#it's like saying people evolved with air breathing lungs just for them to live under water

[sandinthepipes]

I've figured it out.

The reason Merlin's fics still come out every day. The reason ofmd has so many fics and content.

It's the hope.

They both leave you on the moment right before resolution. They've shown you something good is coming and leave you wondering what it could be.

It's not a cliffhanger, there's isn't "oh no this bad thing is going to happen but maybe not", it's the opposite.

[tiens-letters]

butterflies flutter even in the most bloodstained of battlefields

Xiao (angst)

....

It was one of those nights again.

Where all was serene, creatures alike basking in the tranquility of the world once the moon above floats over the existence of everything. To where wars stopped for rest and yet one soul amongst many had no time to do so.

"Alatus." what a familiar name he thinks as he floats around in the void, the darkness to which seemed not consume him just like before and then he wondered where he is right now is the place of all endings. It was pure nothingness and it seemed more comforting than the land he was supposed to protect, riddled with war and the ever evolving generations of humanity.

If this was the end then so be it, he wouldnt ask for more. He could finally rest his weary head and think and replay all the good days while awaiting reincarnation and he prayed. He hoped for a better rebirth and into a place of peace.

"Alatus." there was it again, the name he's forgot during the spoils of war. A name he thought he'd never hear again or even spoken by someone's lips.

"Wake up please." but his eyes were fully open, his body aware and yet he felt alienated, out of place. He realizes that his skin never felt a thing and only the harrowing reality that this place was a farce.

As if it were the clue to the puzzle, the darkness broke and fell apart into a field, marred with bodies piled atop each other, the red sun above blessing those under it the horrors of a never ending terror that scorched their skin and drove them towards the brink of madness. His polearm, sullied with grime and blood. It felt heavy, like the burden he carries upon his shoulders. A little bit more and he would have lost himself too. He stood above it all and looked at the vast battlefield before him, the very nightmare he's always experienced. Just he himself standing, alone and cold, the suffocating air heavy with the stench of tarnished blood.

There were no grassy fields with a clear sky nor the old and ancient land of liyue that he grew up in and fought for.

A lone butterfly dances in the midst of it all, his body weightless as he followed it. Wondering why it called out to him in a silent way yet its presence itself made him feel at ease.  Perhaps this was his salvation from being damned to this world, a small glowing butterfly. He wanted to touch it but he felt undeserving to for such an action, he might curse it as well. His eyes was set alone on its fluttering feat, not noticing the bodies he walked past nor the souls that called out to him.

And then it burst into a million, pieces of light, engulfing him in its warmth.

He welcomed it.

"Xiao!" he gasps, like his very first breath into existence and then he could feel everything there is and there was.

That's right, there was still you, beautiful eyes fully blown into worry, that face of your torn into agony at the thought of him never waking up next to you. Not feeling his skin upon your and his lips gracing your immortal soul.

You embraced him with relief, clutching his body that was filled with nightmare tremors.

"Thank you." he whispers against your neck, the sweat from his forehead sticking to you skin and you didnt care. Even if you both were covered in dirt or grime, even if both of you were tarnished by blood, nothing mattered except that you both are breathing and feeling.

"I thought Ive lost you in that wasteland, Alatus."

He kisses you with all he has, all the pent up emotions he could never say, all the love he feels for you was conveyed into actions, those hands that held a weapon of war now cupping your cheeks and all you could ever feel was his deeply rooted affection towards you. it was as if to remind him that you were still there, the sole reminder of a better world. a better life.

You who he's dedicated his heart to and not anyone else. the first of everything. sure it was a bumpy ride in the beginning as he was like a newborn babe to the emotions such as love and joy but as time took every step, the road seemed to smoothen by its grace and it became easier to approach these newfound feelings. you were glad to be blessed by the geo archon to have a long life so  that you can offer your all to the land you helped protect and build and now to the man before you. Your dearly torn Alatus. 

"Rest well my dear." 

...

It was truly the end of the line. 

Everywhere was in utter chaos, modern Liyue now fraught to ruin as an ancient God had been awakened, one you thought had been sealed away and the demons you guardians once kept away came bounding back tenfold and hungry for blood and destruction. The city that has been built from the ground crumbled , as you fought once again, just like all those years ago side by side with your comrades. People were dying as you strived to protect every single soul with your hands and just like before, several others dropped to your feet, lifeless and tossed apart like a rag doll.

You were tiring, sharp movements turned sluggish as you tore down anything evil that you came across, you prayed to whichever good god was still alive that the people had run to safety so that you could unleash your last card. A trick you've vowed to never use again as long as you are alive and the situation permits it so and yet you've run out of time. if you didnt do this now then everything would really turn to ash and nothing would bloom ever again. 

Standing in the middle of the onslaught of monsters that never seemed to end, gnashing teeth nipped at your barrier only to be repelled back by a force that seemed to lose its energy. You sighed, the last ever peace you'll get to feel as the karma pushed you over the edge. 

"Xiao." and as soon his name poured out your lips did he appear, an urgent look in his eyes as he slashed down any monster that came near. 

"Its time." his mouth hung open, unable to find the right words to counter you, how could he? when duty was above everything, especially in the relationship you both had that bloomed from the most ancient of days. Liyue came first above all else, that was what you swore as Morax blessed you on the day of your early death. You were thankful to him that he's allowed you to live even with the price of servitude. 

"Thirty  seconds." was all he could muster up to say from all the torrential words that swarmed his head. just thirty seconds of peace with you was all he wanted before you walk the remaining steps towards the end. 

"Alright." there was peace as you allowed it, nothing from outside was heard only the ragged breathes that came from both of your lungs. There were no monsters only two immortal beings that longed for peace, and in those weary eyes was hope for a tomorrow. 

"I love you." he whispers pulling you close, those thirty seconds slowed as he held you tightly, his skin engraving the memory of you deep within. "I love you. Dont forget that." 

"Even if I pass on, you will always be in my heart. Even if time goes on, your name remains on my lips. Even if everything crumbles, you in your own self will always be with me as I am with you. So my dear, my dear sweet Alatus, dont you ever cry when you wake up tomorrow to an empty bed, dont look for me when all Ive ever been is right beside you. Instead, rejoice for there is another day you get to experience for the both of us and if time allows us once again, which I am confident it will. I will  find you just as you've found me." 

this was your parting vow. 

your peaceful barrier broke and once again you were back in the cruel reality you faced and will face till your death. Your lips find his and for the last time in this life, you poured every ounce of you in it. Your eyes had no tears and only hope and acceptance as you broke away. 

"I love you." and then that was the end of your own book. 

Billions upon billions of butterflies burst from you, touching every dirty, disgusting thing, purging it off this world once and for all. Your duty was fulfilled, your contract has ended and now you are free. There was nothing to worry about except to wait for the right time to find you way back to him. 

Now, everything was at peace again. 

Xiao, the man you've left behind for the time being stood alone once again with a single butterfly perched atop his forehead. 

.....................................................................

i will get to the requests after a few days. Please bear with my low creativity juice and dwindling will to can.

[babylooneytoonz]

I'm Coming Home, Baby

Summary: Y/N and John were childhood sweethearts (no Martha) and she has known the peaky blinders her whole life and they love her too but then John has to marry Esme and even though Tommy does feel bad he does it anyway. Y/n works in the betting house so they see eachother every day she acts like it doesn’t bother her but is obviously a bit distant with John who is still inlove with her but she is respectful of the marriage so when Michael comes in he has a crush on Y/N and kinda flirts with her and John gets jealous cause he will always love her. Then she is killed by the Italians and just people’s reactions.

Warnings: Heavy angst, character death.

Requested by : Anon

He was the first boy you ever befriended, shared your first kiss with. It happened on an old broken swing in the backyard of your house when you were only twelve.

You met John when he was thirteen. The memory was so fresh in your mind, even today, it made you feel like it was yesterday when you were hiding behind your mother, clutching the fabric of her skirt, your tiny little head poking out just to watch around, with your big (Y/E/C) eyes, when two boys rode into the plaza on a black horse. The older boy was probably 18, but your eye caught the eye of the younger one. You were so young; the concept of love was something you had not yet experienced. But now, if you thought about it, you loved that thirteen year old boy. Your love for him only evolved from wanting to have all his attention at all times, stealing his candies from his pockets, and playing skittles with him all day, to holding hands and walking by the river, stealing kisses when no one was looking.

There was a time when you two became so inseparable, you would spend hours together and you would spend your entire days with the Shelby family.

Then one day, you watched him leave, as the war was upon you all. There were tears, and you could hear hearts crack, the slow, horrid torture of sweethearts like you and John being separated, wives left alone as their husbands left them to go to war, mother's watched their sons leave. Polly had to hold you; tight against her chest for hours as you wept, after he had left, and you had no idea whether he would come back or not.

War changed you both. He witnessed so many atrocities , so much death and so much horror; the man that came back, his eyes had a holocaust, a deep rooted horror lurking within his irises. He would scream and thrash in his sleep, and no amount of pacifying could control him, except for you. But you had changed too by that time. You had lived without him for so long, you had lived with a constant worry and fear for so long, you had grown sombre and the fire that you possessed and the light in your eyes, that little twinkle, it was lost. You rarely spoke, when all you ever did once was talk. It was like you were now a walking, breathing corpse. Your heart still pumped blood, but that was all. You were a ruin, just like your lover. Things weren't the same anymore, thus, after war. No matter how hard you tried, John and you could not go back to what you used to be.

Although you the two of you weren't together, almost everyone knew that you belonged with each other. It was like you could understand what John wanted, even without him having to say it. Whenever John had a nightmare, you were the one holding him close, rocking him against your chest, while he clung on to you, hopeless and weak. You saw him at his worse, and so did he, many times, when the two of you fought, and you ended up breaking down.

All this love, all this pain, but you found comfort in your empty bed to think that John still loved you, it was the only blanket that gave warmth to your heart. However, one day, someone pulled that blanket off you, and the betrayal you felt shattered your soul.

You found out that Tommy had fixed John's wedding with one of the Lee's, Esme.

You didn't know what you hated more, or who you hated more. Was it John, who said yes and couldn't stick his arse up to his brother and say no ? Who could still look you in the eye claiming to still be in love with you even after being the one to scratch your heart out? Or was it Tommy? The man you looked up to as your elder brother? Who you trusted more than yourself, that he will never let you and John part your ways? Or was it Esme? The beautiful damsel who made you envy her? She was beautiful, she was young, and she was untouched by war, or that is what you thought. Maybe she would keep John happy, maybe she would be good for him, you kept repeating those words at the back of your mind again and again.

It was as though you couldn't breathe after that. You would sit up in bed, drenched in your own sweat, screaming at the top of your lungs, crying. At first, John did come, when your mother would telephone him and tell him what had happened, concerned and his eyes clouded in tears, watching you, wishing he could hold you, as your mother leant over the side of your bed and tried to calm you down but as the days to his wedding came closer, he stopped coming altogether.

You couldn't watch him take his vows, so you locked yourself in your room, having decided you were never going to step into the Shelby house again. The truth was, although they were your family, they were also your employers; you worked for Tommy Shelby, as one of his secretaries. If you left this job, you didn't know when you will find another job again.

Thus, a few days before John and Esme were to be married, you asked Tommy to give you a time off, for you needed it, to recuperate. And he did, without thinking twice. Tommy did what he had to do, it was a call of the moment, but it wasn't like he didn't know how much you or John were hurting. If giving you a chance to go on a much needed Vacation was something he could do to ease your pain, he would definitely do it.

You cried all night, a night before the love of your life married another woman. You sat in bed, hugging your feet closer to your body, thick salty tears spilling along your cheeks, your lip trembling and quivering. At times you would have to bring your palm up to press it against your mouth, for you had an urge to scream and to yell, but you didn't want to wake your neighbours. Little did you know, that outside your window, John had fixed himself, only his cigarette stick visible under the pale moonlight, for he wanted to make sure you were alright, and couldn't sleep without tossing and turning multiple times. Little did you know that he often wrote to you, but your mother burnt those letters before they could reach you; so they couldn't cause any more damage to you as this mess already had.

The next day, you left Birmingham City, having decided to get out of town, the first train to London, away from the chaos and the madness this city had brought upon you. Maybe a change will do you good. And you decided you will not come back, for there was nothing left there for you, except your mother but that was a different thing altogether.

You blocked it all out, all the hurt, all the anguish that you were feeling, swallowing it inside of you like a bitter pill, weeks after John and Esme Shelby were one, but one thing you couldn't do, was return back to work, for you didn't have it in you to face your biggest weakness. It had taken you weeks to stop feeling depressed all the time and you had finally learnt what it felt like when you had to just live on, putting on a brave face. You now knew what it meant when people said, things happen, and they don't really and most often don't happen the way we want them to, but life goes on, whether we like it or not.

Finally, fifteen long weeks after having gone without seeing John Shelby, one morning, you woke up in a puddle of your own sweat, thick hot beads of sweat trickling down your temples. Half lidded eyes, you reached for a glass of water to soothe your parched throat, but the anxiety and the fear bubbling up inside your heart didn't ease. You had to see him, to make sure he was okay. Nothing mattered to you in that second, when your heart was palpitating inside your chest and you were sat there, clutching your sheets and gasping for air.

You ran up into the living room, and fell next to the telephone ringing your mother, and cried on the phone, "I want to come back home mum, I thought I will feel better, but I don't, I just feel I will never feel better again."

You lied to yourself, that you were going back to Birmingham city, the first train you could find, so you could see your mother again, but your heart knew that it was much more complex than what it all looked like. Even after coming back, and spending all evening with your mum, you couldn't fill up the hollowness that you had been feeling in your heart. You knew there was only one way.

After much contemplation, walking down to the Garrison didn't seem like a bad idea to you; the Shelby's mostly spent their evenings at the Garrison, and you hoped you'll catch a glimpse of him from one of the windows, and you'll leave. It was a pale, moonless night, the winds were shallow, but you could still notice the winds, hitting your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. The windows to the Garrison were mildly foggy as though they hadn't been scrubbed on in ages, but you could still see. You could see the Shelby's all standing inside, walking around, speaking to each other. He was standing there, in a pool of his family, Finn on one side and Arthur on another, his young boyish face gleaming underneath the golden ivory lighting of the pub. Also, a woman stood next to him, that you clearly recognised, Mrs. John Shelby.

Your heart still managed to skip a beat, when you saw a soft smile break out on his lips at probably a joke being cracked by Finn. Atleast he looked happy. When you were not.

"Excuse me? Is something wrong?"

A voice called out to you, causing your eyelids to expand, and your hand to fly upwards, your fingers managing to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Slowly, you turned around to look at the source of the voice. He didn't look much older than you, but from what you could see, you could notice how well dressed he was , almost like the Shelby's themselves.

"I, uh, it's nothing. I was just lost."

The young man skewered his head to one side, as if scrutinizing you from the corner of his eye, however, before he could speak again, a voice cut him off, a voice you knew all together, "Michael, where's Polly? I thought it was the whole family tonight. She-"

Tommy stopped talking, the minute he laid his eyes on you. Even in the darkness of the night, he knew it was you. It had been ages they had all seen you. It was as though you had just vanished, and your mother never told them your whereabouts, no matter how much they tried to find out.

"You-"

"Hello, Thomas."

You whispered, toying with your fingers.

"How? We all fucking tried looking for you everywhere."

"I left town." You tried to sound cold, but who were you kidding, no matter how much you tried, this family was yours, although you didn't share their blood. Tommy was like a brother you had never had.

"Does John-"

Tommy didn't complete his sentence, he just turned to follow your gaze as the two of you started looking at him, watching you from the inside, his jaw almost dropped as if he had seen a ghost; his eyes on you.

Michael finally understood who you were. You were the one, the one that had caused the sheen in John's eyes to die down, the woman who had his heart.

𖠁𐂃𖠁

You were okay.

It had been difficult, and at first, you didn't want to do it. Being back into the Shelby's life was difficult, and Tommy's offer of you retaking your position as his secretary was something that made you feel worried, that being around John will break your control over the situation.

But you wouldn't lie, there was someone who made you pull through, and stuck with you when you thought you wouldn't be able to do it.

Michael Gray.

You didn't remember the countless times you had used him as your pillow, crying on his shoulders while he let you. He didn't judge you, and he didn't lie to you, telling you that things will be fine. That is all you wanted.

You sat in the Shelby office, on a Saturday, and you weren't expecting the Shelby's to come in today, except Michael, who was already here standing by the telephone, speaking to someone.

You tapped your lit cigarette lightly, letting the white snowy ashes fall into the ashtray, as you brought it back up to your plump lips. Your eyes scanned through the files, your pen in your other free hand as you scribbled some numbers relentlessly into the notepad, until Michael slammed the receiver down.

"What's wrong, Michael?" You gave him a look.

"Nothing , Tommy's fucking shipment is stuck. Some workers strike."

"Well, if the man himself is least bothered, why on earth are you boiling your blood out for him? Let it go, Thomas is going to find a way to sort it out, yeah? Anyway, I need your help, this is some really messed up calculation."

Michael shook his head, pretending to be disappointed in you, but secretly, he loved it. He loved it when you called him over to help you out with the calculations, for this meant that he could tower over your desk, leaning down on you, secretly inhaling the soft, dewy fragrance from your silky locks, admiring you. So, he left whatever it was that he was doing and fixed himself next to your desk, almost leaning over you from your back, so he could look at the paperwork.

Just then, the doors flung open, and a sudden chatter filled the room, when Arthur, Tommy and John entered, bickering among themselves on a topic, without having paid heed to you.

"Right, so did you see his fucking face? He could have bloody shit his pants at that," Arthur chuckled.

Your face lost its pallor, and you averted your gaze from John, when he suddenly stopped listening to his brother, and his eyes fell on Michael, and you. He could not hide the sudden change in his expression, the jealousy and the hurt in his eyes. His jaw squared, and his eyes narrowed in reflex and he couldn't bite back on his words, "Michael, I thought we asked you to sort out the bloody shipment, and not fucking flirt around with the employees around here."

My eyes widened at his words, and reflexively, I stood up, fixing myself next to Michael in his support.

"Well, what can I fucking do if the workers are on a bloody strike?" Michael protested, stepping in front of your desk, facing the three men.

"Well, for one, you can do what you're fucking here to do, and not be on other people's desks," John snapped, ignoring the way your eyes widened at him in disapproval, and Michael grit his teeth, clenching his fists as he walked off, towards the door.

"Michael, wait." You called out, but he didn't stop, and the door slammed shut when he walked out of the betting shop.

"John, thats enough, what are you fucking doing, eh?" Tommy asked, stepping in front of John, blocking your view of him.

"Just getting some bloody work done around here for once," John grumbled back, trying to walk past Arthur and Tommy so he could barge towards you. However, before he could make his way to you, you stepped up, grabbing your coat, and your purse.

"Michael didn't deserve that," you spat at him once, before turning away, as you walked out.

You didn't wait to turn back and see that John had pulled out of Arthur's grip, and he was now making his way towards you. You stepped out of the Shelby office, your heels clicking against the paved roads, as you started walking away, when you felt a hand grip your arm and pull you back, pressing you against the brick wall.

"John, let me go." You protested, trying to push his chest so he could move away.

"What the fuck was that?" He barked, still not letting you go, his hands on either side of you, having trapped you there, while you kept trying to push him, so you could get out of being so close to him again, "Michael fancies you. He fucking fancies you and still you like to keep him around yourself?"

You almost scoffed at his hypocrisy.

"So what if he fancies me? So what John?" You screamed, taking a deep breath, wiping the tears that had managed to leak from your eyes, leaving stains down your cheeks. He parted his lips, trying to find the right words, but before he could, you started yelling again, "it was okay for you to bloody get married when Tommy asked you to, but I cannot let another man fancy me. Why John? You're a fucking married man now, and I can't move on and be with someone who fancies me."

He slowly removed his hands from either of your sides, and stepped away so he could give you the space, and you instantly stepped away, shaking your head at him and then running your hands through your hair, frustrated with this all.

You kicked the sidewalk with your heel, not even paying attention to how your heel broke from the hit.

"You know I didn't want this to happen Y/N, not any more than you didn't. But I could not say a bloody no to Tommy."

"Don't you dare put this on anyone but you. You fucking chose to say yes, and you weren't forced. I never forgave Tommy, but I will never forgive you too John, now if you allow I have to go look for Michael."

You bent, sliding your feet out from the heels and took your heels in your hand. You started turning, when then it all happened in slow motion, before John could do anything to stop you.

If John knew that the bullet from the Italians gun, that was meant for him, will hit you on the side of your neck, he would have shielded you with his own life.

It was a clean hit, the bullet striking his heart, poetically, and your neck.

Your eyes widened, your hand flying to your neck, as hot blood spurted out and you started coughing, your body feeling loose, like that of jelly.

He watched you gasp, clutching the side of your neck, his eyes widened in shock, his mind blank, and his heart beating faster than ever. Tommy and Arthur rushed out now too, and before John could react, Arthur was kneeling down next to you, checking your pulse, his palm pressed to your neck, as you slowly bled to death.

"Tommy, we need to get her to fucking doctor, she is fucking bleeding to death!!"

