#the worst screen shots of all time but a moment worth memorializing

[contrivedcoincidences6]

[dothwrites]

15.19--freedom

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose/Nothing, don’t mean nothing if it ain’t free, no, no”--Janis Joplin

---

Freedom. 

Dean rolls the word around on the tip of his tongue and tastes how it feels. Freedom. 

It’s a strange concept, especially since he always assumed that he was. Ever since Apocalypse Version 1.0 was averted, Michael and Lucifer locked in the cage, thanks very much, he’s always assumed that he was the one calling the shots. No matter how badly he fucked up (and he fucked up a lot), he could at least take comfort in the fact that those were his choices. No one’s hand up Dean Winchester’s ass, no siree. 

And then Chuck came and ripped that certainty away from him in one quick motion and then...everything was suspect. Sam, Mom, Jack...Cas. Every word, every action, every emotion... He couldn’t trust anything, so he trusted nothing.

He still wakes up from nightmares with those words echoing in his head: You’re dead to me. He bolts upright, almost puking, because he can’t believe his past self, he can’t believe that those words came out of his mouth, to Cas, to Cas of all people--

He splashes water on his face and notices that his hand is shaking. His stomach churns in warning, but he doesn’t think he’s going to puke. However, he also doesn’t think he’s going back to sleep tonight. 

He and Sam are in the bunker, but he knows they won’t stay. It’s too empty now, their voices echoing through the halls and rooms. Maybe once, he would have been all right with that, would have even enjoyed it, but now, he can’t bear it. He remembers all too well how it felt to have Jack’s voice bouncing through the kitchen as he talked about the latest movie they had watched, or how it felt to just feel Cas behind him as he moved through the kitchen. 

Every time he makes his breakfast, he’s reminded of what he lost. Every time he and Sam come back to the bunker, there’s the sinking disappointment to find themselves alone once more. Dean ends up spending most of his days in his room because anywhere else freaks him out. He can’t stop whipping his head to look over his shoulder, halfway convinced that he’ll find someone standing behind him. He’s always disappointed when he finds himself alone. 

He and Sam are going to leave the bunker behind. He doesn’t know when and he doesn’t know what for, but he knows that it’s going to happen. 

He asks Sam one afternoon why he hasn’t left yet. Eileen is waiting for him, biding her time a hell of a lot more patiently than Dean would, and Sam still isn’t going to her and starting the American dream life. And one afternoon, Dean either runs out of fucks and gathers up his last little shreds of courage, and asks him. 

“So when are you going to move in with Eileen? I can’t imagine that she’s going to wait for your gigantor ass forever.” 

Sam looks at him from across the table. There’s a book open in front of him, but Dean doesn’t think that he’s read a word. He knows that he’s been stuck on the same screen on his phone for several minutes. Without the pressing urgency of saving the world, things just seem so...pointless. Which is not necessarily bad. But it means that he and Sam spend a lot of slow, lingering afternoons like this, with just the two of them wandering through the bunker and occasionally bouncing off of each other like two very faulty pinballs stuck in a malfunctioning machine. 

“She’s fine,” Sam says, which isn’t an answer. “She understands what’s happening.” 

Dean’s glad that someone understands because he surely has no fucking clue.

---

His life falls into a kind of routine. Wake up, make breakfast. Find pointless chores to do around the bunker. Make lunch. Watch some bullshit shows on TV. Make dinner. Have a beer. Fall asleep. 

He feels like the worst kind of retiree, devoid of purpose. 

Sure, there are occasional hunts, but he doesn’t feel the need to go on them. The world is turning, same as it always did, and there are other hunters in the world. If that’s one thing that he learned through these past years, it’s that he doesn’t have to do everything. 

(Plus, he and Sam literally defeated God, so he thinks they deserve some time off.)

The forced retirement doesn’t make him happy. The bunker is the cleanest that it’s ever been and he doesn’t feel happy about it. There’s a gaping hole in his chest that’s shaped like the rest of his family, and he can’t sleep at night. He makes dinner and all he can think about are the empty places at the table. 

Sam sticks his head into Dean’s room. It’s a regular day, though Dean doesn’t bother to note either the actual date or the day of the week anymore. Time blends together in an endless cycle of waking, chores, and sleeping, because without a purpose to hold him together, he’s slowly falling apart. 

“I’m going to head out,” Sam says. Dean notices that he doesn’t put a timeline on his departure. “You should get out too.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask the obvious question: Where would he go? Sam, slightly chagrined, scuffs his feet against the floor. “Maybe go see Jody, Donna, and the girls? See if Charlie and Stevie want a third on their hunt? Bobby said something about building up his library here.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, with absolutely no intention of following through on any of those suggestions. He’s not quite wallowing in his own grief and filth (every time he tries to crawl back into a bottle, he just remembers the pinched look at the corners of Cas’ eyes whenever he would find Dean halfway through a bender, and that memory effectively nixes any desire he might have had to crawl into the nearest bottle), but he’s not exactly the poster boy for healthy coping strategies either. 

“Dean.” 

Dean hates that note in Sam’s voice, the oh-so-soft and sensitive tone that could soothe widows and lull children. He hates even more that it’s being turned on him, hates most of all that he derives comfort from it. 

“I don’t get it,” Dean finally says, because if Sam is leaving then he might be losing his chance to ask his question aloud. “I don’t get...I mean, Jack could have brought him back. He could have done it. I could have asked him. I was right fucking there, and I didn’t ask.” 

He’s dissected those moments in his head until there’s nothing left, and he’s forced to cobble them back together like some Frankenstein of memories just so he can take them apart all over again. Why didn’t he ask Jack to bring Cas back? Why didn’t Jack do it of his own free will? Jack knew how he much he needed Cas; hell, Jack brought him back once before when he wasn’t God. So why couldn’t he do it then, when Dean needed him the most? 

“I don’t know,” Sam says, still in that same soft voice. “Maybe...maybe it was like Mom? I mean, Cas made his choice. For better or worse, he made it, and maybe Jack thinks that we need to respect it?” 

A thick lump rises in his throat. Cas’ face replays in his nightmares, tear-stricken and yet smiling, peace and grief shining in his eyes. I love you. Like it was the easiest thing in the world to say at that moment. Like it was all he’d ever wanted to say. 

“I never...” Dean swallows, but he doesn’t manage to chase away the horrid feeling rising in his chest. “I never said it back to him, Sam. I never...all those times he said it to us, and I never...he died, thinking that no one loved him. The one thing I want, I know I can’t have, is what he said to me.” 

Dean doesn’t necessarily have a list of his regrets (there are too many to really list), but if he did, then he knows this would be at the top of it. Cas sacrificed himself, Cas let himself get taken, Cas died, and all to save someone who he believed didn’t love him back. 

How could he not know? 

Dean knows he’s not necessarily Mr. Subtle; he knows Sam knows. Their enemies damn sure have seemed to figure out through the years exactly where Dean’s heart lies. How could Cas, as brilliant as he was, as insightful, as compassionate as he was, not understand that Dean’s been lost on him, quite possible since the first time he walked through those barn doors? 

Sam’s face goes on a journey and it ends up at about the same place that Dean feels. Maybe now Sam understands why it’s so much effort for him to just make it out of his room. 

“He thought it was worth it,” Sam finally says. “Even if he thought...At the end, it was still worth it to him.” 

You were still worth it, is left unsaid, but Dean hears the echo nonetheless. There’s an accusation there which he doesn’t want to confront, but he has to nonetheless. 

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Sam finally says. “I can’t...” When he looks at Dean, his eyes are glistening. There’s a plea for understanding in his face. “There’s a whole world out there that I haven’t gotten to see since...since Stanford really. Since ever. I can finally go out there and walk around and not worry that something’s going to come after me. I can finally...” Sam rubs a corner of his shirt between his fingers. “You always said that I wanted a normal life, and I did, for a while. Then, when I figured that it was never going to happen, I stopped myself from wanting it, because what was the point? When everything we had got ripped away from us, what was the point of anything? But now...” 

“If you start now, then you can probably make Des Moines by night,” Dean offers. It’s all he can say, but it’s enough. 

Sam smiles, his eyes glassy. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it is. It’s the bonds of desperation and codependency snapping and shattering and reforming into something else. Dean doesn’t know how to love his brother in this new world. All he knows is that Sam deserves to live the life he’s deserved. 

Dean closes his eyes. 

When he opens them, Sam is gone.

---

That night, he goes up on the roof of the bunker. It’s cold, but not unbearable. There’s a light drizzle falling which strengthens to a gentle shower the longer he stays outside. 

Dean closes his eyes and looks up at the sky. Out here, the stars shine clearer than ever before, visible even through the rainclouds. 

He can’t help but think of Jack. His son. He can say those words now, acknowledge that Jack gave him everything he really wanted; the chance at a family, the chance to erase some of his father’s sins. Jack was gentle, he was kind, he was loving, he was theirs. And then he was gone. 

Cas, Jack, Sam...

“What am I supposed to do?” Dean asks the rain, the same wild pain rising up in his throat. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

---

He makes it back inside, damp and cold, and strips himself. He should shower, but he can’t be bothered, so he falls into bed naked and shivering. Not like it matters; no one is around to see him anyway. He falls into a fitful doze and is only awakened hours later by the soft sounds of someone moving around his room. 

He bolts upright, snatching his gun out from underneath his pillow, because old habits die never. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes as his heartbeat catches up with his adrenaline. “Sam?” he asks, and then, more tentatively, “Jack?” 

His desk lamp blazes into the life with a soft snap. Dean’s heart leaps into his throat. 

Cas smiles at him, the same as always, sadness always lurking in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. Dean finally understands why he looks that way. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. The sound of his voice sends shivers down Dean’s spine, but the hair on his arms doesn’t rise. Dean understands then. 

“This is a dream.” He lowers the gun. His heart slows to normal and disappointment is bitter in his mouth. “You’re not really here.” 

Cas’ mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. “It’s as real as you make it.” 

“Don’t fucking Dumbledore me,” Dean mutters. He rubs at his temples. Somehow, even lucid dreaming has lost its appeal. Talking to Cas isn’t appealing when he knows that he’s just talking to his own subconscious. 

“I fail to see what a fictional wizard of questionable sexuality has to do with this.” 

“Good to know that my subconscious has your sense of humor down.” Dean glares at Cas. “Why the fuck are you here, anyway? It’s a dick move, even for my brain.” 

“Maybe because I’m the person you want to see? I don’t know. It’s your head, not mine.”

“Yeah. No offense, but I think I’m just going to go back to sleep. Or wake up. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I don’t need to see you anymore. It’s just...It really hurts, all right?” 

“I’m not real, so you’re not really hurting my feelings.” 

“Good. Well, now that we have that sorted out.” Dean punches his pillow as a punishment for betraying him, before he turns back to Cas. “I miss you,” he says, because he’s weak and always has been. 

“Dean.” The sound of Cas’ voice always manages to make Dean stop and now is no different. He turns around and looks at Cas. 

Somehow, Cas looks more solid around the edges. The lines around his eyes are more pronounced, and if Dean turns his head at just the right angle, he thinks he can see grey silvering at Cas’ temple. 

“Sam was right,” Cas says. “I made a choice. That’s what this was all about, ever since the beginning. Making choices, running our own course, picking our own path.” 

“Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in,” Dean mutters. The last thing he needs is his subconscious reminding him that once again, Cas decided that he wasn’t good enough to stay with. 

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t make a choice as well,” Cas continues, ignoring him. “There’s nothing to stop you. You can make whatever choices you want and take the consequences that come with them. And if you make the right choices, then maybe...” Cas bites his lip, looking almost nervous. “Then maybe I can make some choices too.” 

Dean opens his mouth to argue--Cas is dead, the time for making decisions has come and gone--but his subconscious is a dick, and before he can say anything, his dream fades away in a wash of black. 

---

Dean wakes up energized. His eyes open into the same room, but it’s different somehow. It’s ridiculous, because the bunker is underground, but it’s almost like he sees the sun shining through his windows. Even the air tastes different. For the first time in weeks, he gets out of bed without dreading every step away from his mattress. 

He glances at his phone. There’s a message from Sam along with a picture. In it, Eileen and Sam smile at the camera, their heads pressed together at the temple. There’s still a shadow of sadness in their eyes--they’ve all lost too much to be truly carefree ever again--but they look good. Happy. Whole. 

Cas’ words echo back at him, both from the dream and from those last, horrible, terrifying moments. 

Everything you did, you did for love. 

You can make a choice. 

Dean starts towards the library. 

---

It takes him three weeks of almost non-stop research to cobble together enough spells to make something that has the potential to work. This isn’t his strength; Sam is much more suited for this type of work, but he won’t bring Sam in on this. If this thing goes really damn badly, then it has the potential to wipe him off the face of the earth, goodbye Dean Winchester. If this thing does what he’s halfway expecting it to, which is nothing, then he’ll have gotten Sam’s hopes up for nothing. He’s not going to expose Sam to either danger or disappointment, not when Sam’s finally managed to get to some kind of happiness. 

If everything goes well...

Dean won’t let himself think about that. 

He spends two days smoothing out the kinks in the spell, double and triple checking his translations. He gathers his ingredients, and then spends another hour pacing around the library. His stomach is roiling, and his nerves are jittery. He can’t bear to stop, but he can’t bear to move forward. 

The memory of Cas’ smile spurs him into action. Cas went to his death a willing martyr for a man who he believed didn’t love him back. He can’t let that stand. If anything else, Cas has to know. 

The drive to Pontiac, Illinois takes him the better part of a day. The impala springs forward across the asphalt, almost like she’s eager to eat up the miles after her forced retirement. Dean pushes hard down on the gas pedal, urging her forward. One way or another, this is going to come to an end tonight. 

It takes him a while to find the barn. The last time he was here, he wasn’t in his right mind, still reeling from the horrors of Hell and the confusion of finding himself alive. He’d been scared and angry, lost and so very alone. And then an angel had walked through the door and told him that good things happened, that he deserved to be saved. The last little bit might have been a line fed to Cas by a bunch of dickhead superiors, but the sentiment behind it had stayed long after those superiors were all dead. 

They replaced the doors which Cas shattered and painted over the walls which Dean and Bobby covered with sigils, but if Dean looks carefully, he can see the shadows of them behind the new coat of whitewash. He touches them gently for a second, remembering Bobby and all of the years which led him back to this place. Then he pulls out his can of spray paint and proceeds to deface the barn all over again. 

When he’s done, he sets up the ingredients on the table. The table is where it was all those years ago, facing the doors to the barn. He doesn’t quite believe that Cas is going to pull the same trick, storming through the doors in a shower of sparks, but he can always hope. 

“God...Jack,” Dean corrects himself with a wry twist of his mouth, “I really hope this works. Cas, wherever you are, I really hope you have your ears on.” 

Dean looks at his translations and begins to speak. He’s hoping that intention counts for something as his tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar words. His heart beats an uncertain pulse in his chest. This has to work. It has to work. 

He puts every ounce of belief into his voice, every bit of the faith Cas once accused him of not having. I have faith, he thinks, putting force behind his voice, sending his words rocketing into the dimensions. I believe in us. 

What’s real? 

We are.

The last syllables roll over his tongue, followed immediately by a peal of thunder. The barn shivers, a ripple rolling through the air to settle over Dean’s skin. Electricity crackles in the air, filling him with potential. 

“Castiel?” he calls to the darkness. “Cas?” 

There’s no answer, but the spells and research had been unclear on whether or not there should be an answer. He would prefer knowing that Cas was listening, but in absence of certainty, he’ll have to have faith. 

“Cas, I really hope you can hear me,” he says. The words bring back the memories of Purgatory and a time when he and Cas could barely look at each other. He pushes those memories away and concentrates on the truth he can feel in his heart, the same truth which has guided him through the years and all the way from Lebanon, Kansas to the small barn where it all began all those years ago. 

“I know you made your choice. I know you were happy. But...it’s not the same without you. I’m not the same without you. I wake up and think about you, and you’re the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night. Every moment, you’re there because you’re not there. I look at all the places you’re missing and I can’t help but think that everything would be better if you were there.”

Dean swallows. “I miss you,” he confesses to the night. “Cas, I miss you so much. And I want you to come back. Not because I need you or because there’s something to fight against, but just because I miss you and life is better when you’re around.” He thinks of what Sam told him before he went. “There’s a new world out there, and I can’t think of who I would rather explore it with than you, but in order to do that, you’ve got to make a choice, all right?” 

His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might explode out of his chest. “I want to share my life with you. I want to figure out this world together. I want to be able to look at you and hold you and experience everything with you. Cas, I want to tell you what I should have told you every single day for years. I’m sorry that I never told you while you were with me. And I’m sorry that the first time I say it, I’m not going to be looking at you, but it wouldn’t be our lives if something about this wasn’t shitty, right?” 

Dean takes a deep breath. “I love you, Cas. Not because of what you can do or how useful you are. I love you because of who you are and how hard you try. And I want to say it to you, every single day, for years to come. I’ve made my choice, Cas. Now you just need to make yours.” 

Silence overtakes the barn. The only sound is the faint whistling of the wind through the slats of the barn and the quick rasp of his breathing. There’s no flap of wings, no deep voice growling in his ears, no pop of electricity. 

“Please, Cas,” Dean whispers, closing his eyes to try and stop the burning behind them. “Please.” 

Thunder rolls through the barn, shaking through the wood down to the dirt floor. Dean’s head jerks upright as he scans the barn. “Cas?” he calls, hardly daring to hope. “Castiel?” 

A thin, golden thread rips open in the air before him. It looks almost exactly like the rifts between worlds which Jack used to create, but that’s not possible. 

It’s not possible, but Dean dares to hope anyway. 

“Castiel? Cas?” 

A single hand reaches out through the golden tear, and then Dean is moving, he’s practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach the rift. “Cas, Cas, please,” he’s saying, not quite aware of the words which are tumbling from his mouth. “Please.” 

Until his fingers grip the hand, he’s not sure that it’s real, but that’s solid flesh and bone underneath his palm. Dean pulls, feeling resistance on the other end. “No,” he grunts, reaching into the rift. His hand touches skin, and his resolve grows. He didn’t come this far only to lose. They haven’t come this far only to fall apart. 

“I want you,” he says, as though the force of his words can rip through the veil. “Cas, please, come home, Cas, please--” 

With an almighty heave, he pulls once more and then he’s falling backward, another body tumbling against his in an ungainly pile of limbs and bodies. There’s skin and there’s warm, and there’s weight. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees the rift close up, as neatly as if it were never there at all. 

He doesn’t care about that. He can’t, not now. 

Dean looks down at the body sprawled across his lap. There are miles upon miles of naked skin for him to peruse, and he hopes that he’ll be able to do so later at his leisure, but for now, all he can concentrate on are those two luminous eyes blinking up at him. 

“Cas?” Dean asks, hardly daring to believe. His hands cup Castiel’s face, fingers sweeping a few locks of dark hair off of his forehead. 

Castiel blinks at him, his dark eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. A slow smile creeps across his face, like the dawn spreading across the horizon. “Dean,” he says, his voice the same as it always was, but this time it’s better, because it’s a voice that Dean never thought he’d hear again. 

“Cas.” It’s the only word Dean seems capable of saying, but words don’t seem important anymore, not when he can lean forward and press his lips to Cas’, not when he can taste the small sigh of surprise on Cas’ lips. “Cas, I missed you so much, oh god, Cas, there’s so much I want to tell you, there’s so much I want to do--” 

Cas interrupts him with another kiss, his arms threading around Dean’s shoulders to pull him closer. Gentle fingers tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, and Dean thinks that he could live in this moment forever. 

But before he does that, there’s something else which needs to happen first. Dean pulls away, ignoring the small whine of protest from Cas. 

“Cas, there’s something I need to tell you,” he starts, only to be interrupted. 

“I know,” Cas says, his face splitting into a wide, gummy smile. No shadow lurks behind his eyes, no hint of tears glisten in his eyes. There’s just happiness, radiant and absolute, gleaming from his face. 

“I heard your prayer.” 

Maybe once upon a time, Dean would have been satisfied with that answer, but not anymore. 

“I love you,” Dean whispers, pressing the words into Cas’ skin with gentle kisses over his temple and cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’m going to tell you every day until you get sick of it.” 

“You’ll have to try for a very long time,” Castiel answers, his fingers tracing along Dean’s jaw. “I like hearing those words very much.” 

Dean can’t help but kiss him again. As he does so, he feels the lost and scattered pieces of his heart knitting back together until he can finally breathe for the first time in months. “Come on,” he says, once he surfaces for air. “Let’s go.” 

