt the pair of you for months to come

"you have beth, you'll be fine" you murmured, feeling the barricade of your tears threatening to break. but you wouldn't dare, not here. he would know something was wrong and you had to protect him, this time you would show not an ounce of emotion.

"she's not you!" his tone wavered, a little higher pitched due to the tears he was struggling to hold back. hotch took a deep breath in, trying to find some ground to help you see that he needed you. he needed you so intensely, it felt like you were the oxygen he breathed. as though your soul was one with his, he couldn't imagine anyone else.

he comes to you, kneeling on the floor while his hands came to rest on your lap. his optimism makes you want to cry because you know deep down that no solution could help this problem bigger than the both of you. you don't have the heart to tell him, it feels like your breath is stolen as he tries to smile.

"whatever it is, we can work it out. together. i promise you" his eyes hold nothing but sincerity but its only heartbreaking when he sees the resignation reflecting in yours. it cracked your heart piece by piece, knowing that you couldn't stop the pain this time.

"y-you can't. i can't lose you, we can't lose you. i was fine because of you, you helped me feel finally complete after haley. you helped me do that!" it's that sentence that pushes you further over the edge. how could you cause more pain to a man that had gone through literal hell and back for his family?? you knew the state he was in, he wasn't the aaron that sat before you now.

before, he would place emotional barriers up around himself to protect his heart that had grown to fear love and yet crave it simultaneously. the walls were like iron, you had to weld them away bit by bit until you saw a breakthrough. and when you had caught a glimpse of the person underneath, it had shocked you. the heart aaron locked so fiercely lay a gentleness and love you'd never before known, just right beneath the surface. getting his trust was an arduous process to say the least, but it was one you were willing to repeat over and over if it meant ther was a chance for you and him in the end.

but now, you could see your progress beginning to becoming undone by the minute

aaron's lip trembles at the end of his sentence and you see a tear beginning spill down. you want to wipe it away before it has the chance to touch his cheeks, hug him against your chest promising you weren't going anywhere. but you again, stop yourself when you're reminded of that person warning. they would never stop until hotch was dead, until he was eradicated so it was up to you to put a stop to it altogether.

and if that meant hurting him where it stung the most, then so be it. you would rather him hate you than ever be hurt by another person again.

"it's bigger than that. you know i love jack with my whole heart but at this age, i had so many things i wanted to do-" you began but he gently shook your arms, trying to get you to see his perspective.

"you can still do them, i'll help-" you stopped him with a shake of your head

"no, i can't. i can't shoulder responsibility for a child i never wanted.... i can't be there everyday and hope to god that you'd come back to me in one piece" saying these things about jack killed you, he was so incredibly cute and sweet. he was always a total sweetheart, waving big and wide as you picked him from school when his father couldn't make it. but some parts of it were true, everyday he rushed out of his front door you hoped and prayed he would come back unharmed.

he was a perfect brilliant agent and strategic but even he wasn't bulletproof.

"please y/n, please don't do this. i-i'm sorry, i know, this team needs me and i need you. and as for jack, jessica can help with the school runs. it wouldn't be a burden on you" he whispers under his breath, his tears dropping like pearls down his neck. his hands have gripped yours, almost like you'd completely vanish. and you were, you were slipping through the cracks of his fingers and he couldn't do a thing.

"i leave tonight" you whispered, removing his hands from yours. the emptiness in your chest threats to swallow you whole and you welcome it, wanting to feel anything but the pain of the beautiful man in front of you. how with every tear it felt like a dagger in your heart, taunting you that in this life you would never get your happy ever after with him.

all those dreams, all those goals, everything was ripping apart with every second. the reality of the situation was that you both were walking away with a broken heart and there wasn't any fixing it.

"you're what?" his world fell quiet, his grip loosening as he stares at you. he was expecting a smile a joke, anything. but your face is down, unable to hold any eye contact.

"i leave tonight. i'm flying out" your bag was packed, ready to go. you were to ready to leave his life so early as if every thought of you didn't consume him.

"but... you can't. you can't do this to me y/n, please" his hands try to hold you but you've already stood up, a few steps back away.

"i'm sorry aaron" your voice felt muted under the heavy thought in his head, physically unable to move. all you can see is his face shining with tear tracks and him staring jm outer space.

grabbing your bag, you turn as your own tears fall in response.

"please..." you leave his warm home with the soft plead of his words and the ghost of his lips caressing your skin. you weren't sure if he would ever forgive you, you weren't sure if you even deserved that. all you did was hope that maybe one day, the two of you were written in the stars and you'd be together somewhere. someday.

and all he could do was sit on the floor trying to stop the torrent of tears streaming down his cheeks, biting his lips to not make any noise. the last thing he needed was jack to stumble upon him but the thought of his son asking where you were and what happened diminished him further.

there was a pit of sinking sadness and emptiness drowning his heart, covered with the memories of those he swore he would burn. but they unravel themselves and he's forced to sit and let them play. every moment, every second, every hug and ever kiss. he felt it all and there was nothing he could.

he felt so utterly pathetic for crying but even more so for believing you were the one. for believing your words. he wanted to hate you, despise you but just how could you be his enemy when he loved you?

perhaps it was destined for him to spend his life alone. this time those walls would be impenetrable, this time he would not give his heart.

perhaps it was for the best.