John just kept looking.

If only that bullet had taken him.

John Shelby lost his heart in a whiff of a second, watching it shatter into two, the day he watched the woman he loved take her last breath. He broke down next to your now cold palm that lay by the sidewalk, your eyes wide open, keeping you close to his heart.

You were dead, even before Arthur could lift you up and carry you into Tommy's car, you were already gone and your body went cold, your hand falling lifelessly down your side.

Now just a month later, history repeated itself, but only this time, John didn't feel like he had anything to lose, and instead, he only had something to gain. He was probably going to bleed to death, but there was one thing that comforted him, as he took his last, broken breaths, that maybe you were waiting for him on the other side, and he just had to throw out his hand, and you'll be there to catch him.

And this is what he thought, in those final moments, as he lay, covered in a pool of his own blood, shot down by the Italians himself, mere months after your death. His breathing slow, his chest heaving up and down, blood erupting from his wounds, yet he was thinking of your face, the way your eyes were trained to him as you died.

John was awake; atleast for mere seconds, just as he inched closer to death, when Esme hunched over him, trying to revive him and he opened his mouth, gasping for air, like a fish thrown out of water, trying to breath; but he did manage to say a few words, only, they were so muffled, Esme could never make out what he said.

No one could hear what John Shelby spoke to her, and she kept clinging on to his last words, imagining that he was telling her that he loved her, but what he said was gone the minute he was gone.

But if anyone would have heard it, he would have known, what he meant, when he took his last breaths, and the only words that came out of his lips were, "I'm coming home, baby."

He was finally going home. And they were going to be together.

Permanent John Shelby Taglist :

@really-dont-forget-it

@thepeakygurl

@baumarvel

@nyotamalfoy

@peakyfooky

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[amesstm]

I’m Sorry

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Word Count: 1313

Warnings: angst, character death

A/N: Ngl, I dunno how to make a cut so it can be like “Keep Reading” so if anyone wants to help a girl out, please. Thanks~

“Y/N, you do it,” Reiner commanded. “You’ve been acting too friendly with the Scouts.”

You clicked your tongue, “And what about you and Krista?”

“Are you trying to disobey a direct order?” He sneered. Light brown eyes bored into your eyes for any sign of betrayal to Marley. Of course it would be like this, you thought.

“Reiner, just do it yourself.” Annie said, not able to look down at the freckled-boy she was holding down on the sheltered roof.

“Don’t you see how close you’re getting to these devils? I think you even like one of them,” Reiner muttered coldly underneath his breath.

A chill went down your spine. So, Reiner had seen how close you and Jean have become. In fact, from spending so much time with Jean, you’d become great friends with Marco. Marco did nothing wrong except for be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

You bit your lip, unable to respond as you slowly lowered yourself to Marco’s level. A shaky hand started to undo his gear. It wasn’t your own; it couldn’t have been. But the nails and skin color all belonged to you. In a dissociated state, you heard Marco screaming for mercy and begging for his life. “Y/N, we trusted you! I trusted you! Jean trusted you!”

Yet, when you looked back at Marco, a chunk had already been eaten out of his side. It seemed not only a few moments ago that his face was in panicked despair. You looked down at your hands, the hands of a murderer. Reiner whispered, “W-why is Marco being eaten by a Titan?”

Your eyes widened, noticing a complete change in the blond boy’s demeanor. It was as if he was an entirely different person. Reiner didn’t hold those determined orbs that Marley drilled into him, but the grieving shock of a devil.

~

Jean couldn’t stomach Marco’s death. You knew he wouldn’t. Not when he was the first one to identify the body and you, secretly, were the first to leave Marco to his own resources. It was easy to blame it on a Titan for your friend’s death, but it wasn’t easy to rethink what led up to his demise.

Since Jean couldn’t also hang out with Marco anymore, he mostly stayed by your side. When you were both on missions, he was the first one to search for you immediately afterwards. If you could afford to be together, he would stay by your side like a lovesick puppy.

But that just made the painful truth all the harder to reveal. Soon, that unfortunate event happened.

“Did everything we went through together mean nothing?” Jean asked, teary eyed before you ran away. Flashes of your kisses and hugs rippled through your mind. Jean was wrong, it meant everything to you.

Reflecting back on what occurred, there wasn’t much you could remember – or wanted to remember. It was like your brain selectively chose what you remembered from your time on that island. Seeing Reiner would return you to that place, where you’d cuddle up to Jean for warmth. Otherwise, you couldn’t remember the hardest parts.

You sighed on your bed, before rising to go through your newly found daily routine: get dressed and clean accordingly, grab a newspaper for breakfast, and attend meetings. After doing the first step, you stepped out to purchase a newspaper. Although you were there for military meetings, you still chose to read the news.

There was a line to the newsstand, per usual. Standing behind a tall man, you waited patiently. However, something felt oddly familiar about this man. No, he was too tall to be him. Surely. Yet, he had the same build and signature scent that Jean so adored. In fact, you kept a handkerchief of his that had his scent. Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

~

Ironically, it wasn’t a coincidence. Jean and the rest of the Scouts managed to travel to Marley and lived amongst you. Now here you were, sitting across the man you once shared everything with. The campfire crackled and the food was passed around. Out of the blue, Yelena mentioned Marco, and Jean’s face dropped. He had been cautious around you, which was jarring.

The cocky teenage boy you left behind was practically fully-grown, with long hair and facial hair to match. His rambunctious eyes were beaten into a determined gaze. Despite all the changes Jean endured, he was still the boy you fell in love with - you hoped. The feeling of his hand in yours was permanently etched in your skin and the softness of his hair could still be felt under your chin from your hugs.

Now, he only talked to you when he needed to. There were those longing gazes that were unavoidable, but nothing was said aloud. Sometimes his eyes would say everything – no, scream everything. The yearning to talk to you, to understand – why had you done it? Because you were just an innocent kid when you signed up to ruin his life.

“I did it. I took off Marco’s gear,” you admitted. Annie’s aura evolved into one that wanted to reach out and comfort you. Jean looked appalled, shocked, and betrayed. Tears welled into your eyes, blurring your vision so you wouldn’t have to see Jean’s disappointment.

Reiner interjected and took the blame on your behalf. “Don’t be mad at her, Jean. I forced her to.”

Reiner, wanting to find the fasted way to die, started to retell the whole event from that day. At that point, you had begun to dissociate as if your brain wanted to block out his words and forget that day ever happened. Your eyes stared off in space, into the unknown. Then you were dragged down to earth, but not just you. While you were blocking out your surroundings, Reiner was literally on the ground, accepting the punches of Jean. If it wasn’t Reiner being beaten, you only imagined what Jean would do to you. You gulped, and realized that Jean really had changed so much.

~

Today, the group would really save humanity – but not from the enemy they originally thought they’d face when they joined. Eren had really done it; he started the Rumbling and was trampling humanity into the earth from which they came. Jean was right, Eren really was a suicidal bastard.

The warm air fuming from Eren’s large form threatened to force all the oxygen out from your lungs. But riding on the back of Falco provided a breeze with a view of exactly where Eren’s nape was.

Jean clung onto Falco beside you. You tried not to think about his presence, wanting to focus on the mission. What would you say, after all? “I’m sorry”? No, no amount of apologizes could ever display the true sorrow you felt from killing Marco. Jean deserved much more than a simple apology.

“I think I’ll try to forgive you from what happened that day,” Jean said, his hand clasping yours. You blinked at him, really seeing him for the first time. Hints of sympathy were in his voice, but his beautiful brown eyes held all the understanding in the world. Every flaw and perfection were laid before you under the sun. If this was the way to heaven, you would gladly die.

“You don’t have to,” you conceded. Perhaps it was the fact that the both of you could die at any moment now that you were on Falco’s back, but confessions were pouring out of the both of you. In a way, Eren really did bring people together.

“Y/N, you know I can hate you forever. But if I do, then I’ll hate myself. We only have so long in this world that it’d just be a waste of time if I did.”

You swallowed, “Okay. Let’s survive this and we’ll see what happens.”

[atsukashii]

❝safe and sound❞ // k. bakugou

SYNOPSIS: ➛ you had originally thought you were a fearless hero to be, but the moment you watched Katsuki get taken by the league of villains, you knew you had one fear, being without him.

» CHARACTER PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x todorok!reader (shouto’s sister)

» WORD COUNT: 2.4K

» GENRE: request from @todorokikouinferno​ (sorry it took so long!)

» WARNINGS: mentions of kidnapping, stubborn reader meets stubborn boyfriend, fluff

« masterlist || ao3 »

Too much of the world, the name Y/n Todoroki didn’t mean much, but in Japan, many people knew of the family that you came from, and the burden you bear as a child of the current number one pro hero, especially as an upcoming hero yourself. From the moment you were born, you were overlooked because of your quirk. It wasn’t enough for your father, the famous Endeavor, number two pro hero in the country at the time. Yet the moment that your younger brother’s quirk emerged for the first time, less than a year after you, you saw the pride in your father’s eyes and could see what was to happen before it did. 

You loved your family fiercely, but you were exceptionally close with Shouto. Less than a year younger than you, the two of you acted as if you were twins your whole lives. You were two sides of the same coin; one side firefly and explosive and the other calm and cool. And for Shouto, you would do anything, including getting your father’s attention off him by training under your old man yourself. You went from a nobody to becoming a hope to many of the future, your fire quirk all but mastered, allowing you to manipulate flames ranging from a roaring orange blaze to a white melting light so bright it hurt to look at. So when you decided to apply for U.A with your brother in his year, having been held back a grade due to being home-schooled to train with your father, it was no surprise that both of you were granted admission by reference to the prestigious school.

It also was no surprise that on your first day of class, you butted heads with the most explosive person in their class. Your fiery red hair matched your father’s temper, something Shouto didn’t seem to have with his calm demeanour. However, you refused to back down from the opportunity to hand Katsuki Bakugou his ass in your first sparring session.  From that moment onwards, there was a form of respect between you two as he got up to his feet and growled under his breath. 

“Not damn bad Todoroki.” 

To say it had shocked you was an understatement, as Bakugou had been nothing but rude to literally everyone so far in his high school career. However, that respect soon became mutual and kept evolving into something more as time passed. You’d become friends of a sort at first, your relationship built on respect, admiration and an unhealthy amount of competitiveness from both sides, but it was your tomboyish nature that seemed to get the mighty Katsuki Bakugou to slowly and begrudgingly lower his walls until you could finally tell the difference between a curse of anger, and one with no bite. Somewhere along the few months of your first year, you had become close friends, training together outside of class time and trying to help your other friends study when they fell behind. 

Normally, you would bark right back at Katsuki whenever he decided to boom at Kaminari or Kirishima over their studying habits - or rather lack thereof. But now, as your lungs heave in the crisp air of the night and your bare knees dig into the loose first beneath you, you would do anything just to hear him snap at you once again.

You feel your lungs expand and collapse again with each rattling breath as your brain tries to contemplate what just happened in front of your eyes. You had been with Ochako and Tsuyu when you’d first noticed the Leave of Villains presence, and somehow, you had all ended up together, in the field, watching as Katsuki got pulled into the warp gate, away from you and your friends, and right into the hands of some of the most lethal people in the country. 

No, no no no please no. You hunch over and feel a scream threaten to break from your mouth only for someone else’s own yell to erupt instead. You don’t have to look up to know that its Midoriya, and your eyes glisten as you look at your dirt-caked hands. What could you have done better? Why couldn’t you save him? Why had you hesitated against those blue flames that were so much like yours? 

“Y/n!” You hear your brother’s concerned voice fill your ears and you see his knees drop in front of you. Dragging your face to meet his gaze, your brother gives you a determined look that has confidence flooding your veins.  “It’s going to be alright.” God he is such a hero, always was as a child and always will be. You don’t hold in the tears as they roll down your cheeks. Bakugou was gone… And you didn’t know when he was coming back.

“If you’re going to fucking nap whilst we study, just go to your damn room so you don’t drool on my notes.” There's a tug on a strand of your hair and your head snaps up from its resting place upon your crossed forearms towards the voice. Red crimson eyes meet yours and a scoff slips from the ash-blondes lips as he looks over your face. 

“I don’t drool.”

“Yes you fucking do.” Katsuki glares at you, but there's no bite to it as he looks back down at his textbook and continues to copy notes. 

“How long did I sleep for?”

“Almost an hour. Too damn long though if you ask me. If you were too tired to study, you could have fucking told me so dumbass.” You reach your arms above your head and groan as the muscles stretch, immediately becoming less stiff and sore. 

“I’m not too tired to study, I just need coffee is all.” You reply, going back to your laptop and try to continue working on your assignment due in a few weeks. Being close friends with Bakugou had its perks, which included becoming great at organizing your school work and not procrastinating as much. 

“You seem a lot more tired recently.” Katsuki’s words shock you and you look over the screen of your laptop to him with raised eyebrows. It’s at your look that you watch his walls go back up and he jumps on the defensive. 

“I didn’t know you cared so much Katsu!” you tease.

“Shut up dumbass, you’re lucky your already my fucking girlfriend or else I wouldn’t date you.” he growls, but you see the slight twitch at his lips at the empty threat. But that somewhat smile drops as he speaks again. “You’ve been training more with Endeavor right?” He tries again, and you immediately lean back, allowing the incoming train wreck of a conversation to happen right before your eyes. 

“Yes.”

“Yes? That's all I fucking get?” There's a bite to his words now, and Katsuki looks genuinely pissed off, and you find yourself getting mad the more his temper rises. 

“What do you want me to say? I train with my dad a few times a week to help strengthen my quirk.” You say shrugging. “I want to be number one Katsuki, and I have the weapons in my arsenal, so why wouldn’t I use them?”

“Because they’re affecting your school work. Fucking damn it Y/n I saw you fall asleep in our calculus class today.” Katsuki growls and you know that he’s right, but you won’t ever admit it. Straightening your spine, you raise your chin and glare right back into his vermillion gaze. 

“That's because maths is boring.” You try to defend, but you know it doesn’t look good. It’s true that training with your father had been kicking your ass recently, where you found yourself making mistakes you hadn’t made since you were a kid. You had damned burnt yourself only yesterday on your shoulder because you had been distracted. But you couldn’t help it, for some reason your sleep had been plagued with a horrifyingly vivid replay of the day you weren’t strong enough to save the boy in front of you, and every night it ended differently. In some, you saw them take him, and in others, you watched those cobalt blue flames erupt over his body, and you heard his screams and watched helplessly from where you stood, physically unable to move. 

“I want to cuddle.” Your sudden change of direction makes Katsuki gape at you as if you had sprouted a second head, and you can’t help but smile.

“What happened to I’m not fucking tired?” He asks as you get up from your seat and drag yourself over to his bed. 

“I lied.” you shrug, immediately burrowing yourself under his sheets, and breathing in his scent. He’s here, its okay… you close your eyes and just breathe for a while, letting the familiar smell wash over you and calm your mind. 

There’s a groan and you can’t help but smile as Katsuki gets into the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms with a curse. 

“For five fucking minutes. Then I need to keep studying.”

“Okay,” you agree, rolling over to face him. Gently resting your head on his chest, his steady heartbeat fills your ears and you breathe out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Is your insomnia back?” He asks out of the blue, and you hold yourself from flinching at the word. 

It had been almost a year from when Katsuki had been kidnapped by the league of villains, and you had thought you were getting better - but you have regressed significantly. The insomnia you created due to being scared of the nightmares in your first year returned with a vengeance until you were reliving that night every time you close your eyes. 

You have never mentioned to him just what caused your insomnia, and you didn’t really want to, purely afraid of seeming weak in front of your boyfriend. 

“Yeah,” is all you get out before nerves stop you from saying the rest. 

“When did it start?” he asks, but the calm tone of his voice alerts you to the fact that somehow, your hot but too intelligent boyfriend already figured it out and just wants you to confirm it. 

“Kamino.” The room is completely silent and for a moment, you’re not sure if either of you are even moving. But then, there's a familiar tug at your hair and you close your eyes as Katsuki begins to gently play with your red hair. “I know none of it's my fault, that I can't put it on my shoulders, that I wasn’t strong enough to help you, but sometimes… I don’t know.” It gets to me. It scares me more than anything else. Is what you want to say, but can’t bring yourself to. But Katsuki is very aware of those around him, and already knows what you’re trying to say, and gently releases your hair and softly tips your chin to face him. 

“It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t mine either. What happened is in the past, and nothing is going to separate us like that again, got it dumbass?” He says with such conviction that tears crease in the corners of your eyes. 

“I love you,” you blurt out, not caring that you said it for the first time here and now, or that you were the first person to even say it, for the words just felt right. Right now, and in this moment where you bare your heart to him. Katsuki is grinning feral down at you and immediately smashes your mouth to his, ignoring your shocked squeak that lasts but a second before you get dragged under a haze that seems to make you lose the capacity to think when you’re around Katsuki. And kissing him? Well you basically only have one brain cell during those moments, and the only thing it cares about is Katsuki Bakugou, and how soft his lips are. Katsuki weaves his fingers into your hair and you let out a shaky breath as he pulls away from the kiss. Although he’s close, he’s looking you in the eyes with so much happiness you find yourself grinning back at him. 

“I love you too even though you piss me the fuck off.” Rolling your eyes at the blatant disrespect you push away from your boyfriend and roll to the other side of the bed. 

“I take it back, I don’t love you. I despise you - Katsuki!” you squeal as he yanks you mid sentence back to him and rolls over so you’re pinned beneath him. 

“The blatant disrespect from you that I put up with makes me a fucking saint.” He smirks and you burst into laughter as he places a single kiss on his cheek.

“You want to talk about disrespect? I could be here all day with a list from here to the fucking Tokyo Tower with all the crap you’ve said hotshot!” You grin back, and your smile has Bakugou leaning down and pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. Your heart soars inside your chest at the contact, and the dark cloud that had been hovering around you today seems to dissipate as you meet his eyes. 

“I’m never fucking leaving you alone, got that through your stubborn skull y/n? Not even your shitty brother will deter me from it, even though icy hot annoys me more than you when your hangry.” You chose to ignore the dig at your brother because you’ve come to learn to pick your fights with Katsuki as your boyfriend, but now, in his arms as he rolls and pulls you into his chest once more, you’re more than content to just stay here forever. As his heartbeat fills your ears and you feel your eyes grow heavier and heavier, for the first time all week, you’re not afraid to fall asleep.

Because even though your nightmares are frightening, your boyfriend is way scarier and he would always be by your side. 

REQUEST: ➛ Hi newcomer here saw requests open and jumped at the chance ☁️ Bakugou x Todo reader shes Shotos sister shes in 1A (she's not his twin but older) she has a fire quirk, she's determined and actually willingly trained with Endeavor, tomboy, competing for #1 spot, she has short red hair which she likes Katsu to play with, her and Katsu are competitive but also loving with each other, the kidnapping made her anxious (she won't admit it) and she forces him to cuddle with her in either of their dorms?

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[cassether]

Casualties of War

Summary: Gaius uses Amy to turn the tide of war, knowing if he can break Adrian, the rest will all fall with him.

AN: I only started reading Bloodhound a few days ago and got completely addicted to the characters 😍 This is my first attempt at an Adrian/MC fic. It doesn't follow the plot of the game, but I've tried to keep the details as close as possible 🥰

...

Adrian kneels in front of Amy, his heart hammering like it may well beat out of his chest as he takes in her slumped and bruised features. She's been missing seventy-two hours, a taunt from Gaius, and he catches the regretful shake of Kamilah's head, pressing his hand gently against Amy's shoulder as he rises up, bearing the full weight of suffering the woman he loves has been forced to endure.

Her wrists are shackled tightly behind her back, clamped in some kind of torture device, metal spikes digging into her cracked and rotting skin. She's a vampire now, impervious to human pain, but whatever Gaius has imprisoned her with, it's poisoning her supernatural side, spreading black spider-web streaks outwards from the device's teeth and preventing her from healing.

His eyes boil red, his emotions overcome by a rage worse than ravenous hunger, and he can feel himself slipping, the monster inside threatening to break out in a fury, when her soft voice penetrates his anger, dusting it to ash.

"A… Adrian?"

His fangs retract as he falls back, the fire within him morphing in an echo of his hatred for Gaius. His former mentor spent eons trying to force the darkness out of him, but Amy draws out the light. Her voice, even strained with pain, is like a siren call, speaking to the depths of his heart, and he cups her cheek, his touch tender as he strokes her sweaty skin. "I'm here." Gaius will pay, but his foremost concern, the strongest of his desires, is comforting the woman who's been to hell and back since meeting him. Part of him wishes he'd had the strength to debrief her. If he had, she wouldn't have fallen victim to Gaius' hand, twice, but he's not going to lose her a second time.

Delirious, and not quite sure of herself, she tries to reach forward, biting back a cry as her wrists absorb the mistake.

He growls under his breath. Whatever the cuffs are tainted with, they're not just suppressing her physical powers, but her psychic abilities as well. Gaius' been keeping her mind trapped in a drug induced world of pain, and he snarls at Kamilah's hesitation. "Get them off her, now!"