It only hits him then that Cas is naked. Apparently rebirth and snagging people out of alternate dimensions results in a distinct lack of clothing. Dean’s eyes want to travel over the skin revealed to him, but he waits. There will be time, he realizes with a tiny thrill of delight. He and Cas have all the time in the world.

He manages to find a blanket to wrap around Cas’ shoulders. It will do until they get out to the car where he has a spare set of clothes. For now, he helps Cas to his feet. Cas looks around him, his eyes wide and huge, as though he’s overwhelmed with the world around him. 

“Where are we headed?” Cas asks as they head towards the door. The Impala waits outside, beckoning them forward once more. 

Dean grins as the cool night air washes over them. It’s gentle and soft, eternity held in the breeze. There’s a world held within the palm of tonight, a world held within the rest of their lives. 

“Wherever we want,” he answers, stepping out of the shadow of the barn and into the world. 

As they walk towards the Impala, a light rain begins to fall. 

---

“Before, I wanted to say: "I found love!" But now, I want to say: "I found a person. And he belongs to me and I belong to him.”― C. JoyBell C.

[the-slasher-files]

GONE

INCLUDES BO X READER

This is taken me so long to write and not because I've been super busy but just putting my all into it and only writing this when I'm feeling in the angsty headspace... Now, this is a very broken Bo in all forms, at its almost a 2k description of you just laying on the couch with him, taking in his pain. If you read my write "Affection" it is a very similar writing style... so I hope you enjoy and feel all the painful and comforting vibes. tw suicidal dark thoughts🔪💕

MASTERLIST

“oh Bo” you sighed as the old dingy couch squeaked underneath your weight. It was scratchy and ripped on the corners, yellowed from the age and sunken where Bo would always sit at the end of the night. The house was quiet, too quiet. The man beside you was not making smartass remarks, or sexual comments, or even ranting about his day, he just sat there, staring at the piles of dusty books and the odd papers thrown along the ruff aged hardwood. Bo was lost in his own head, it was hard for him to hear you over the screams and howls of his memories and future premonitions. You didn’t know what particular thoughts had hounded him tonight but it did not matter, you just knew Bo needed a soft grasp to pull him from the swirling waves in his mind that threatened to pull him under. 

When you had woken up this morning he was already gone from the tangled cotton sheets, the hot Louisiana sun had flowed in through the lacy curtains of the home, replacing the warmth he had given you in the bed. It wasn’t strange when Bo was gone in the mornings, for the town he held so close forced him to wake early to fix the odds and ends. Sometimes you wondered what life for him would be like away from Ambrose, if he would be better off, but at the same time you could never imagine him away from it. The desolate town started to be an extension of Bo; charming, quaint, warm like his bourbon and alluring on the outside, with a little unease like his scars that were visible from his suit, but below the surface there was horrific pain, darkness and a truth that made your heartbreak and stomach swirl. 

Getting up and starting your day Bo’s absence screamed in your head, but you knew sometimes his and your affection would take a toll; He was never affectionate before you came along and it was a struggle for Bo to keep up the task some days. You understood that and would remember what Bo was taught; Love equalled pain. Most days it was better to leave him alone for the morning and let him collect the pieces of his wax mask and put on the act. You did not care if he had his mask on or not. You loved him either way. 

Craving his presence you continued your day, puttering around the house and finally leaving to the town over to pick up some groceries, and supplies for you and the 3 men. Coming home the sun was starting to set along the ridgeline and the sky was painted in reds and pinks, kissing the clouds and beckoning the darkness to chase the sun. Pulling up to the shared home, Bo’s truck was out front, and the ripped screen door banged in the breeze making a home in the cadence of the wilderness surrounding. Footfalls fell along the creaking steps and inside the home. Everything went silent once inside the crumbling walls. A shape of a man sat on the couch in the darkening home, he didn't bother with the lights because he probably didn't even realize the sun was going down.

Bo was gone. Gone in his dangerous thoughts.

It had only been a handful of times Bo allowed you to see him this way, just his shell, broken and tired. Tired of fighting, tired of his own mind. You were the only person he let see this side; Vincent had caught glimpses but then would get yelled at through a fit of triggering rage. To Bo you were the only person that could truly help him from the demons, beckoning him to the shadows, just like where they called and ultimately found home in his father; gun in hand and blood on the walls. It was the only way your nightmares -future premonitions- found Bo at the end. Dying by his own hand. Hands that could rip away just as easily as they could build and hold. Hold you.

Placing your bags down on the pool table to your right, you quickly shouldered off your jacket and carelessly kicked off your shoes among the other mess.

There you sat with him, not touching Bo, you just gave him time, hoping and praying he would just snap out of it and continue to lay on his charm, but that never came. Bo didn't even acknowledge you, not a glance, not a touch to your thighs, nothing. As still as one of the wax figures he sat, slowly breathing in and out, rubbing a thick thumb over the lip of the amber-coloured beer bottle dangling between his oil-stained fingers. The bottle was not even half-finished and it had begun to turn warm, the condensation gently letting a drop fall to the dusty floor every few minutes. Bo wasn't drunk yet, not even close, by the looks of it he had only taken one or two gulp's and let it hang there, warming in the Louisiana air some time ago. 

This is was the worst you had seen him, you could tell Bo's mind was racing with the shifting of his baby blues that seemed fixated on the old books and candle wax.

You knew that you needed to touch him but your hesitation ran deep and cold; Bo was like a beaten dog and touching him was a dangerous game, especially in this state; he could either lash out and hurt you or he would just leave from the embarrassment of you seeing him as such. Anything was worth a shot right now. You needed him back.

Gingerly you brought a small hand to his broad coverall covered shoulder, grazing the rough fabric Bo shuttered at the touch, his eyes became alive again as your other hand went to his thigh. “Bo... my love, it’s ok” 

His breath hitched and he snapped his head in your direction, you could see the fear, the torture in his features as his breath began to pick up through rosy agape lips, clutching the beer bottle like a lifeline. Bo looked scared. Scared of his thoughts. Scared of his memories. Scared by the fact that the demons had held him under the waves for so long just waiting for the bubbles to stop. Bo was almost a different person in this moment, he let his emotions twist his face openly. His pain was greater than his pride, you felt it, you could see it. Broken blood-shot baby blues were searching for something in yours, perhaps Bo was waiting for the taunting or berating or yelling his parents gave him when he was lost in emotions; but you smiled softly as a tear slowly formed along your lash line. 

This broke your heart to see him like this, but it broke him more allowing this vulnerability; He waited for you to rip out his throat like a wolf and spit back out in his face. You knew Bo had a tortured soul and a devastating past, he was held together like thin lines of glue to a broken mirror; one day the shatter was inevitable much to his dismay, but seeing it was too raw and painful yet, somehow beautiful in the torture. In this moment Bo was just a man, not the murderer of Ambrose or even the demigod he seemed to let you believe he was on the day to day, Bo was just the scared child of a broken home. 

“It’s ok baby...I’m here...” you spoke gently, grabbing the beer bottle from his right hand and placing it on the richly stained coffee table with a reassuring nod. “I’m here now” Bo didn’t speak and just watched you carefully like a wounded vulnerable animal to a predator. 

Slowly you placed your shaky hands along his angular jaw, feeling the slight stubble and running your thumb along the long jagged scar he wore with pride. Bo started to shift in the cushions, uncomfortable with the vulnerability and soft touches you placed on him. Some days it was more apparent than others that he was touch starved and didn't realize just how much he needed your fluttering fingers against his skin. Slowly you ran a small hand through his dark brown curls, cupping and now cradling the man you slowly pulled yourself to lay on your back, and brought Bo down with you, the couch springs creaking in defeat. 

His head laid upon your chest. He could hear your heartbeat. Proof that someone deeply loved him, had a beating heart that was fast and strong. You were here. You were not a figure of the town or a scared wounded woman in the chair or a ghost in his nightmares. You were here. It broke him more. He had something to lose now. Had a wound in his flesh that was you, it would never heal, and it stung every day waking up to you next to him, and tore a millimetre more with every smile.

Bo’s head rose and fell with your breaths as you slowly rubbed his skull and back, tracing the scars you couldn’t see under his shirt, just retracing from hardened memory. Bo haunted you. Hounded your thoughts every second you were together, and when you were apart it hurt, you missed him even though Bo was just down the hall. His sliver blade was lodged in your heart and it teased to make you bleed out.  

One of his large hands gripped the ripping old cushion as the other held your waist, unwavering. Bo inhaled your scent; sweetness of florals, softness of warm vanillas and the undernotes of him. A ghost of your souls intertwined in a dangerous perfume. And then a soft wail escaped Bo’s lips, --the breaking of the flood gates he held onto for so long-- with bared teeth against your shirt he pushed himself into you, almost wanting to hide away from the world in your ribcage. You gently cooed and hushed him, feeling the pain of his shattered soul. Hot tears stained your shirt as you held him tighter, as long as he needed, you were there. 

“It’s ok Bo... I’m here... you never deserved the hurt. Never.”

A broken crumpled mess you two became, melting together and running away like the wax of the candles. Holding each other until the morning sun showed its face, forcing the demons and hounds to retreat into the shadows only to surface later, but it didn’t matter, they were gone and Bo was asleep. At peace, as you counted his scars and recounted, as long as he needed you to hold him, you would. 

Broken and wretched like his parents taught him, a monster was asleep in your delicate hands, holding a beast, it ached inside your bones, and wounded you like a knife slipping in slowly and quietly between your ribcage, twisting with his every breath. You loved him and he loved you, in a broken mess. However long he needed you, you would stay.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 52

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

"We fucked up."

"No, we didn't."

"We had Peter. Now we don't have Peter."

Loki's eyes were completely dark from a spell letting him see through Barbara's, but still he waved toward the completely-not-suspicious building complex in front of you. "But we found him again. That surely counts toward something, right?"

"We lost the alien pin too."

"Which we also found, if memory serves," Loki shrugged, as if the search hadn't taken the two of you the better part of an evening. Who knew searching through half of New York and visiting places it might've been dropped could be so time-consuming?

The weather was pleasant, the air growing warmer as the seasons continued to change. It was one of those days where everything felt brighter, despite how disappointing the reality might be.

"I'm still voting for arson," Loki said, assessing the tall fence surrounding the area. An area which crawled with people trying their hardest not to look like agents of some super-secret government facility, and failing rather miserably.

"You might not have noticed, but buildings nowadays have systems preventing fire from spreading."

"Do these systems work against magic fire too?"

"How am I supposed to know? Do I look like I spit magic fire on a whim?"

"You did last week," Loki muttered. The memory was still fresh.

"Wow, so now I'm the bad guy, and not the sneaky little bastard that ate all the cupcakes I left for-"

Barbara came back, flying on quiet, if a little filthy and decomposed, wings. Loki blinked twice, shedding the spell connecting him to the bird. As much as he didn't mind the heights, Loki had to admit he wasn't a fan of the sharp turns and rather random drops Barbara's flying pattern involved.

Loki pointed to one of the buildings further inside the complex. The red, evening sun hit the countless windows with blinding intensity. "The bird thinks the boy might be there."

You looked at the long stretch of road leading to the complex, like a carpet laid out specifically for you, but the crowds of agents working in the area leading to it made you cringe.

"I still vote arson."

"Why don't we just walk in, though? I mean, it was SHIELD themselves that contacted us, right? It should be okay to just… pay them a visit without sneaking around like… well, like villains. No offense."

Loki frowned. He didn't look convinced. "I like sneaking around, though. It keeps me away from trouble."

"If that’s true, how did you get banned from the Moon twice?"

"Touché. Lead the way then, love."

The way took you down the asphalt road, busy with cars rushing both ways. Despite their past issues, Loki couldn't help feeling a little bad for the agents. For all the grandeur and importance they always described their life to hold, Loki's imagination kept on showing him pictures of ants in their little nests, crawling in their endless, pointless patterns.

The ants seemed to fall into a state of shock rather abruptly after laying their eyes on the two visitors to their nest. Some of them just stood there, looking after the figures marching right to the gates, while others ran in a seemingly random direction.

"That worked out better than I thought," Loki admitted when all the space around you cleared.

Barbara perched on top of the gates, screaming on top of her rotten lungs. The security guards looked at one another and then at the approaching god. Their hands went to their guns. Loki took that as a compliment.

"I know this might surprise you," Loki said, "but we are here to talk. Fetch us your Agent Cauldron, and be quick about it."

"Coulson," you whispered.

"Whatever."

*

"No matter how many times you ask me, the answer will stay the same - I don't know," Peter groaned.

His back hurt from sitting on the same, incredibly uncomfortable metal chair for hours, and the lights of the small and a little outdated office were starting to make his head throb with an upcoming headache. Or maybe the reason behind it were the endless questions to which he wished he know the answer.

Agent Coulson looked at the photos on the desk between him and the boy. These were nice pictures. If he were more sentimental, he might've put them on a fridge or maybe to the clipboard on the wall to his left. They were definitely worth taking a look at least once a day - it wasn't often one had a chance to look at a god and an ex-assassin, completely drunk, being led by a teenage boy on a spider-thread.

Peter glanced down at them too, and scowled.

"Yeah, well, we've met and hung out together, but I don't know where they are now. Sir, if I knew, do you really think I'd willingly stay behind?"

The agent didn't answer. He moved very little, in fact. Peter was unsure whether it was a part of some special, super-secret interrogation technique, but it was working. To make things even worse, the metal chair he had been given was making sitting still a nightmare. 

"That's a fair point, Peter," Coulson nodded, "but do you think I would be pressing you so much if two of the most dangerous people on this planet weren't currently on the run with an alien artifact of unknown origin that might've been recently used to damage our Moon?"

That was a fair point too, Peter had to admit. He might've even grown a little worried after hearing such news, if only it all didn't sound so exciting.

"So you DO know what happened to it, right?" the boy leaned forward, with eyes shining with excitement. 

Agent Coulson sighed.

It was a small,  almost invisible display of all the emotions boiling inside of him that he'd never show. He knew better, and had far too many years of experience to allow that. Still, the situation was beginning to wear on him, especially if he spared a thought or two to consider what the two people that should absolutely never go off radar, could be up to at this very moment. 

Last time Loki visited Earth, he led an alien invasion. Last time Coulson met you before you hesitantly joined forces with the Avengers, you'd already put two bullets in Tony Stark and were on the way to making it three.

Coulson allowed himself a moment to thank his hair for already thinning out or he'd be losing it in a handfuls. 

And the worst part was, he actually believed the boy.

He had clearly helped with sneaking you through half the city and into his apartment, but there was no evidence of him helping you out too. Wherever Loki and you were, Coulson was sure he'd hear about it soon enough. He might even let the boy go, and monitor him long enough to see if you'd show up. 

The decision wasn't an easy one, but the agent was left with very limited choices. After all, how likely was it that the two of you would just show up?

The phone vibrated on the desk in front of agent Coulson. He picked it up.

He blinked. And simply said, "Yes."

Peter did not like the absent look on the agent's face. He'd seen far too many movies not to recognize the moment the power shifted in the room. Just in time for something bad to happen. It wouldn't be a problem if it stayed on the screen - Ned and him would freeze with the popcorn halfway to their mouths in anticipation of what was to come. But here, in reality, far from the safe spot on a couch, Peter was painfully aware of how much he didn't want to know what was about to happen next.

Unfortunately, whatever powers weaved through the lives of people, deciding their fate and luck, rarely listened to young boys in their judgement. In fact, they listened to old agents even less, but that was something Peter was unlikely to ever find out.

Peter twisted on the chair biting into his backside, and looked back to the thick, metal door. He hadn't realized it when he had been brought inside, but the door looked like it could take a few shots from a gun and remain unscathed. 

Peter was not sure what to do with that information.

The door in question decided to finally open and reveal the reason for the sudden tension. It didn't even creak, so the god walked in in complete silence. You followed him, not as quiet, but just as unexpected.

Your face lit up when you noticed the boy. "There you are!" 

Peter looked at the agent. The agent looked at Peter.

"I know you're probably not going to believe me, sir, but I swear I had nothing to do with this."

The agent had no doubt that the boy was the least likely person to ever manipulate the god of trickery and lies, or the almost-ex-assasin into anything, but he didn't say a word. He only raised an eyebrow and asked, "To what do we owe the pleasure?", as if there was anything pleasant to be found in the room. But lying was not solely a domain of gods, as all the agents in the world would probably agree. 

And Coulson was a very good agent.

"We recently lost a boy, but it looks like he's just been found. Thank you for taking care of him."

"It was a pleasure," the agent smiled. "Although I can't help but worry if you have lost the pin too?"

"We wouldn't dare," Loki lied smoothly with an even more charming smile.

The god of trickery waved his hand and produced a pin seemingly out of thin air. Whether it was only a clever trick or an actual spell was something agent Coulson would never know, but for once he didn't mind. The pin felt heavy and looked just as the files described, but whether it was the real thing would only be revealed once a detailed analysis was completed. 

Still, it somehow looked like the deal was fulfilled. Coulson would be lying if he said he'd placed a bet on that outcome.

Peter sprung out of the chair the moment you waved at him to go. The agents and armed officers waiting behind Loki and you on the corridor shifted with unease, their fingers laying on triggers. A small crowd eyed every move made in Coulson's office, which was to be expected - it was not every day a facility such as this one was visited by a god.

Especially one with a rather problematic history of attempted world domination.

"If we may, we'll take our leave now." Loki bowed stiffly.

"And what about the 'favor' you insisted on as payment?"

Something cold and ancient flashed in the god's eyes. "All in due time."

[flowerbeom]

Make A Wish | LJB

Lim Jaebeom x Female!Reader

Genre: Fluff / Established Relationship / Sickly Sweet Soft Romance

→ When a late night at work ruined your plans to surprise him, Jaebeom proves that love is all that matters

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Written for many reasons. 1. To complete a jaebeom + balcony + soft request. 2. To create something for the #7for7Project. and 3. Because it’s Jae’s birthday and I love him. → Also, it’s a bit clumsy because I’m rusty, but I had an idea so I ran with it.  → gif by the radiant @defgyus​

It didn’t happen often, but the nights you were kept late at work were always the worst nights for it to happen. I’m so sorry, you had texted. Don’t be silly, he replied; completely genuine - he could hold no grievance. But as you drove home through empty, almost sleeping streets, you grimaced knowing every plan you had secretly made would not come to fruition. 

Tired fingers gripped the steering wheel as a yawn punctuated the silence in your car. The blaring glow of a red light made your eyes drift to the passenger seat where a strawberry sponge cake sat sad and deflated, the words written in icing were smeared across the top from hours of waiting. Disappointment filled you and then emptied out with a laboured sigh. Just get home, you reminded yourself. Everything will be better once you’re home. 

From the driveway, you stared into your dimly lit house. The small bags you had prepared for your surprise hung limply in your hand; carrying little gifts, none of any great material worth, but filled with meaning from moments and memories shared. The types of gifts only you and him would understand. The best types of gifts. And still you stood at the front door dejected. So with a strengthening breath, you crossed the threshold into the home you shared.

It took a few quiet footsteps for you to call for him.

“Baby?” 

Silence was your response. 

And another few more footsteps up the stairs to call out again. Though for some reason, it came out in a whisper. 

“Jae? Sweetie?” 

The hollowness of your voice melted into the melody you started to hear as you approached the bedroom. Peaking passed the open door, you spotted Jaebeom’s outline; seated quietly on the balcony, cradling one of the cats on his lap. Lit softly by the lamp in the corner, you could hear him humming, some tune you knew he just came up with in that moment. Airy and light, yet filled with a depth he carried within him; you felt your heart yearning to go to him, to listen to his song within the warmth of his embrace. And yet you quietly turned away. 

The small and gentle smile that etched into his cheeks as you approached him with a slice of cake, adorned with a single candle was enough to ease all the tension you harboured inside you. He didn’t like it when people sang that happy birthday song but he would listen to you sing it on repeat because he would never and could never deny you. 

Jaebeom laughed as he shook his head when you knelt before him, holding out the little plate for him to blow out the candle. Instead, tender hands pulled you up onto his lap; your cat quickly scurrying off amongst the fuss. 

“Hello you.” He greeted as his arms circled your waist. 

“Hello you.” You said softly as his lips placed a gentle kiss on your cheek.

A few moments passed cheek to cheek by the glow of that single candle before Jaebeom playfully knocked his forehead against yours. 

“It’s not my birthday.” Brows furrowed as he paused for your response. 

You simply smiled, mischievous in kind, and waited. Soon Jaebeom’s phone that lay on the small table beside him began to ping. Midnight had struck. Message after message, notification after notification and a missed call or two from either Jinyoung or Youngjae illuminated the screen. 