She retaliates the demand with a frustrated and grim glare. She's witnessed Adrian kill for both reward and pleasure, watched as a flame of guilt sparked, turning into a wild-fire that was only tamed by his escaping and evolving compassion. But she's never seen the true scope of his emotions amplified by the power of love. Regret has changed him, age humbled him, but the Bloodkeeper has more influence over him than both. Amy has begun to heal his wounds, make him look to the future instead of always grappling with his past, and if he were to lose her now, she fears for his stability. Gaius obviously hopes the opposite—is delighting in Adrian’s torment—and this is either a warning of what's to come or they're already too late and this is the test; to have Amy die by either her or Adrian's hand, and she regards her brother with a forlorn frown. "We can't be sure of what will happen if I release her."

Adrian's lungs constrict, like they might snap under the weight of what to do. They breezed into the complex with little fight, and he knows Gaius wanted him to see Amy like this. The man is cruel and vindictive, but this is Rheya's war, and there's still a chance she would want to keep the Bloodkeeper's memories alive. He has to believe that, have faith in Amy's strength, because he can't leave her here suffering. He won't. "Amy." He strokes her soft skin beneath his thumb, selfishly looking to her for answers, for a sign he's making the right choice.

"It hurts… please."

She gasps, her voice filled with agony, and he's witnessed firsthand how much she can withstand. They're out of time, and he snaps his decision at Kamilah. "Do it."

She breathes out, clutching the metal, and with all her strength she pries the restraints open, its teeth dripping with black blood as it clatters to the floor.

Amy lets out a howl, her body collapsing and slumping forward into Adrian's arms, and Kamilah's expression stays grave when the spider-like tendrils wrapped around Amy's wrists don't retract. "She needs blood."

Adrian swings her limp body up into his firm hold, his face twisting with anger but his insides painfully hollow as he grips her tightly. "Lets go."

He stalks forward, and Kamilah can sense the desperation radiating off him, the same irrational carelessness that overcame him the night Gaius plunged a sword through Amy's chest. He wasn't thinking straight when he turned her, and he's not thinking any clearer now, her worry rising as she matches his speed, barreling her way out into the darkness.

Adrian feels the rush of life as they leave the complex behind, human blood pumping louder and fiercer than it ever has before in his ears. Blood that Amy needs. He doesn't know how much time she has, and his eyes lock with an elder gentleman, his feet stalling at the old man's hobble. He's killed for less. Torn out the throats of innocent people for sport, even fun, but Kamilah grabs his arm with a sharp hiss.

"No!"

He snarls back, barely able to hear Amy's weakened heartbeat over the cry of blood calling out to him. "She needs—"

"To live without the guilt of taking an innocent life." Kamilah digs her nails into his skin. "She isn't like us, Adrien."

She isn't tainted yet. That's what Kamilah means, and his fangs retract with a growl. She's right. He turned Amy, robbed her of freewill, and she forgave him, having spared her judgment over the mistakes of his past, but she wouldn't forgive him for this; forcing her to drink without consent. He swore to protect her, and he failed, but she's still bound to the choices he makes, and he moves fast into the shadows, leaving the old man behind.

…

The Shadow Den is where they planned to regroup, and he bursts through the doors of the compound, meeting Jax and Lily's fearful expressions, the air thick with silent tension as Jax leads him through to the feeding parlor. They all know the cost of losing Amy, have suffered through her death before—buried her in the ground along with their hope. They won't win the war against Rheya without her, and watching her suffer, clinging to life only to lose it for a second time will break them all. Gaius wanted this, but the man doesn't know Amy like does. If there's one thing left in this burning world he believes in, it's her, and he lays her down gently, kneeling before her and meeting the gaze of the young teenager giving his consent to help. He swallows thickly. She could turn ravenous or the poison could infect him too, and Adrian reluctantly speaks on her behalf, ignoring his instincts because it's what she would want. "I don't know what will happen."

The kid nods, accepting the risk, as he just his arm out, stirring only a faint murder from the woman he loves. He takes hold of the teenager's scrawny wrist, piercing the skin with his fangs, and placing the dripping blood close to her mouth. "Amy, you need to feed."

She groans, her eyes staying shut but screwing up tightly, and he swipes the crimson with his thumb, smearing it across her lips until she tentatively sucks, and the kid steps in, wincing as she weakly latches onto his vein instead.

"That's it." He smooths down her hair, moisture pricking his gaze as she whimpers, letting go. She didn't drink nearly enough to return her strength, and he knows they're in for a long night, his worried attention diverting to the others collected behind him. "She's going to need to feed every hour, real blood."

"I'm on it." Lily swipes her eyes, her usually resilient humor falling by the wayside.

After healing the kid, Jax steps forward, trying to brush off the fear that's been welled in his chest since they split up to find her. The past seventy-two hours have been grueling, but Adrian's wearing them the worst, and he places a firm but gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "I'll stay with her. You should—"

"I'm not leaving her."

Kamilah snorts at the surprise on the younger vampire's face. "Did you honestly think he would?"

Jax retracts his arm, heat flushing the back of his neck. There was time, when they all first met, he dared to read into Amy's kindness and comfort. He thought, maybe, she might return his affections, but harmless flirting aside, her heart has only ever belonged to Adrian, and from what he's witnessed, she put her faith in a good man. "I'll get some blood bags, then."

Kamilah waits for him to exit, folding her arms with a sigh. "I loathe to say it, but he is right, Adrian. You're no use to her in this weakening state."

He pushes up off his knees, feeling Kamilah's concealed concern bore into him as he slumps beside Amy on the couch, gently drawing her head into his lap. The bags will be enough to sustain him, and he'll sleep when Amy's awake again. "I'll rest when I know she's going to be okay."

"And if she doesn't recover?" Her expression darkens as her eyes fall over the black tendrils curling around Amy's arms. She doesn't want to be the bearer of bad fate, but they have to be realistic. Gaius went after Amy to weaken them all, but they still have a war to fight.

"She will." He grinds his jaw firmly, staring down at Amy's prone form. Even as a human, he never saw her as vulnerable or frail. She looked him right in the eyes the night she found out what he truly is and didn't run or back down. Her place has always been by his side, and his by hers. "She has to," he breathes, reaching for a blanket to cover her with.

She has to recover. 

Because he can't fight this war without her.

TBC...

[sleepylixie]

The Prince of Pearls 

Seawalker/Merman! Yang Jeongin

Word Count: 1.6k, Fantasy, Beware of suicide, mentions of depression I’m sorry you guys

A/N: THIS FIC DOES NOT REFLECT THE CHARACTER OR LIKENESS OF THE REAL YANG JEONGIN IN ANY FORM OR MANNER. ONTO THE FIC!! I love this for so particular reason, I really don’t know why, 

 ( @aliceu​ and @rebecca-noona​ welcome to the cult yet again. Today we’re serving Sex on the beach with a side of Fantasy Fries)

Requests are open for SKZ and BTS! || Masterlist

Every heard about a time when the lines between natural and supernatural were so blurred, they lived as one? Ever heard about a mortal loving the sea so much, he became one with it? Come, let me tell you the story of the Prince of Pearls.

The sea was an entity of dread to mortals, bringing fear in its unpredictability and terror of the unknown that lay within it. 

But for this village off the coast of what would become Busan, South Korea, the sea was nothing more than a god- given blessing for it brought them a bond other inlanders couldn’t even fathom-  

Merpeople. 

Not more than 80 years ago, the first Mermaid queen had reached out to the Busan chief, hoping to find themselves an agreement of mutual benefit. 

Despite strong disagreement, the chief agreed to the Queen’s behest, 

And it was evident, soon enough, that his decision had been for the best.

Her people were curious and benevolent, she claimed, if not slightly impish in nature- They were curious of their land counterparts and wished to observe them from as close of quarters as they’d allow-

They brought with them deep-sea treasures like the pearl and opal for the village to trade in return for their acceptance of her kind.

Busan thrived with their newly acquired trade of rare gems and medicinal weeds from the sea floor, and quickly warmed up to their newest neighbours. 

Soon enough, it was no oddity to see a band of children splashing and laughing at each other in the shallow waves with a trio of mer-children

It was commonplace to see the mothers sitting at the rocks at the edge of the beach, talking marketplace gossip with their underwater counterparts responding with their own equivalents. 

Busan grew well with the merpeople’s companionship, the village blossoming into a robust little trading town. 

\\

Yang Jeongin was the name of the current chief’s son, a young boy with a polite, if not a little shy disposition which was often mistaken for coldness. 

He wasn’t of the chief’s blood, for his wife was too weak to bear a child. He was picked up by his wife at an orphanage, being swept away by the baby with hair like ebony and a smile like nectar.

He wasn’t a child of many words, often choosing silence and smiles as much as he could.

That is, until he saw the ocean. 

The second the waves touched his toes, Jeongin seemed to evolve- no more was he the timid, reserved child his school friends knew him as.

He was a bright, vivacious little thing, unashamed in his loud laughter and witty in his responses, attracting every mer-child’s attention without a smidgen of hesitance. 

It was like he bloomed into his true self when he was in the ocean only to retreat into himself again on land, much to his parents’ exasperation.

“Your life is here, on land, Jeongin,” his mother would reprimand him every time he came back past midnight, tracking sand off his feet and pockets full of coral. “You give too much of yourself to the ocean.”

He would smile his shy smile again, complete with the shiny puppy eyes, and his mother would melt, yet again. 

And so grew Yang Jeongin, from a reserved child with an affinity for the ocean, to a young man with a love for it. 

He was never curious of his true parentage, for his adoptive parents had never made him feel less than their own son by blood- What was the need to look into history, when the present was as beautiful as this?

His hair was black as midnight, cut short so they hung slightly over his coral-brown eyes, brushing at high cheekbones. He stood tall and proud, like a chief’s son should, with swimmer’s shoulders and work-roughed palms. Despite his nature, he was loved by the village, an unconscious charmer who had eyes for nothing but the sea.

Jeongin had begun to spend as much time as he could in the underwater world, loving it all way too much to be able to stay away. 

He could stay underwater for long minutes, swim unnaturally fast with his human limbs, even understand the merpeople’s underwater tongue like it was his own.

There was no doubt, of course, that the merpeople loved the chief’s son. He was forthcoming with his questions, nimble with his trickery and brilliant with his words, all qualities that they treasured very greatly amongst their own people.

“Join the sea,” they’d mock him, laughing their bubbly laughs when Jeongin would frown for he knew he had responsibilities on land that he had no choice but to shoulder. “I wish, my friends.” He’d respond in their tongue, a wistful look in his eyes. 

But at least his underwater friends would always be there for him, no matter what-

but one day, they disappeared. 

One winter morning, Busan woke up to find the merpeople had retreated into the deep sea, far beyond measure.

Busan was lucky that their trading season was over and that they could tide away a few months without the precious cargo the merpeople used to bring for them

But what were they to do if they never returned?

The pressure of the decisions fell onto the chief’s family- who were facing an entirely different kind of dilemma altogether. 

Their son had fallen into a spiral of darkness after the merpeople left, retreating so deeply into himself that he was barely a shadow of his old self. 

It felt like something was missing inside Jeongin, even when he stood at the sea. It was a sickly, poisonous sensation that left him unable to even stand the sight of the ocean- a place he couldn’t stay away from not too long ago.

No amount of talking from his father or pleading from his mother could get him to leave his room- the windows closed, the bed turned away so he would not catch whiff or sight of the sea and it’s breeze.

The healer came up with nothing that could allude to his strange behavior; his body was entirely fine, she said. His mind, on the other hand....

If only they knew. 

If only they knew how he cried at the edge of the beach every night, where nobody would hear him, screaming and begging for the underwater race to come back, bring their ocean magic back with them

The water felt like a trap without their presence, a dark shroud falling over his senses that used to be open and clear even under water. 

Maybe that was why Jeongin gave up, one night. 

He couldn’t take the emptiness inside him anymore, he couldn’t take having to watch the very thing he loved so much tighten a noose around his head every time he so much as smelt it’s air 

So he gave himself to the sea, walking right into the water that felt so poisonous, allowing it to rise from his knees, to waist, chest, shoulders, nose, eyes....

and let go. 

It was a full moon that watched the boy with the midnight hair walk into the very water that gave him life, only to never come out again. 

//

When he felt water rush into his nose, Jeongin’s immediate reaction when he came around to consciousness was to panic and try to push his way to the surface until-

The water wasn’t constricting his lungs at all. The water didn’t feel suffocating, like it did for all those months before.

Right in front of him floated the same people who he’d cried for, all those nights when he felt hopeless and lost in the land. 

“I am sorry you had to live that way, young one.”

The oldest spoke, his merman tongue unfamiliar with his language. 

“Where am I,” he breathed out, finally allowing his eyes to rove over his surroundings- his extremely clear, unblurred vision. 

That was when he looked down at himself- and nearly blacked out in shock when he saw not two legs, but one tail. A strong streamlined tail with shimmering bronze dorsal fins, obsidian scales rippling throughout the length of it. 

“Welcome to Atlantis.”

//

He took to life underwater better than he could have ever imagined. 

Word went out about the newly arrived merman, formerly of human nature but unforgiving in his love for the sea, much like the rest of them. They accepted him graciously, offering him room and tutelage with his true-blooded peers.

He learnt about how merpeople were formed- first by divine intervention, then procreation and rarely, like in his case, when a mortal with a great love for the sea gave his life away to it. 

What Jeongin never understood, however, was why the merpeople that had resided in the waters next to his town decided to leave so suddenly.

When asked, he was told that the merpeople royal court had decided against further interaction with the humans with no explanation at all.

It was sad, he was told.The mer people loved the companionship of their land counterparts, and it pained them to leave the little town that had quenched their curiosities and accepted them without question.

He thought long and hard, over his tutelage, about what the relationship between the merpeople and his human ancestry could bring to the both of them- and then it struck him.

As a human child turned merperson, he could be the perfect conduit between both the worlds- a seawalker who could broker a peace with the landwalkers.

He threw himself into his studies with new vigour, for it felt like he had found a new purpose in life. 

Jeongin rose through the ranks with just the lure of his voice-

For it was easy to accept his words, especially when they were paired with his easy charm, simple smiles and fox-like cunning now veiled behind new sapphire-blue locks.

His new home wondered about him, 

“Is it true that he’s part siren??”

“His land family wasn’t his blood family, what’s to say he truly has our blood in him after all?

Atlantis took to calling him the Prince of Pearls, a fond nickname for the newest addition to their large family who had ideas bigger than them all, a heart filled with compassion and beliefs clad in iron and adamant.

Everybody knows about the seawalker from Atlantis, all midnight hair and trickster allure, the tale of a mortal from the wrong side of the sea now a voice of reason for everything he had learned to believe.

[foolscapper]

Someplace Warmer, Someplace Safer - (How the Wild Things Start Universe)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not edited/beta'd, so please forgive any rough spots! I'll be cleaning it up and posting it on ao3 at a later time! This also takes place after How the Wild Things Start, and is based on a request sent in by @saintedjack -- thank you!

WARNINGS: PTSD responses, MENTION OF CHILD ABUSE (SEXUAL), please tread carefully if that's hard for you!

In the year of our Lord 2020, Sam Winchester didn't think that Christmas would feel so much less... sore of a spot. Maybe that's because he's practiced a handful of Christmases with Leia and Lilly now and has realized with some clarity that holidays can sometimes be about as good as the number of kids who get excited over it. When it was just him and Dean, it was a coupla beers and memories of little kids who sat in hotel rooms waiting for their parent — singular. Now Lilly is coloring pictures of reindeer and eagerly reminding Dean of what she wants for the hundredth time. ("Yeah, yeah, I got it," Dean grumbles, without even the smallest bit of heat to it, "How could I forget when you drew it on my bedroom wall?") Meanwhile, Leia's fourteen, so the appeal of a 'Santa Claus' isn't really there for her; she and Sam are too alike on that front, having lost whatever magic Christmas would've had when they were very little. But she loves that Lilly loves it. She helps her hang up tinsel and all those basic holiday ornaments around the bunker. When Sam and Dean are out to get the kitsune her dietary needs, she prays to Castiel, makes him trek all the way to Lebanon — just so she can ask him to drive her to the rental box in front of the liquor store for holiday films. Anyway, uh. Sam feels... good. He feels good about it. About Christmas. 

First time in forever, he knows, but things evolve over time, right?

Whatever makes them happy makes him happy, and it doesn't help that Dean's starting to get into a bit of a frantic holiday mood himself when he realizes Cas and Leia rented National Lampoon's Holiday Vacation. With one girl on either side of him, his brother chatters on and on about classics, movies like A Christmas Story and the Grinch, and Sam can only roll his eyes in good humor and sound fondness. It's a good day. He hasn't had a nightmare in days — hasn't slept-walked in almost as long (not that it stops Dean from keeping the front door locked, so Sam can't wander out again and scare the shit out of them). It's the day before Christmas, though, and there's plenty of cereal, boxed mac 'n cheese and canned Chef Boyardee, but absolutely nothing that rightfully belongs on a dinner table for the holidays. "I'll be back; just gonna pick up some stuff," he says, while the three are in the middle of Mr. Grinch, you're a bad banana, Mr. Grinch, with the greasy black peel-. Dean snaps out of the trance that had made him 10-years-old for a moment and looks critically at Sam; Lilly doesn't look away from the television, but Leia's sharp gaze shoots to Sam at the same time as Dean's. Dean says, "You sure you don't want us to go, too?" And Sam waves it off. Waves both of them off, since Leia's trying so hard to judge him under her bangs "I'll be fine. Just hitting the grocery for something that works for tomorrow. Please try not to feed them straight sugar while I'm gone?" "Yes, honey," Dean huffs, but there's some hesitance in the way he turns to look back at the TV. He couldn't really blame him, considering what shitty lucky they had apart. Or, well... considering the guilt that still festers in Dean like old, greenish wounds. Sam knows it's there every time his brother glances at pale scars intersecting on his arms, or when he manages to rouse him from a bad dream, or when Sam spaces out at the dinner table until something startles him to attention. Sam's screwed up, and Dean's still gnawing at his own leg for letting it happen. ... Shit happens. Sam tries not to think about it anymore than he has to, because it's not like the muscle memory ever goes away, nor those phantom smells or those reels of the monster rings. No, no, he's not going to think about it. Because today's a good day. It's a good week. He takes the keys to the truck he's kept to himself, makes a mental note to call Castiel and see if he'll stop by for visiting. The air outside is cold and bitterly unfair to the lungs, but he tugs his jacket tighter around himself and wills the old truck AC to start heating him back up. The drive isn't far, and the people at the place he's driving to know him well enough. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing, especially now that they see him changed so drastically; he's pretty sure Dean just tells them all he'd gotten deployed somewhere and ended up hurt, or something. Sam doesn't bother figuring out the cover story, because he's not ever going to be in the mood to talk about it with Joey Behind the Counter or Leticia Stocking the Shelves, no matter how much he likes them. The bell to the store rings, they wave him in, ask him about his plans for the holidays, tell him all about their kids — he surprises himself by talking about his own, albeit vaguely, because you never know who is truly safe. And even though he has little to no skill in hearty, holiday feasts, he knows the basics from television: cranberry sauce, turkey, stuffing, eggnog, so on and so on. Despite his complaint to Dean not to overfeed the kids on sweets, he ends up grabbing two boxes of themed cookies, too. It's not until he walks out the front door that he feels something's off. He'd never claim to still have the powers he did at age 22, but — the hairs on his neck stand up, goosebumps running along his arms beneath his thick coat. It's hard to say what even caused it; there's nobody around. He glances uneasily left and right, and then makes a slow, cautious walk toward the parking around the corner. His heart thumps in his chest and his mind plays cruel games with him: what if it's a hunter coming for him? Looking for him and his family, after what happened at their old cabin? It hasn't been that long. "Hello," a little, polite voice chirps from seemingly out of nowhere. Sam nearly leaps out of his skin, teeth snapping together as he turns in a fraction of a second — ready to fight, dropping his grocery bags as his hand reaches around the back of him. (Bright lights, feral howls of pain, blood on dirt and black eyed spectators-) His breath catches at the startled teenager with sandy-blonde hair standing in front of him. He's dressed in clothes he's clearly worn for a long time, the knitting on his gloves and cap frayed. The smell of an alleyway greets Sam belatedly, and shame creeps into his face when he realizes just what he's actually looking at here: some homeless kid whose smile has faded into a look of uncertainty. Wanted a buck, but ended up with some over-sized freak having an episode at him. "S—sorry," Sam chokes out. He's trying not to let himself get pulled under, but the lights have... always been so bright. The kid seems appeased by the way Sam steps back, though, and moves to rather calmly start collecting the fallen goods from the ground; for a moment, Sam wonders if he's just gonna take them for the trouble, but the boy starts putting them back into the brown paper bags they'd come in. "It's fine. I must be scarier than I thought." It's said in such an easy way, and he looks up with a kind, gap-toothed smile. "I was going to ask if you could spare some money, but I can see now that I should have made my presence more obvious." ... That's a way for a teenaged boy to put it. It reminds Sam of a particular angel of Thursday and his straightforward, over-complicated way of talk. With a somewhat forced smile, he bends down to quickly collect what the kid hasn't. "No, no, I'm — I'm good at being on edge. It wasn't you. Sorry for... that." He's not sure how to put it. He has a hard time remembering how to talk to people, sometimes. There's something particularly distracting about this one, though. Maybe it's the fact that he's so youthful, covered in dirt and red in the nose. Looks at him like how Leia had — with the hope that Sam can help him. Or is he just projecting? He pinches the bridge of his nose, smiling tiredly. "What's your name, kid?" The boy says, almost proudly, "Jack." "... Um, well. Jack. I'm Sam. It's good to meet you. I think you deserve something nice for not thinking I'm a total weirdo, so... if you wanna carry a bag to the truck for me, I've got some cookies and dollars to offer you?" It feels kind of demeaning in a way, like he's giving the poor kid some basic task to 'earn' what Sam'll give him. But Jack just nods and walks along side him. "Thanks, Sam," Jack says. He says Sam's name like he's testing out the weight of it, forming it carefully in his mouth. Despite Jack's appearance, he radiates something... well, something. It's warmer than the weather. "Where are you from, Jack?" Sam asks, tilting his chin forward to look down. His voice is softer, more careful. "From everywhere," Jack says, and looks over at Sam. "I honestly don't know. I've just always been... like this." "... Homeless?" Sam offers. Jack cocks his head to the side, gazing ahead of them. "Homeless. Yes." It's not a long walk, so it's not like there's much more to talk about before they reach the old truck. They load up the groceries, and Sam provides one box of cookies (in this case, the box that is less crushed from falling on the asphalt). It feels like a meager kind of offering, all things considered. "Here — I mean, if you like sweets. I bought way too many, so... Um. And — " "I like cookies," Jack says as a matter-of-factly. "Thank you, Sam." Doesn't feel good enough, though. Sam gnaws his lip and feels... some sort of way about all this. Like he's doing something the wrong way, here. Leia and Lilly have ruined him for life. "Where are you heading, anyway? Do you live in town? I've never seen you here before." Jack's already got the box of cookies wrenched open, and he's eating them too fast, a lot like how Sam used to eat his rations when he lived in a cage, in the dark. Sam's already predicting that he's gonna get sick, and he can't really hide the wince as the crumbs start to collect on Jack's old jacket. Jack looks like he's unsure how to answer, not for the first time. "I'm just moving around. I have nowhere to be, as long as it's — " He struggles for the right word. "Safe." "Safe," Sam says. Jack nods with a mouthful. "Shafe," he says. Sams hands twitch nervously at the thought of sending the boy away with his 'rewards'. Whatever the hell cookies constitute as, anyway. It's not safe out there, that's for sure. It's gonna be below freezing for a while in Lebanon, and — He sighs softly. No... No, it's not smart. Not smart to being a stray into a house full of supernatural lore books, weapons, monster children. He would freak out. He'd panic and he'd know where they live, and he could tell anyone with an ear open about where a guy named Sam lives with his odd little family. But... "You want me to drive you somewhere? I mean, there should be a homeless shelter around here somewhere, if you need somewhere a little less... this." He gestures to the world around them, swathed in a fine layer of snow. Jack seems mildly uncertain, a crooked line of uncertainty to his lips. Sam recognizes maybe he looks like he's one-half a serial killer in his plaid, with his weird flinching and nervousness. "You don't have to, but... I don't want you to freeze out here." After a moment, Jack does seem to relent; nobody likes to be cold, and Sam could tell even if he was handling it well, it was not a pleasant experience he wants to endure any longer than he has to. So he nods at last, and Sam nods to the passenger seat. "Climb aboard, then. I think I remember the street and everything; you'll be warm in no time. And, uh. We can get you something better than cookies, actually." "I don't know what can be better than cookies," Jack replies, sliding into the passenger seat, "But I'm willing to consider it." The truck stutters to life, and Sam makes a beeline for the nearest Taco Bell there is. Cheap, but you get a hell of a lot with a little; he and Dean were no stranger to that particular drive-thru back in the day, when Dean was too tired to eat expired food and Sam was too tired to go buy himself a decent salad and sandwich. The Helping Hands Homeless Shelter is a good distance, so Sam learns a few things in-between Jack scarfing down burritos and soft tacos: he's fourteen or fifteen (he thinks?; Sam's mortified by the thought of him being on his own all this time), his mother died when he was born, he's not sure where his father is, and he's always been moving. No grandparents, no uncles or aunts, nobody that he's familiar with. Once the last wrapper is thrown on the floorboard as designated, though, Jack looks uneasy. "... Is this 'a trade'?" Sam glances over, brow furrowed. "A what?" "A trade," Jack reaffirms, and his eyes — glance down, towards Sam's crotch. Sam feels like he's going to puke, his stomach twisting and heart lurching. He almost slams on the brakes then and there, in the middle of the street, but he manages to avoid doing anything so fucking stupid as to scare the kid. Sam and Dean have both had their fair share of close calls growing up — Sam's had to scream at peeping toms through hotel windows, or weird men at gas stations who keep sizing them up while they read magazines, or — But. But they both had rules, and Dean always had an extra eye out on him. The thought of — the implication of it, it makes his blood boil, rushing in his ears. He thinks of Lilly and Leia and — Sam's been quiet too long. So Jack speaks up again. "It's alright. I don't do anything if they don't ask first. If they don't have something to give me," Jack says, confidently, and Sam wants to scream. "No," Sam manages, voice tight. "No, that's not okay. Anyone who asks something like that, they're monsters, do you understand me? They're evil, and you shouldn't trust them. Not for a second." Jack leans back more comfortably in his seat, confused — but glad. Sam's hands are itching for a blade and someone to hunt. A monster in a ring to rip into. He breathes out instead and looks at the road. It doesn't take long before Jack finds himself tired of the quiet, though, and his gaze moves to Sam's wrists, instead. His hands. The sliver of arm that peaks out under his sleeve. "What happened to your hands?" he asks, innocently. Concerned. Sam's shoulders sag, like the kid has gone and popped that balloon full of rage. "... Monsters hurt me, too," he says weakly, because he figures the kid deserves the truth. "A different kind of monster, but monsters all the same." Jack reaches over, and Sam startles at the hand cupping over his damaged knuckles. "I'm sorry," Jack says. "About the monsters." Sam kind of wants to cry, honestly. "Me, too." He was supposed to get a Christmas dinner, in and out of the store, nothing more to it. He was supposed to just give the kid some money and maybe a snack. He's supposed to just drop him off somewhere a little warmer and safer. (Leia looked at him like a hero, once, like he was going to swoop in and save her; Jack isn't looking at him like that, though; he's just a guy giving him a ride and cookies). Sam's phone rings. He doesn't need to look to know it'll say DEAN in white letters on the screen. Just a minute 'til they get to the shelter. (You're not a hero, you barely managed to protect your girls, he reminds himself.) "Sam?" Jack asks. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. (But Leia looks at him like he’s a superhero. A shaking, high, rabid superhero, hopped up on demon blood, with hands so tense and locked, they look like claws in the darkness. And beside her — a crying boy, a few years younger than her. There’s a burn on his leg, a shake of his shoulders. Worst of all, there’s skin sloughed off around him, and it’s only then that Sam realizes the boy looks different than he had an hour before. A shifter? A small, scared shifter. Like Glenda had been.) He pulls over on the side of the road. Reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieves the phone with a shaking hand. When he answers Dean and hears his brother asking nervously what's taking him so long, he can't help but look at Jack. Jack, who is looking at him with an uneasy amount of trust. How he has it, Sam's not fucking sure, but he feels like he has to do this. (He thinks of two little girls, holding hands as they watch Christmas cartoons.) "I — I'm bringing someone back with me," he manages. "His name is Jack, and he — needs a place to stay, for a little while." He does a u-turn, driving toward the bunker as snow begins to fall once again, soft, delicate. Jack looked awed, still looks awed. He looks at Sam like this was destiny. Fate. Something. "I thought so." "... You thought what?" Jack smiles slowly with that warm, gap-toothed smile. "That something about you, it felt like an angel."

[backtobackbakubabe]

I am the Alpha Now Part 2

Bakugo X Reader 

Words : 2797

Reader is from America and somewhat of a delinquent with an alpha quirk that allows her to turn into a wolf as well as bond with dogs. She is sent to UA to straighten out her attitude. She ends up in a power struggle with none other than our favorite hot head. Words in Italics are words said telepathically

*****************************************************************************************************

You tossed and turned all night much to Mercy’s annoyance. He huffed every time you rolled over. He was usually a pretty heavy sleeper but it seemed even he was a little on edge. 

Before you knew it the sun was rising and there was a loud pounding at your door. There’s no way you slept through your alarm. You would have had to actually be asleep to do that. You rolled over and peaked at your phone and saw that it was 5:30 in the morning. A whole hour before you had originally planned to wake up. 

You tried to ignore the man outside your door but no matter how tight you pulled the pillow over your head you still heard his fist banging on your door. Finally, you gave up and rolled out of bed. You dragged your feet to the door and threw it open. Bakugo had been mid knock and was thrown off balance at the door being suddenly swung open. He caught himself on the door frame his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You were in an oversized t shirt, big fluffy socks, and your hair was in a messy bun with your hair hanging out in multiple places. You knew you looked rough, but you couldn’t find it in you to care before 6 am. 

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and leaned your sleepy head against the door, “Dude what the fuck. Iida said you’d be here at 7…” 

Bakugo’s crossed his arms over his chest, “No he said I would be here no later than 7… now get ready and for shits sake put some fucking pants on.”

You quirked an eyebrow as the tips of his ears turned a little pink, “Oh? Do my bare legs seduce you?” You tugged on the collar of your giant t-shirt exposing your bare shoulder, “How about my shoulders? Do they really drive you crazy?” 

Bakugo rolled his eyes before turning his back to you, “As if I would ever be tempted by an extra like you! Now hurry up! I run on a tight schedule. I need to get my morning workout in before class!” 

You scoffed, “That’s why we’re up this early? So you can workout? You could totally do that without me… Come on man seriously!” 

You saw the muscles in his back tense up, “Listen here idiot! I’ve been instructed to help you until you acclimate or whatever so if I’m working out, you’re working out. If I’m studying, you’re studying. Now get your ass into some gym clothes and let’s fucking move!” 

You slammed the door and stomped over to your closet. There were two gym uniforms and two regular uniforms. Your eyes lingered on the skirts… you didn’t usually wear skirts, especially skirts that short. You packed one uniform in your school bag and quickly dressed into the gym clothes. 

You threw a pillow at Mercy on your way out, “Come on bud. Time to get to work..”

He slowly stretched before walking up next to you at a snails’ pace. “Do we have to? I was finally starting to get some real sleep.”

You grabbed his collar, leash, and collapsible water bowl as you opened the door again. “Take it up with sparky out here. He’s the one who is insisting we have to go.” 

Bakugo rolled his eyes as Mercy just gave him a bored stare, “Are you guys just going to talk shit about me all day?”

You shrugged, “Yeah, probably. It’s what we do best.” You reached for Mercy and went to put his collar on. He stiffened for a bit before mumbling at you. “I know you hate it, but you have to, now quit your whining.”

Bakugo tilted his head, “He doesn’t like his collar?”

You shook your head as you finally got it clipped into place, “He hates it. I can’t really blame him though. Collars are for pets. He’s not my pet, he’s my beta. He’s a pack member. But people tend to freak out when a huge wolf-dog walks by and I feel like the collar lets them know he’s not wild or something.” 

You were following him out of the dorms now. He nodded, “That makes sense I guess. So is he going to be with you all the time? I get that he’s kind of like an extension of your quirk but even when we’re in class?” 

You started to take your messy bun down so you could braid it later, “Well usually he’s with me pretty much 24/7. He really is smart. I think he could really benefit from being in class. If nothing else it’ll help him with his social skills.” You looked over at Mercy who was busy walking ahead of you sniffing everything he possibly could. “He doesn’t really like many people. I think it’s just because people tend to treat him like a dumb dog and it bothers him. I’m hoping if I can get him around other people he can actually make friends.” 

“Tch. You act like he’s an actual person..”

You gave Bakugo’s shoulder a shove, “Just because I was born a human doesn’t mean I am not also a wolf. The same can be said Mercy. Every day his mind grows and evolves. For me it’s like having a brother.” 

You thought Bakugo would have some mean comment about treating Mercy like a human but instead he shrugged, “Well just make sure little brother keeps those massive teeth away from me. He may be evolved or whatever but he’s still an asshole.” 

You giggled, “You got that right. But that probably has a lot to do with the fact that his personality is somewhat influenced by mine.” 

Bakugo nodded as he opened the door to the training facility, “That could also be why he doesn’t get along with other people. Seems like you two are kind of codependent.” 

Your shoulders tensed. That wasn’t the first time someone had said that. You ran your fingers through you long thick (h/c) hair, pulling out the knots. “I’ll admit we do live in our own little world sometimes. But until you’ve experienced the kind of bond we have being in a pack its hard to explain.” The watch you were wearing got caught in pretty bad tangle and you winced. 

“Dumbass. Do you ever brush your hair?” Bakugo was behind you now helping you free your watch. His fingers were surprisingly gentle and if you were being honest it felt kind of good. You couldn’t let him know that though.

“Of course I brush my fucking hair. I just have a lot of fucking hair!”

Mercy was now trying to put himself in between you and Bakugo, “He is too close. Tell him to back up. I don’t like it. Too close.”

When Bakugo didn’t budge Mercy gave him a nudge.“Seriously why does he hate me so much?”

You put your hand on his shoulder, “Why do you care whether he likes you or not?”

Bakugo leaned in and put his hand over yours, “I don’t.” He shoved your hand away, “Now let’s get started.” He turned to look at Mercy, “Go take a seat over there by the wall. You’ll have plenty of time to train with her later but right now it’s my turn.”

Mercy just cocked a head at him which lead to Bakugo narrowing his eyes, “Listen y/n already told me you’re fucking smart, so I know you understand me. Go sit by the wall and take a nap or whatever…”

Mercy gave you a quick look to make sure you were okay. You nodded and he trotted off to the side. 

Bakugo started to stretch, “So was he ignoring me to be an asshole or is your whole alpha thing really that deep?”

You started to braid your hair, “Actually I think he was just taken a bit off guard. Like I said most people treat him like a dumb animal. You spoke directly to him and in a normal voice. If anything I’d say you probably earned some brownie points.”

You could see him trying to hide a smile. He may not be as rough as you thought. 

Bakugo then sent an explosion your way with absolutely zero warning. Just kidding. He’s a dick. 

You could hear him cackling, “Gotta stay on your toes if you’re ever going to catch up.” 

When the smoke cleared he was met with your wolf form. Your bright blue eyes glaring at him. “Mercy whatever happens stand down. I need to prove to this crack head that I’m not the one who needs to catch up…”

Mercy nodded, “If only I had a snack to watch the show. Kick his ass.”

You lunged for Bakugo, pinning him under your full weight, baring your teeth and letting a feral growl rumble from your chest. 

“Damn! Someone needs to go on a diet! How much do you fucking weigh?”

You pushed harder into him before he faced him palms towards the floor and set off an explosion that sent the both of you flying. 

You scrambled to regain your footing and whipped your head around. Where the fuck was he? 

“I know you said to stay out of it but he’s sneaking up from-.”

Bakugo tackled you wrapping his arms around your large neck.

 “….Behind you.” 

You had to give it to him. Bakugo was a lot stronger than he looked. He had you in a tight choke hold and no matter how hard you tried you could buck him off. 

“Just submit already!” He was all you could smell. His sweet, sweaty, burnt caramel smell. It was driving you crazy. You needed to get away from him. 

You stood up on your hind legs and threw yourself backwards. Trapping him underneath you once again, but even then he didn’t let go. “Just submit! Shit!”

You thrashed around, bringing your back feet up to kick and scratch at his arms. You could smell the blood you drew, but somehow he still didn’t let go. Who the fuck was this guy the terminator? 

You could feel your vision going blurry. If you didn’t shift soon you’d run out of air. “Come on don’t be proud!”

Right before you blacked out you shifted back. Gasping for air you were now laying on top of Bakugo. His arm now loose around your shoulders. Your back against his chest. You were sucking in breath coughing now trying to get air back into your lungs. 

Bakugo sat you both up slowly but made no attempt to move you away from him. You were leaning on him now. “Oi! Mercy, there’s a water bottle next to my gym bag. Can you grab it and bring it here?” 

To your surprise Mercy did as he asked and brought the water over. Bakugo took the cap off and immediately handed it to you. “Get some water you stubborn woman. Seriously what were you thinking? You almost passed out?”

You chugged some water before handing it back to him. It was then you noticed the deep gashes in his forearms. “You could…. Have… let go.” 

“Tch, I’m not the one to tap out of a fight.” 

You turned to face him and picked up his arm examining the gashes, “Clearly…” You snapped your fingers and pointed to his bloody arms and Mercy reluctantly started to lick them. 

Bakugo hissed, “Oi! What the fuck! Get him off!”

You thumped him on the nose again like you did last night, “Relax dude, look.”

When he looked down he saw that his wounds had started to heal. “It doesn’t work on all injuries. But it’ll help. It only stings for a bit.”

He huffed, “Yeah thanks for the warning. It stings like a bitch.”

You just shrugged, “I figured if you could let me tear into you without letting go then you could handle a little pain.” 

His eyes lit up a little, “Oh I can handle a little pain you brat. The question is can you?”

Before you could respond Mercy was behind him shoving his nose deep in his hair sniffing him. “I still don’t like him. He’s cocky. But I like him more than other people I don’t like.”

You expected Bakugo to yell and push Mercy away but instead he just sat there looking like a grumpy cat, “Is this necessary?”

You stood up and held out your arm for him, “It can be helpful later if knows your scent. He can track down a scent for miles. He usually doesn’t care enough to remember people’s scents but you seem to be slowly growing on him.” 

He pushed Mercy’s face away from his, “Alright dude, I need to get up. If you don’t mind, please refrain from sniffing my ass when I do.”

Mercy snorted a few times which made Bakugo freeze, “Did he just laugh at me?”

You pet Mercy with you right hand and Bakugo with you left, “He sure did! Look at you guys becoming friends! It’s so cute!”

“Tch, don’t pet me like one of your dogs.” He looked at Mercy, “Do you seriously like that? You don’t like a collar but you like being pet all the time?”

Mercy jumped up and down barking with excitement, “Uh yeah! It feels nice. Is he dumb? Who doesn’t like a good pet?” 

Bakugo reluctantly reached his hand out and gave an awkward pat to the top of Mercy’s head, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You were still a little light-headed as you walked towards the girl’s locker room. “I’ll leave you two bros to it. I’m going to go shower and change.”

You could hear Bakugo protesting behind you but you just didn’t care. You needed a shower. You didn’t bother washing your hair. There was just too much hair and not enough time. It would be air drying the rest of the day. So your shower was pretty quick. The hang up came when it was time for that damn skirt.

You pulled it on and immediately felt so exposed. You much preferred shorts. At least with shorts you didn’t have to worry about accidentally leaning over too far and flashing everyone. 

“Hurry up in there we’re going to be late for class!” 

You blushed and grabbed your bag on your way out. You had put on a little bit of makeup to hide the fact you were running on fumes. You were exhausted. 

Bakugo turned to face you when he heard you approaching. You watched his reaction and he didn’t seem to see anything wrong with your uniform. Maybe all the girls looked like this. 

The whole time you followed him to class you were tugging on your skirt trying to make sure it wasn’t riding up. Eventually Bakugo caught on and sighed, “What’s wrong with the skirt? Does it not fit?”

You blushed, “I don’t know… does it? I don’t really wear a lot of skirts. You can’t really fight in a skirt…” 

It was Bakugo’s turn to blush, “You want me to look at your ass… on purpose… to let you know if your skirt fits.”

You threw your head in your hands, “Ugh well when you say it like that I sounds crazy!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and turned you around, “Just don’t fucking tell anybody alright.” 

He went silent for a while which did nothing good for your anxiety. He finally cleared his throat as he reached down and tugged your skirt down just slightly. “I will say it is a little short. I think they gave you one based on your height, but I don’t think they knew how… you know…” 

You turned and saw that his cheeks were almost as red as his eyes, “What? Thick I am? I may be a little on the short side, but I work out all the time and I have the ass to prove it.” You tugged a little more, “Is it bad though? Like will I get in trouble or anything?”

Bakugo could see you visibly uncomfortable, “I mean technically it’s still in dress code, I would just highly recommend not bending over, or even making eye contact with the kid with purple balls on his head.” He gave your shoulder a quick shove, “Now let’s move it before we are late. I’ll see what I can do about getting you a different skirt later.” 

You nodded and gave him a mock salute, “Yes sir! Right away sir!” before giggling and walking towards the classroom marked 1A. 

Bakugo looked down at Mercy who was still standing next to him, “She’s going to be the fucking death of me, I just know it.” 