You raised a playful brow. “It is now.” 

Nimble fingers poked and tickled the soft flesh around your waist that you almost dropped the plate and you chided Jaebeom for the near disaster. He merely giggled and stole a kiss to bring a smile back to your face. 

You settled again onto his lap, nuzzling into him as he held you close. 

“This isn’t what I had planned.” Admitting meekly, as you watched a bead of wax trail down the candle. Jaebeom placed his chin on your shoulder. 

“Oh? What did you have planned?” 

“Dinner, cake, balloons, presents on the bed...” 

“Were you going to be one of them?” He jeered. A sharp jab of your elbow into his chest wiped the smirk off his face. 

“It’s not funny.” Sulking on his lap, he simply pulled you closer, letting his lips ghost the side of your neck. 

“This..” Gesturing to the plate in your hand. “And this..” Embracing you tightly. “And this..” Lifting his finger to your chin to turn you to face him. “..Is more than enough.” 

Jaebeom kissed you slowly, tenderly; enough to quiet the world.

Jaebeom somehow, in his simple ways, always made you forget any troubles you had. He eased your anxieties, revelled in your triumphs and made you love the parts of you you always thought you couldn’t. In his quiet ways, he made you feel like you were the centre of his universe. And over time you realised, he had become yours. 

Smiling to break the kiss, you lifted the plate to his face. 

“Here, make a wish.” Jaebeom giggled, amused with your insistence. Feigning thought, Jaebeom pursed his lips and hummed, then quickly blew out the candle. 

“Happy birthday, baby.” Sealing the greeting with a cheeky peck on the tip of his nose. 

“What did you wish for?” You asked as you swiped a finger of cream off the cake, holding it out for him. 

“Nothing.” He snapped his lips onto your finger, sucking the cream clean off in an attempt to stifle your bubbling outrage. 

“What! Why?!” You shot at him. He snorted, clearly he had failed. 

Taking the plate from your hand, Jaebeom pushed the hair off your shoulder before placing a gentle hand on your cheek. 

“I don’t need anything when I already have you.” 

He smiled, sweetly, enough to make every part of you glow with warmth. 

But as you leant forward to kiss him, the sweet smile on Jaebeom’s face started to shift; devilish in its undertone. And before you knew it, the plate he held in his hand was flat against your cheek; cake smashed into your face. 

Jaebeom swiftly slid you off his lap as you came to grips with shock and quickly raced off into the house; narrowly avoiding your thrashing, clawing hands. 

“Lim Jaebeom! You get back here you piece of sh--”

“..Remember I love you, and treasure you and you’re my dream come true… Don’t kill me!” 

You chased him down, throwing pillows at his back; swearing and laughing in tandem before finally jumping onto him, pinning him to the floor. Punishment was endless kisses, endless cake-stained kisses; covering his face and neck and chest with frosting and strawberry cream. Jaebeom willingly bore the consequences of his actions, and benevolent as you are, allowed him to atone for his wrong doings by paying in kisses. A fair price you thought. 

With Jaebeom, as with life, things rarely go to plan. But it turns out, you just need someone, the right someone, to show you that it doesn’t always need to. 

[nazyalenskyism]

There’s no Need to Break the Door

Summary: A Zoyalai fic based on the prompt: ‘There is no need to break the door.’   send me a promt and i’ll write you a blurb Prompt: "There is no need to break the door"

        “Zoya! Open the door! You chose the worst day to sleep in for the first time in your life.”         Zoya groaned, burying her head underneath her pillow, trying to block out the banging and yelling. A lack of sleep was making her head pound, the too-bright sun was poking at her eyes, and the heavy weight at her waist was helping drag her back towards sleep. What could Genya possibly want?

        “Zoya! We agreed to get ready here before we meet up with the others at Nikolai’s before the event!”         Shit. The fundraiser. She shot up in bed, momentarily unable to register the resistance she was met with on the way up. Zoya let out a shriek as she scrambled back against the headboard, there was a man in her bed. No, she thought as he turned over to face her, not just any man, it was Nikolai. A shirtless, dazed, Nikolai who looked a little too much like he was exactly where he belonged on the opposite side of the bed.

        “Give me five minutes, I’m getting dressed,” she snapped, flinging herself across the room to throw a housecoat over her thin nightgown. The memories of the night before were rushing back at her, and the more she remembered the less she wanted to. Flashes of Nikolai and her both being stood up for their dates, coming back to her place, slipping off her heels and throwing her legs over his while they watched a movie with takeout on the couch. Falling asleep against his shoulder, being carried to bed, refusing to let go of him when he’d tried to go back to the sofa. Resting her head on his chest while he told her the story of how he met Tolya and Tamar, his arm tight around her, the same arm that had still been wrapped around her this morning. Shit. 

        “Hey,” Zoya hissed, snapping her fingers at the blonde in her bed, “wake up.”

        “What do you want,” Nikolai mumbled, his voice husky with sleep. Get yourself together, Zoya thought, trying desperately to reign in her fluttering heartbeat. You’re not attracted to him, you’re just sleep-deprived and groggy. Yes, that was it. She tried to ignore the fact that last night was the first time in months that she’d slept for eight hours straight.         “Hey,” she snapped again, balling up his discarded shirt from the floor and pelting it at him. “Get up!”

        “Zoya? What are you doing in my--” he bolted upright, “this is your bed.”         “No shit! Get dressed, Genya’s banging on the door because we’re supposed to be at your place in twenty minutes.” 

        “The fundraiser,” Nikolai groaned, tugging on his shirt over his head before turning to her “Tamar and Tolya are probably already there, I need to leave, right now.” 

        Okay, so they were acting as if nothing happened, which was perfectly fine with her, it wasn’t like anything had happened, it wasn’t like she’d slept with him. Well, she had, but in a completely innocent and platonic way. Nothing unusual for good friends, right?  “Yes, you need to leave. Right now.”

        “Everything okay, Nazyalensky? You’re looking a bit peaky, is the sight of me in the morning really that awe-inspiring?”         “Zoya, I’m going to break down the door if you don’t open it. We’re already late!” 

        “Shut up,” she groaned, her head was pounding and she couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or his voice. She’d never had to deal with him before she had at least two cups of coffee in her system, and she realized now that he was infinitely more insufferable on an empty stomach. “Genya’s going to try to pick out an outfit for me, you can’t hide out here. You need to climb out the side window when I bring Genya in.”

        “Right, right,” he nodded, “remind me why I have to avoid Genya.”         “No one can ever know about this, no one.”

        “Come on, no one’s going to care. It’s not like anything happened-- well other than your snoring for eight hours.” 

        “I don’t snore.”         “Sure you don’t.” 

        “Get out before I throw you out.”

        Nikolai winked, throwing her a mock salute before grabbing his shoes from the entryway, and making his way over to the side window. “See you in a bit, Nazyalensky.”

        She huffed, opening the door to a perfectly styled Genya in a pastel floral dress, flowing down to her ankles, complete with strappy heels. Her look at Zoya was downright murderous, “did you just roll out of bed?”         “Maybe,” Zoya ground out, stepping back to let Genya into the apartment, the other girl making a beeline for her room, and she could only hope that Nikolai had gotten out unnoticed.         “Was the date last night that good? Or that bad?” Genya’s voice called out from the closet where she’d already begun flinging out pieces of clothing onto Zoya’s unmade bed. “How do we feel about Baby Blue?”         “We feel great about whatever gets us out the door in less than ten minutes.”

        Genya rolled her eyes, throwing the tulle corset dress at her, making her way over to the vanity. “Where are your earrings?”         “In the jewelry box in the corner.” 

        “So, how was the date?”         “We don’t have time for this,” she called out from behind the folding screen. She really didn’t have it in her to come up with a fake story regarding the night before, and now that she thought about it, she and Nikolai probably should’ve straightened their stories out. What if he told everyone a conflicting story and they all found out what had really happened? She’d never live it down.         “It was terrible,” she began, as Genya sat her down at the vanity, curling wand in hand. “He never showed, so I came home and drank while watching that movie Tamar loves.” There, that was close enough to the truth that she wouldn’t mess up her recounting if pressed on the matter. It didn’t matter that she’d excluded how Nikolai had split those bottles of wine with her, and how there were definite gaps in the memory of the night before. Now she just had to hope Nikolai didn’t say anything stupid.         “He wasn’t worth your time anyway,”         She laughed, “who is?”         “Well,” Genya began as Zoya applied the finishing touches to her makeup, “if you’re looking for suggestions--”

        “No.” She knew exactly who Genya was going to bring up, and she was less than willing to talk about the idiot she’d found in her bed this morning. Saints, how was she reckless enough to let this happen? Why did she find herself less and less horrified the more she thought back on just how much she’d enjoyed last night in Nikolai’s company? She needed breakfast, now. She clearly wasn’t thinking straight.         “Just hear me out!”

        “No. Now let’s go, we’re going to be late.”         The ride to Nikolai’s apartment was short so she only had to skirt Genya’s attempts to weasel more information about her date, or lack thereof, out of her for a short while.         “Do you think they’re all set up yet?” Genya asked knocking on the door incessantly, her knuckles continuing to tap the wood as Zoya replied.         “Maybe, why?”         “Given how Nikolai’s probably only been home for all of ten minutes, I figure they’ll have barely started.”         Zoya whirled on her, how did she know? but the door was already opening, Nikolai leaning against the doorframe without a hair out of place. “There’s no need to break the door! Genya, Zoya, it’s been so long!” 

        Genya raised a brow, “we saw each other last week.”         “A moment can feel like an eternity when one is away from friends.”       “Cute, is that an original or from one of Tolya’s books?” Her gaze swept the room, undoubtedly scanning for signs that he’d just arrived, but like Nikolai, the apartment was perfectly set up, all the chairs were in even rows and bouquets sat along the large window sills adding warmth to the large sitting room. They made their way to to the back garden before Nikolai replied.       “I think it’s from a movie? The one based on that book Tamar loves?”       Zoya saw the girl’s eyes narrow at this. Oh Saints. “Are the twins back from the caterer?” She asked, trying futilely to turn the conversation away from the inevitable.       “I know you two were together last night!” Genya burst out. Shit.       “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nikolai replied casually, and looking at him, Zoya would’ve thought that was the truth, had she not known differently.       “Genya, I told you, I came home after my date stood me up--”       “You both know that I know, so you can cut it out. I saw Nikolai’s watch in your bathroom, his phone was on your vanity, he smells like your wildflower perfume, Zoya! Now which one of you is going to tell me what happened?”

[fanfics-of-marvel]

Tony dies and Natasha is devastating by her boyfriend’s death until he comes back as an angel with beautiful wings. I keep things simple so your creativity isn’t withheld. Love your work!

Hello @chuckshurleyfucks

Remember me? You sent me this really great prompt so long ago and I am really sorry this comes after so much time! :( I don’t have much time to write and often I’m away from tumblr for some time. But I told myself that I’ll finish each and every request in my inbox NO MATTER WHAT and I fianlly had the chance to write yours. :)

I really hope it resembles what you desired to read and I can only hope it was worth the wait!

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

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Release date: 21/04/21

Pairing: Tony Stark x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Tony dies in an accident and Natasha is devastated. After the funeral, however, she has an unexpected meeting with him.

Words count: 3 139

A/N: I guess I could call it a magical AU :)

Warnings: None, maybe a little bit of angst

Requests | Masterlist

I’m not a native English speaker, so there might be spelling or grammatical mistakes.

This fic is my own work, it is not to be re-posted on this site or posted anywhere else without my knowledge and consent!

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“Tony Stark was a great man,” Rhody’s voice echoed in the capacious room in the Avengers Headquarters. “Despite being Tony Stark”.

Laughter rose among the attendants. Natasha smiled, too. For the first smile since the accident.

A picture of Tony himself filled the giant screen behind Rhody. He turned around and looked at his best friend. Nobody could see but his eyes were watery. Rhody turned back to the crowd.

“Is it me or was his head actually this size?” he said as he pointed at the enormous photo of Tony projected on the wall.

Everyone laughed again. Even louder than before. Natasha’s smile was even bigger.

‘Oh, it was,’ she thought to herself.

After the ceremony was over Natasha retired to their room. She closed the door behind her and leaned upon its massive structure. She stared at the empty bed with an even emptier gaze. It looked bigger now.

Natasha waddled to the wardrobe. She pushed the door and walked inside an even bigger room. The lights turned on automatically. It was Tony and Natasha’s private wardrobe. She walked to the hangers holding Tony’s suits. Natasha slowly slid her hand upon one of them and closed her eyes. She pictured her loved one in it on Wanda and Vision’s wedding. He was smiling, he was laughing, life was flowing through his veins.

‘Congratulations,’ he had said hugging the newlywed couple.

‘Thank you, Mr. Stark’, Vision had replied. ‘Perhaps, sir, now it is your turn,’ he had added nodding towards Natasha.

Tony had looked at his girlfriend across the garden with twinkling eyes. ‘Perhaps, it is,’ he had whispered heard only by the bride and groom.

Natasha opened her eyes and a tear slid down her face. Her skin was still moist from all the preceding crying. She let the tear flow down freely. Its final destination was on her bosoms.

Natasha walked towards another suit. She held it with both her hands and shove her face at it. She took a deep breath and breathed in the leftover aroma from Tony’s perfume. He wore this suit just a week ago. As Natasha sniffed the fabrics she could hear Tony speaking.

“All just for you, my love,” he said while unfolding the blindfold upon Natasha’s eyes.

“Tony,” she gasped at the view of the beautifully decorated gazebo in the garden surrounded by flowers and burning candles.

It was a hot summer night. The air was filled with the sweet scent of the flowers. The discreet light of the candles provided perfect view of the stars above them. Crickets played a lovely concerto.

“Tonight it’s just you and me,” Tony said with tenderness and he literally meant it for the waiters were a few droids from his Iron Legion.

The night was going as planned and Tony knew there was only one final thing missing to make it perfect.

“Nat,” he said holding Natasha’s hands. “There is something I want to ask you. But you need to close your eyes.”

Natasha curved her lips in a smile and closed her eyes. She suspected what was to follow but it still took her by surprise.

“You can open them now,” Tony said with noticeable nervousness in his voice.

Natasha opened her eyes and a specific reflected light crossed her eyes. She looked down and saw the most beautiful diamond upon a ring. Her eyes met with Tony’s. They were sparkling even brighter than the diamond.

“Nat, will you marry me?”

Natasha sobbed. She had taken the ring box out of the internal pocket of the suit jacket. She opened it and looked at the ring. It seemed even more beautiful now. Out of fear not to lose it she kept it there safe during their final mission.

Natasha let it all out. The most gruesome sound exited her. Tears were falling down her face. She leaned towards the wall and slowly slid down. She was panting. The memory was too strong, too vibrant. She laid down completely squeezing the ring box at her chest. She closed her eyes and heard the bombarding again.

Two days ago Tony and Natasha were on what seemed to be nothing more than a routine mission. There was a minor terrorist attack just outside the city in which a small group of people threw grenades and shot at the nearby houses, stores, and cars. Agents of Tony and Natasha’s class weren’t needed at all but Tony had a thing against terrorists, so he couldn’t miss destroying some more. Natasha had joined him in the last moment. She always said he needed her back up, especially on the ground. Besides, she loved watching her future husband kicking ass in his latest Iron Man suit.

Natasha was smiling playfully as she observed Tony far up in the sky threatening the puny terrorists on the ground. His voice could be heard loud and clear even down there thanks to a special technology which he had recently developed. The three men seemed terrified and were yelling some words in Arabic, their arms were in the air and they dropped their weapons.

‘Easy peasy’, everyone thought at this view. The S.H.E.I.L.D. agents were looking at Tony with admiration wishing they had what he had and hoping that someday they’d possess at least half of Tony’s authority.

Natasha was smiling smugly and was already packing her ‘toys’ which she obviously wouldn’t need during this mission when she heard it. Loud thundering sounds coming from very near. She quickly looked around trying to figure out where did the sound come from. But before she managed to make a full turn the wave from the explosions threw her few meters behind. For a moment sand and dirt fell all over her face. A high-pitched noise rang in her ears. Her head felt heavy and dizzy, the world around her was spinning.

An impenetrable fog of sand and dust surrounded Natasha. The only thing she could perceive was the distant thunders of bombing and shooting. Except that it wasn’t distant. It was right there, so very close to her but her hearing was impaired. So when she heard that raw gruesome sound of metal hitting the ground hard she hadn’t whatsoever realized it was Tony himself. Natasha closed her eyes and felt completely senseless.

When she finally opened her eyes the world was still spinning but the high-pitched sound was getting weaker. Natasha couldn’t know how long she’d been on the ground unconscious.

‘Ambush,’ she thought to herself as she groaned trying to get up. Her legs were really unstable but somehow she managed to remain standing.

“Tony,” she tried to speak but barely any sound came out of her lips.

The sound of the bombing had seized. Now she could hear some distant noise of people screaming and could distinguish silhouettes running around.

“Tony!” Natasha shouted as loud as she could. The sound was still very quiet but she started to regain her senses.

The more Natasha walked towards those people, the better she could hear and see. The fog was clearing up and everything hitherto shapeless started to fall into pieces.

“Agent Romanoff, are you alright?” Natasha noticed a fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in front of her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. What happened? Where’s Tony?”

“There was an ambush, ma’am,” the man continued speaking. “After those three terrorists seemed to be surrendering there was whole artillery that appeared out of the blue hiding underneath enormous canvases that had perfectly blended with the landscape. They hit us unexpectedly, ma’am. They threw bombs, grenades and every hellish explosive you can think of,” the man stopped talking as if there was something more which he just didn’t want to say.

“Well, where’s Tony, then?” Natasha was persistent. There was no getting out of this.

The man sighed. The dust had almost completely settled, so Natasha could see his face quite clearly. There was something bad written in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, agent Romanoff,” the man finally said pointing away in a direction to her right.

Natasha followed his finger and with terror noticed the Iron Man suit lying on the ground in a little crater.

“Tony!” Natasha shouted and ran towards him.

Due to the shock from the explosions her legs and balance were still compromised, so she tripped and fell two times until she managed to get to Tony. He was lying on his back but from the traces of the impact it was clear that he hadn’t fallen that way and had been moved from the agents.

A paramedic was examining him as Natasha walked near. Her facial expression and eyes showed fear. The strongest fear she had ever felt in her entire life. Abruptly, her whole body started trembling, she couldn’t catch breath and tears flew down her face.

Tony was lying in his forcefully opened Iron Man suit covered in blood and bruises. She could barely recognize his face which seemed twisted now. The suit had absorbed part of the impact but he had fallen from a great height.

The paramedic was looking down shaking his head. A defibrillator lied near him obviously recently used. His colleague took a deep breath and then Natasha heard the worst words in her entire life.

“Time of death,” said the second paramedic and looked at his watch. “1:03 p.m.”

“No!” Natasha screeched so loudly that the two paramedics jumped startled. They hadn’t noticed her presence beforehand.

She gathered a whole lot of looks from other agents, as well. Some of which were also still unaware of the tragedy.

“Tony,” Natasha barely made a sound as she fell on her knees next to his dead body. Tears were falling down her face and she could barely breathe.

The two paramedics discreetly recoiled. They had to take care of the body but also knew they had to give Natasha a moment.

She gently placed her hands upon his distorted face. His blood was already drying but his skin was still warm. So warm as if he was still alive. Could it be that the paramedics were wrong? Natasha slowly slid her right hand and felt his carotid. No pulse.

Why had they given up? Natasha examined more of Tony’s body. There were noticeable fractures on his chest and abdomen. He definitely had broken ribs and most likely suffered from a punctured lung for his chest was purple and bloody. Some of the blood upon his face had surely flowed from his mouth.

There was no doubt. Tony Stark was dead and the tries of the paramedics had been unsuccessful.

“Agent Romanoff,” the paramedic spoke. “I’m really sorry but we need to take the body. It’s the protocol,” he paused for a moment. “You can see his body again at the mortuary.”

Natasha knew the protocol very well. She had followed it a little too many times with fellow agents. And she always kept in mind she might have to follow it with Tony, as well. Or he with her. She had always hoped for the latter one. As cruel as it sounded to prefer to cause Tony such pain she hoped she’d never have to live it herself because she would be the dead one.

“Goodbye, Tony,” Natasha quietly said and kissed his forehead.

Then she got up and walked away. She heard the team preparing to take his body. She kept on walking and never looked back.

Natasha looked at the ring. It dispersed the light from the ceiling so beautifully that the entire wardrobe was shining bright. She hadn’t put it on ever since she took it off for their final mission together.