[wendimydarling]

Can’t Help Falling in Love with You (Sound)

Title: Can’t Help Falling in Love

Summary:  Sight | Scent | Sound | Touch | Taste

Pairing: Henry x First Person Reader

Word Count: 795

A/N: I am attempting the senses challenge that @viking-raider​ just completed not too long ago. Find her work here! I’m doing it a little differently, each snippet will add a new filter to the same scene instead of lengthening it, if that makes sense. I live for comments, let me know your favorite part!

~~~~~~~~ Sound ~~~~~~~~

The leaves in the branches brushed each other quietly in the breeze, creating a soft, ambient, background track to the scene laid out before us. I could hear the long draw of cicadas, indicating the peak of summer. A couple of birds were flitting above us, chattering animatedly about something or other. Henry’s steady breaths entered my ear as he lay next to me; every now and then his throat would constrict and the air from his lungs would stroke his vocal chords in such a way that a small, endearing grunt would pass his lips. Further away, I could hear the waves from the lake crashing against the dock and it reminded me of our swim. 

Henry had wrestled me into the water, laughing at my screeches of protest. His laugh was otherworldly, deep and rich and full of life. It was infectious; once you heard it you couldn’t help but laugh with him. All my cares seemed to melt away at the melody of his mirth, and I made it my mission to hear that sound whenever I could. We were alone; our playful banter bounced off the blue expanse of the lake, uninhibited by other residents.

“No, Henry, No!”

“You’re going in, love… the moment I catch you!”

“Oh my god, Hank, I swear. You throw me in and you can walk hoooooooome!”

He’d swung me over his shoulders and beaten, I was unceremoniously thrown off the dock, that beautiful laugh the last thing I heard before being submersed. All sound was severed as my body was baptized, and the world around me took on a completely different wavelength; I closed my eyes to listen. I heard the muffled splash of Henry following me, the rush of water as his hands pushed against its resistance, and his chuckle resonated through my insides as the surrounding liquid magnified the sound. The momentary pause in time was broken as I surfaced, normalcy of life returning to my ears. Water against water, water against skin, skin against skin; this was war.

Drying off under the tree, I had soft music playing on my phone, and time seemed to stand still as we lay there reading. The rustle of my book pages as I flipped through them reminded me of ASMR, and I shivered as goosebumps crawled over my arms. The song changed, an old romantic croon given a modern take by a newer artist. I sang along quietly, my soft soprano floating into the air like gentle spirals of smoke. 

“Like the river flows surely to the sea,  Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

“Here, you dog-earred this one,” Henry says, and I stop singing to look at him. The book he’s reading is my collection of poems by Robert Frost that he likes to borrow when he’s visiting. He begins to read, and instantly his baritone draws me in.

“The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,     The road is forlorn all day,  Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,     And the hoof-prints vanish away.  The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,     Expend their bloom in vain.  Come over the hills and far with me,     And be my love in the rain.”

I could immerse myself in that voice for hours. The same as his laugh, it’s deep and full and round. If he discusses anything he’s passionate about, it becomes very animated and the pitch changes rapidly, but there’s also a steady calmness about it that never fluctuates. When I’m anxious or I’ve had a bad day, I’ll snuggle in close and ask him to teach me about something. His voice is low, with a gravelly undertone, and is instantly relaxing. When he discovered that I have trouble at night when he’s gone and I listen to online interviews of his in order to sleep, he recorded my favorite book on tape so that I wouldn’t have to deal with commercials or other people interrupting. His kindness knows no bounds.

Henry finished the poem and I audibly hummed in appreciation, causing him to look my way. He catches me staring at his body and grins.

“Like what you see?” he teases, humor in his tone.

“Shut up,” I sass back before leaning down to kiss him. The tiny pip of soft lips meeting evolves slowly into the erotic smack of mouth on mouth, it’s steady beat blending with soft moans and heavy sighs to create an enchanting aria of happiness, of peace. Breathless gasps replace the song as we pull away, contented expressions on both our faces. I hear the dull thump of his hand connecting with my back as I return to my book, the score of summer once again lulling me into a euphoric state of mind.

~~~~~~~~

Fan Club: @littlefreya​ @sciapod​ @thiccgeralt​ @fucking-hell-cavill​ @brexrif​ @peakygroupie​ @viking-raider​ @constip8merm8​ @daniig95​ @elinalfrida​ @hell1129-blog​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @agniavateira​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @sofiebstar​ @wanderinglunarnights​ @mary-ann84​ @onceiwasanun​ @luclittlepond​ @thekingstachemademedoit​ @onceiwasanun​ @iloveyouyen​ @lestersglitterglue​ @funnygirlthatgab​ @wondersofdreaming​

[deltas-writing-corner]

Warmth: Prologue (2/3)

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Disclaimers: Besides the prologues, I will be posting the first 1000 or so words of every new/next chapter.  There will be a link to my AO3 at the end of the post, where the full chapters are at!

Warnings: mentions of blood

Masterlist: (coming soon)

"Here, let me help with-"

"It's alright!" Fuku shouts as she lifted several rolls of fabric with ease.

To say Fuku was doing a little better is an understatement. She was fantastically better. When Yuki and you came into work the morning after her accident, she didn't greet you both in her usual polite and quiet manner. Fuku had loudly welcomed you both in as if the shop were suddenly a bustling restaurant.

You were mending a ripped seam in the back room when Yuki suddenly enters and whispers, "Please tell me I haven't gone crazy, or is Fuku much more lively than yesterday?"

You resist the urge to smile. She got her spunk back indeed.

"I quite like this sudden shift in her character," you say.

"I do too, really! I haven't seen her like this since I was a kid. But the sudden switch from sweet to sassy is…" her mind trails off with uncertainty. She looks over her shoulder to make sure you two were alone still. "Do you think her accident yesterday had anything to do with her personality change?"

"They say your life flashes before your eyes in an instant when you come close to death. Maybe she decided to drop the quiet act and be true to herself."

"Yeah, that's it isn't it?" Yuki asks more to herself than to you. "But should she really be carrying all those fabric rolls? Those things are heavier than they look."

"Perhaps her back is doing better?"

"In a day?!"

She was getting more confused, more frustrated as she tried to wrap her head around everything. You put your needle and thread down and turn towards her. "Do you remember what I said yesterday?" you ask. Her tense shoulders relax a bit and she nods. "Then trust me on this. She's going to be fine. Would I ever lie to you if I didn't think she would?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know why, but you saying she's going to be okay somehow reassures me that it will be."

You give her a pat on the head, but she pulls you into a tight hug. You would hug her back if she wasn't squeezing your arms against your body. It was strange. Her hugging you like this almost makes you feel as if you two had truly become…

You don't finish that statement, for fear that your rival would hear it and use it against you. You nearly forgot that you could never truly make friends, not when you're still in the midst of a never-ending battle with a damn snake that targets the people around you. One of these days, you're going to get rid of it for good by any means necessary. Even if that means you would have to die with it, so be it. Anything to make sure it doesn't come out victorious.

You won't take away the people I love again.

 _______________________________________________________________

The last time you took a vacation was...never. You've never been on vacation. Your 50-year lone journey could technically count, considering you don't work and essentially goof around most of those years. It wasn't to relax from the stresses of work though. It was merely to pass the time before you could integrate back into society without causing a fuss. It would also help you forget about the people you had gotten to know.

You look over to your co-worker and boss. "Can't I just relax at home? Do I really need to go all the way out to…"

"Kyoto," Yuki finishes your thought.

"Right. Do I really need to go out to Kyoto to relax?"

Fuku shakes her head in disbelief. "Honestly, all you ever do is work! You'll go stir crazy if you don't switch up your surroundings every now and then."

"Besides," Yuki chimes in. "If anyone deserves a vacation, it's you. I don't think you understand how much you work. It's admirable, but also very concerning."

Seeing their worried expression, you feel a bit bashful. They were only looking out for you, thinking you to be tied down to the same limitations they have. You badly want to just bite the bullet and tell them the true nature of who you are. Surely they would understand, right? They would accept you for who you truly are, right? The coiling of the snake around your arm keeps your confession at bay.

Apparently, a vacation for you meant a vacation for it as well. Tormenting you must be such a demanding job after all.

You made sure to sharpen your axe real well the other night.

The chugging of the train grew louder and louder. You and a few other people, mostly fellow travelers from outside your town, walk up to the yellow line on the ground and stand to wait. The train begins to slow down into a complete stop. Once halted, a hiss of steam is let out and the doors creak open.

You turn to give your farewells to your friends and surprisingly find yourself in the middle of a group hug. You give Fuku and Yuki their own pat on the back and they squeeze you a bit harder.

"Have fun! Don't forget to call me and take a bunch of pictures!" Yuki demands.

"And bring a man home," Fuku adds.

You laugh at her comment. She really was a feisty one.

Adjusting the bag hanging from your shoulder, you step onto the train cart and take a seat. After a few minutes, the doors close and you begin to depart from the station. As you look back out the window behind you, you see Fuku and Yuki still standing there, waving you off even as you gradually disappear over the horizon. You swear, they both looked ready to burst into tears.

A tightness against your arm grabs your attention. After wriggling about from under your sleeve, the snake finally pokes its head out and turns its head towards you.

"So," you whisper, as to not attract any attention from your fellow passengers. "It took you awhile to come back. Did I cut you up that badly?"

It hisses at you for mocking it. Uncaring of it feelings, you uncoil it from your arm and drop it in the seat next to you. Should any of the passengers have watched you, they would see you moving nothing. You were actually grateful they couldn't see it. If they did, they would all certainly panic. You did not want to be known as the traveler who carries a deadly snake with them.

You cross one leg over the other and sink in your seat. "Y'know, I should give you a name. It's starting to become annoying just referring to you as 'the snake'."

It seemed surprised that you were speaking to it on neutral terms. Usually, your interactions were hostile and more or less ended with you chopping it into fine bits. It slithers back onto you, this time coiling around your neck. You nearly flinch at the familiar sensation you felt as it tightened its grip to gain stability.

I felt this in my first memory. Go figure.

You pull out your phone and quickly search up an image of a color wheel. You take care to lift the screen up to the snake's eye level while not appearing odd from any lingering gazes. You tell it to tap on a color, and from the one it selects, you would refer to it as that henceforth. It was unimpressed by your naming process but you tell it that it was either this or you give it the most insulting name you can think of.

It looks at the screen for a minute. It then presses the tip of its mouth against the glass and selects the color black.

"How original," you sarcastically say. It responds by tightening around your neck. "Alright. I'll call you Kuro from now on. It'll make cutting you up all the more personal."

Your one-sided chat ends with Kuro, who turns his head away and settles around your neck. You pull up your phone's built-in navigation app and look at the expected arrival time, 3 hours. You lean forward and prop both elbows on your knees. For the next few hours, you just sat there and waited, not bothering to look out the window and marvel in the passing scenery. Your focus was entirely on Kuro, making sure that he wouldn't try to sneak off of you and attack any of the other passengers. He usually only goes for people you had grown attached to or spend most of your time with, but you weren't going to take any chances.

You give yourself a bit of comfort by sticking your hand in your duffel bag and squeezing the familiar handle of your axe.

________________________________________________________________

The city still amazes you. It was hard to believe that in just a couple hundred years, humanity would evolve so rapidly. As amazing as the advancement of humanity was, the air quality has gone to complete shit. Along with sleeping and eating, you didn't need to breathe either. You're thankful you didn't have to subject yourself to the polluted air and spare yourself from burning your lungs. Kuro seems to hate the air as well, as he makes a sort of gagging noise once you step out of the station.

Finally, we agree on something

You robotically push past the crowds, flag down a taxi, and check into your hotel room. You send a quick text to Yuki to let her know you arrived safely and thank her again for booking the room for you. Once you set your belongings down and relax against the plush bed, you get a text back.

'What r u going to do?'

That's right. This was supposed to be a vacation. You were supposed to be going out and doing literally anything other than work.

What the hell are you even supposed to do?

You text back, 'idk.'

'Seriously??? There's a ton of stuff you could do in Kyoto!'

'Like what?'

'I heard shrines are lovely this time of the year'

________________________________________________________________

The fact that you, a god, are visiting a shrine to be very, very hilarious. Kuro hates it apparently, which made it even funnier.

"Aww, don't be like that," you jokingly cooed at him.

You used the ladle from the shrine pavilion to scoop up the so-called purified water and bring it close to him. He hisses so violently that the shrine maiden that acted as a guide for you and your fellow visitors flinched and looks around to find the source of her scare. Deciding to spare him any more stress and reason to go on a frenzy, you put the ladle back in the basin and catch up to the departing group.

The tour was simple, a mere walk around the temple and it's public areas while the guide explained the history behind each building, important figures, and various rituals the worshipers practice. It wasn't the most exciting way to spend your first day on vacation, but you found still found it interesting and very educational.

Near the end of the tour, the guide leads you all up to a statue of a woman. Her skin is as white as milk, half of her black hair twisted up in a bun while the rest flowed down her back. It was a hairstyle your mother would style on you and even taught you how to do it yourself. Her kimono was a faded gold color from years of natural degradation. The pattern on her stone clothing reminded you of flames.

Your tour guide stops and turns back towards you all. "This here is a statue of the sun goddess, Amaterasu. She is a central deity within the Shinto religion. The Japanese nobility claim their divine right to rule by claiming to be her descendants."

Your tour guide went on about the shrine's methods of worship for Amaterasu, but you completely drowned out her words. You found yourself completely enamored by the statue.

Something about it was...

Hearing that name was…

Your body was...

"Miss?" One of the tour-goers waves her hands in front of your vision in an attempt to gain your attention. "Is everything alright?"

As you slowly regain your focus, you notice a wetness on your face. You had shed a tear. You quickly wiped it away and gave the concerned woman a reassuring smile. "Allergies."

She seemed relieved and without a second thought reached into her bag to pull out a bottle. She pops off the cap, shakes out two antihistamine pills and hands them to you. You take them and hide them under your tongue before taking a gulp of water from your plastic bottle. You thank her, waiting for her to walk off with the group before spitting them out.

Kuro gives a condescending flick of his tongue against the cheek your tear descended on. You slap his head away and growl, "Not a word."

You take a moment to gather yourself before heading back with the group. Before you turn the corner and lose sight of the statue, you spare it one last glance. When you looked at it again, you were certain what you were feeling wasn't just a fluke.

You felt warm.

________________________________________________________________

The tour ended not long after you all saw the statue of the sun goddess. You didn't leave until night, when the Shrine closed to the public. You spent the entire day just staring at the statue, basking in the familiar warmth that filled within your body.

"I know you don't care, but that wasn't some coincidence," you say to Kuro. "That warm feeling. It's similar, no, the exact same warmth I summon when I heal people!"

You yank him off your neck and plop him on the nearest surface, a stone tablet of sorts with writing carved into it. It was monument for some historical figure, but you didn't care about it. He looks at you as if he was actually considering your words for once. At this point, you could care less about this ingrained rivalry between you two. If there was anyone else in the world that could ever relate to you, it would be him.

"Who the hell am I? What the hell are we? Who the hell made us so hellbent on screwing each other over? Actually, let me rephrase. Why are we so hellbent on screwing each other over?"

You kept rattling on question after question. Contemplating the meaning of your existence to a snake that no one but yourself could see. In your confused frenzy, you fail to notice the grey clouds engulfing the sky. The loud roar of lightning and sudden rainfall put a halt to your pacing.

So much for clear skies.

The sound of footsteps approaching your figure brought your attention back down to earth. "Are you alright ma'am? Do you have an umbrella?" a man in a lab coat and glasses looks at you with a blank stare, but his voice indicates that he was worried for you.

You shake your head. "I didn't think it would rain today."

The man opens his mouth to say something when suddenly, your eardrums are assaulted by another clap of lightning. This time, it struck the space right next to the both of you. You frantically search your surroundings to locate exactly where it struck. The monument that your rival was on had been completely shattered into pieces.

Shit, I put Kuro on that!

The bespectacled man kneels down towards you and offers you his hand. You didn't realize that you had fallen over until you finally registered the stinging on each of your knees. You reach out towards his offered hand. Before you could place your hand in his own, darkness suddenly enveloped your vision followed by a wave of dizziness. You instinctively shut your eyes and nurse your head in your hands.

The wet and cold air of the rainstorm was suddenly replaced with a suffocating heat. You manage to open your eyes and find yourself in a completely new setting. You were on the balcony of a building, currently blanketed in flames and billowing smoke. You accidentally inhaled due to your shock and began to cough as your lungs fill with black air.

Your fit alerts a figure in the room of your presence. Seeing you, a defenseless woman all so suddenly, they found themselves frozen in shock. Your vision began to slowly clear up enough for you to notice the familiar sheen of metal. Whoever it was that you were looking at had a sword in hand, tip aimed to the floor where a man lied unconscious at his feet.

Instinctively, you reached into your handbag and grabbed your axe. You put all the force you could muster into your grip and threw it at the man with the sword. He gave out a cry of pain, indicating that you had landed a hit on him. He suddenly backs away from the body and you think you hear him mutter some sort of apology before running out the room. With the threat now gone, you make your way towards the man on the floor. He was still unconscious, so you took a firm hold of his shoulders and began to shake him awake. He wakes up with a sputter before taking notice of you.

"Who are you?" his booming voice asks

"No time for introductions! The building is burning and we need to leave! Now!"

You didn't give him a chance to get in another word. Grabbing his forearm and hoisting him on his feet, you pulled him out of the fiery room. You make sure to grab your axe, wedged deep into the wood of the door frame, on your way out.

Miraculously, you manage to find a way out the building. As soon as you're lungs fill with fresh air, you double over into another coughing fit. As you try to calm your breaths, you turn back to building. It was a temple, but not like the one you visited earlier in the day. This one seemed more rustic. It was hard to fully picture what it might have looked like due to it being quite on fire still.

If you hadn't escaped in time, the man you dragged along with you would have perished. If not by the stab of the sword looming over him, then by the flames. Speaking of him, he looks out towards the burning temple with you. Instead of worry or panic, he seemed to be rather annoyed.

"Someone tried to do away with me as I slept? Audacious, but foolish. Killing my guards and managing to get so close to me is another matter."

Who cares if you were asleep or not?! You almost died!

He then turns towards you, taking notice of your grip still on his arm. "You there," he addresses you. "Let go of me."

You let go of his arm and he rubs it as if your grip was uncomfortable. He took in the person standing before him, his apparent savior.

"You may be mere entertainment the monks brought in, but you saved my life nonetheless. You have my thanks."

Did he just insinuate that you were a prostitute?

"I must have missed all the monks among the fire. I don't have a clue how I ended up in there," you tell him.

It's now that you begin to take in your surroundings. You were no longer within the city, not a single skyscraper obscuring the night sky in sight. The air, despite standing next to a burning building, wasn't as disgusting to breathe in. The man you rescued had striking features. His hair black and eyes a carnelian hue. He wore armor sporting colors of black, white, and red. You remember seeing such attire way back when your parents were alive. He was some sort of soldier.

"What are you staring at? Surely you know who I am?" He asks. You shake your head, being at a total loss for words. This genuinely confuses him. "You saved me not knowing who I am? Not expecting reward or favor?" He gives a deep chuckle that echoes throughout the night. "So be it, I shall tell you my name. I am the man who will rule all under the sun-"

Your silence is broken by your faint laugh. Was this man seriously going to monologue and create some sort of suspenseful build-up over his own name? After he just escaped the clutches of death?

He lifts an eyebrow. "Have I said something amusing?"

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggles and shake your head once more. Surely, he must have thought you rude.

Instead, he lets out another round of laughter, this time louder. "You're a curious one. No one has acted so impudently to me before." He takes a step closer to you and you take half a step back. "You intrigue me, which is almost as worthy of praise for saving my life. I am the Lord of Azuchi Castle and Daimyo of Owari, Nobunaga Oda."

Your head involuntarily tilts to the side. You look up at him and say, "...Who?"

His brows furrow. Now he was getting frustrated. "Do you truly not know who I am?"

You fiddle with your thumbs. "Noooooo?"

"You are indeed a strange one. But I have given you my name. Now, give me yours."

You hesitated, but decided it was safe to give him your name.

"I see. A good name befitting my savior"

Was that a compliment? Hang on, where the hell are you?!

You shake your head as if to clear your mind of its confused state. "Now that we got the introductions out the way. Tell me, where are we?"

"We are at Honno-ji. The building before you is-"

"A temple. I can see that. What year is it?"

He seems taken back by your question and of the fact that you interrupted him. "It is 1582. Why?"

Ah, 1582………WHAT?!

Before you could understandably freak out, the galloping of hooves grabs both your attention. The man at the front of the small group heading in your direction shouts, "Lord Nobunaga, you're safe!"

Once he reaches a safe distance, he hurriedly dismounts and approaches you both on foot. The others that rode alongside him turn their attention towards the building and begin shouting out orders to put out the flames.

"Mitsunari," Nobunaga turns to him. "Why have you come? Where is Hideyoshi?"

"Lord Hideyoshi sent me ahead. He should arrive here shortly," Mitsunari explains. He then takes in the sight of the smoldering temple and frowns. "It would seem the information we received about your assassination attempt was correct."

You feel another coughing fit coming and try to muffle it. It is then that Mitsunari takes notice of you.

"Oh, who might you be?"

Nobunaga calls out to you. He gives a nod to Mitsunari as an indication that you were no threat and then commanded, "Present yourself to my subordinate."

"I'm- Ow!"

Something pierces your ankle and you nearly fall over yet again. Mitsunari pulls you towards him and swiftly draws his sword out. As your eyes search the ground for what could have bitten you, you notice the familiar black scales of your rival hidden between the blades grass.

"Kuro! You bastard, I thought the lightning fried you to a crisp!"

As much as you hate to admit, you were glad to see the serpent is alive and well. However, as Mitsunari took notice of the snake, he pulled you further in until you were between him and Nobunaga.

"A snake?! Please stand back!"

He firmly planted his right foot on the ground and raised his sword. You immediately went on the defense and shoved him into the Nobunaga's chest. They were dumbfounded as they saw you place yourself protectively in front of the snake as if they were the threat, not it.

"Stop! He's with me!"

"My lady, the snake could potentially be venomous. Please walk carefully towards me,' Mitsunari beckons you to him.

Oh, he's much more than venomous… hold on.

You look down towards Kuro, then to Mitsunari, then to Kuro and back to the grey-haired man again. "You...You can see him?"

"Of course I can! Now please, get back!"

You glare down at him. "You bastard! You can make people see you at will can't you?!"

Unsurprisingly, he plays dumb and slithers back on you. Like before, he situates himself around your neck before turning his gaze towards the two armor-clad men. He sends an almost condescending gaze at the grown men panicking before him, a tiny viper.

"Ok, before you panic let me explain. This is Kuro. Say hi." You roll your eyes as he hisses at them. What else did you expect? "Lovely. He's my…we've known each other for a long time."

"You say that as if the snake were a person." Nobunaga notices.

Man don't even get me started!

"He's more aware than most, but he isn't harmful. So long as you don't annoy him he won't try to lunge at you." You shift your weight to the foot he had bitten, reminding you of the fact that he sunk his fangs into you just moments ago. "Except me. He'll only bite me."

"He's not venomous, is he?" Mitsunari asks.

"He has venom," you stupidly say, but quickly backtrack on your statement. "But he never shoots it in me, I swear! like I said, you just have to be cautious around him and not give him a reason to bite you."

"A woman with a venomous snake as her companion. There is no end to your amusement, is there?" Nobunaga speaks up, impressed, and not at all ashamed of feeling so, "Mitsunari, this is my savior. Remember her well."

"I thank you for rescuing our Lord," the man, clad in purple armor and a singular beauty mark under his right eye, bows deeply towards you. "My name is Mitsunari Ishida. I serve Nobunaga's right-hand man."

You wave your hands frantically to stop him. "Ah, no need to be so formal! Despite the circumstances, It's nice to meet you as well."

you properly introduce yourself to Mitsunari, who instantly perks up at your more welcoming demeanor. "Is your foot alright? That bite must have hurt. Though now that I've gotten a better look at you, you don't appear to be a nun. Are you perhaps from abroad?"

You look down towards yourself and realized you were wearing nothing but a t-shirt, capris, and some old worn out sneakers. You must look like a clown to them. Also, what were you even supposed to say in this sort of situation? Hey, I'm from 500 years in the future. Did I forget to mention I'm actually a 300 year old deity? Life sure is crazy!

Not knowing what is safe and not safe to say, you remained quiet. Mitsunari takes notice of your hesitation and looks back at Nobunaga for some guidance. The man, now over your rude behavior, steps past his subordinate and towers over you.

"Were you not taught to speak when spoken to? You may have saved my life, but there is only so much disobedience I will tolerate. Tell us where you hail from, and quickly."

You and Kuro glance at each other. Like most of your standoffs, there seems to be a mutual understanding between you two without the need for words. Remain silent. Do not tell them of your origin or of the nature of your being. Even if he decides you aren't trustworthy and strikes you down where you stand, you will survive the blow.

You kept your mouth shut. He seems more disappointed than angry towards your answer and turns towards Mitsunari. "Restrain her. She is now officially a suspect in the assassination plot on my life"

"My Lord. She's clearly disoriented from the chaos-"

"Restrain her," he ordered with finality.

Mitsunari, hesitant but not one to disobey orders, grabs a length of rope from his horse's saddle and walks back towards you. "Please give me your hands,' he politely demands of you. You do as you're told.

"It's alright," you whisper to him. "If it makes you feel better, my reason for being silent is just for my safety. I mean you all no harm. You have my word."

"I…" he appears caught between his orders and trusting in you. "I will trust you. No person with ill intent would risk their life to save Lord Nobunaga."

You thank him by giving his hand a comforting squeeze. He makes sure to tie your hands in a manner that would make escaping impossible, but not tight enough to hurt your wrists. You're escorted away from the temple, to a camp not too far away. You're led to a nearby bonfire and told to sit and not make any sudden moves. Mitsunari steps away from you and is replaced by two of the soldiers he brought with him.

"Hey," you try to whisper as quietly as you can to Kuro, "I have a suggestion. Care to hear it?"

He slithers around your neck until he's facing you head-on. It seems he's willing to listen. "Let's call a truce," you simply state. "The only conditions are that we look out and help one another until we find a way back to our time. After we return, we can go back to despising each other for the next hundreds of years."

Were you seriously offering an alliance with your sworn enemy? Yes, yes you were. As much as you both detest the idea of having to tolerate each other, the current situation made it clear that the only way you two are going to manage to get home is to put your heads together. Maybe even get along for a change?

Ugh, the thought of befriending this slithering asshole is deplorable.

"If you agree to those terms, bite my neck."

He doesn't hesitate to sink his fangs into your throat. You're sure he's wanted to bite you until your body was littered in duo puncture marks. The guards are alarmed at your cry of pain and go to kneel beside you to see what was wrong. They both took notice of the black snake around your neck and bleeding wounds. They look at each other and then nod. "Don't move ma'am. We'll take care of the snake-"

"He's a pet! No need to draw your sword," you immediately explain to them. "Could I maybe get a rag to press against my wound?"

The guard on your right seems hesitant, but his fellow soldier nods in assurance. He leaves in search of a rag, while the guard on your left seems to get closer to you. He's probably keeping a closer eye on you until his partner returns.

Two new people enter the camp. One is clad in blue and white armor, hair a pure white color. The other in green armor with red accents, hair a natural brown. You try your hardest to listen to their conversation. So far, both new figures seem to be concerned for the well being of Nobunaga. They question him on how he managed to escape unscathed and soon the attention is turned towards you.

"This is my savior. Due to her lack of answering my inquiries about her person, I've placed her under custody until we return to Azuchi."

"That one, sitting by the fire?" the white-haired one gestured towards you. You gave him a wave with your tied hands. "What a slender thing, but appearances aren't everything. Shall I pry answers from her mouth?"

The threat of torture puts you both on edge. You more than Kuro as you would be the one subjected to it.

Nobunaga seems to notice your fear and revels in it. "Once we return home, if she refuses to explain herself again, I will leave her in your hands. For now, we prepare for our departure."

The white-haired one nods in understanding before sending a spine chilling grin towards you.

Note to self, watch out for that one.

The brown-haired one comes towards you. While he isn't as scary as the other one, his height makes up for it. He's nearly twice your height and taller than anyone in the camp. He glares down at you and says, "Whoever you are, if you have any plans to harm Lord Nobunaga, I will make you regret ever having such thoughts."

Threat after threat after threat. You were getting pretty fed up with it. You were about to give the man a piece of your mind when suddenly, Kuro lunges at him. His fangs were bared and spurted liquid out of his mouth. That wasn't a warning bite. It was an honest attempt to bite and kill.

"Kuro!" You scold him. "That's not going to help the situation!"

"A snake?! Why haven't you noticed and gotten rid of it?!" The green armored one questions your guards.

They stutter over themselves before you finally speak up in place of them. "He's my pet."

"Pet or not. Allowing such a dangerous animal around Lord Nobunaga is a risk I won't take."

He reaches down to his waist to unsheathe his sword. In your panic, you shot up on your feet and you kick him right in the diaphragm. His arms wrap around his stomach and he nearly falls to his knees over from the blow.

"The next person that points a sword at us, I'm going to hold you down myself and let him pump you full of venom!" you scream. Gods, were you so on edge that you were now threatening people?

Your suddenly thrown face first down onto the ground and pinned from behind. You turn your head to see who it was that had restrained you. It was the white-haired one. The empty barrel pointed at you keeps you still.

I smell gunpowder. That's a rifle no doubt. Father used to have one in the house in case wolves came by at night.

"Those things have a tendency to accidentally go off," you tell him.

He smiles down at you. "Indeed. You'll forgive me if it does, yes?"

Second note, I hate this guy.

Angered by his cockiness, you try to wiggle out of his hold, but it utterly fails. In fact, you actually help him get a better grip on you and make it harder for you to escape. Great job, you dumbass.

"What shall we do with the snake, my lord?" The one pinning you down asks Nobunaga.

He stood over your defenseless self and stared at you with indifference. "It is clearly a hazard, but it has yet to leave it's master side and only struck when it perceived her to be under an immediate threat. Leave it, but keep your distance."

"My Lord, that is too much of a risk. Removing the threat now would be the better option," the brown-haired one protested. Slightly bent over in pain from your hit.

"I hate to say it, but I agree with Hideyoshi," the white haired one says. "Even a moment of vulnerability on our part will result in her releasing it on us."

The one you hit is Hideyoshi. Noted.

Nobunaga smirks at him. "If you're so concerned, Mitsuhide, then I suggest you put your sharpshooter skills to good use and keep an eye on the damn thing. Now, if you're both done bickering, let us head out."

Mitsuhide didn't seem to like his new orders but answers with a practiced "yes sir", before helping you up to your feet. Without any more to say, you're escorted to an large crowd of horses and lifted onto a saddle. Mitsunari is your apparent rider and you quietly thank the heavens for your one saving grace.

"Sorry," you whisper, "I sort of made things worse for myself."

You feel him tense, immediately feeling bad for making him worry even more.

"Once we return to Azuchi, you'll be in a secure place and can speak your truth without fear of lingering ears," he tells you. The horse beneath you suddenly kinks into a speedy gallop and you hold onto him for dear life.

You travel for a few minutes before the steeds around you slow down into a complete stop. A man with an eye patch and blue and gold armor appears with another unit of soldiers. Perhaps he was back up? He sure is late though.

"Lord Nobunaga. I see you're unscathed," he says, a more casual hint in his voice.

"Physically, yes. But my pride has taken quite the hit. We're returning to Azuchi. Have your men follow."

"Damn, I guess I was too late to see some action," he answers disappointedly. He turns back towards his reinforcements and shouts, "You heard the man! It's back home for us!"

His soldiers all let out groans of equal disappointment. He laughs at their expense before maneuvering his horse to join with the rest of the retreat. It's when he and his men fully merge that he takes notice of you and your bound hands. "Who's the lass?" He shouts over to Hideyoshi.

"They're under suspicion for the assassination attempt tonight. She has a snake around her neck and it will strike if you get near."

"A woman with a snake, huh? I like you already. The name's Date Masamune. I hope we can get to know each other well."

First I get called a prostitute, then this asshole flirts with me while I'm tied up! So much for a relaxing vacation!

________________________________________________________________

Kennyo watches the retreat of the Oda alliance with rage. His chance to exact revenge was in the palm of his hand but had been slapped away in a mere instance. The rustling of bushes gains his attention and he turns to see Ranmaru knelt before him, sweaty and disheveled. He's now porting a gash across his normally pristine face. "Are you alright? We need to tend to that wound to prevent it from becoming infected. It'll likely scar."

Ranmaru is on the verge of tears. "Master Kennyo, I failed you. All our efforts to eliminate the head of the Oda have gone to waste because of-"

The monk shushes him. "You've done well, Ranmaru. You've demonstrated how well the devil king trusts you. That alone is enough to be the cause of their undoing."

Ranmaru flinches at the mention of the word "trust." Kennyo turns back to look at the retreating forces once more. He turned back just in time to see that the they had a prisoner in their midst. He becomes even more enraged once he realizes that it was a woman.

"They would go so far as to blame a woman for the fire and hold her captive. The Oda couldn't stoop any lower than they have now."

Kennyo begins to walk away into the darkness of the forest. He gestures for the boy to follow, and he does so without hesitation.

________________________________________________________________

Another set of eyes watch the retreat of the Oda alliance from the sidelines.

"How disappointing. Though perhaps this is a blessing in disguise," Kenshin, initially unhappy seeing Nobunaga escape unharmed, immediately perks up at his own thoughts. "I still have an opportunity to drag the devil king out to battle and strike him down myself."

Shingen shakes his head in disbelief. Although he was frustrated as the rest, seeing the Oda pull out victorious and without a single loss, hearing Kenshin retain his bloodlust was reassuring. "He truly earned the title of devil king. Only a demon could have such twisted luck on his side."

"Lord Shingen," Yukimura suddenly notices an unfamiliar figure among the retreating forces, "look at who is riding with Mitsunari Ishida."

Shingen searches out for the familiar tuff of grey hair. He was in a bad mood, but now he's pissed. That was a woman, bound by the wrist the same way a criminal would be. "Unforgivable," is all the Tiger of Kai could growl out.

"Yes," Yoshimoto nods in agreement with his cousin, "Such a small thing. She must be scared to death."

Kenshin doesn't make any comment at the revelation, but he notices the panic that overtakes Sasuke's face upon hearing that a woman had been taken prisoner.

"I've grown bored. Let us return to Echigo and reconvene another day."

Kenshin doesn't wait for an answer. He turns away and the rest of his allies follow without a word. "Sasuke," Kenshin calls out to his ninja who had yet to move from his spot, "Do not keep me waiting."

He snaps out of this train of thought before following along. "Yes, my Lord."

________________________________________________________________

You had remained quiet the entire trip. A few people called your name, but you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even acknowledge whoever was speaking to you. You failed to realize that night had turned into morning. Your surroundings had changed from foliage into a massive fortress-like castle.

Kuro paid attention to your surroundings in your stead. Anyone that had gotten even a little close was hissed at and had transparent venom spat at them. Even Mitsunari, your one and only ally as of now, was not spared of the serpents radar.

You finally speak your first words after hours of silence. "If you keep threatening every man that so much as looks in my direction, I might start to believe you actually liked me all this time."

You're once again bitten, this time on the back of your hand. Blood quickly pools in the twin punctures before rolling down and staining your skin.

Mitsuhide had witnessed the snake sink its fangs into you. "Oh my, such a temperamental pet. Are you sure you have it under control?"

You roll your eyes. "Of course I do. Hey, Kuro," you look down to him. "If things turn ugly, pump me full of whatever you got left."

The snake nods, pleased at the privilege you've given it. Mitsuhide narrows his eyes at you, concerned over your order. You make sure to pat Kuro's scaly head while maintaining eye contact with him.

The entourage heads towards the stable. Stable hands awaited their return and began to board and tend to each steed. Mitsunari eventually dismounts and offers his hand for you to take. You gratefully accept his gesture and he helps steady you on the ground.

"How are your hands? If they feel sore I'll redo my bindings," he offers.

You shake your head. "I'm alright. What's going to happen to me now?"

"Lord Nobunaga requested an immediate council upon his return. It will likely be about the events that took place at Honno-ji and will take some time to inform and gather everyone needed. Until then, you...you will be…"

You didn't rush him. He was clearly having a hard time trying to muster up the courage to tell you what will happen to you until the meeting. You already have an idea what it would entail.

"You will be held in a prison cell until your fate is determined."

There it is.

"Will Kuro be allowed to stay with me?"

He nods. "Hideyoshi requested that the snake remain on your person at all times and visible. I hope his request isn't too unreasonable."

"If it puts the people here at ease then I can live with it. I'd feel safe having him close by anyways, so I'm quite thankful he didn't call in some expert snake hunter or something."

Mitsunari smiles at your words. "Even when the odds are against you, you find the positive within. You are truly admirable, my lady."

You return the smile. "Thank you, but I'm sure I told you before not to be so formal!"

"Very well. I agree with the condition that you address me with familiarity too. Is that alright?"

You nod and, for a brief moment, you forget that you were technically still a prisoner.

Previous chapter | Next chapter

[badger-writes]

@badthingshappenbingo​

Prompt Filled: Hand Gagging

Fandom: Star Wars

AO3 Link

The Rodian mouth is a highly sensitive organ.

In many respects, it has to be – for a species which evolved without an external nose, the vomeronasal organ secreted in the hard palate of the oral cavity that many sentients take for granted as an auxiliary olfactory receptor necessarily becomes its primary method of perceiving smell. This means that every breath a Rodian takes is loaded with chemical information as well as oxygen – an exceedingly useful trait, for a people whose strong hunting tradition carried them from the swamp to the stars.

But right now, all Greedo can smell is a truly obnoxious amount of face powder, burning spice, and – strangely enough – vanilla.

“Looks like a packed house out there tonight,” Doda murmurs next to him in the eye of the dressing room hurricane, slitherhorn tucked under the arm of his dressiest frock. “Band’s gonna have to be on the top of our game if we want to help Lord Jabba make a good impression with the Carpos.”

“You lot better be,” Greedo grumbles. Bad enough he had to schlep all the way out to Lanz Carpo and play chaperone for Max Rebo in the first place – “You know how much I’m paying to rent this suit right now?”

“Don’t be sour, Greedo. It’s not every day we get out to the Core. Besides, you look smashing.”

“They charge by the hour, Doda.”

It wasn’t his only complaint, for the record. If he’d had the patience, he’d have whined about his legs swimming in these baggy pants and the gaberwool suit jacket making his shoulders itch, and the patent synthleather boots with too-high heels pinching his feet, and the frankly atrocious-looking ruffles cascading down the front of his shirt making him look like someone had pasted the pelt of a Gigoran who’d recently had a dodgy perm on his chest –

“Yeah, but when are you gonna have a chance to look this good again?”

…Well, if Doda says so, then it’s probably fine, Greedo supposes.

“Listen, if you want to take off, the band can handle itself from here.” The performer reaches out and gives the pom bloom pinned to his lapel a tweak, smirking. “Just try to enjoy yourself tonight. Have some drinks, make some friends … hey, flirt with that cutie behind the wet bar a little for me, huh? I’ll be rooting for ya.”

“Like I need the help,” Greedo tuts, pulling on his lapel.

“That’s the spirit.” Doda brushes the cheek of his snout against Greedo’s as the band begins to swirl, noisily, out of the greenroom and towards backstage. “I gotta run – have fun, buddy!”

“Break a leg,” he replies – and then he’s left alone.

Well. Not a single intruder tried to break in on the band while they were preparing – making this assignment a scragging waste of time, in hindsight. He should’ve made like B’il’li and ditched them for the bar hours ago.

He’s got time before the reception, he’s pretty sure. Enough to get some air.

He winds his way out of the bowels of the Hotel Regent – squeezing past Porcellus wheeling by with a cart overladen with decadent foodstuffs, sidestepping a furious argument between Gammorean guards and a hapless protocol droid, narrowly dodging a mouse droid as it fastidiously vaccums the carpet - and emerges in an alleyway. Humidity lands thick on his tongue; the dark and cloudy sky above, which had threatened to open up with rain any minute before, finally breaks over the city. The one bright spot in the blanket of slate and rain, the Carpo Syndicate’s Panop, hovered over the planet like a dangled blade. Never before has Greedo been so thankful for an overhang to keep him dry.

The alley smells oppressively sterile, if such a thing were possible; not even the sweet zing of petrichor can smother it. He fishes in his pocket for a spice stick and stuffs its butt into his mouth, eager to wash out that Core World taste with some unclean living.

A speeder comes prowling down the alleyway as he leans against the wall. He expects it to pass by completely and is surprised when it stops just past the side entrance; a couple of Carpo goons jump out, armored, blasters slung at their side. Looking at him.

His blaster’s weight presses insistently against his belly, secreted as it is into the band of his cummerbund. He forces himself to play it cool.

“You there.” One of the Carpos produces a holoprojector, beaming a string of words into existence with the push of a thumb. His breath smells – and tastes – terrible. “Is this your chain code?”

Greedo squints, suppressing a gag. “…Yeah,” he says, slowly. “There a problem?”

“Boss Carpo wants to see you.” The security officer gestures with his fingers; the light from the glow-panels hitting the visor of his helmet casts an unsettling sheen. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What for?”

“Just get in the speeder.”

“Look, sleemo, I’m with Jabba the Hutt—"

The other Carpo lifts his carbine.

“It’s not a request,” the first one says.

Alarm bells are going off in Greedo’s head. He needs to make some kind of move – now.

“Alright,” he says, turning back toward the door. “Just let me—“ Let me get my blaster out so I can fry you suckers—

A gloved hand claps over his mouth, crumbling the rod of spice, pressing his lips back in against his jaw. Pain shoots all the way up his snout. Caught flat-footed, he fumbles the draw; his blaster tumbles with a clatter against the ground as his legs kick out fruitlessly, both Carpos forcing his arms apart. He swears and grunts, gagged against a palm stinking with sweat and old blood, as they frog-march him to the trunk of the speeder. Somewhere in the struggle he loses a shoe, and rainwater seeps through his dress sock with every slippery step.

Somebody gets the boot open. Even through the hand forcing his mouth shut, Greedo can smell it; the stench of death. Things have died in the trunk of this speeder. People, maybe. No - definitely.