With trembling hands Natasha took the ring out of the box and put it on her finger. She was much calmer now. The tears upon her face had started drying. She remembered about the dinner on which he proposed to her. A smile appeared on her face. It was sad that Tony was gone but it was a virtue to have had him in her life.

“Natasha,” a barely perceptible sound.

Natasha looked up and around her. She thought she heard a noise but assumed it was nothing.

“Natasha,” there was it again. This time a little louder.

“Who’s in there?” she asked confused and a little concerned. Nobody else had access to their bedroom. “Rhody, is that you?” she got up and walked towards the wardrobe’s door. The sound seemed to be coming from the bedroom.

“Natasha,” this time she heard it more clearly.

She stopped sharply right at the door. The voice sounded like Tony’s. Her eyes got watery and her breathing stopped for a moment. Could it be?

“Nat,” he said again this time very clearly. “It’s me.”

There was a very bright white light coming from the bedroom. Natasha slowly walked out of the wardrobe. She gasped and dropped the ring box.

Tony was floating in the air just above their bed bathed with beautiful heavenly light. He was dressed in all white and behind him there were big beautiful angel wings. Even though Tony was being Tony Natasha had always known that he was just like this on the inside – a beautiful angel.

“Tony?” she said with trembling voice.

“Hello, my love.” Tony spoke with a tender and soothing voice.

Natasha’s lower lip trembled. She never thought she’d see him again.

“Tony? Is that really you?” she asked with a hoarse voice.

“Yes, my love. It’s me,” Tony replied with a gentle smile.

Natasha shook her head. This all must have been an illusion. She assumed it was the shock and all of the emotions from the past week which were playing with her mind. Or perhaps she had fallen asleep in the wardrobe.

“Come here,” Tony said as he floated down and stepped on the floor facing her. He outstretched his hands and gently placed them at the sides of her face.

Natasha shuddered at the touch. It felt so real. She lifted her hands as well. Tony’s face was warm again.

He leaned down and gently kissed her lips. Natasha’s knees felt weaker.

“How is this possible?” Natasha asked after Tony moved away.

“The ring,” Tony said as he took her hand in his. “It’s a very special stone. It’s connected to my soul.”

Natasha gasped. How?

“More magical things than Doctor Strange exist on this world,” Tony said wittily. “And I got my hands on this,” he pointed at the stone upon the ring. “As long as you wear it I will always know where you are, I will always feel you, and I will always be your guardian angel.”

“I want you back, Tony,” Natasha said with hope.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Nat,” a bitter smile.

Not the reply she wanted to hear.

“But I will always be with you,” Tony said gently fondling her cheek. “I will be a barely perceptible presence. Always there next to you, just one breath away. You might sometimes spot me with the corner of your eye. But you will never be able to see me,” tears fell down Natasha’s face. “You will always be showered in my heavenly light. And you will always be protected by my angel wings,” Tony held her left hand. “As long as you wear the ring,” he smiled softly.

Natasha looked down at her hand gently placed in Tony’s. His skin was so warm, so alive. She had to check. Her right hand slid upon his wrist. Her fingers found the spot.

Nothing.

Tony had no pulse.

“Oh, my love,” Tony whispered softly.

Natasha’s whole body was trembling. Her hand did another check-up.

Strong lively heart rate. Slightly accelerated.

“If I take my pulse away will I be able to be with you?” she stammered in tears.

“Oh, Nat,” Tony sighed. “Great things await you. The world needs your protection.”

“The world needs your protection.”

Tony fondled her face again. “The only one who needs my protection is you.”

“But I want you here with me,” Natasha burst into tears. “Next to me, all of the time. Fighting beside me, kissing me, loving me,” she was falling apart. “Please, Tony,” Natasha wrapped her arms around him and shove her face at his chest weeping.

Tony placed his hands on Natasha’s head as his wings surrounded her. Natasha calmed down in an instant. She felt completely relaxed and balanced. There was warmness and peace.

Natasha placed her ear next to Tony’s chest. But it was an empty chest. There was no treasure for her in there.

“Nat, stop searching for my heart here,” Tony said. “You know it’s there,” he placed his fingers upon her chest. “I gave it to you long time ago. And it’s where it will always be.”

Natasha felt warmness in her chest. For a moment it seemed like there were two hearts beating as one. She smiled gazing into Tony’s eyes. She didn’t want this moment to end.

“Now you need some sleep,” Tony said and holding Natasha’s hand he pulled her towards the bed.

“I don’t want to go to sleep. That means time not spent with you,” Natasha objected.

“Shhh, my love,” Tony gently placed his finger upon her lips. “I’ll be right next to you.”

He laid down on one side and his angel wing was spread on the bed. Natasha joined him and lied upon it. He embraced her with his arms and then with his wings. It took her seconds to fall asleep perfectly calm and relaxed feeling completely protected for the first time in her life.

When Natasha woke up the next morning she was alone on the bed. There was no trace of Tony. She looked at her left hand. The ring was there reflecting the light just as beautifully. She wondered about last night. Did it all happen or was it a dream? She assumed it was the latter and got out of bed. She had fallen asleep with clothes on and smutched make-up. She needed a shower.

Just as Natasha was about to walk in the bathroom she spotted a barely perceptible presence with the corner of her eye. She turned around startled but didn’t see anybody. Her breathing quickened. She rubbed her eyes assuming it was sleepiness and tiredness.

When Natasha calmed down she could swore she felt somebody else’s breath at the side of her face. She felt calm and relaxed. There was a warm feeling surrounding her. She slid her hands at the sides of her arms sinking in the feeling and closed her eyes. Her right hand touched her chest. Two hearts beating as one.

Natasha smiled. She opened her eyes and stared into the nothingness in front of her. There was something she could spot with the corner of her eye. A barely perceptible presence watching over her as her guardian angel.

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This fic is my own work, it is not to be re-posted on this site or posted anywhere else without my knowledge and consent!

[natures-cunning-ways]

It's kind of long (17 films!) so text below or link here.

MEN, WOMEN & CHILDREN (2014)

Based on the titular novel by Chad Kultgan, Men, Women & Children explores the ways in which the internet and the cybersphere have influenced relationships in the modern world. While the film was not a huge success, it captured the moment that social media became an increasing part of our daily lives. And although Chalamet only has a minor role in it, he made enough of an impression to move on to bigger parts.

INTERSTELLAR (2014)

In just his second feature, Chalamet landed a small role in Christopher Nolan’s sci-fi odyssey Interstellar. And what a film to appear in.

It details former NASA pilot Cooper’s (Matthew McConaughey) quest to find a habitable planet for the last vestiges of the Earth’s human population. But the cost of the voyage is never to see his children again.

Playing the astronaut’s son Tom, Chalamet impresses alongside McConaughey and John Lithgow. He was also party to one of the most emotionally charged scenes of the film when Cooper sees footage shot by Tom before leaving on his expedition.

WORST FRIENDS (2014)

An under-the-radar, straight-to-DVD release, Worst Friends is arguably the least well known of Chalamet’s film appearances.

A dark indie comedy set in New Jersey, it explores the strained relationship between two young men, one recovering from a traumatic accident, the other his unwilling carer. It might not be an essential Chalamet film, but for die-hard fans, it’s worth watching to see him on the cusp of fame.

ONE & TWO (2015)

Chalamet co-stars as one of two siblings living in forced isolation, with a controlling father and a terminally ill mother. The brother and sister both possess the power of teleportation, a gift their parents actively discourage them from using.

The film looks beautiful and the teleportation scenes have a certain charm. The imagery is the film’s main draw, but Chalamet delivers a solid performance as a stifled teen.

THE ADDERALL DIARIES (2015)

An adaptation of the eponymous true-crime memoir by Stephen Elliot, The Adderall Diaries explores trauma, memory and the bias we project onto our past. James Franco stars as the author, who recently wrote a book detailing the abuse he suffered as a child at the hands of his father. While promoting it, and researching his new writing project based on the Hans Reiser murder case, Elliot begins to see how his perception of his childhood might not be as close to true events as he previously thought.

A little rambling at times, with a narrative that deviates significantly from its source, Chalamet nevertheless wins plaudits as the brooding young Elliot in key flashback scenes.

LOVE THE COOPERS (2015)

Chalamet joined an all-star cast for this Christmas-themed drama. Following the festivities of four generations of a chaotic family, the film was a significant international hit. It also gave the young actor more opportunity to learn from acting greats like Diane Keaton and John Goodman.

MISS STEVENS (2016)

Chalamet livens up Julia Hart’s poignant directorial debut, an award winner at South by Southwest Film Festival.

The narrative follows a recently heartbroken high-school teacher who accompanies three students out of state for a drama competition. Chalamet shines as a talented, emotionally deprived youngster who is prone to acting out.

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME (2017)

It was his portrayal of Elio that catapulted Chalamet into the cinematic stratosphere, convincing audiences and critics alike of his talent and immeasurable on-screen charisma.

Luca Guadagnino’s sensational Mediterranean romance was the perfect role for the young actor, giving him the space to prove himself, as well as allowing him to show off his multilingual abilities and musical skills. The film captured countless hearts and Chalamet was rewarded with Golden Globe, BAFTA and Oscar nominations.

HOT SUMMER NIGHTS (2017)

In this bildungsroman crime drama by Elijah Bynum, Chalamet plays a coltish teen sent away to spend the summer with his aunt in Cape Cod. There, he meets a gang of delinquents and is seduced into assisting them in their drug-dealing hustles. Entering the fast life, the actor sheds his natural innocence, while his screen charisma blossoms.

LADY BIRD (2017)

The indie event of 2017, Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut features the endlessly talented Saoirse Ronan as rebellious Christine in a smart comedy-drama that captures the impetuousness, anguish and unalloyed joys of youth.

Chalamet plays Christine’s boyfriend Kyle, an über-cool, slightly pompous, chain-smoking musician. Throwing about conspiracy theories, and a pseudo-intellectual take on pacifism and the Iraq war, the actor still imbues Kyle with an innate likability.

HOSTILES (2017)

Scott Cooper’s harsh, revisionist Western offered Chalamet his first scene-stealing cameo. It’s the story of an embittered, war-ravaged cavalry officer (played with usual conviction by Christian Bale) tasked with chaperoning a dying Cheyenne chief and his family back to their tribal homeland. Chalamet appears as French private Philippe DeJardin, who accompanies the officer on the first part of his journey.

BEAUTIFUL BOY (2018)

Felix Van Groeningen’s biographical father-son addiction drama gave Chalamet his most challenging role to date. Based on the memoirs Tweak: Growing Up on Methamphetamines by Nic Sheff and Beautiful Boy: A Father’s Journey Through His Son’s Addiction by David Sheff, the screenplay is harrowingly authentic and sincere, requiring Chalamet to portray Nic with the perfect level of angst and introspection. It saw him earn more BAFTA, Golden Globe and the Screen Actors Guild Award nominations.

A RAINY DAY IN NEW YORK (2019)

Chalamet collaborated with Woody Allen on this Big Apple confection (and later donated his entire salary on the film to charity). He plays Gatsby, a wealthy liberal-arts student visiting Manhattan with his girlfriend, budding journalist Ashleigh (Elle Fanning). The pair find themselves separated as Ashleigh becomes increasingly beguiled by the city, while Gatsby grows ever more disillusioned.

THE KING (2019)

Chalamet’s portrayal of a monarch-in-waiting is a stunning showcase for his talent. As the young Hal, he is a carefree wastrel, living with little responsibility and enjoying the company of his friend John Falstaff (Joel Edgerton, whose screenplay adapts Shakespeare’s Henry IV Parts I & II, and Henry V). But As Henry V, King of England, he embraces his God-given right to power and suffers no fools or conspirators. In his first war film, Chalamet displays his versatility and leading-man potential.

LITTLE WOMEN (2019)

Chalamet reunited with Lady Bird’s Greta Gerwig and Saoirse Ronan, along with a stellar cast, for a thrilling new adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s American classic. In a supporting role to the March sisters (Ronan, Florence Pugh, Emma Watson and Eliza Scanlen), Chalamet nevertheless delivers a charismatic performance as Laurie.

Ronan and Pugh went on to receive Academy Award nominations for their roles in film, while Chalamet was also praised for his unwavering charm and affecting vulnerability.

THE FRENCH DISPATCH - RELEASE DATE 21 OCTOBER

Wes Anderson’s fabulous paean to The New Yorker is a typically adroit, stunningly realised and obsessively detailed comedy. It premiered to huge critical acclaim at the Cannes Film Festival and features such an astonishing all-star cast that even the smallest roles are filled by well-known actors.

The film is divided into three stories, a divertissement and a bookending section that details the titular magazine’s beginnings and end. Chalamet appears in one of the main stories, in which Frances McDormand’s journalist encounters a young radical leading a revolution against the French establishment. Anderson makes the most of the actor’s hair, transforming it into a character of its own, while Chalamet’s expressions resemble a star of the silent screen, each conveying his emotional state. It’s one of his most guileless and effortlessly charming performances.

DUNE - RELEASE DATE 21 OCTOBER

Of all the roles any young actor could dream of playing, Paul Atreides, the protagonist of Frank Herbert’s sci-fi epic, must rank pretty high. He is at the heart of every aspect of this universe-spanning tale. Kyle MacLachlan played him in David Lynch’s confused 1984 version, but in the first of what will hopefully be Denis Villeneuve’s two-part take on the vast tome, Chalamet takes up the mantle. And he’s perfect. If Call Me by Your Name, Beautiful Boy and The King highlighted his talent, here Chalamet steps into the shoes of stardom. And they fit perfectly.

[taleasnewastime]

Personal

Taehyung x reader genre: angst word count: 1.3k

a/n: This one is based off of the song ‘Personal’ by The Vamps. It’s a bit random, and it more angst the fluff. But I hope you all enjoy reading!

“I love hanging out with you like this,” you say when there’s a quiet moment in the film.  

Tae simply nods his head and gives a small hum, eyes never leaving the screen.

Movie nights just you and Tae were a common occurrence but Tae was never normally this quiet. Normally he was someone that constantly commented on different things that happened. So his silence was slightly unnerving you.  

“More popcorn?” You lean closer to him offering the bowl of popcorn in your hands. He simply shakes his head. “Suit yourself. You know I really thought this film would be a lot faster paced.”

Tae remains silent as the film shows the main character jumping behind a wall to avoid the baddy.  

“I mean come on, surely they would have noticed that. So unbelievable,” you shove more popcorn in your mouth. “So, come on, predictions. Is he going get caught, only to escape again? Or maybe they’ll catch his love interest as a ploy to lure him to them?”

“Yeah, maybe,” is all Tae responds.  

“Right come on. What’s up?” You swivel on the sofa and cross your legs under you so you are fully facing him.  

“Nothing,” he continues to stare at the screen.  

You grab the remote and pause the film so he has no excuse to ignore you. “Out with it. What’s the matter?”  

Tae sighs and points his eyes to the floor. “Why are you with him?”  

“What?” He says the words softly so you aren’t sure you have heard him right.  

He turns to look you in the eye. “Why are you with John?” His voice comes out clear and more certain this time.  

You stare at him a bit shocked. You hadn’t expected him to start questioning your relationship. And why was this the reason he was so quiet?

“Urm, because I like him?” It comes out as a question.  

“But you complain about him all the time.”

“I complain about you all the time, that doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

“But some of the things you tell me. Some of things I hear him say to you. All the times you’ve cried on my shoulder because of him. I just don’t understand why you would be with someone like that?”

“Relationships aren’t always easy Tae.” A sadness comes over you as you remember all the times he was referring to. Tae was one of your closest friends so you regularly turned to him when you were struggling.  

“I know they aren’t easy. But yours seems to be particularly hard.”  

You remain silent as your eyes drop down to the sofa in front of you. It was true that you had a hard relationship. But you loved John and you had been going out for over 3 years now. You had shared a lot of good memories together and it wasn’t worth throwing all that away simply due to a few hard times.  

“Don’t take this personally,” your eyes shot up to meet Tae’s as he speaks.  

“That’s not a great start. It’s like when someone says No offence, when they so blatantly are being offensive,” you warn him.  

“I just think it’s time that I say what’s been playing on my mind, because I have been feeling this for a while. And when I see you out with him, I say that I’m fine. But I’m sick and tired of playing games and I’m sick and tired of being second place and I’m sick and tired of being friends.”

Your heart rate increases as you listen to him speak, never expecting these words to come out of him. If you had realised this is why he was being so quiet maybe you wouldn’t have prodded him so hard to talk to you.  

“I just think it’s time that I lay my heart out on the line,” he carries on, voice no longer quiet, but bold and sure. “So, don’t take this personally, but you can do a lot better than John. I think you’d be better with someone else. Someone like me.”

You take in his words, your heart still racing, which you are sure he can probably hear as his words hang in the air. You breathe deeply and look up to meet his eyes.  

“Tae, I can’t just leave John to be with you.”

“I know, and I’m not expecting that. I just... over time maybe.”

“Tae...”

“You know the worst part of this is that you can’t even see that he is treating you so badly. You can’t even see that I would treat you so much better than he ever could.”

Your eyes start to brim with tears and you aren’t quite sure why. As one escapes your eye Tae reaches over softly and wipes it away with his thumb, his hand lingering on your face for a second before pulling away.  

“You’re my best friend Tae, and I love you, but I also love John. Please don’t make me choose.”

“I’m not asking you to choose.”

“You obviously are if you are asking me to leave John for you.”

“Ok, maybe I’m asking you to choose,” Tae gives you a small smile, obviously trying to lighten the tense atmosphere that had fallen over the room. “But come on, I’ve known you for years Y/N and I know you well enough to know you are denying your feelings. So, lets make this personal.” He reaches out and puts his hand on your crossed legs and you stare down at his hand. After a second you uncross your legs and spin so you are sat with your side to Tae, his hand no longer on your leg.  

“Can we just go back to watching the film,” you plead, though you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get this moment out of your mind.

“I don’t want to push you into anything Y/N. Just please think about what I’ve said. If you don’t want to leave John, I will understand, and I will still be here to listen to you, to be a shoulder to cry on. If you don’t want to be with me, I will still be your best friend and nothing more. Take your time. Just promise me you will seriously think about it.”

You look over at Tae. “I’ll think about it Tae,” you say as you pick up the remote, hoping that he gets the idea that you want to stop this conversation.

“Sorry if I ruined our film night,” Tae says, as you eventually press play.  

“I mean I don’t know what you were hoping for when you said all of that,” you wouldn’t say you were angry at Tae but did he expect you to leap into his arms after his confession and essentially cheat on your boyfriend?  

“I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You have a right to know how I feel.”

“I respect that, and thanks for telling me. Now can we just go back to the film,” you ask, already feeling awkward and wondering whether you should just leave.

But after that the night seems to slip back to normal. Tae going back to his normal self, commenting on the film, eating popcorn, everything that he wasn’t doing previous to his confession. And you sit there almost in silence, your rolls switched.  

Though you enjoy the night, Taes confession plays on your mind, and it will continue to for the coming weeks.  

[owl-with-a-pen]

(SO, Last night’s Doctor Who episode gave me some major inspiration. I decided to turn that inspiration into a quick fic that may be expanded upon ever so slightly in the future.)

SUMMARY: The Doctor has always hated endings. She shouldn’t be sad about it. She isn’t sad about it. No, instead, it gives her an idea.

After all, she isn’t bound by Time Lord laws anymore. And there’s one person she had always been meaning to save...

It’d been a long two decades.

Maybe not the longest two decades she’d ever lived, maybe not even close, but in the grand scheme of things, it had certainly felt longer than most.

All that time to think, and… what conclusions had she made?

Well, for starters, intergalactic prison food was terrible. All the nutrients required for a dozen or so assorted species packed into one solid brick of barely ingestible material. Honestly, she would have preferred to go without. But then it would’ve been harder to think. And she’d really needed to think.

Okay, what else?

Angela? Terrible neighbour. Literally the worst. Couldn’t get a wink in with her buzzing about. Plus, having Silent Bob next door had made thinking very difficult. Couldn’t focus on a single thing without it washing away the second she glanced in the wrong direction.

At least she’d been able to hold a conversation with the Ood.

Love an Ood. Even an ill-tempered one.

Doing it again, Doctor. She was missing the point. The big ol’ elephant in the room that she was getting particularly good at avoiding.

Had she seen any elephants in that prison? Bit odd. Odd as the Ood. Did they have something against elephants?

Focus.

Two decades. No closer. She was no closer to figuring out who she was, the identities that were hers and hers alone. That had been taken from her. Erased by higher forces just to keep her in check.

And it burned. Deep inside her chest, igniting both her hearts, making it difficult to breathe.