Something desperate and primal wakes in his lungs and lets itself out in one last scream, and is strangled without a second thought by the Carpo’s hand pushing his head back by the mouth.

Something crashes most unkindly against the back of his head.

In his last moment of consciousness, his mouth fills with the scent of blood.

[emperorofbullshit]

This is gonna be me ranting and whining about how annoyed I am at my own mediocrity and how I manipulate the people around me as a coping mechanism to delude myself into thinking I am doing pretty alright and I shouldn't complain because I have it good

Since 14 years old there has been much discord in my family. My father is an alcoholic and not just a normal one. He would go to work at 6, get off work at 12 and then come home after 6 more hours of drinking. There are 7 days in a week and out of those 7, in at least 5 I have had to hide in my room because I was scared of him. He would yell, he would call me names, he would even make threats saying things like :

"I have 2 sons. Do you see that window? I could throw you out of it and only have one son."

To a 14 year old kid who is scared shitless but can't show emotion on his face, those words were always taken at face value and I always had no doubts on him being unable to keep his words. I am the eldest of 2 sons and thus I had to take the brunt of the "parental dedication", as they call it, and was always pushed for excellence. They would always say : "Get good grades, make good friends, go outside, go study, go do this and go do that" in and out every day. From 3rd grade I have been taking courses on languages, sports and math at times and I would leave home at about 6:45 AM every day to get to school at 7:30 and I would go from school which ended more often than not at 13:30 to English courses and then to either Deutch courses or basketball practice which would end at roughly 6PM.

My parents loved achievements but did next to nothing to help me feel anything other than anger towards getting any. They would always go on and on about good grades so you can get the prize money, good grades so you can get in a good school, good this, good that and I subconsciously avoided being in the spotlight because I actually felt gratification from being able to see their dreams shatter into dust and fir a while, that was the inly thing that kept me going. Just the look on their faces, the tone on their voice, the gleam in their eyes. The gleam of someone realizing that their hopes and dreams of greatness were just turned to dust. I still have that side of me, I just choose to keep it under control but it want's to get loose once a while.

And so my life continued until 9th grade when ai decided to stop all couses because I was sick and tired of them and so I stopped going. Then came high school, this circus, part of which I am as of writing this text most if not all of you will skip because it's just way too long.

In the first year of highschool I had fun. I made some new friends and hung with them a bit and I also met the one person I thought I could trust because she was like me, except unlike me, she still had hope and she still had her parents, albeit controlling, with her, rather than against her.

I gave her counsel when she needed it and we hit it off. She was a great friend while it lasted. I knew from the beginning that she and I would most certanly not make it through the year as friends so I had as much fun as possible with her.

I told her a very tiny fraction about my life and jokingly but never untruthfully told her how my mind works and what I do to people around me, her included. I talked her about relationships once and I helped her out too because she had a guy she liked and he liked her back. This guy just so happened to also be a friend of mine so I thought : "Why not help my friend get together with my other friend?", and subtly but surely I made them get together faster.

That was basically the premise of the first year. A pretty average story but I left out the part where the alcoholism and mental abuse at home never stopped. I put focus on this one girl because helping her out was my coping mechanism.

Then came the second year. This girl had gotten together with her man and they were very happy to be together and still are, after all I am still in my 2nd year of high school writing this, but back to topic. The second year of high school was wierd to say the least because of the pandemic and our classes were split in half. Me, being the pupeteer I am, decided to pull some strings and set my annoying classmates away with sweet words and deals that sounded too good to be true, and ended up with the best classmates I wanted, part of which was my target for the second year. My target was a girl this time. She was and still is, pretty, smart, and very comfortable for me to be around but she and i had never actually talked at all. Wd had exchanged a sentence once on our 1st year and that's it. I spent a few days observing her and noticed that she was a loner, she didn't exactly have friends amongst the classmates, so I thought : "Well that's as good a chance as any.", and started talking to her and walked her home after school. We became friends and were going out daily after school to get a drink somewhere and one day, as I had planned, 2 fellow classmates show up and I tell them to sit with us and so began my act and my strategy on building her a group of friends. The group wasn't too big. It was me, her, the other 2 classmates, a friend of mine and the girl from the 1st year of highschool. We were all classmates so we all had fun and talked and we developed into a true griend group. Well, as good a group as any can be with me in it. Time passed an I noticed I was really not interested in this girl I had set as my target so I just let her go to do her thing and cut my puppet strings there.

I did all of this because I wanted to prove to myself something, I don't even know what it was anymore because it lost value in my eyes and so I just cut my strings on everyone and let them free. My social life was evolving for the better, which was good and all, but my familial life was degrading and devolving at such speeds that weren't even funny anymore.

My father would come drunk, lecture me for hours on end about the most uselss things in existence, and he would always call me names and berate me on everything. He had even come to me with a big kitchen knife pointed at my chest and said : "I will kill you and eat your heart if you dont do what I want"

I am still afraid of him and i still have trauma gron him so I still didn't doubt his words because when your father comes to your room at 10 PM holding a knife to your chest while your back is agains the wall, you then realize that bad things can really be considered good compared to other things.

I was living in fear. Every day I would pretend to be asleep for hours on end so I could avoid him and maybe be spared but that was just wishful thinking.

While my soocial life evolved, my familial life kept devolving. My father would come drunk more often, fight more often with my mother, screm more, curse more and shout more. I was honestly getting pretty fed up with his bullshit. One day, he woke up from his nap and he was still drunk and started lecturing me on what "Sons of bitches, idiots and parasites" every single member of my moms side of the family, my mother included was. I was very pissed and my knuckles had gone wbite form me clenching them that hard.

My mother got home mid lecture and thy started fighting again. First it was just verbal insults and slurs, but it got worse and worse untol my father literaly ran at my mother prepated to choke her.

That.

That was the moment I had my first meltdown in my life. I saw him run and I saw his hands on her throat and I just had one simple directive in my mund telling me one thing : "Whatever made you feel this way must be eliminated"

And that was what I tried to do. I ran and pushed him away from my mother and then punched my dad so hard he crashed into the wall and made a dent. I would probably have killed him there if it wasn't for my father's brother who came to us because of all the noise, stopping me. He tried to get me away from my father and when I did and my father got up and tried to punch me while my uncle was blaming my mom fir the situation, I grabbed both him and my dad and threw them to the wall. I would probably have been bruised because thwy are both fat and I was in complete meltdown just screaming in the rage of years and years of mental torture and violent self loathing which had build up behind the dam and only sought a way out. They eventually split us up and I was crying and yelling. I could barely breathe, my lungs just couldn't take in air fadt enough for my heart which was beating so hard that thunder would sound like a butterfly's wings beating. I opened the windows on my room and put 3 quarters of my body outside the window , risking to fall and die but I didn't care anymore. The rage had subsided, having found an exit and without it to push me, I was just a broken kid that just sought desperately the help which noone gave. Not my parents, not my friends, not even those who considered themselves and to my face said "We are best friends, we help each other". I never got any help and nobody even saw that I broke down. I dropped hint after hint after hint that I needed someone to talk to, someone to say a few words to me, someone to just listen to anything I wanted to say, yet all I got was nothing. I noticed that none of these so called friends or best friends care about anything. Thwy didn't even notice that when I took my shirt off to change for PE, I had bruises in my back and chest. Nobody said anything or did anything so i also did nothing.

Everybody just seemed to go on their own way and nobody wanted to even acknowledge what had happened or what help I needed.

I am still bitter and mad at everyone but especually at my "best friend" to whom I say the following :

V. You know who this account belongs to. You know me in real life and you know I'm not lying because I don't waste my time like that. You know damn well that if yku read this entire thing and see things just a small 1(one) percent of how I saw things, you wouldn't call youself my acquaintance, let alone my best friend.

To anyone that made it to the end and actually read it, please realize that no matter what, no matter where, you cannot rely on those you consider dear without knowing for certain that they also consider you dear.

[vintage-squid]

The Fruits of Love

Summary: "When we first met, you thought I was a pompous airhead and I thought you were nothing short of insufferable. If anyone had told me then I would one day spend my mornings waking up in your arms and kissing your illegally handsome face, I’d have told them to take a long walk off a short pier." Logan can't believe the wedding is finally happening, but even his nerves can't stop him from marrying the prince of his dreams.

Pairings: Logan/Roman, brotherly Virgil/Logan, background Virgil/Deceit/Patton

Rating: G Warnings: a whole heckin lotta fluff  On AO3

I realized I never posted this to tumblr lol, so here yall go 

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Logan exhaled deep and slow as he took one final look at himself in the full-length mirror. He smoothed his hands over the skirt of his dress, trying to focus on the sensation of smooth silk and textured ruffle rather than the clammy chill that had settled into his palms. The layers over his hips accented his low curves, holding him in an embrace as comforting as his fiance did each night. There was not a crinkle to be found in the fabric, nor a hair out of place from his wavy curls, and yet he felt as disheveled as the dressing room around him, which had been cleared of his half of their wedding party only moments before as they scrambled to get the finishing touches of their outfits in order before the ceremony.

Now, the groom-to-be was alone with his thoughts and a raising heart rate. He could do this, there was no reason for the flush of nervousness that sent a cool tingly sensation to the tips of his manicured fingers and toes (styled like miniature galaxies, of course, his brother was an exceptional artist, even with nail polish). There were less people out there than in any of his lectures, and all of the audience would be close friends and family, and yet...and yet…

He startled when someone softly knocked on the door, looking over his shoulder to see his brother, and best man, peeking in.

“You almost ready?” Virgil asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. With what was likely a pitiful expression, Logan turned and reached for his older brother. Virgil didn’t hesitate to step closer, gathering him close. He cupped Logan’s face, smoothing his thumbs over his brother’s cheeks and drawing him close to touch their foreheads together. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, LB. The love of your life is waiting for you out there, annoying as ever, but looking damn good too. Just don’t tell him I said that, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Logan huffed a small laugh, both at Virgil’s never-ending rivalry with his fiance, and the childhood nickname he would never shake - not that he wanted to. LB. Logan Baras. Little Brother. Logan Berries. Lotsa Binch. Really, it was getting ridiculous at this point, but it was an in-joke that had been evolving since they were in grade school. It was also part of the reason why Logan had asked to keep his last name, or hyphenate the two, after the wedding; he couldn’t bear to part with such an ingrained part of himself. Thankfully, Baras-Sanders rolled off the tongue quite nicely, in his opinion.

He raised his hands, mirroring his elder brother’s position to cradle Virgil’s face in turn. “I swear that will remain between you and I, else I will never hear the end of his gloating over your compliment either.” The pair chuckled before Logan trailed off with a sigh. “I .. I am…” A second shaky exhale. “I’m anxious, VB.” Virgil Baras. Very (Big) Brother. Vigilant Bro-tector. Vain Bastard. An eye for an eye, as they say. “I know our friends and family support our relationship, but many of them are unaware that I will be wearing a dress and make-up! Not to mention how unorthodox our choice of venue is - I can’t believe I let him talk me into hosting our wedding at his theater, and -”

“Hey!” Virgil’s low voice cut him off with a small shake of his head. “Hey... it’s my job to be the worry-wart here, remember? Deep breaths, okay? And stop chewing on your lip! Do you know how long it took me to get that ombre just right?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but obliged; he really didn’t want to sit through another session of his brother’s perfectionist fussing.

“Now, you look fucking amazing. Like damn gurl, slay it.” Virgil’s deadpanned drawl in a mockery of their mutual friend, Remy, had Logan snorting a giggle. “But seriously, LB, I can promise you that everyone out there is going to be stunned at how gorgeous this dress is, and how radiant you are… and no one more than that idiot you fell in love with. You’re gonna walk out there, and Za is gonna be with you to walk you down the aisle, and mom will be crying, and I’m gonna waiting on stage too, but you’re only gonna have eyes for the man you are marrying today.”

With a shaky smile and watery eyes, Logan lunged forward to wrap is older brother in a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of the other’s shoulder. “The proper pronunciation is ‘going to’, and I love you so goddamn much, VB.” Pulling back, he cycled a deep breath, and squeezed Virgil’s upper arms gently. “Thank you. Now, I believe we have a wedding to attend.”

Walking out of the dressing room arm-in-arm, the brothers snuck around the side doors so they could enter the theatre from the foyer with the rest of the wedding party. The assorted group of groomsmen, groomsladies, and friends of honour turned as they approached, the other best man breaking away to sweep Logan into a hug.

“Oh Lolo! You look stunning!” Patton pulled back, stars in his eyes as he looked over the whorls of colour covering the ballgown-style dress. “Wow…. This dress is absolutely perfect on you! And it matches your pretty make-up! Oh!! This is so wonderful!!” He fanned his face, trying to hold back the tears that were already threatening to fall. “I can’t believe you two are finally getting married!”

A blush graced Logan’s cheeks with a soft smile. “I cannot either; it feels like a dream come true.”

“Speaking of the wedding - we really need to get that started here, people!” A voice cut in, drawing the group’s attention to the ring-and-flower bearer of the ceremony. Denali approached the trio, slipping their hands into both Virgil and Patton’s. Their outfit was a delightful mix of both their genders: the tighter bodice giving way to a flared coattail-skirt with striped pants matched well with their colourful make-up - done on only one half of their face. The ensemble was completed with a wide-brimmed hat topped with an extravagantly flowing feather. “I love that you’re all being cutesy over here, I really do, but I don’t want to have to listen to Roman whine later that we left him standing at the altar. So-” They raised their voice, addressing the wedding party as a whole. “I need everyone to buddy up and line up! We have some gay nerds who need to get married!”

With a wave to cue the sound operator, the music began. A chuckle rippled through the crowd as they recognized the entrance music as a slowed version of the Lord of the Rings’ iconic theme. Virgil and Patton grinned at one another and planted a kiss on both of Denali’s cheeks simultaneously before linking arms and striding into the theater. Two by two, the rest of the wedding party followed, walking down the center aisle through the audience, and parting at the stage to walk up the stairs on each side. Their lines met once more to either side of Roman and the officiant, an array of suits and dresses in colours accenting the grooms’. Denali completed the proceeding on his own, tossing flower petals with a flourish so grand one would almost believe this was their wedding.

Then, the room faded into silence, and, as the opening notes of the original 1963 Doctor Who opening theme (stylized for a wedding procession, of course) played out, Logan rounded the corner. Arm linked with his Za, and a bouquet accented with peacock feathers held in his other hand, the groom looked ethereal in the spotlight. The blues and greys of his dress and make-up sparkled as he made his way past the most important people in his and Roman’s life, and if he had been able to look away from Roman’s eyes for a moment, he would have seen only love and awe radiating back from them.

Logan hugged his Za tightly as they stopped in front of the stage, smiling with tears in his eyes as his beloved parent tipped his head down to kiss his forehead. When Roman stepped down the stairs at center stage, his burgundy suit and silver filigree circlet lending him the regal air of royalty he had always hoped to achieve, his soon-to-be Za-in-law pulled him into a hug too. Ze guided the grooms’ hands together, squeezing them gently with a smile, and stepped back to sit with zir wife to watch as they officially welcomed another son into their lives.

Ever the gentleman, Roman helped his beloved up the steps, ensuring the skirt of his dress didn’t get caught under the practical blue flats Logan had chosen to wear. Thankfully, there was no train to wrangle, as it was an excess of fabric that Logan had no desire to waste or trip over. As they took their places, Virgil stepped forward to take the bouquet, letting the grooms hold both hands with matching smiles.

Clearing his throat, the officiant - and theater owner, and close friend of Roman’s - Thomas, began the ceremony.

“Mawage.” A smirk was tugging at his lips as both grooms’ jaws dropped. “Mawage is wot bwings us togeder today. Mawage, that bwessed awangement, that dweam wifin a dweam…” Slowly, Logan began to grin, Roman already biting his lip to muffle his giggles. “And wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva..” Of course Thomas had chosen to quote the movie they had watched together on their first date. “So tweasure your wuv.”

The entire wedding party was giggling now, as well as a fair number in the audience. Thomas, looking far too pleased with himself, continued in his normal, exuberant tone. “I truly believe the pair standing before us today not only each embody the beautiful magic that blossoms in the heart when one has found true love, but they choose each and every day to work together to care for those precious gardens. They shared carefully tended clippings made from their vulnerabilities and strengths, their fears and their trust, and lovingly incorporated these parts of their partner into their hearts. At times, yes, there were weeds which needed to be pulled. Some just needed to be identified to deal with, while others required both of them pulling with all their might to remove. Those deep roots could have left holes in their gardens, but instead, our handsome grooms chose to fill in the spaces so new seedlings could begin to grow. The literal fruits of their labour have culminated here today, as they promise themselves to one another for the rest of their lives.”

Smiling widely, Thomas retrieved a ring box from the pocket of his suit and held it out. “Roman, I can tell you are absolutely bursting with the need to profess your love right now. We’ll let you say your vows first then.” A laugh rippled through the crowd, Logan snickering too as his betrothed shrugged with a sheepish smile but did not deny the claim.

With his fingers cupped under Logan’s, cradling and supporting them, Roman held up their joined hands and kissed his knuckles. “Hey nerd,” he began, drawing another laugh from their friends and family, and a smiling eye-roll from his beloved. “I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be the one standing up here with you today. When we first met, you thought I was a pompous airhead and I thought you were nothing short of insufferable. If anyone had told me then I would one day spend my mornings waking up in your arms and kissing your illegally handsome face, I’d have told them to take a long walk off a short pier. But, by Julie Andrews, here we are, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you by my side. You are my greatest joy, my strongest support, and my deepest love. I swear, with every fibre of my being, I will spend everyday striving to be the same for you. I swear to care for you through the good and the bad, to celebrate your victories like they were my own, and to provide for you safety from the noise of the world when all you need is someone on your side. I love you, Logan, this I swear to you.”

Delicately plucking a ring from its satin cushion in the box, Roman cradled Logan’s hand and slipped the band over his left finger. The silver band was inset with three small red stones set on a diagonal, mimicking Orion’s belt - the only constellation Roman could confidently identify for years, frequently and loudly, much to their joined amusement. Woven through the gemstones was a simple silver filigree, and all of which perfectly complemented the engagement ring already at home on Logan’s finger.

If at all possible, Thomas was smiling wider, eyes damp. “Logan? It’s your turn.”

With a sniffle, Logan looked from the wedding band up into the eyes of his love, determined to make it through the ceremony without ruining his make-up. Tenderly, he shifted Roman’s hands so both cradled Logan’s left, around his rings, around their promise. Right hand freed, Logan reached up to cradle Roman’s cheek and smooth his thumb over those sharp cheekbones, accented today with a glittering highlight.

“Roman,” he began, voice a little strained with emotion. “Gods above, Ro, only you and that ridiculously handsome smile of yours could make me forget every carefully planned out word I wanted to say.” The couple shared a chuckle, Roman’s hands tightening briefly around his. “You are every bit the royalty you claim to be. Even now, I cannot recall which one of us began to pursue the other, but I will surely never forget how patient you have been with me through every step of our relationship. Not once have you ever asked more from me than I was willing to share, and nor did you get angry or leave when I requested we slow down because I was scared of how quickly I found myself falling for you. I used to relish in my solitude, in the silence of my own company, but somehow you managed to worm your stubborn way over my walls. You have become a vital part of my life, and I find it unnervingly quiet when you are not around. I cannot even enjoy star-gazing alone anymore! Roman, I need you to know, I would never have it any other way. I swear to care for you through the good and the bad, to celebrate your victories like they were my own, and to provide for you safety from the noise of the world when all you need is someone on your side. I love you, Roman, you truly are the prince of my dreams.”

There was not a dry eye in the theater as Logan retrieved the matching ring to his own from the box and slid it delicately onto Roman’s finger. The equally silver band sat alongside Roman’s engagement ring like it were expressly created to be there. The filigree crept around another trio of gemstones in the same position as Logan’s, though these were coloured a deep blue.

Clutching a hand to his heart, Thomas wiped the tears from his eye. “Roman James Sanders, do you take Logan to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Unable to look away from his love, Roman nodded with a wide smile. “I do.”

“Logan Wilson Baras, do you take Roman to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Logan nodded and squeezed their rejoined hands. “I do.”

“Then by the powers vested in me by the province of British Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and husband! You may kiss the groom!”

Logan had only a moment’s notice at Roman’s shit-eating grin, before he was swung around into a dip, his husband’s - husband!! - knee supporting his back and arms around his shoulder and neck. “You are positively ridiculous,” he muttered, before tugging Roman by the tie to share their first kiss as a wedded couple. Cheers and applause erupted around them, including a wolf-whistle that could have just as easily been from any member of their wedding party.

Straightening, the couple leaned together, Roman’s arm around Logan’s back, hand resting comfortingly on his opposite hip. They grinned, their friends and family standing as Thomas’ voice rang out once more. “Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, for the first time ever, I present to you Mr. and Mr. Baras-Sanders!”

As a second cheer arose, Virgil stepped over to hand Logan his bouquet again, pulling his brother into a tight hug. “Congrats LB,” he whispered, before standing back and applauding the newly weds.