Or, maybe that was just prisons for you. Not like they made it easy for you to do anything. Although, she supposed breathing was pretty necessary to live out your sentence.

Seven thousand offences. She would’ve needed to breathe for a very long time.

She’d lost Ryan.

Lost Graham.

Her fam. Gone in an instant. Quicker than a blink, really. Faster than a Weeping…

“They’re not gone,” the Doctor said.

It was the first thing she’d said in a while. Out loud, at least. No one to talk to at the moment. 

The TARDIS rumbled affectionately beneath her hand, sending a calming pulse through her fingers as she continued to fiddle with various dials.

Well, maybe that wasn’t necessarily true.

The Doctor’s lips twitched. She ran her thumb along one of the TARDIS’s nodules, grinning when it flashed an encouraging blue. “Been a while since we talked, hasn’t it mate?”

Yaz was somewhere within the TARDIS. If the Doctor had wanted, she could have opened a psychic link with her ship, noted her exact coordinates. They could’ve talked, too.

Maybe the TARDIS was prodding her to do just that. Maybe she didn’t want to be prodded.

“Okay,” the Doctor relented. “They are gone. But, just from me. That’s not too shabby, now, is it? They’re safe. Ryan and Graham. Defenders of Planet Earth.” Her smile weakened. “Maybe Jack can push ‘em in the right direction. Didn’t wanna get too involved, thought it’d be best for them to find their footing on their own. Although, maybe a couple of calls wouldn’t hurt.”

The TARDIS made a soft whirr, a clanking groan following soon after from somewhere at her centre. The Doctor’s fingers clenched across the console. “Too soon? Maybe they need space.” She blinked. “Then again, we are already half a galaxy away.”

She felt the TARDIS’s thoughts probe gently against her mind. They weren’t thoughts in the predominately biological sense of the term. It was an impression of thought, really, like warm water tickling her brains. She knew what it meant, what it always meant.

And, distantly, the TARDIS procured something recent of hers. A fresh memory, still buzzing at the surface.

It’s okay to be sad.

The Doctor shuddered. “No, mate. Don’t play that game.”

The TARDIS groaned again.

“Why?” the Doctor asked, baring her teeth. “You know why. I’m not sad. How can I be? They’re off doing their own thing. They’re happy.” The last word travelled morosely around the room, punctuated by every metal wall it bounced across.

The Doctor reached restlessly for something to fiddle with, turning a gear that offered no further progression to their journey. They weren’t positioned for time travel right then, after all. Just space. Just… exploration. Idle movement. Something to do while Yaz caught her bearings.

She needed time. Plenty of that about on a time machine, after all. She’d be okay. Just needed some human comforts. Food and sleep – both of which the TARDIS was happy to provide to her in abundance. Maybe the Doctor should have gone to her.

It’s okay to be sad.

No. No, no, she wasn’t opening that one. It was silly, really, not something worth focusing on. Besides, there was so much more she needed to think about.

“Ten months,” she murmured. “Lots can change in ten months. Ten years. Ten decades. Ten…” She stopped, her mouth falling open. “Ten,” she repeated, a little surer of herself. Her lips twitched fondly. “Haven’t thought about you in a while, have I?”

She glanced up, narrowing her eyes. That was something to focus on. Something she quite liked, actually. No, even better. This was a plan.

And a plan meant she could think.

The Doctor skirted around the TARDIS, trailing her fingers along every bump and notch until she found what she was looking for. One of the data screens, reeling information about their current location. Nothing too fancy for the moment.

The Doctor grabbed at its handle, pulling it down towards her. Her mind was beginning to whir again, that familiar clank of gears not too dissimilar from her own ship’s. She caught the flash of her own eyes in the screen’s reflection, a ghostly image with a toothy grin, ready to enact a plan. The best plan.

“Y’know,” the Doctor said, engaging with her ship once again. “I used to play it safe, always so considerate that I had these set amount of lives. It was the Time Lord way.” She reached out blindly, wrapping her hand around a familiar lever. “But, it got me thinking. I’m not a Time Lord, am I? Actually, I don’t know what I am. But… time is still the same. Same rules apply. My rules, though?”

She caught something in her reflection. A darkness settling comfortably behind the shimmer of her eyes. She looked away, staring adamantly at her console. Her TARDIS.

“Ryan and Graham are safe. But I saved… I saved someone else. A long time ago. Too long ago.” She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. A sharp pulse shot through the Doctor’s chest, teasing her hearts with a new fire.

She could do this.

“I saved her. But, that wasn’t enough,” the Doctor continued. “I could’ve done more. Could’ve…” She sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “But I can now, can’t I, mate? ‘Cos I’m not who I thought I was. I’m more. More than any of ‘em.” She clenched her free hand, lifting it towards her chest, feeling both hearts thrill inside. “Maybe I still don’t know everything. Maybe I’ve got a lot to learn. But, one thing I do know is that I have exactly what it takes to bring her back.”

The Doctor’s hand tightened firmly around the lever, pushing it down with a rattling thud.

“I got more lives than I ever thought possible,” she murmured. When she looked up at the screen again, she no longer saw her own eyes staring back at her. Instead, a new face took up every inch of visible space. Or, should she say, an old face.

River’s eyes, both old and young at the same time, stared back at the Doctor. An abundance of densely packed curls framing her face, a crease in her eyes as she grinned out from the photograph she’d given her a good century ago, at least. 

A face the Doctor hadn’t seen in so long. A face she ached to see again.

“Guess what?” the Doctor asked, bracing herself as the TARDIS shuddered into action. She grinned tightly, a power she hadn’t felt in quite some time resurfacing within her. “I’m gonna use one of them to save you.”

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Higurashi Gou Ep13

Between this and Ciconia Phase 1, I’m starting to think that Ryukishi has some kind of personal grudge against Christmas, lol.

Thoughts under the cut.

Oh boy, where do I even begin with this one, lmao.

Basically as we all expected, this is where the arc veers off from the Minagoroshi storyline and barrels headfirst into it’s own original climax, but I don’t think anyone quite expected how it actually played out.

I’ve seen some people speculating that Ooishi might be responsible for some stuff in Gou, but I don’t think anyone expected him to apparently kill nearly all of Keiichi’s friends. Which actually reminds me a lot of how Minagoroshi ended with everyone thinking that they got a happy ending and then Takano shows up to kill everyone.

And on that note, this episode makes me even more confident in my guess that Takano’s a giant red herring in Gou, and that nothing’s actually going on with her. She and Tomitake did literally nothing in this entire arc except show up to support the protests at the CWS, and it looks like the final scene of this episode takes place long enough after the festival for the season to have changed from summer to autumn, with no reference to the GHD being made. So unless everyone [including Rena] is just refusing to tell him that it happened, it’s probably safe to assume that the GHD didn’t happen at all, which seems very important, since Tatarigoroshi is basically the only part in the VN where we really see the GHD happen in person, and that arc also had the most obvious hints that Takano was evil.

I know this isn’t 100% just a remake for new fans, but I still think it’s genuinely meant to be accessible for new fans, so at this point I just don’t think there’s been enough clues surrounding Takano to really allow for her to be the main villain again.

It might just be because the arc ends with the festival happening and then everything goes to shit, but they also didn’t say anything about what happened to Takano and Tomitake during/after the festival. Which from a meta perspective makes me think it means that they survived, at the very least.

I’m kinda hesitant to say that this is even the end of the question arcs, since the next arc is also a -damashi arc, but at least with three arcs finished, this is really making me think about what patterns we can see with what happens in each arc, and what plays out differently.

At this point it’s pretty obvious that the biggest common factor is that Keiichi survives each arc after sustaining fairly heavy injuries, and after he wakes up in the hospital we see other characters tell him what happened while he was unconscious. Satoko died in a mysterious double murder in the first two arcs, but since she apparently died as part of a larger massacre in this arc, I don’t know if there’s anything to read into with that. This arc also seems to break the pattern of Takano and Tomitake disappearing, like I said, unless we just didn’t get told about that.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it at first, but at this point it seems extremely suspicious to me that every arc has ended with Keiichi being given second-hand information about stuff that he didn’t witness because he was unconscious. And since the people who talk to him in each arc are different [Mion in Onidamashi, Ooishi in Watadamashi, and Rena in Tataridamashi], I don’t think that they’re all just lying to him every single time.

I think I mentioned this whole theory of mine last week, but seeing this pattern continue really makes me think that, especially from the perspective of ‘what information is being given to the audience that even new fans can pick up on and theorize about?’, Keiichi himself is the actual common factor in it all, and I think everything makes a lot more sense if you assume that he was responsible for at least some of these mysterious murders.

This arc really heavily leaned into making Satoko suspicious, including how her big character moments from Minagoroshi apparently happened off-screen this time around, but after how this episode played out I’m more inclined to think that she’s a red herring. There’s also the fact that the whole Teppei scene was even more obviously a hallucination than the fight scene with Rena. It even looked like there were two entirely different types of blood splatter being shown on-screen, with one being the super intense, paint-like blood covering the entire wall like we saw in the Rena fight scene, and the more subdued and realistic-looking blood splatter that seems to happen over the top of the other one.

So what I think might have happened, is that maybe Satoko was innocent the entire time, and she really did just have her whole Minagoroshi moment off-screen, and nothing weird or different happened there. Then, at the festival, she really did want to thank Keiichi for helping her, and genuinely wanted to give him a gift, but then things go to hell in a very Onikakushi-style way, because Satoko had rigged a trap in her house to dump some random objects on Keiichi’s head when he pulled the light switch. Keiichi got hit in the head with some random heavy object, and then when he turns around he sees Satoko holding a baseball bat. Which is actually just Satoshi’s bat, which she genuinely just wants to give to Keiichi as a gift because it was a memento of Satoshi’s, but he immediately assumes that she hit him with it and that it was all a set-up to murder him, and he basically goes L5 and completely loses his shit. Teppei’s entire presence there was almost certainly a hallucination, so it might have just been his way of trying to rationalize the apparent image of Satoko attacking him with a baseball bat, and his way of justifying attacking her, by acting like it was Teppei instead.

I at least think it’s important that we see Satoko talk about how she wants to give Keiichi a gift that used to belong to Satoshi, which is obviously meant to be his baseball bat. So the idea of her bringing it into the room with her, and Keiichi seeing it and assuming the worst, seems pretty plausible.

After that, I think what happened is that Keiichi then basically took the bat and went back to the festival and went on a rampage. I think the whole Ooishi thing is a red herring, and that Rena’s account of the situation was deliberately misleading to make us think that it was him who killed everyone, but in reality him pulling out his gun might have been unrelated. So maybe it was Keiichi who killed Shion, Mion, and Rika instead, and Ooishi pulled out his gun in self-defense.

There’s also the fact that if we assume the whole Teppei thing was a hallucination, then Keiichi probably didn’t actually sustain that many injuries in the first place, but several weeks later after he wakes up in the hospital he apparently has severe headaches, and bandages around his head. Which makes me think that instead of getting lots of beats to the head from Teppei, what actually happened was that Ooishi shot Keiichi in the head to stop his rampage, and Keiichi just miraculously survived, but with memory loss and headaches from the gunshot wound.

I can at least buy the idea that Rena might have intentionally avoided talking about Keiichi’s role in it in order to avoid hurting him, but I get the feeling that even if it played out that way, she might have straight up forced herself to forget it in order to cope.

I’m not entirely sure what motive Keiichi would have to go back to the festival and attack his friends after killing Satoko, but I also don’t know what motive Ooishi would have had to kill them either, lol. For both of them you basically just have to go ‘they probably went crazy and started killing people’. But there’s at least a lot more support for the idea of Keiichi being the one to go crazy like that.

I might have mentioned this last week, but I also kinda think that Keiichi’s secretly a lot more paranoid about what’s going on than he’s been letting on. We haven’t really seen any of his actual thoughts in Gou yet, and he’s probably trying to avoid thinking about a lot of this, but I think in each arc there’s been paranoia brewing under the surface that ends up exploding in one big display of violence that we don’t get to see, and which Keiichi doesn’t fully remember.

In Onidamashi, I think when Rena attacked him it made him assume that all of his fears about her were correct, and also that Rika was probably trying to get him murdered by telling him to trust her.

Then in Watadamashi, I think he might have snapped at the festival and killed Takano and Tomitake because of his paranoia about being strung along into breaking into the Saiguden and hearing about Hinamizawa’s history, and I think the whole Rika-acting-like-Bern scene made him think that she’d caught onto what he did and was going to arrange to get him murdered as punishment.

And now in Tataridamashi, I think that after witnessing first hand just how much influence the village has, seeing that [probably fake] hallucination of Teppei lead him down the path of assuming that it must mean that the entire thing was a giant ruse by the village elders, the government, and the police. Which might be specifically why Shion, Mion, and Rika got killed. I think Satoko was just him thinking he was attacking Teppei, but I think he might have killed those three because they’re part of the three big families, so he might have assumed that they were ‘in on it’ from the start. Which would also explain why Rena was left apparently unharmed, since she has nothing to do with them. It’s also worth noting that in Tataridamashi his only interactions with Takano and Tomitake just involve them showing up to support the CWS protests, but in Watadamashi we saw pretty clearly how freaked out he got from the whole Saiguden incident because of what they did. I’m also still suspicious of how in Onidamashi he goes to talk to them at the festival but then randomly decides not to.

Funnily enough this would also give a good reason for how Gou seems to be avoiding having Keiichi succumb to paranoia, and it’d also give a good justification for how unlike in the VN we don’t get any of his internal narration or anything to understand what he’s thinking. On the one hand it’s just a limitation of the medium, but I could see Ryukishi using it as a way to deceive us by having Keiichi be going through paranoia in a way that’s mostly internal and kept secret from the audience, instead of it being something that we’re shown every moment of like in the VN.

But I think it’s also important that we do still get glimpses of his paranoia in each arc. He gets genuinely scared of Rena in Onidamashi and was on the brink of not opening the door for her even with Rika’s advice. He freaks out in the Saiguden in Watadamashi even more than he does in the VN, and then gets paranoid about hearing Shion and Ooishi question him about what he did at the festival, and then when Rika vents at him he looks seriously freaked out by her. This arc’s more subtle about it, but there’s been a few moments where he seems to be weirded out by Rika’s entire attitude where she keeps talking about fate, and I think at the festival he was probably paranoid about what might happen for similar reasons to everyone watching the scene unfold.

I might be totally wrong about all of this, but it’d be really neat if Gou has actually been exploiting certain elements of the anime format, and the things we take for granted about it, to deceive us about the mystery in each arc.

Of course, the big question with this whole theory is that, well . . . what’s the endgame of it all? If the answer to each arc is just ‘Keiichi keeps succumbing to paranoia and killing people in ways that Rika doesn’t predict’, then what’s going on in the background? Who’s the mastermind? What does Rika need to do to win this game and achieve a happy ending?

It might be an underwhelming answer for most people if this is how they play it, but I think that the big reveal in Gou might just be that there ISN’T anything going on in the background. At least not in the sense of ‘there’s literally a government conspiracy surrounding a supernatural virus that people want to use as a biological weapon’. I think this might just be a version of Higurashi where it really does just all boil down to paranoia-induced murder. And part of the whole meta-mystery might just be that we’re all trying to look for ‘the actual answer’ while glossing over what’s going on right in front of our eyes with Keiichi in each arc. So the route to a happy ending might mostly just involve Rika figuring this out and realizing that Keiichi has his own issues that need to be addressed before his pent-up paranoia explodes and gets people killed. She should at least know that he’s capable of killing people like in Onikakushi, but at the very least in Gou it feels like she’s just been focusing on everyone else and assuming that everything’s fine and good with him.

I think this would also make it a lot easier for them to actually wrap up Gou’s whole story with just 11 more episodes if we don’t get a second season, since it’d mean that there isn’t a whole extra layer to the story that we need to spend time on.

Anyway this is just a very elaborate way of me saying that Keiichi is super sus, lol.

All that aside, we also found out at the end that the next arc will be called Nekodamashi, which is interesting. It might be a coincidence, but it sounds like it might be based on the Nekogoroshi OVA episode from the original anime. I haven’t seen that, but I’ve heard that it mainly exists just to foreshadow the Yamainu’s existence. Which is interesting since at this point I’m like 99% convinced that they don’t actually exist in Gou, and that it’s just been Keiichi getting paranoid about random construction workers doing normal stuff.

Either way I think it might focus on Rika’s perspective on things, and show how she begins trying to figure out what exactly is going on this time around, and what she needs to go to solve it all. The name of the arc at least sounds like it’s about how Rika, aka the cat, is getting deceived about the mystery of Gou.

It also sounds like we’re getting new OP and ED themes for the second half, along with the leaked subtitle change, so that’s cool. It also implies that Featherine and teenage Satoko in this OP really were just setting up for future plot points and didn’t necessarily imply that they’d show up in the first half.

The fact that they show up in the OP is one reason why I think there’s probably still SOME kind of bigger picture mystery going on beyond just Keiichi killing people sometimes, but I think it’ll at least just replace all the stuff with Takano and the Yamainu.

I still think Featherine’s the one making this whole gameboard in the first place, but I’m not sure about teenage Satoko, especially after this episode made me more inclined to think that Satoko isn’t some kind of evil mastermind or anything this time around.

There’s also the whole deal with the sword, and I still have absolutely no idea how THAT might pan out, but I don’t think anyone does, lol.

Also, I’m still hoping that they make time before this ends to go into Shion’s whole backstory arc from Meakashi, since it’d suck if that got cut out, but we’ll see how it goes.

[angrylnxy]

{ this will be a story on ao3 eventually but I just want to write to figure out how exactly I want it to be like and how these love children ocs will be written!}

Keigo glanced down with a soft smile at his youngest daughter, she had his golden eyes and hair. Her hair was long and braided with a bow keeping it together. She was standing next to him watching her siblings yell at each other.

Keigo was currently 39 and his children were all 16, when they where born he had cursed his luck. He was worried with having to take care of one child how was he going to handle three? Now he wouldn’t change anything about what happened. He loved all three of them. Well he would change who their father was, but there isn’t anything he could do about that now.

“ what are you two fighting about this time” keigo asked his son and other daughter. Both jumped and turned to him.

“ he said being a hero would be boring! I said it wouldn’t! He started listing off reasons why he wouldn’t want to be a hero!”

“ I am right! Being a hero isn’t all rainbows and sunshine! And isn’t something people should be jumping to be!” His son snapped back his wings flaring up and his ice like feathers snapping to spread out.

“ you’re both right” his youngest spoke up.

“Seiren is right, there are pros and cons to being and wanting to be a hero. It’s not for everyone and you two should agree to disagree.” Seiren stuck her tongue out at her siblings. His son glanced away before huffing and turning to his sister.

“ I’m sorry Yuma, If you want to be a hero I won’t say anything “ he looked away.

“ I’m also sorry setsuko, I shouldn’t try and change your mind.” She leaned forward and gave him a quick hug before moving away knowing how setsuko didn’t really like touch that he didn’t do Himself. He glanced nervously back at her before placing a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back into a hug. Keigo smiled softly before patting Seiren on her head and heading to the door with a smile.

“ I’m heading out now be on your best behavior, when I get back I don’t want anyone injured or any messes” as he opened the door he smiled a little bit more as his children say goodbye “ I love you “ he said before exiting and closing the door. With keigo not knowing that was the last time he would open that door....

The kids two year later.....

Setsuko walked stiffly through the cold snow a bag held in his gloved hand. His mouth slightly covered by his scarf. His warm breath fogged the air as he breaths. He was heading to abounded building his dark teal eyes narrowed but his face mostly blank. Strands of his almost snow blond hair in his face.

He just wanted to get back to his sisters, they couldn’t really leave the warmth of their hideout like he could. His body naturally ran cold so he wasn’t bothered by the freezing temperature. But he had to take the long way back due to a few people following him. He huffed stepping into a ally and opened his wings slowly before flapping them down quickly causing a loud snap to fill the air as his ice feathers snapped open and he took to the sky. He quickly flew the rest of the way on his wings. Landing on the top of the building and making his way down the stairs.

“ you’re back!” His younger sister cried out and collide with him. She quickly hugged him. She was slightly shorter then him. He use to hate being touched but. He gotten use to his sister hugging him even if it still made him uncomfortable. He patted her shoulder as her wings started to fold around them.

“ and I brought food.” He said quietly lifting the bag slightly. The eldest of the three step forward and took the bag with a smile.

“ thank you setsuko “ she said gently joining the hug. He twitched slightly before hugging them both back before all of them let go. Going over to their stolen table and eating quietly. Setsuko closed his eyes wishing he could hug his father one last time like had with sisters. He shook it off and smiled softly as his sisters as they talked. But his mind slipped back to the day they lost their dad and the day heroes became the worst thing imaginable.

They where watching the tv and pointed at their dad when he was on screen behind the hero commission president. Before the meeting had really begun, and heroes where still showing up all of them confused even their dad seemed confused. And when the hero commission president started speaking, the three realized how messed up she truly was. She was talking about how the government had agreed with the commission that when heroes were kept on a tight leash they where better then heroes who did what ever they wanted and that from that day forward the hero commission owns all of them that the hero commission was going improve hero’s make them perfect. Of course a good portion of hero’s there disagreed and started complaining. Their dad was probably the first to disagree which must have surprised the hero commission. But they didn’t seem to care and would use him as a example of what would happen if the hero refused. And since they already ‘owned’ hawks they good do whatever they wanted with him. And claim he wasn’t useful anymore. And they shot and killed him on public television. And his kids watched with widened eyes. They fled knowing it was the best option, see their father was honest with them and told them the truth not wanting them to find out on their own. He told them of the horrible things the hero commission has done and why he hasn’t done anything. He told them the commission didn’t know they existed and he would keep it that way. He told them the truth about their other father, parent.

The world still doesn’t know the villains azure, suka, and warbler. Where the children of pro hero hawks and villain dabi. Three children who lost one of their fathers and that the other didn’t know they existed.

“ setsuko?” A quiet voice asked. He blinked and looked at Yuma who was leaning into him her warmth felt nice against his cold skin but it also made him slightly uncomfortable.

“ how long was I spaced out “ he asked quietly.

“ a while but not as long as last time but long enough that we had to melt some of your ice, Seiren went to bed I wanted to make sure you where okay before I want to bed too” he closed his eyes before opening them again.

“ I will head to bed with you” he muttered standing up and offering his sister a hand. She took it and stood up. And they head to bed quietly.

Seiren was looking out a window of the abounded building the snow was melting finally. She glanced over at the sleeping person in bed. Her brother was having moments where he just spaces out again.

She wished she could help him. It made her angry when she saw it happen just wanting to light that no good for nothing commission to the ground and freeing the hero’s they have on very tight leashes. Then she felt hopeless, there wasn’t a way they could stop the commission. The three of them couldn’t not on their own but it was so hard to find villains that wanted to help take the commission down. The only group they knew of who would want to do that was the league of villains. But the siblings didn’t want to step foot near them, since they where constantly in conflict. They weren’t ready to fight in the spotlight yet. So for now she could only watch through a window as things got worse, but hey the snow was melting they could start looking again and if the league was their last option they would take it.

Yuma rubbed her eyes as she glared down at her stolen flip phone. The text message was burned into her memory.

Unknown number: we heard about you, our contact gave us your number that you left, the league could use a few young minds.

You: who exactly am I talking too?

Unknown number: dabi of the league of villains.

You: I would have to talk with |

She glared at the text not sending it. Before deleting it and starting it over

You: I’m not sure dabi if joining the league of villains is the right move for us

Unknown number: what a shame the offer won’t last we don’t have time to wait on you

You: then it looks like you don need our young minds after all then dabi, but we don’t want and aren’t ready to be in the spotlight of everything.

She tossed the phone onto the table and groans before jumping as a cold hand rest on her shoulder.

“ what was that about “ her brother ask and looked down at the phone. She sighs and reached out picking the phone back up and giving it to him. He read the conversation and frowned.

“ I don’t want to put us in anymore danger setsuko but it might be our only chance “

“ he would know his own fire” setsuko muttered. “ tell him that you are sending me to meet with him” his wings shift as he returns the phone “ that way if the deals with the league aren’t worth it you two will still be safe and he won’t know” Yuma look over at her brother meeting his dark teal eyes and the black markings that all three got from there father and nodded slowly.

You: I’m sending suka to meet you just pick a place.

Unknown number: perfect [ address], tell them to meet me here.

She looked up the place and shifted showing her brother, he looked the place over before returning the phone and pocketing his own phone.

“ be careful I will tell Seiren” she watched her brother leave with a wave over his shoulder.

Setsuko glared down at the abounded warehouse. Shifting the scarf up his face. Before sighing and taking to the sky. He entered through a broken window and he stayed on the support the beams of the abounded building and glanced down towards the floor the ends of his scarf being blown slightly by wind from the broken window behind him.

“ I’m going to assume you are suka?” A voice spoke from below him making him have to lean a little forward to spot him before the man shifted to be seen better. Right setsuko frowned this is dabi he had to be careful.

“ yes.” He said his own voice sounding to emotionless compared to dabi’s. Dabi raised a eyebrow at him.

“ why don’t you join me down here, suka” dabi said with a grin. Setsuko let out a huff and didn’t move.

“ what do you want with us dabi” he asked getting to the point of things.

“ I’m just curious about why, three?, there’s three of you right?, why three kids are running around looking for someone to help them take down the hero commission? And why there are rumors that all three have wings?” He tilted his head. Setsuko saw a emotion he could recognize, longing or remembering. Which made setsuko wonder if his dad had talked to dabi from high above.

“ there are three of us” setsuko confirmed. He titled his head with narrow eyes “ we know things that would make the hero commission seek us out and kill us, so we need to kill them first” dabi stayed quiet for a moment.

“ and what would that be kid?” Dabi honestly seemed curious.

“ like I would tell you “ he huffed at dabi “ I don’t even know you” setsuko knew that would hurt a bit more of dabi knew the truth.

“ far enough “ dabi hums “ the boss wanted to give you a chance, you scratch are back we will scratch yours” setsuko made a face at that of course dabi could only see his eyes but he hated that metaphor, saying.

“ I know you don’t mean that literally but I would appreciate at it if you never touch me.” Dabi laughed at that. “ why are you laughing that’s not funny.”

“ sure kid, it’s not funny I will keep that in mind.” Dabi said with a smirk.

“ what is it you want us to do?” Setsuko huffed before speaking. Dabi smiled before speaking.

Seiren walked by her brothers side she was glancing around nervously her wings shifting to fold against her back. She made sure to keep clear of her brothers ice feathers.

“ are you sure this is a good idea “ she asked quietly looking ahead at her sister. Yuma glanced over her shoulder at Seiren.

“ no “ she answered honestly “ I’m not sure but hero’s where getting closer to our home” Yuma frowned and looked forward shifting her bag slightly. Making Seiren shift her own, there abounded building was no longer safe to live so they where moving. To join the league of villains, setsuko wasn’t okay with the idea but agreed that it was the only option. He handed Seiren his bag.

“ I’m going to go ahead and scout the area out and make sure they are actual here.” His voice was rough and guarded, one of his nerves tells. Yuma glanced back and nodded.

“ we will wait here since this is the building take one of Seirens feathers and snap it when we can come in.” He glanced at Seiren who only nodded and gave him a feather, her quirk was the most like their dads. She watched her brother take off.

( hands are hard )

[callboxkat]

By the Day’s First Light

Author’s note: I wrote this on a whim last night. Apparently treadmills are as conducive to ideas as showers. 

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Prompt: Shaking and Shivering

Summary:  In retrospect, Virgil was very glad that his sleep schedule was so messed up. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even still been awake at three in the morning. As it was, he nearly missed the knock at his door.

Warnings: blood, major character injury, death mention, knife mention, biting mention, mild gore(?), censored swearing

Word Count: 3148

Writing Masterpost!

@badthingshappenbingo​

...

In retrospect, Virgil was very glad that his sleep schedule was so messed up. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have still been awake at three in the morning, watching conspiracy videos on the TV he’d picked up for twenty bucks at a thrift shop.

Even as it was, Virgil nearly missed the knocking. It was very quiet, and after only four repetitions, was gone.

Virgil, ever the paranoid one, paused the video he’d been halfway through even though he was only half sure he’d heard anything at all. His gaze went to the door, and he frowned.

After a moment, he heard a muffled thump. Virgil set the remote to the side and hesitantly approached the front door. He paused, his hand reached out for the handle, then bolted to the kitchen for a knife.

(Maybe he was overreacting.)

(But maybe he wasn’t.)

Back at the door and armed this time, Virgil reached up and slid the cover off of the peep hole. He hesitated again as the image of someone stabbing his eye out through the hole flashed in his mind, then gritted his teeth and looked out anyway, his knife clutched at his side.

It was very dark—of course it was, it was freaking three in the morning—so he couldn’t see much, but there was definitely someone out there. Their head was bowed, and they seemed to be facing slightly away from the door. But that was about as much detail as Virgil could parse.

(He really needed to get the porch light fixed, he’d been putting it off for weeks, why the hell hadn’t he gotten it fixed?)

Virgil hesitated, briefly debated calling the cops, then decided he wasn’t looking to get himself or anyone else shot that night just because he was afraid to open a door.

He unlocked it, leaving the latch in place, and opened the door an inch.

At the sound of the door opening, the figure turned to look at him. The figure who suddenly looked very familiar.

“…Logan?” Virgil said, shocked.

The faint, blueish light from the paused television fell across his friend’s face.

The first thing Virgil noticed was that his friend’s eyes were wide and blank with shock, and his whole frame shook despite the warm night air.

The second thing Virgil noticed was the blood that dripped down from his mouth, and—

And soaked the jacket that Logan held pressed to his neck.

“Oh my god!” Virgil yelled, the knife falling from his hand with a clatter.

Logan flinched back, taking a clumsy step away from the door.

Virgil reached out and grabbed his arm—the one not possibly holding his neck together—to stop him. His skin was freezing. How long had he been outside? “No, no—I’m sorry, you stay here. It’s okay, I’m calling 911.” Virgil pressed his hand over the one Logan already had over his neck, pulling his friend inside. “Come on, come inside.”

“No,” Logan said faintly.

“No, you’re not coming in? What, you want to wait for them on the porch? I need to grab my phone, it’s on the table—”

“No 911,” Logan rasped.

“Logan, you’re literally holding a bloody jacket against your f*cking neck, of course I’m calling—”

“No!” Logan started pulling away, shaking harder, fighting him.

“Okay, okay, fine!” Virgil said in an alarmed voice, afraid that the pressure would come off his friend’s neck, and terrified of what that could cause. “Just come in here and sit down, and tell me what happened, and—and don’t f*cking die in my living room.”

Virgil pulled Logan inside and flicked on the lights, making Logan flinch again, squinting painfully in the sudden light.

“What the hell happened?” Virgil asked, sitting him on the couch and looking him over before his eyes had even properly adjusted.

“I was….” Logan let his words trail off, making no effort to continue.

Virgil reached for Logan’s neck, came up short, and shook his head. “Wait, actually, don’t talk. Let me look at this.”

Virgil’s hands shook as he finally put them on the jacket on Logan’s neck. The jacket felt wet to the touch. He hesitated, then started to peel it back, ready to slam it back into place in a flash. The jacket hardly budged, although Virgil swore he was trying to pull it back as hard as he could.

(F*ck, he couldn’t do this! He wasn’t a doctor!)

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?” Virgil asked, staring at where his numb hands gripped the bloody jacket. “I really think we should go to a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Logan insisted.

F*ck it, he passes out, I’m calling an ambulance, Virgil decided. “Okay,” he said aloud. “You’ve, um, you’ve gotta move your fingers. A little bit.”

Logan’s hand shifted, and Virgil gingerly peeled back the jacket, his heart racing, and gasped.

A jagged wound marred the otherwise smooth skin of Logan’s neck, like someone had carved a chunk out of it. Or ripped it out.

But… while it was definitely bleeding, it didn’t look like it was bleeding out. It even looked like the flow of blood was slowing as he watched. Which might have been wishful thinking on Virgil’s part, but he could have sworn it was true.

Virgil let out a nervous laugh, making Logan’s gaze drift in his direction. “I, um… I have no freaking clue how, but… I think it must’ve missed the arteries.”

(Or was that veins? …Arteries. He was pretty sure. The things that generally killed you if someone ripped a freaking hole in your neck.)

“That’s good,” Logan said mildly.

Virgil swallowed, looking away from the injury, not wanting to look at it any longer or more closely than he had to. “Yeah. Um, yeah. That’s really good. It’s great. But, dude, this….” Virgil covered the ugly wound again with the jacket, only partially to keep the pressure on. “This has got to need stitches. Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”

Logan shook his head, making Virgil let out an alarmed yelp.

“No hospitals,” he repeated. “First aid kit. Your hiking one?”

Virgil paused. He did have a pretty well stocked first aid kit, including what he’d need to do stitches, for when their friend group went on hikes on the weekends in the spring and summer. But he didn’t know how to do stitches—those supplies were for Logan to use! And this wasn’t just a little cut!

“Go get it,” Logan requested, still speaking in that mild, detached manner, like he wasn’t quite there, not completely.

Virgil hesitated, then grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around Logan, avoiding his neck.

(He was pretty sure that was something you did for people in shock, and he was also pretty sure that Logan was in shock.)

“Wait here,” Virgil said, getting to his feet. “And don’t die.”

He made it back with the first aid kit in record speed. Logan was where he had left him, sitting on the couch, staring blankly ahead. One side of the blanket had fallen down, but Logan held the other in place with white knuckles.

“I’ve got it,” Virgil said, putting it on the coffee table and kneeling before Logan. “Let me… Damn it, I don’t know how to do this, Logan, I can’t—”

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Logan said.

Virgil hesitated, then set his jaw and opened the first aid kit. They didn’t have time to keep arguing. It was worth a shot, right? The worst he could do was kill his friend.

As Virgil worked, Logan rambled off instructions in a dull, lifeless voice, like he was reciting a textbook from memory. Virgil suspected that he was.

Finally, he was done. It was not the prettiest sewing job; but he’d managed not to throw up; and the insides of Logan’s neck were on the inside, where they were supposed to be; so he counted it as a win.

“Thank you,” Logan said softly, watching as Virgil put the supplies on the table, to be washed later when he was done panicking.

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt anywhere else? F*ck, your mouth—” Virgil’s hand flew to Logan’s jaw, where now-dried blood dripped from his lips and down his chin.

“Not mine,” Logan said, staring blankly in the direction of the TV screen.

“Not—what?” Virgil yanked his hand back, somehow even more horrified.

“I don’t know what happened,” Logan said in the same empty tone. His gaze slid over to Virgil, and his voice grew more pleading. “What happened?”

Virgil shook his head, staring. He glanced at his phone, sitting on the table, just waiting for Virgil to dial 911.

“I was walking home from my night class,” Logan remembered. “I took a shortcut.” He paused. “He was….” Logan swallowed. “He….” He gestured at the probably overly thick coating of bandages Virgil had put on his neck.

“He did that to you?” Virgil prodded, dimly noting that Logan’s night class had ended at nine. Not three in the morning.

Logan swallowed. “Yes,” he breathed. “I… There was so much blood. Everywhere. And….” He shuddered. “And I thought I was done for, but… I bit him, hard as… hard as I could. And….” He frowned, then touched his head. Virgil only then noticed the edge of a bruise poking out from under his hairline. “And… and I came here, because you were closest.”

“We’re taking you to a hospital.”

“No,” Logan insisted.

“You’ve got a cut on your neck, some mugger’s blood is all over your face, and I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion; yes, we’re going to the hospital!”

Logan surged forward and clutched desperately at the front of Virgil’s shirt, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. “No. No, I can’t—they won’t believe me.”

Virgil’s mouth had opened in shock at Logan’s vehemence. “I’m pretty sure they’ll believe you got mugged,” he said, as wide-eyed as Logan.

Logan shook his head, let go, and clutched the blanket around himself. He mumbled something to himself, something that sounded like, “His teeth….”

Virgil fidgeted, unsure what to do. He could call his friends, but he knew they would be long asleep by now, and probably wouldn’t even see the notification until morning at the earliest.

He settled for a text, showing Logan the phone to prove he wasn’t dialing 911.

Unsure what else to do other than hope Logan didn’t die from his neck wound reopening or from some other injury Virgil didn’t know about because he wasn’t a freaking doctor and he didn’t exactly trust Logan to tell him if there was one, Virgil got up and got a washcloth, dampening it and bringing it to Logan to clean up his face. He also handed over a large glass of water.

Logan cleaned up his face, put the dirty washcloth in the gallon-sized plastic bag Virgil held out (for evidence), and then drained the cup, not saying a word the entire time. It seemed he was done talking, content to stare at nothing.

Virgil wished he knew how to help.

(He could help by calling a f*cking ambulance.)

(Logan might hate him forever if he called.)

(Logan might get worse if he didn’t call. A lot worse)

(Logan might also freak out, tear his stitches, and die if Virgil did call.)

Virgil buried his face in his hands.

Ten minutes of awkward silence, self-loathing, and fear later, Virgil noticed that Logan’s head had started to loll forward, his eyes half shut and unfocused.

Virgil sat up straight immediately. “Logan—Logan!”

Logan jerked, his eyes immediately on Virgil, confused and alarmed.

(F*ck. He’d just been falling asleep, hadn’t he? )

(Of course he was, it was past five in the morning. Logan usually got up for the day around now, and he hadn’t had any sleep. Because being knocked unconscious sure didn’t f*cking count.)

(Could he let Logan sleep, with that head wound?)

Virgil deliberated for a long moment, glanced over at the miserable looking young man at his side, then stood and silently pulled Logan to his feet. “Come on,” he said, guiding Logan to his bedroom. He shoved the clothes off of the usually unoccupied side of it and pulled back the blankets. Logan got in compliantly.

Virgil turned off the light, lay down on the other side of the bed, set an alarm for an hour later (he wanted to wake Logan every hour, just to make sure he still could).

When it went off, Virgil hadn’t slept a wink.

He reached over and touched Logan’s arm—he was still so cold, even with Virgil’s mass of blankets—to rouse him. “Logan?” he asked, nervous.

Logan immediately jerked awake, scooting back, nearly falling from the bed before he abruptly stopped, staring at Virgil. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and some of the tension left his frame.

“Sorry—sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. You didn’t open the stitches, did you?”

Logan’s hand went to his neck, and he hesitated, then shook his head. “Don’t think so,” he whispered.

“Are you… okay?” Virgil cringed. What a dumb question.

Logan just nodded, not seeming to mind, and lay back down.

Virgil set another hour-long timer, and went back to not-sleeping.

Thankfully, Logan didn’t startle as much the next time Virgil woke him. He still seemed afraid, but not quite so… shell-shocked.

Reassured, Virgil went back to bed. He even managed to fall asleep, this time.

When he woke up, the other side of the bed was empty. The curtains, drawn tight across the windows as usual, hardly let any light into the room, but Virgil could see well enough to know his friend was gone. He sat bolt upright in the bed, looking around.

“Logan?!”

There was a noise from the hall.

Virgil relaxed slightly, but not completely. He got out of bed and padded out into the hall, looking around for Logan and hoping he wouldn’t find him passed out on the floor.

Logan was not, in fact, passed out on the floor. Instead, he stood just inside the bathroom, the door open, his hands gripping the porcelain sink. He was trembling, his skin the sort of pale it usually only got mid-winter.

“Logan?”

Logan turned, and there were tears in his eyes—pinkish tears. The bruise on his head had nearly faded away.

“Don’t come any closer,” he croaked. “Something’s wrong.”

Virgil, who had been walking closer, wanting to help, instead froze in his tracks.

For in Logan’s mouth, where there had once been a pair of dull canines, were a pair of sharp, white fangs.

Virgil’s mouth went dry. “I… you….”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Logan said, shaking his head. He turned back to the mirror, taking in his reflection. More pinkish tears appeared. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Virgil would later be rather ashamed of what he did next. He bolted. The next thing he knew, he was in his room, locking the door behind himself. He even opened the curtains, sending dust everywhere, and more importantly, letting light flood into the room.

He stayed there for the rest of the day, clutching the lamp from his bedside table like it was a weapon, his mind full of static.

That night, when he finally emerged, still wielding his lamp, Logan was gone. The medical supplies he’d used on Logan had been cleaned and packed neatly back into the kit. Virgil stared at the red box for a long moment, ultimately leaving it where it sat.

There were new messages on his phone, texts from Patton and Roman, asking what was going on. Virgil had told them Logan had been mugged, but no more detail.

He left them on read.

Two weeks later, still with no sign of one of his best friends and mounting questions from his other two best friends, Virgil didn’t know what to do.

He’d had some time to think things over, and he was undeniably ashamed.

Maybe Logan was a vampire—as impossible as the idea should have been—but he was still Virgil’s friend. He was still Logan. And he needed help.

Virgil sat down in his room, and after a long, long hesitation, he called him.

He was shocked when Logan picked up.

“Hello, Virgil,” a calm, steady voice answered.

Virgil swallowed. His voice was not so steady as he responded. “Hi, Logan.”