‘Love you’, Logan mouthed in return, smiling at his brother before turning back to Roman to join their hands and take their first steps into the next adventure of their lives together.

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 7

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader   Warnings: Not much except for a badly brewed cup of tea. Word count: 3,000.  Chapter Summary: A quick trip to finish with your job puts you on a path to see a certain Winchester again. A/N: After the shock of the last chapter I thought we could all do with a little Dean.

Ao3 if you prefer

Margaret Hall, formerly Margaret White, was a dreamer. That is until she met her late husband. Before meeting Andy she had dreamt of being an actress, perhaps, or a dancer. Moreover, she had dreamt of the world and any career that would allow her to see every corner of it. Teenage dreams are often far-reaching and difficult to attain, not that Maggie gave up or settled in any way. She understood that dreams change and hers evolved into a romance with her high school sweetheart. His father owned a restaurant and wanted Andy to follow in the family business. Maggie wanted to follow Andy, whether that was to the furthest reaches of the Middle East or the eastern end of Peach Street. He loved her as much as she loved him, so he’d resisted and tried to send her away after her dreams. Luckily Maggie was a lick smarter than her husband and saw straight through his stupidity.

They tried to start a family but after years of failed attempts they found out it was impossible, the Hall family genetics skipped Andy’s generation. Maggie didn’t care as much as she thought she would. They could adopt or foster, or they could live renound as the local childless couple with too much disposable income. It might even be enough to travel the world one day. Not that it mattered if they did see the world she had dreamt of as a child. As long as Maggie had Andy, then she had all the family and adventure she’d ever need.

Her last memory of Andy is the ghostly shade of grey his skin held when she had to identify his body. Murdered felt like the wrong description for what happened to him, he was stolen from her.

Of course, seeing him on that cold, metal table wasn’t Maggie’s hardest day. She thought it had been at the time but since then her life had gotten so much worse, so very quickly.

You swallow thickly as you turn onto Peach Street. You have the file, again, in your bag and you hope it’s the last time you’ll ever hold that manilla nightmare. Then the voice in your head, the writer, started talking about Maggie and you almost consider going home again.

It was only one signature that you’d forgotten to get. Everything was done, claim processed, entered in the system. This was literally dotting the ‘i’, assuming that she signed her name Maggie and not Margaret.

The voice talking about Maggie is what makes you doubt being here at all. You didn’t want to be her worst day. Not that you think you are but what if you were part of it? All the preparation and niceties in the world wouldn’t make this easier. This wasn’t a loss you could compartmentalize away like you usually do with clients since you’d  just  heard the abridged version. You could be as sympathetic as you are with any other spouse in mourning, nothing would change the fact that your heart had broken for Maggie about twenty seconds ago.

You don’t stop, can’t. Not for your own selfish reasons, although you won’t deny you’re a little selfish; you keep going for Maggie. This thing you need her to do is a few blinks from her entire life and then it will be done. No more people coming into her home reminding her of her dead husband. Andy. She’d said Andrew when you’d visited the first time. You’d written down Andrew but he was an Andy.

You shake your head, you need to be stronger than this, focused. As much as you wanted to sympathize with Maggie Hall it may not even be Maggie that you are going to see.

No matter what the voice says there was always the possibility that you were about to meet a shifter. How you  were supposed  to tell the difference you had no idea since you had no silver stashed away ready to  subtly  hand over. That was probably a good thing. If you showed up with silver and the shifter realized you knew what they were? Well, that thought terrified you. Imminent death or not you didn’t want to go looking for danger. You were happy to leave the monster to the experts, all you needed was a signature. If you could do it on the doorstep you would, but two minutes inside would be an acceptable compromise. In and out. Done and dusted.

You’d convinced yourself this would be fine, that you didn’t need backup or support. Finding yourself on the doorstep of 75 Peach Street is a completely different matter.

Y/N knocked commandingly on the door. She heard the sound echo as if the inside was a cavernous space waiting to engulf her. A stark contrast to her previous visit when she’d found two burly men filling up the whole space and pretending to know her. She might have been convinced nobody was home, there wasn’t so much as a rustle for the longest period. Y/N began to wonder if she should walk away and make a return journey another time. That is until the lock of the door clicked  slowly, fearfully, with none of the confidence of a woman who so bluntly referred to her dead husband before.

You’d noticed how slowly the door opened obviously, still, it was the voice who put a name to what you see in Maggie. Fear. The door only opens ajar, a chain across the gap stopping pushy intruders. Your own concern melts away at the sight of scared Maggie Hall peering out of the darkness of her own home.

She could comment on the time of day and question the darkness within but it would be a pointless question. That much was already explained by the closed curtains and shuttered blinds visible from every outside window. Y/N is not one to point out the obvious unless she is clarifying a fact for her records. She could also argue that the brightness in which Maggie Hall chooses to live was not her concern.

Y/N did none of these things and only endeavored to get what she needed  quickly and precisely, having no idea that this meeting was another thing on a long list of things. Things such as she had no idea how important they were.

“Mrs. Hall?” you ever so slightly lean in, all the better to see her face and still failing.

You expect the correction insisting that you call her Maggie, instead, she stutters out an affirmation, “y-yes ?”

You only pause for a moment, “Mrs. Hall, do you remember me? Y/N Y/L/N from First National?”

“The insurance company?”

“Yes, the insurance company. I was missing a signature on the paperwork and I was hoping I could get you to sign it. I promise it’ll only be a second and it’s the last thing we need.”

While she waited for Maggie to make a decision Y/N was struck by a conflicting myriad of memories. The woman she had met had been not only more confident and straight forward, but she’d shown no feelings about the insurance claim at all. Mrs. Hall had been rather blase about the money she would be receiving, hardly remembering the account details it was to  be paid  into. Now the woman before Y/N sprung back in horror. She slammed the door closed only to throw it wide open again seconds later, no security chain and fervent horror adorning her features.

“There’s a problem with the insurance?!” She shouts at you. Almost. The emotion is there, not the volume. As if shouting has been trained out of her.

You’re quick to stop her panicking, you didn’t do well with other people panicking, “no, no. It’s fine, everything is fine, everything is processed. I just need a signature to officially close the claim but really, it’s all done.”

She inhales like it hurts her throat and exhales as violently. Although she does, at least, appear to be breathing again.

“Mrs. Hall, Maggie, are you sure you’re ok? You seem upset.”

Where you hope to calm her down enough to stop her breaking apart, instead you set her off.

“Of course I’m upset. My husband is dead!”

This was going to take longer than two minutes.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hall.” You’re not stupid enough to wish her well as you leave.

Y/N fell from the step outside of Maggie Hall’s home much like a dazed and confused newborn giraffe trying to take its first steps atop uncertain legs. Maggie had kept the lights low, had led her to the lounge, and only turned on a single lamp to see the line where her John Hancock was required. She had signed her name Maggie and dotted the ‘i’ with a shaky strike, rather than a neat jab. Still, it wasn’t the shocking change from night to day that had Y/N wobbling unpredictability to the pavement. The woman seemed to have no recollection of the Winchesters, whom Y/N had completely,  accidentally mentioned.

The fact that Dean himself was taking large strides across the street to meet her was merely a coincidence after she brought them up. Y/N was not aware of any hidden powers she possessed to wish for things and have them appear. However, intended or not the older Winchester was here all the same.

You’re looking back towards the door you’d just left with disbelief. Which is why Dean has to catch you with his hands wrapped around your shoulders to stop you bumping into him or consequently walking into the road. “Hey, hey. Wanna watch where you’re going, honey? Good thing I was already keeping an eye on things here, huh?”

He probably thinks he's being funny about you nearly walking into the street but you don't laugh.“She had no idea who I am.”

“What?”

When she whips her head to him it turns out to be, very unfortunately, the first time she’s seen Dean Winchester bathed in sunshine. Not under fluorescents or in darkness. Absolutely drenched in the sun's warm glow, highlighting the forest green of his eyes enough to pull a silent ‘wow’ from her lips. It’s uncontrollable then when she slips into her imagination, where his strong hands are holding her still as he leans into her. His tongue rolling over his bottom lip before he slots his mouth over hers. The pad of his thumb tracing the curve of her neck as he swallows the air from her lungs.

Crap. This again. You can’t deny it’s a very pleasant mental detour but now you feel like you might fall down if he wasn’t holding you up, and moments ago you’d had other interests.

“Sweetheart? You ok?” His voice sounds worried if you’re inclined to believe it.

“Yeah-yes. I’m fine. I’m-she didn’t remember you.”

“So? I was there for five minutes, a week ago, before you kicked us out.” His lip twitches when he mentions you kicking him out and he decides that you’re steady enough to let go of, as his arms drop.

Before you can reply he starts patting his pockets for his phone, which has coincidently started to ring. He only fleetingly scowls at the name on the screen and then his face smooths out. He holds a finger up, “give me a second.”

Dean took two steps away to speak into his phone, which seemed to be enough distance for Y/N to clear her head completely of her intoxication. He was becoming more of a constant in her life than the questionable sounds that came from her car engine. It had to be more than a simple coincidence that she once again found herself with him. This time without the distraction of Sam or the inherent urge to argue with him.

How much the voice encouraged you to think about Dean was becoming borderline embarrassing.

“You’re not understanding me.” You emphasize by tipping your head forward and raising your eyebrows when he ends his call, not wasting a second. “She didn’t know me as if we’ve never met and I spent over an hour with her last week.”

His eyes flash in recognition, although it doesn’t seem to change whatever decision he’s already made, “coffee?”

Dean seems at home in the diner that you weren’t even aware of on the other side of town. The place smells of bacon and coffee with a side of Americana. Somewhere in the deepest recesses, you recall a thousand instances in the books of Sam and Dean solving things over breakfast. You don’t mention that to him. Understandably he doesn’t seem to appreciate his claim to fame. Besides, you very recently understand what it feels like to be a subject other people are reading about.

The waitress walks over with a pad and what she thinks is a smile, “what can I getcha?”

Dean, in his natural habitat, is confident, “two coffees and a slice of pie please, sweetheart.”

Y/N huffed, only slightly. If asked she could claim it’s due to him ordering her a drink and the wrong drink at that. Dean's order was certainly not the reason for the huff or the crease between her brows. She didn’t want to admit the actual reason. She had too many other pressing matters in her life. Too many to admit that him calling the waitress 'sweetheart' had felt seven shades of uncomfortable.

She knew the other matters had to come first, not to mention she was being irrational. Logic didn't stop the absurd thought that she has to chase away. It also doesn't stop the small curve of her lips when he looks at her expectantly, waiting for her with silent eye contact to add to the order. Unfortunately for Y/N, she was coming to realize that her feelings went beyond simply not wanting to kill him anymore. Beyond a distracting physical attraction even. In another timeline, another story, she might even find herself using that elusive cure-all verb—like. She liked him.

You soften your face for the waitress, ignoring everything you’d heard and felt as best you can. You needed to ignore it. “Can you change one of those coffees for a tea please and double the pie.”

The waitress purses her lips, “tea?”

“Any tea you have will be fine.”

She taps her pen against the pad and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s written some sort of insult on the paper. She walks away without anything said out loud, which could be considered a kindness.

“Tea?” Dean repeats but with amusement in his voice compared to the waitress's judgment.

“Tea,” you confirm smiling wider, shrugging one shoulder. “You didn’t bring me here and buy me a slice of pie to debate tea versus coffee though, did you, Dean?”

He raises his finger again, “well, you never need an excuse for pie.”

It’s funny you guess. In the Supernatural books, Dean’s love of pie was a fun quirk that showed up at inopportune moments. The boys might be stranded in a hideout or undercover and Dean would always step out for pie. It’s the punchline to a joke. Whereas sitting here with him illustrates the nuances of real-life compared to pulpy fiction. Dean talks about pie in front of you and there’s something childlike in the crinkles of his eyes, a quirk you can't get from literature.

“Sure. Still, there’s something you want to tell me?”

He sighs, it weighs him down like it could drown him. “That was Sam on the phone, leads have been drying up for a week now and we’re kinda spinning our wheels.”

She felt like she had been on the receiving end of this conversation before. Past boyfriends telling her that it wasn’t her, it was them. Even when she suspected it might indeed be her. The déjà vu was unnerving. Dean was not tied to her by the title boyfriend, unfortunately, which meant that his ‘dear John’ conversation was not his way of breaking up with her, thankfully. This only begged the question, if it wasn’t her he was leaving, what else was he trying to let her down easy over?

“Not for nothing I think you’re right too. The widow she’s not a shifter, at least not anymore.”

It all clicks into place. He’s not leaving you, he's leaving the case, which by extension still means he's leaving you.

“You think the shifter moved on?” Even you can hear the panic in your own voice, it's not panic over a shapeshifter anymore at least.

“One coffee and one tea.” Your bubbly waitress interrupts with two drinks and you find yourself looking at a sad cup of half brewed leaf water. She’s gone before you can complain.

Dean doesn’t see his coffee while he tries to calm you down. “We’ll stick around a few more days, I’m not just leaving. We gotta make sure it’s really gone.”

You’re still not fine with monsters and you’re still not looking for danger, the words come rushing out of your mouth anyway. “What if I had an idea to flush it out?”

He cocks his head like you're adorable for trying to play with the grown-ups, “you have an idea?”

“It’s about the money, right? The insurance money. So, let’s-let’s stop the money. Yeah… I can go to the bank and stop the transfer. Then it’s gotta come out of hiding?”

Dean sips his coffee. Slow and savoring. His whole hand wrapped around the small cup. The china clangs as he puts it back down. It’s an agonizing sixty seconds until he opens his mouth again.

“Solid plan, sweetheart. Ain’t no way you’re doing it.”

“It has to be me. I’ve done this before, the bank knows me and this is the sort of thing that needs approval.”

He clicks his teeth, “let me rephrase that, ain’t no way you’re doing it alone.”

Continue to Chapter 8.

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder  Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue

[ms-maj]

I humbly request Holiday Prompt #33. 🖤

I apologize it’s taken me so long do to this, and also, because it’s me, it may be a skosh angsty. Oops? Sorry, @bettycooper ;) But thank you so much for the prompt and I hope you like it!

(Prompt #33: Two friends have exchanged letters since a childhood letter exchange program and one delivers their Christmas letter in person this year)

Jughead passes the infamous Town with Pep! sign and fights the urge to press the gas pedal to the floor. Instead, he opts to grip the wheel tighter, which has no bearing on how fast he’ll get to his intended location like the accelerator would but, his tires are bald and his breaks are shoddy and he has something very, very important on his to-do list this Christmas. 

She had once said it was like living in a snowglobe. The snow, perfectly crisp and sparkling in the sunlight, crunched heavily under his tires. It was almost strange to see snow that looked so, so white. In Toledo, unless it was currently snowing, it all just looked like icy mud. It was more brown than white, nearly always, and didn’t exactly exude postcard-esque vibes for Christmastime. Riverdale is the opposite, too bright for December, with the sun gleaming off the crystalline snow; he feels dark, dour and completely out of place.

On his left Pop’s comes into view and he immediately recognizes it as it was featured front in center in the very first correspondence he’d had with one Elizabeth Cooper. In that very first letter, in perfectly practiced cursive, Betty (as he was informed she preferred) gushed about the local diner and their divine burgers. At ten, or eighteen, that was a very important factoid. The neon lights call to him like a beacon but he’s in Riverdale for a reason and, if all goes well, he might just be lucky enough to see the inside of the place. Jughead knows that it’s a long shot, that he may have very well messed up the most constant thing he’s had through his adolescence, but he plans on pleading his case.

It was fifth grade, Mr. Davis’ class, they got paired at random—a sister school card exchange. Most of, if not all, the kids in his class exchanged just the one letter with their penpal, but Betty and Jughead sent letters through the school until their teachers got tired of doing the leg work and insisted they exchange addresses. From there it evolved to emails and chat apps and eventually late-night phone calls and random text messages. He grew closer to her that he did many of the people in his day to day life.

As high school progressed, so did his feelings, all the while everything was falling apart around him. The beginning of his junior year found his mother and sister absconding, leaving Jughead with his newly sober and well-intentioned father. But the pressures of parenting proved too much to bear as Forsythe the second slipped back into the life that prompted his wife’s departure in the first place.

That life, the one Jughead was desperate to escape, seemed to be his only choice if he wanted to continue living. His father’s downward spiral caught him in the undertow, pulling him toward something he was so certain just a few months prior he’d be able to escape. 

Betty’s belief in him had been his tether. They had never met and yet she was the most constant thing in his life; this positive and stable light that he could find in his darkness. They were that for each other. There was a time when his phone would go off at seven a.m. and he would just know it was her. Early and late were never good, but he always did his best to talk with her through the anxieties and she always, always listened when he went off on a tirade about the misfortunes of Jughead Jones. Betty was always an objective third party, but never once diminished his feelings even if she didn’t necessarily agree with him. 

And she certainly hadn’t agreed with him about joining a gang even though she’d only said as much the one time, it was enough. It sat in the back of his mind, festering and taking up space. This person who cared so deeply for him disliking a fundamental piece of his identity…except even then it was more about how he didn’t want her to have any place in that life. She said it never changed anything for her, that she still knew him even if he didn’t. Jughead had refused to concede, deciding for both of them that they should embrace the physical restrictions of their friendship and take some space.

The memory of her heartbroken “Okay,” the last word he heard in her voice before the line disconnected and the emptiness took root.

She was—is—his best friend. 

He thought he had messed it up—thought he messed everything up, but the red envelope currently sliding across the bench seat of the truck proves him wrong. As he turns on to Elm Street he wonders what he’ll say when he sees her.  

Will he tell her he was scared, too? That everything she had said was everything he himself had felt and yet, never been able to articulate save for to the character he’d written that bears her a striking resemblance? Can he tell her that he’d gotten too deep in the life he swore he would never fall in to…and can she possibly understand that his survival had depended on it; that pushing her away and refusing to acknowledge her (their) feelings was what he needed to do for the both of them?

Jughead parks his truck across from the Cooper house after his GPS alerts him that he’s arrived at his destination. He looks at the garland ensconced columns and the gold bow glittering on the massive wreath on the door and lets out a shaky breath. The snow starts to fall again, the big fluffy flakes that haphazardly float to the ground and blanket everything in ephemeral white. It is the ideal Christmas Eve. Any other day he’d be lamenting just how unrealistic this would be and yet…

Checking himself in the rearview mirror, he makes a few minor adjustments to his hair and beanie and nods encouragingly at his reflection before grabbing the small package and envelope on the seat. One last deep breath and he was out of the truck, crossing the street and praying to gods he didn’t believe in that everything else went as well. 

As he climbs the steps the reality sets in: somewhere behind that door is the one person he cares about. He’s going to actually see who he’s bonded over Baxter Brothers and Tracy True with. He’ll be able to touch her if she’s so inclined to let him. Jughead’s finger hovers over the doorbell for a second before it’s chime echoed its way through the house.

A voice on the other side yells “I got it”, one he recognizes in an instant. His fingers grip the parcel and card between white knuckles as the door swings open to reveal Betty Cooper, in all her bedazzled Christmas regalia. He watches the air suck into her lungs and sticks there, sputtering out in slow, syncopated breaths that he’s sure are the syllables of his name.

“Hey Betts,” he smiles. A thousand emotions flicker over Betty’s face, not one long enough to dwell on before her arms wrap around him and her face nestles into the hollow of his neck. 

“Is this real?” She whispers against his skin. “I’m not going to open my eyes and this was all a dream because I don’t know if I can take that again.”

His arms tighten around her. “No, Betty this is very, very real.”

They stand there for a long moment before she pulls away, cheeks rosy from the blustery cold, maybe a little from their proximity. “This is so much more than I was hoping for, Jug.”

“You said this was it. That it was the last time you were reaching out, that you were done putting yourself out there and that if I had ever felt one shred of what you did, it wouldn’t be hard. And you know what, Betts? It wasn’t. Deciding to come find you and give you this was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Because I have never wanted anything like I want you in my life.”

Her hand entwines with his as they stand on the portico, snow falling around them and starting to accumulate. “Merry Christmas, Jughead.” Her lip finds its way between her teeth, half biting back a smile and the other half…she turns to go back in but finds herself seemingly stuck to the spot. Jughead gently tugs their joined hands and pulls her firmly back in his space. Their eyes meet, nervous and anxious as his thumb begins stroking the top of her hand. Betty looks as though she might say something but her lips are on his before he could think on what it could mean. His free hand found its way up, cupping her face and keeping her close as he deepened the kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Betty,” he breathes out when the kiss slowly resolves. He feels her smile and can’t help the champagne bubble feeling that has currently taken hold in his chest.

“Elizabeth! Why is that door still open? Do you have any idea how much it costs to heat a house? Honestly, if you weren’t going off to college in a few months…” Betty grimaces before turning back to the house, still keeping Jughead’s hand firmly within her own.

“Mom! You’ll never believe who made it for Christmas this year!” She mouths sorry to him after dragging him inside and closing the door behind her. She’s assured that he knew exactly what he was in for. It’s taken nearly ten months for him to realize what his pride had put at risk, and there is nothing, and no one, that can change his mind about what he wants, and where he wants to be. And that is near Betty Cooper, for as long as she will have him.