A beat passed.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, unsure what else he could possibly say, how he could make up for what he’d done. “I just… I panicked.”

“It’s fine,” Logan said.

“It’s… what? I just ditch you, after that, don’t talk to you for weeks, and it’s fine? You haven’t even talked to Roman. You haven’t talked to Patton.”

There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the phone. “I admit I was at a loss for what to tell them.” The steadiness in his voice wavered. “I’m… having a tough time, coming to terms with things.”

Virgil swallowed. “Yeah, I get that.” He folded his legs up on the bed with him. “Are you, like… good?”

“My neck appears to have healed itself,” Logan said. “I took the stitches out. There’s barely a scar.”

“…Yeah,” Virgil said. Good news about being a cryptid, he supposed. “I get why you didn’t want to go to a hospital, now.” He shifted. “And what about…?”

“I’m adjusting,” Logan said. “It appears I will have to be nocturnal, for starters.”

“Nocturnal?” Was the sunlight thing real?

“I burned myself trying to leave your house,” Logan admitted. “Just my hand, thankfully. But, the sun… I can’t go out in it. And I am certain I will have other, ah, accommodations to make…. I never imagined catching a  rabbit, certainly not for that purpose… but….” Logan trailed off, and Virgil imagined him shaking his head. “None of this feels real. And I don’t know the first thing about—about this.”

Logan never had been a fan of monster movies. It made sense that he’d be completely lost, even aside from the whole vampires-are-supposed-to-be-fictional thing. Virgil thought about his large cache of those movies, and his playlist of cryptid videos. He had a few vampire ones on there, for sure.

“I might be able to help,” he offered.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, tentatively hopeful, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t… afraid of me?”

Virgil recalled his reaction to Logan’s… transformation… with a wince. But this was still Logan, he reminded himself. Still his friend.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not afraid. I’ll help you.”

A relieved sigh sounded on the other end of the call. Logan’s calm façade crumbled, and his voice broke. “Thank you, Virgil. I would appreciate that quite a lot.”

[snarkythewoecrow]

Heyy, your addiction fics are so well written and with care enough to not trigger someone, I was hoping I could request one? Like Peter's in college and the stress gets to him so for a while he like loses his mind and turns to partying but his family helps him? you don't have to write this ofc, love your fic! (I'm spideyreids2003 on ao3!)

Thanks for the prompt! I had fun writing this. 

***Warning for alcohol abuse and drug use*** 

Read on Ao3

“Peter, maybe you should call it a night, get some extra sleep.” Ned tried to reason, but Peter wasn’t listening. He was three drinks in and working toward a buzz already and didn’t want to go back to their dorm.

College turned out to be different than Peter had expected. He’d planned to focus on his studies, make some new friends, get good grades, and impress Tony. He was attending the man’s alma mater, after all, but things had a funny way of working out.

Peter had started school with big dreams, but a few months into the year, and he was struggling against the current to stay afloat. His grades didn’t come as easily for him as they did in high school, and his life wasn’t as easy either. Everything was more complicated. There were days he felt like a failure, and maybe in some ways, he was one. He certainly wasn’t handling the stress like he should.

He’d spent his life abiding by the rules, and maybe that played a role in his new coping mechanism. Perhaps it was a cry for help. Either way, the partying he had been doing drowned out the noise in his head and made things a little easier to deal with at the moment, though there was always a price to pay.

The more he partied, the more his grades slipped. The more his grades slipped, the more defeated he felt, making him want an escape, so he would drink himself into a stupor and try to forget. He knew it was a problem, but he couldn’t see a better solution. So the cycle continued unchecked.  

Then there was Ned, who stood in front of where Peter sat on the couch, giving him his best disapproving face. Peter wanted to go back to when they were in high school, and things were simpler between them, but he couldn’t, so he needed to accept how things were now, which meant that Peter wasn’t the same kid he used to be. Drinking had given him a way to muffle the chaos in his head and have a little fun, too. Ned didn’t understand, probably because Ned was better than him. He always had been.

Peter put up a good front, but he had always struggled beneath his mask. He knew he wasn’t perfect, and now that he was in college, facing pressure like never before, that mask was cracking. It was clear for anyone who dared look that Peter was falling apart. Some people might see a college kid partying and having fun, but if someone were to look closely, they’d see it was more nefarious. Peter was using it as a cover to hide his failures.

He knew it wasn’t good, but Peter never claimed to be great at self-care.

“I’m good here.” Peter sipped from his Solo cup, glancing up at Ned. "Really, I’ll just stay for a few hours, and then I’ll walk back.”

Ned pursed his lips. “I don’t like leaving you here. It’s never good, Peter. You’ve been doing this too much lately. What would May think?”

Peter downed the last of his drink. That was a low blow. May had been dead for nearly a year. A man had charged into the emergency room, shooting anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. Of course, May hadn’t stayed hidden. She’d run across the hall to grab a child and got shot. By the time they could get to her, she was gone.

Peter didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that her death played a part in his current spiral. At minimum, it didn’t help his sleep, which came at a premium these days, something that wasn’t helping matters at all.

After his aunt died, Tony stepped up to help him, paying for his college and making sure he wanted nothing, making Peter’s current situation feel even worse. He wasn’t just letting down May’s memory by partying like he was, but he was letting down Tony, too. Peter didn’t want to think about what Tony would say about his new lifestyle. The worst thing was, he’d probably be understanding, telling Peter it was okay and sharing stories about his own struggles, which just made Peter feel worse.

He deserved Tony’s anger, maybe some choice words. You didn’t blow your college career by partying and not expect some consequences.

What kind of person did this make him? Not Spider-Man, that was for sure. He hadn’t even gone out to patrol in months. He didn’t feel like a hero anymore. He and Spider-man couldn’t be further apart. Maybe it was time they parted ways, at least for a while.

Peter pushed himself up to get another drink, nearly bumping into Ned, who had to hastily step back to avoid him.  

“Peter, come on, man.” Ned’s voice chased after him.

Peter glanced over his shoulder, briefly meeting Ned’s gaze. He didn’t like the concern he saw, so he looked away, going back to making another drink.

“I’m really fine, Ned. Trust me.”

“Maybe a year ago, before everything got bad, I would have, but I don’t think you’re thinking straight anymore. I think you need to talk to someone.”

Peter turned around, taking a sip of his drink. It was more alcohol than soda, and it burned his throat. He welcomed the feeling. It would take a lot to get him drunk. His mutation made it hard to get there, but the payoff was worth it. He relished the moment when the world blurred, and everything hurt a little less.

The music thumped in the background, and someone bumped into Ned, making him frown and cast his disapproving glare in their direction. Peter swirled his drink in the red plastic cup, watching it slosh around before sucking down the contents in a few big gulps. When he looked at Ned, his expression had turned hurt. His shoulders slumping, Ned shook his head, stepping forward to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“I’ll see you back at the dorm, right? Not too late?” Ned asked.

Peter pushed back against his guilt and smiled. “Yeah, yeah, I won’t be out past three.”

Sighing, Ned patted his shoulder twice and then disappeared into the crowd. Peter stared at the people for a moment before turning back to refill his drink. The ache in his chest was back, and he wanted to forget. He wanted to let everything go and have fun.

Peter downed another drink, then headed for the couch where a bowl of pills was being passed around. He didn’t normally get into drugs, but he was missing May, and he wanted to have a little fun. He joined them, sitting next to a girl he recognized from one of his classes. He didn’t know what it was that he took, but he didn’t care either. Soon, he felt himself relaxing, and he spent the rest of the night drinking and melting into the couch.

He woke up in the morning or thought it was morning, but from the bright sun coming in the windows, he realized it might be closer to noon. He wasn’t in his bed, and when he turned his cheek, it scratched on the polyester fabric of the couch. Blinking his eyes, it took a moment to place himself, but then he saw the cups and beer bottles, and hazy memories of the previous night drifted back.

Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes and sat up, his foot bumping into a body on the floor. Squinting, he looked at the ground and saw someone was passed out on the floor between the couch and coffee table.

He needed to get out of here. Ned was going to kill him.

He stepped over the body and patted his pockets for his phone. He needed to see the time. He’d probably missed class again, and his professor wasn’t going to be understanding. He’d already missed a bunch.

Feeling his phone in his pocket, he grabbed it and checked the time. Shit. It was after eleven. As he went to stuff his phone back in his pocket, Thunderstruck started playing, and he looked down to see Tony’s face lighting up the screen.

Double shit.

Scrubbing a hand over his face quickly, he answered the call and brought the phone to his ear. He scratched at his hair as he greeted Tony.

“Hey, Tony, what’s up?”

“I should ask you. Ned called.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. He’d be talking to Ned later about boundaries. For now, though, he needed to deal with the fallout.

“Oh, really? What did he say?” He tried to keep his voice even, but it raised in tone at the end. His nerves were getting to him.

“He said you didn’t come home. Again. Seems to be a running problem with you lately. I thought everything was going okay. What’s going on, Peter?”

“No, it’s no big deal. I just stayed out late, um, studying.”

Tony hummed. “That’s interesting. Tell you what. I need to straighten away a few things here, and then I’ll fly out. I can be there tonight.”

“Wait, what? No, no, no, you don’t need to come out here.” The last thing he needed was to see Tony’s expression fall when he saw what a mess Peter was. “It’s fine. It’s all fine. I swear. You don’t need to come out here.”

“I’ll see you tonight, kid. Maybe shower or something before I get there. Ned mentioned something about you going through a grunge phase.”

“I’m not—” He started to argue, but Tony hung up. Huffing out a frustrated breath, Peter shoved the phone back into his pocket and weaved his way through the mess to get back to his dorm.

He was going to kill Ned.

“Why did you call Tony?” Peter asked as soon as he was in the door.

Ned was at the desk, working on his computer. He turned to look at Peter. His expression was hard to read, though. Peter thought he looked a little smug, but maybe he was just imagining it.

“I’ve tried talking to you for months, and it hasn’t done any good. You’re blowing your chance here. You spend more time at parties than you do in class. It’s not cool, Peter. If I can’t stop you, maybe Mr. Stark can.” He finished with a shrug and turned back to his computer.

Peter was angry, but he couldn’t blame Ned. He was only trying to help, part of what made Ned a better person than Peter. Sighing, he walked over to his bed and flopped down.

What was he going to do?

At some point, he showered and put on some questionable clothes. He found them under his bed. Other than a few wrinkles, they seemed okay. At least they didn’t smell. He needed to prioritize things a little better. Laundry came after everything else.

He skipped his classes that day, too stressed about Tony coming to attend. He was already in deep with his professors. He couldn’t see how missing another day would hurt.

Sometime after their ramen dinner they made in a coffee pot, Ned left to visit a friend, leaving Peter to anxiously await Tony’s arrival.

At seven o’clock, there was a knock at the door, and Peter had to take a deep breath to collect himself before opening the door.

It was Tony.

“Jesus, kid. Ned wasn’t kidding about the grunge phase,” Tony said by way of greeting.

Peter forced a smile, running his fingers through his hair. “Come in, sorry it’s not much, but, um, it’s a dorm. You’ve been here, so you know.”

Tony nodded and entered the room, turning around slowly and taking it in. He settled in the desk chair, looking at Peter expectantly. “So, I think we need to talk, and depending on what you, depends on whether you get to stay, or if you take some time and collect yourself.”

It felt like something had punched Peter in the gut. He’d never considered not being able to stay. Tony wouldn’t do that to him, would he? He scrambled for something to say, anything to make this better.

“It’s not that bad. I don’t know what Ned said, but it’s fine.”

“That you’ve been getting wasted every night, and not surprisingly, your grades are slipping. Ned tells me you’ve been missing classes because you're too hungover to go. He's worried about you—I’m worried about you.”

Tony’s eyes were soft and full of concern, and Peter didn’t deserve it. He’d been screwing up, and he knew it, and Tony should be angry. He should hate him for wasting his money. Instead, he just looked worried, and that stung worse.

Part of him wanted to lie, to make up some half-truth to explain his behavior, but another part of him was tired. Now that Tony knew, Peter didn’t want to fight it. Since May had died, he’d been struggling to kick his feet to stay above water. He’d made some bad choices, but maybe he didn’t need to drown here.

“I’m sorry,” Peter’s voice cracked on the words. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’ve really made a mess of things, and I don’t even know why.” Tears pricked at his eyes, and he wiped them in frustration. “I’ve really fucked things up.”

Tony stood, crossing over to Peter and pulling him into a hug before he could object.

Peter melted into his arms, feeling grounded for the first time in a while. Tony was solid and real and there. He existed and wasn’t going away. His presence eased Peter’s anxious thoughts. Even his cologne was familiar and made him feel safe and at home.

After a minute, Tony pulled back, holding Peter by the shoulders.

Peter wiped his tears again, sniffling. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony shook his head. “We’ll figure this out. I think you know I have some history with drinking and partying.”

Peter gave him a watery smile. “Yeah, I remember Rhodey telling me you peed in your suit.”

Tony laughed. “It was warm for a minute at least, but it puddled in my boot.”

“Ew, Tony. That’s gross.”

“I’m sure you’ve done some regrettable things, too. I remember what it’s like to be single and in college. Now, here's what we're going to do. We’re going to sit down, and you’re going to show me what’s happening with your grades.”

“You don’t have to. I can handle it.”

Tony raised a brow. “Really? You’re gonna try for that? I think we both know you need a hand. We can figure this out. I honestly think it might be good for you to take some time off.”

“And do what? I need school.”

“And see a therapist. Talking to someone can help. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still haven’t processed losing your aunt. I think even a few months to get your head on straight might make a difference. Come back at the start of a new year—a fresh start and all that jazz.”

Peter frowned. He didn’t want to miss school, but he also felt like he was spiraling out of control, and he didn’t know if he could salvage things. Maybe what Tony was offering wasn’t so bad.

Tony squeezed his shoulder. “Just think about it, kid. We don’t need to decide today, just know the option is there. I can pull some strings. They don’t name a building after you for nothing.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, can I think about it?”

“Sure, like I said, we have time. Now, why don’t we skip looking over the damage and just go grab a bite? You look like a hobo skeleton. Have you eaten anything green this year?”

Peter gave him a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is ramen a vegetable?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Not quite, kiddo, but good try. God, I don’t miss college.”

They went out to dinner, and Peter spent the night thinking over Tony’s offer. He even ate something green. The last year had been a disaster, and Peter didn’t even know how to get back on track. Maybe a reset was what he needed. May had always wanted him to succeed, and Peter wanted to make her proud, something he wasn’t doing now.

He didn’t need to think any longer. He knew what he had to do. All he needed was a little time and maybe a little help, and he would be okay. He was just glad to have Tony around to help him.

[uwua3]

Hi Bunnie! Your Misumi jealousy headcanon was so so amazing! Would it be okay to request the same hc but for Kazu, Tenma + Taichi? Ty and can't wait to see more from you! 🐰

oh my gosh! thank you so much!!! that makes me so happy to hear you enjoyed it; tbh i was a bit nervous due to the different take on misumi’s more thoughtful, erratic side so i’m glad it wasn’t too ooc! for you, i’d love to do a jealous hc for kazunari, tenma, and taichi! let’s GOOO !!!

summary: everyone gets their heart broken, and you were the cause of their broken hearts

warnings: anxiety, cheating, fake/toxic relationships, heartbreak, unrequited love

author’s note: i hope you enjoy it! thank you so much for your support ♡ this is definitely on the longer side for sure, i hope it’s worth the read!!!

i explored different types of jealousy for each person and how it would affect their daily lives! sometimes, the best thing to do is not act on your impulses. is it really worth losing a relationship with someone over? arguably, the only person with a “happy ending” would be taichi~ fair warning!

word count: 4,799 (total) — 2,078 (kazunari), 1,616 (tenma), 1,105 (taichi)

music: ghost heart – closure (kazunari), shouldn’t couldn’t wouldn’t – niki, rich brian (tenma), needs – verzache (taichi)

jealousy (pt.1)

🌻🎨 miyoshi kazunari

it was so hard to always thrive off the attention of others when it was exhausting keeping a smile up

sure, kazunari was a burden when he was excited with his nonstop, loud rant about whatever he learned in his liberal arts university... but people seemed to like him even less when he was quiet and contemplative. he was the butt of the joke, so he had to fake it until he made it

he’d rather be the funny jokester of the group and be remembered as the tolerated clown than forgotten completely

kazunari wanted people to come to him, be his friend, and find him important in their life. kazunari wanted to be everyone’s favorite, the #1, the name you’d say when asked who your best friend was

but no one liked him like that. no one looked to him first when a joke was made to check if he was laughing, everyone assumed he was. but it was so much energy to keep this happy go lucky act and it began taking away from his art

envy made up every cell of his being as he saw groups of supportive friends, students congratulated in front of the class, and just happiness in general. kazunari was always jealous, he wanted so much. he wanted someone to be his best friend

and then, you aced the role with no auditions needed. you made the cut, you entered his life as kazunari’s best friend

you made an effort to include him in group activities, responded to his over–the–top DMs with too many emojis, and even amused him with his spontaneous ideas like road trips to the next town over for the hell of it

it didn’t matter if he called you at the crack of dawn, you picked up before the last ring with just as much enthusiasm to go wherever to make lifelong memories

kazunari didn’t have to pretend like he was full of energy around you, because he was! you charged him up to his full battery and he wouldn’t stop moving until he had you to himself for a few hours

at first, it started out by staying a little bit longer after group project meetings, offering to get absolutely buzzed on overpriced hipster coffee he had to perfect as a barista, and exchanging obvious notes in class while getting in trouble for snickering way too loud

then it became seeing premieres of movies kazunari honestly didn’t care about, he just wanted to do the yawn trick without getting made fun of. he liked dramatically fighting over the popcorn with you before pretending to give up, knowing damn well at the end he’d let you have all his snacks. movies became any event possible: single mixers that were just them huddling in a corner planning to make the most memorable exit ever, mall trips that had inappropiate fashion shows in the dressing rooms before getting kicked out, even beach visits year–round and complaining when the temperatures were too extreme but still having the sickest bonfire

all these moments were posted on his private, more personal instagram where his feed would have your face in every row (he also posted the extremely candid shots of you, he was sneaky with his camerawork). everyone with a social media account knew you guys were platonic soulmates, people destined to meet each other and be by their side for every lifetime

it moved into territory like bringing you to his favorite secret hideouts. eventually, it came down to places he knew his other friends would trash and poke fun at. he began trusting you with his most prized places. his safe space that became yours as well

even his art studio rented out at the border of the urban city with a water–damaged wooden floor. you would drop by everytime he didn’t respond to your text within 10 minutes, with plenty of food because you knew kazunari gets into an obsessive state with completing a project in one sitting. he let you in without a second thought even though you had the spare key; now you were lounging upon a thrifted sofa staring at the sunset

golden hour was gorgeous on you, kazunari thought out of no where, shocking him to the core when he nearly dropped his paintbrush onto the plastic covers. get a hold of yourself man! whatever, he always hyped you up, it wasn’t a big deal. it was just usually, intentional

you didn’t seem to notice, scrolling through your phone as your shadow giggled at something on screen. kazunari felt sick (and it wasn’t the cheap takeout), he hated not being in on the joke and getting left out. jealousy brewed at the pit of his stomach as he faked a childish huff to get your attention. you didn’t look over, too busy sending a meme to someone

“whatchu laughing at?” kazunari asked curiously as he resumed painting, to which you fidgeted under his gaze. shrugging nonchalantly, you pocketed your phone that pinged with a notification. the vibration caused you to read the screen immediately without a second thought. huh...

“just some guy.” you offhandedly mentioned, opening some dating app kazunari could pinpoint. he didn’t know you even liked those types of meet–ups, he dropped his brush this time before fumbling to pick it up as cool as possible

pretending to pay attention to the painting, he lost focus as he glanced at your frame. you looked so relaxed, so casual, who were you so close to? you always told him about the few partners you had, this one threw him for a loop

“guy? don’t tell me my best friend is falling in love~!” kazunari quipped, feigning a pose of shock like it was the worst thing he’s ever heard. honestly, maybe it was, or he was a damn good actor and those hours of practice were working. maybe they were if his best friend couldn’t even see past his facade

you blushed at the implication, but didn’t deny it. you just muttered something about having privacy and rolling over to your side, continuing to text at an inhuman speed

kazunari frowned slightly, drawing his eyebrows together as he couldn’t help but steal glances at your backside. usually he got a joke, a confirmation he was basically your boyfriend, and they both hysterically laughed about it at the end of the day. not this time, apparently

this time, it was different. next time he saw you wasn’t sitting next to him in class, or beneath his arm hiding from the scary film on the projector, it was at the café you frequented to see him. except, you were with someone else. kazunari hadn’t seen you in so long, ever since you were caught messaging someone else

you ordered the same thing as always, you didn’t even have to ask before kazunari had it ready for you. but his whole personality was jittery, like he accidentally ate the entire stock of cacao beans raw. he stammered and his tone fell flat, contrasting his lively speech and flair for drama. he looked... overwhelmed

kazunari spilt your date’s drink last second, his chaotic mind barely controlling his limbs as he knocked over the order. as you tried helping him, every customer saw kazunari hide back in the shell he tried so hard to break. he simply shook his head and delivered his customer service monologue about being very sorry and the next one was on the house

there was at least in attempt in sounding cheerful, but coach would’ve definitely cursed him out for his terrible performance. he knew he was showing too much teeth right now and his eyes were too big to be genuine, but he couldn’t do anything else without his foot tapping repetitively

when you shot him concerned side–eyes from their usual table by the window, you looked different in the orange–hued sky. you were gorgeous in golden hour, kazunari bitterly thought as he wiped down the surfaces until he could see his teary eyes staring back with disgust. he was letting his guard down in front of everyone, how lame

he could hear your walls coming down, you becoming attached to the hip with that date of yours as you two became the only customers left. he heard it all, the flirting, the conversations that would definitely lead to you going back to their place with them. he excused himself to his indifferent manager before hiding in the employee stall, sliding his back down against the wall to sit down on the cold tile floor

kazunari found dates boring. all they led to was him getting his unfinished meal in styrofoam boxes and taking an uber to your place to spill what happened like it was a daily struggle. you laughed and laughed, never having stories of your own since kazunari lived through a lifetime of them for the tall tales

kazunari wanted to go back to that, when both of you were single and laughing together about how absolutely dumb committed relationships were. who else would they need besides each other? kazunari remembered asking, knowing all they could trust in was each other forever

but more importantly, maybe kazunari wanted to be more than your best friend. you were the one who cured his constant artist’s blocks with just words of affirmation, the heartfelt gestures making his serotonin levels skyrocket to oblivion before maxing out on the motivation to create anything that would make your efforts worth it

kazunari thought he just did his best with his friends by his side. but, was it normal for friends to feel like this? kazunari began imagining a painting of a figure, of someone that looked like you, except they were so far away and out of his reach. he wanted to jump through the frame and find you, manifest you for him only

no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the face to resemble anything like yours, like you weren’t his to claim creative rights over anymore

kazunari was jealous. jealous of how easily passerbys fell in love with the way you made anyone feel like they were the main character of their own story. kazunari felt stupid, like he was your comic relief sidekick who so desperately would do anything to be your final love interest

alone, kazunari laughed pitifully to himself as he picked his head up to hear your voice through the thin walls. whatever elaborate joke you were playing on him, it wasn’t funny in the slightest

he only wanted you to laugh with him, hell, he’d go make a fool of himself at any time even if meant you laughed at him

you weren’t one of his artworks, yet you were a masterpiece compared to any canvas he could have made in his entire career

kazunari wanted to paint you in all the colors possible, make you see how you were the rainbow after his rainy life

pushing himself up, kazunari stumbled out of the bathroom before shaking his head. it wasn’t worth it, he got what he wanted, didn’t he? you’re still his best friend, you just loved someone else, that’s all. all he ever wanted was a best friend, why wasn’t he satisfied with that?

when would he stop being jealous? (when would he be your #1 boy? he thought against his will)

taking a deep breath to compose himself, kazunari smiled and waved at the new couple. he saw the relief on your face before you resumed the discussion with the most animated expression he hadn’t seen in a long time. he couldn’t even recall when

everything would go back to normal before you became kazunari’s best friend. you would begin hanging out with the other person more, taking them to all kazunari’s best events. you would eventually stop answering his calls because it interfered with the other person’s schedule. you’d have plans outside of him, and kazunari would go back to being by himself. he’d keep going on dates and stay till the end this time, searching for his #1

(he would have to mute your account after seeing your posts with them, but he never told you that)

kazunari heard something other than you. he looked towards the window: it was raining again, again, and again. he opened his smartphone to take a picture:

kaz–PIKO [new post!]: i hope this rain ends soon!!!

it didn’t, at least, not for a very long time

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

tenma was what you would call, gifted. grew up with successful, charistmatic parents who watched his every move like a hawk, never giving him the time to improve from his mistakes

so every time he didn’t immediately get something, he’d give up and find other things to beat others at

the only thing he did that was acceptable to his father was acting, so he never looked back

tenma became a headliner of countless blockbuster movies and walked the red carpet as a fabricated actor with no authenticity

magazines labelled tenma as the playboy with on & off again relationships, although they were staged by his label to make him appear like some heartbreaker

truth was, he’s just like every other high school student who was really bad at focusing on academics (and had definitely not been in a real relationship)

but tenma was famous, fake friends came and went every time his popularity rose, hitting him up for favors. it was okay, he was famous, anyways. it’s not like he needed a bunch of no–bodies

at least, that’s what he told himself every time he sat with his parents at awards banquets with no one to share his success

(tenma was not jealous at all of stars with full rows of people of their friends who were always so loud and supportive)

(it wasn’t awkward going up on stage to receive a trophy with only polite clapping in the background)

you got cast as tenma’s next love interest

you were supposed to be a fake relationship that lasted longer than every other person he’s been with before

you were an up and coming actress full of potential and enthusiasm to boot, ready to take on in the industry like you were the biggest threat around

but it was clear, you loved acting

you loved playing different characters like they were an extension of yourself, paying close attention to other people’s habits so you could incorporate it in your own persona

it was strange—meeting someone who loved acting at its core and didn’t do it for the money. most people wanted their name in lights, drama with them in the middle, to have an adoring fanbase. who actually liked acting as an art form?

tenma was sure you were just hiding something, lying about your sweetheart public image to gain fans

you and tenma became public by having a public brunch date (tenma hated brunch, it was so pointless!) where photographers hid in bushes to take expensive pictures of tenma’s newest girl

tenma at first put on a facade, pretending to be the cocky star everyone made him out to be by flexing his muscles with a charming but practiced wink. why not, right? every girl loved that!

all of a sudden, you were gripping the tablecloth, dying laughing as you tried your best to stifle your outrageous response. tenma grew hot under the collar when it was clear you were very much a real, hard to hide your feelings type person off screen

immediately, he told you off in an aggressive manner but before he could apologize for being so suddenly boyish, you retorted back just as quickly. the friendly banter between you two sent sparks flying from the electric energy

those staged acts didn’t have any effect on you (unless he was in the mood for some serious jokes which he gladly fought back) so a genuine friendship formed

due to you both being competitive at heart, you guys were always caught in a friendly rivalry where you two shared real bonding moments together

your chemistry was off the charts (your managers were both very pleased with the outcome, oblivious to tenma’s defensive no ways!)

tenma’s favorite memory was ditching a panel interview without his parent’s permission to go blow his money on a popular chain arcade im the mall he could most definitely afford with his credit card. it was impulse but he texted you the address and miracously, you showed up on your own

both of you wore the worst disguises possible: snapbacks and funky graphic tee shirts as if you two were just regular students. tenma tried everything that even caught his eye, and you knew he wasn’t entirely happy with anything he got despite winning ten games already

clearly he wasn’t getting distracted enough, something must have happened on set

so you made a bet, whoever won the basketball hoops game would take all the tickets. you knew this would ignite the competitive flame within tenma

“you’re on!” tenma declared, shaking your hand with a firm grip and wolfish grin. that would be one of the last times tenma saw you as “one of the boys”

it was when you finally won against his bruised ego but chose a prize for him that tenma realized, he liked you for you. normally, he’d be showering his fake partner with stuffed animals before being ditched on the street corner, the plastered smiles gone and replaced with nasty annoyance

(he’d never admit it, but even the fake affection was nice while it lasted)

no one really liked him for him, he was just another famous teen actor with passable looks to be the side boyfriend

yet, you still got him something despite winning, giving him the plant and ignoring his surprised face

it wasn’t expensive, but it was the most meaningful gift he’s ever received

it was the first time tenma was given a present like that: a tiny bonsai tree

“maybe that’ll teach you some responsibility!” you joked, pushing him teasingly as he just stared at the little tree, feeling like something inside grew as well

he ignored it by challenging you to a DDR tournament (you won, again)

tenma began seeing the bonsai as a symbol of your friendship with him, and it felt good to finally have someone who would go out of their way to be his friend

(as a result, the bonsai was as healthy as ever)

but maybe, his macho–man act turned you off the wrong way and made him seem like a spoiled rich kid. you never could open up seriously about problems you had without laughing at tenma’s serious face, always messing up his bright orange hair and calling him a loser

tenma was tired of being a kid in your eyes, he wanted to be your manly boyfriend that wasn’t just a legacy actor

he was jealous every time you talked about your actual friends from home, who you shared everything with and made them out like they were the best people on the planet

it was silly, but did you think about him like that? did your friends even know you were with him?

tenma, for the first time, wanted a relationship that was more than just a publicity stunt. he wanted to be your boyfriend, more than just the faker

he wanted to meet your friends, then your family, and learn more about who you actually were. know what you were made up of, past the glamarous movie lifestyle he knew too well

tenma wanted to stop lying to the media because you deserved the truth

tenma wanted to recite his script about love but mean it, pretending like he was staring into your eyes and delivering the best performance of his life (if you ignore the fact he almost said your name)

but every time you guys went out, you acted like you were a babysitter and tenma was a child. you never could see him as a potential partner, just a rival who reacted like a brother would

but you read his behavior all wrong

(though honestly, tenma took every opportunity possible to have you close, because he knew you’d never be his again)

by the time the contract was up, tenma was too late. you were ruffling his hair and smiling like a sibling would, commenting on how fun it was to be with him and he could call you up anytime for tutoring. to you, he was just some high schooler who needed you to study with

but to tenma, he had caught feelings and there was nothing he could do about it

tenma would soon see the tragic news titles of how japan’s favorite it–couple split and you moved onto someone else

(someone much more serious and cool than he was, unfortunately)

tenma began booking roles in much more different films, ones with much more somber tones and melancholy scenes that fit his jealousy perfectly (he was often reviewed as having a “real connection” to his character, like he lived through the pain)

tenma noticed the way you were around the same age as your idol partner, how you actually held his hand while blushing for once. you even kissed them and hugged them in front of the cameras, which you refused to do with tenma, saying it would be weird to kiss a kid

tenma was jealous. jealous how he wasn’t as grown up as you wanted him to be. how he wasn’t mature and had a fiery temper and didn’t think things through. but his next partner was assigned and he had an outing with them soon

as soon as tenma met up with them, he flashed a picture perfect smile and heard the cameras flash behind him. they seemed to like that

his new partner didn’t question a thing as tenma addressed them by your name without noticing

that day, tenma came home to his bonsai dying, despite watering it properly

tenma gave up on you, despite the jealousy. if he wasn’t good at this dating game, there was no need to try anymore

he didn’t return back to that arcade for a while

🍁🛹 nanao taichi

the moment taichi saw you, he was convinced you were the one like every hopeless romantic out there

he was literally blown away. the wind picked up stronger when he saw you and he swore he saw red hearts around you

pretending to skateboard like he was just passing by, he bumped into you on veludo way and pretended like he had no idea where he was going

“sorry! i’m a bit lost... could you help me?” taichi paired it with his puppy eyes and tragic pout, unaware he was a bunny face to face with a wolf in sheep’s clothing

but you recognized him, the famous actor from mankai’s autumn troupe

yet, you pretended to follow his plan, knowing how quickly mankai was regaining its popularity status in theatre

(hey, maybe you’d even get free stuff if you played your cards right)

then began your relationship with taichi, where he was head over skates for you and did everything in his power to make you stay

taichi rearranged his schedule for you, staying up countless hours into the next day just to text you and have every possible moment with you

taichi always reserved you front row seats for every mankai production, sometimes even bringing you backstages despite the warnings from his other members

(they never really liked you, especially not the way you had so much control over taichi)

“taichi... you look tired. are you okay?” omi asked one day, when taichi had been on his phone the entire meal and anxiously fidgeted for a reply

(you sometimes did that just to mess with him a little, by leaving his multiple messages on read) (he hated it)

“me? i’m doing the best i could be!” taichi exclaimed, sneaking a glance at his screen to still see it dark

when omi carefully nodded and turned around, taichi’s posture slouched and the insomnia he was developing just to talk began catching up to his performance

taichi did everything a perfect boyfriend did in plays: wrote you love letters (you never read them), created thoughtful playlists that flowed well (you never listened), even learning new fun talents just to impress you (you never paid attention)

it was never enough to make you see him as more than a key to the theatre industry

to you, taichi was nothing more than a loyal puppy on a leash

taichi didn’t realize how tight his collar was until he was confronted by his troupe members, all who were as serious as it got with them

“what’s up?” taichi offered, faking a grin and suppressing the yawn building in his throat. the bags under his eyes were dark, and his blue eyes were dull. he hadn’t slept in so long. he was low on money for buying too many things. he couldn’t remember the last time he finished a meal

omi exchanged looks with the others, knowing he had to be the one to deliver the news because well, maybe he’d soften the blow a bit better

it must be bad if even juza and banri are not fighting, taichi mused, not really listening until he heard:

“—they’re cheating on you, taichi.”

taichi’s head snapped up, his body becoming rigid from the accusation. his sight landed on a digital image on banri’s phone screen, where you were clearly all over another person

(taichi remebered them, they were your lockscreen. he never questioned it)

(even if he was always jealous of how you hung out with every other friend much more than him, you own boyfriend!)

there was nothing to justify. banri explained how he and juza came upon them at the mall, and he was sorry

(it wasn’t banri’s fault, but he apologized because he was genuinely sorry for all taichi went through)

it’s not like he could say anything, the photo was clear as day! but taichi’s fists were tight by his side and he stood up defiantly

“that’s not true! maybe, that’s just their friend! or family member! i trust them, stop making baseless claims against them!” taichi knew he was making a scene, but it gave him a window to storm out of the front door and run down the sidewalk

“taichi!” he heard, but no one dared followed him. maybe he needed to face it by himself and open his eyes

they’d be back waiting for him at the end of the day when he finally realized he didn’t deserve to be in a toxic situation like this

(taichi did so much to become even better, just so you would like him more... it never worked)

taichi stopped at the park, panting deeply and leaning forward to catch his breath

this couldn’t be possible! he was the perfect boyfriend, right? he did everything for you... what wasn’t enough? when would he be enough?

but the proof was right there. taichi could see you with the same person in the image right in front of him

that’s when it hit. you knew taichi had acting practice right now, he wouldn’t know any better

all the pent–up anger within him exploded, his desperation masking a much more weak, unstable truth: fear of abandonment and the unrequited jealousy of the other person, no matter how much he hated to admit it

taichi was jealous. jealous of how you liked everyone else so much better than him, taichi wanted to be better, for you

but you were gonna leave him, toss him aside like your time together was nothing, like he was nothing

you never loved him, you liked the attention

taichi finally saw the signs, the red flags you were manipulative and knew he was easy enough to twist and break. he opened his eyes and you hadn’t even noticed him

but then, he tried to tell himself maybe he actually liked that, but it sounded hollow and fake even to him

taichi had to say no now

taichi was hurt, but he couldn’t show that to you anymore. you didn’t deserve the privilege having a say in his feelings anymore

walking by and pretending to bump into you, your face didn’t change as you saw him, simply raising an eyebrow in question

“just leave me for somebody else,” taichi humorlessly laughed, staring at the way you felt nothing for him

you stepped onto his heart and broke it, there was nothing else to say. even then, he wish he was the person you loved, even if it killed him

“enjoy yourself.” taichi finished, knowing these would be the last words he would ever say to you before returning back to the dorms

he didn’t look back, not anymore

[fallenrepublick]

Hi! I'd like to request a Maul fic with a lot of fluff where the reader comforts him when he's feeling sad or insecure about how Sidious used him as a weapon and raised him with that only purpose 🥺🥺❤

Bro, I made myself sad with this one

Warnings: None

Wiring lit with sparks. The flickering of a screen whose picture never formed clearly. Haziness and crinkling of sound from a recording. Everything has a telltale, definitive trait that arises when there is fault, when there is imperfection. But him. He didn’t.

The worst part about it, at least he thought, was that he didn’t know why. Why was he faulty, why was he imperfect? He had done everything, each task sent to him, every bit of training assigned from his master. And yet, when the time came, he had still proven to be less than worth it.

He never discussed it, though. You knew it bugged him, but he kept silent, the name “Sidious” never leaving his lips once.

But when he was alone, all was fair game. Curtains drawn and lights turned low, he sat in the darkness, meditating, thinking, allowing his memories to take hold and judgements to flow freely. Was he simply useless, his power having run its course, purpose only to burn the wick for but a moment, until a brighter, more formidable flame were to take hold in his place?

The door opened, and for a second, he thought he might have imagined it, old moments possibly becoming strong enough to manifest in front of him. But no, it was only you, backlit from the hall’s light so that you looked more like your own shadow instead of a person.

Only. He corrected himself mentally. It wasn’t only you. It was you. To say “only” would be to suggest your insignificance, to diminish you, place you in a role as yourself and nothing more. But you were more. He forgot that sometimes.

He motioned for you to step in, sit beside him. When the door closed and his eyes adjusted, he more clearly saw your worry, soft steps padding over to his position on the floor. You lowered down, crossing your legs as you watched. His eyes glowed in the darkness, illuminating a small area on his face before blending back into the night.

“You’ve been meditating more lately,” you mentioned, trying not to be too intrusive. “I just wanted to check up on you, make sure everything’s okay. I mean… I don’t think everything’s okay. It doesn’t seem like it, but…” You trailed off, wondering if he would open up more. He didn’t seem to be.

“No,” he sighed, turning his head from you, clearly distracted. “I’m fine.”

There was a choice. You could push it, ask him more, insist that he wasn’t acting like himself. Or, you could leave it be, walk out, leave him to his own devices and let him handle it on his own. Your hand met with the cold floor, your warmth seeping into the surface and raising it to match your temperature.

“You don’t normally avoid me,” you tried, hoping it would be enough. “I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Then tell me.” You slowly placed a careful hand on his shoulder. “I know you well enough that I can see when something’s wrong. You don’t have to keep dealing with things by yourself.”

Closing his eyes, his head lowered, mind prepared to break at any moment. He never wanted it to come to this. Of course you already knew enough about him, but if you found out how often it affected him, you’d never let it go. But now, your posture ready, eyes searching for the truth, he couldn’t find it within himself to deny you.

“I wasn’t made for this,” he said eventually, a slight frown on his face, voice low and ashamed.

“Made for…?”

“This.” He gestured to the space before him, eyes wandering to his hands, outstretched in front of him. “Any of it… I was… an experiment. All I knew were tests and strategies. I’d been programmed from the moment I began to walk to kill and to serve, nothing less and nothing more. The only release from that purpose I was ever meant to be given was in death. And as far as he was concerned… death had come for me. True or not.”

You watched him as he spoke, his admissions almost directed at himself more than at you. Your hand lightly rubbed at his shoulder, a soft comfort on him while he thought. “You’re not… tied down to what you were raised for. What he wanted for you… it doesn’t have to be that way. Even if something is set in stone, it can always be eroded away when the rain comes.”

“Even still. I was so sure of my perfection.” His fist clenched, gaze now more frantic, a wild remembrance guiding his vision. “What I had been raised to believe was that I was ideal, that I couldn’t fail by virtue of my position. When at last I had served my purpose, I was abandoned, left to rust in the cage of my own expectations. Once the damage is done and the game is set… what more have I to work for?”

“You’re not empty now. There’s still so much here for you, and you’ve risen so far above what was ever set out on that planned path.” Your hands raised, meeting his face, turning his head so that he faced you entirely. He seemed shocked at the gesture. “I’m not saying you have to forget your past, not by a long shot. But I do want you to realize that there’s more to your life than what’s been ingrained in your mind. You have control of one of the most powerful planets in the galaxy. You have countless troops and warriors ready to fight for you at a moment’s notice. You… have me. Don’t throw all of that away for a lie that was told to you for the simple purpose of manipulating you. You’re stronger than that.”

Before, you had seen anger, his pain and rage overtaking his features as he felt over and over again the effects of what had been done to him. Now, you saw only sadness, his frown softening and eyes downturned at your words.

“And if I’m not? If I cling to my past? If my ghosts take hold, if they return me to what I might have been… if the days gone by threaten to drag me back down… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Slowly, you brought his head down, forehead meeting yours. “You won’t. I know you. Better than you’ll ever believe.”