#what’s not here is wounds being wrapped. you win some and lose some

[dirtbra1n]

the river looks different than it normally does.

it’s nighttime. the moon hangs gaunt and yellowed over his head.

more than that, masato stands knee deep in the water and watches people walk the paved riverside, red neon carving shadows into the hollows of their eyes.

the river looks different than it normally does, but so does he.

a white kimono, fitted too well, is wrapped wrong over his chest.

the water tugging at him is murky, the smell over-sweet. the kimono is taking on the color.

evidently, though he can scarcely see, it’s red.

his room is pitch dark when he opens his eyes. masato damn near throws up. moving to stand, his knees buckle beneath him. gravity acts particularly cruel in the dark.

—

aegri somnia, latin; a sick man’s dreams.

—

it’s usually green. the space outside the water is usually green. masato would even go so far as to say it’s always green. washed out, sun bleached, makes him feel a little like he’s always being watched, but it is always daytime and it is always green and the water is always clear enough for him to see his hands in front of his face as—

this doesn’t actually matter right now.

what matters is that it has never been anything but green before.

(when he was sitting cold and dying in a frozen river, that was a fluke. that doesn’t count.)

ordinarily, he stands in the river—unpaved, the riverbank wasn’t ever paved either—and watches what he’s decided has to be centuries old scenery exist, only here, to torment him.

then masato drowns himself. ordinarily.

(with the development in the subconscious violence he’s inflicting upon himself now, he figures he might as well admit that much plainly.)

masato is good with history, not that this topic takes much savvy—river valleys universally birth societies. they tend to be fertile and bursting with opportunity. lively. full of life.

all those flood myths are universal because the destruction is always catastrophic.

the overlap of history and literature here isn’t something he’s left wondering about; he’s had plenty of time stuck with himself to think it over.

what existed must be razed to be remade.

what masato is wondering is if he missed something else.

—

all those drownings, but the coffin bobbed downstream to save him only once.

but this last time… he didn’t drown, did he?

—

he doesn’t know what he was expecting.

when masato finds himself, this time, past his knees in changed river water, yellowed moon hanging over him like a sickle, deep blues of the night muffling the sound of his own breathing, lantern light and buzzing neon so red that it masks the dyed water creeping its way up the same white kimono as before…

he doesn’t know what to think. it’s horrifying. it’s gorgeous.

it has to be blood, though.

why the hell is there blood?

masato squints up at the masses of people shifting on the pavement. their faces are indistinct, their movements stiff.

they don’t so much as glance at him. he’s standing in the river with an audience for the first time and no one even looks at him.

reluctantly, he looks down at himself.

he’s bleeding.

—

it wasn’t really the first time, though, was it?

—

masato forgot how annoying it is to be in this situation. he got too used to the old scenery, and he forgot.

he only wishes that this scenery wasn’t so breathtaking. only one thing is supposed to be taking his breath away, and it hasn’t done it in… a while.

(he doesn’t remember. he figures that’s bad, but look where he is. everything, it turns out, is bad.)

his latest observation: the moon, waning and never any closer to full, is getting sharper. its reflection in the water is rippling harmlessly, but the real thing, when he squints, looks to be pointed right at his stomach.

and the water is past his hips now.

oh. oh, good.

his new latest observation: time loops, and it warps the blood in the water over and over and over again. every time the water level’s higher. every time the moon gets sharper.

every time masato is surrounded by ghosts, and every time masato is the only one dressed for a funeral service.

as the corpse.

—

so what if graduation is less than a week away. yes, masato has been waking up in the middle of the night because of an unsettling now-recurring dream where he is a corpse in a world of faceless ghosts. yes, it sucks.

but he and tashiro are playing rock paper scissors over which of them has to turn off the gym lights and make a run for the lights outside, and this is the last time masato is ever going to hold any responsibility here.

and they both keep tying on rock.

so they agree to do it together.

tashiro’s the one to flick the lights off, and they both drop into a dead sprint towards the open doors. they hear a noise. they find it in themselves to run faster.

they make it outside in one piece, and masato fumbles the key into the lock, and they fall halfway into each other’s arms from the adrenaline and the fear. and masato is laughing.

as they’re walking away from the gym, towards the front gate to head home, masato is hunched over, clutching his stomach.

tashiro walks alongside him with his hands on the back of his head, pouting a little. “we could have DIED, you know.”

so it’s like that.

—

the moon is falling. pierces his lungs clean through.

—

tashiro gonzaburou doesn’t actually dream very often. this is something he can tell you in confidence, and he will tell you in confidence.

but this is definitely a dream, and he has no idea where something like this came from.

to set the scene: he’s at the bank of a river. he’s alone. the sun beats down on him, and the glare of it on the water makes him turn his eyes away.

apparently, in this time, the river floods. it, also apparently, took basically everything with it. including the sun.

it’s night now, and everything that was green is either dark orange or blood red. dim and damp alleyways run jaggedly between impersonal skyscrapers and crumbling, very old storefronts.

gonzaburou’s scared as hell about it. it’s all really cool.

he’s standing on damp cobblestone, staring down at his scattered reflection. his hair is loose, and his roots have grown out way more than he likes. a dark kimono hangs loose off his frame. he frowns.

he looks back up and around. it looks like there are other people, but he can’t get a good look at anyone’s face. the lights glazing their skin are distorting common features, or they’re facing away from him, or their hands are resting over their eyes.

for all his sightseeing, the river never lets him forget that it’s there. from two steps away he looks into murky water, sees a yellow crescent moon flickering, like it’s trapped, in its reflection. then he sees the briefest trace of a hand, and white cloth, and bubbles surfacing.

and then he sees his room’s ceiling fan. dusty.

gonzaburou feels a little like he wasn’t supposed to see that. and he feels even more strongly that he definitely isn’t supposed to remember it awake.

but how could he forget? how could anyone forget something like that?

it was really pretty. up until he saw what looked like someone drowning, anyway.

—

masato sits up. lays down. sits back up.

he wants to break his windows. he doesn’t, though.

he was underwater looking up, and he was bleeding, and he saw the moon, yeah, but what matters is that he also saw the faintest silhouette of a person against the red light, ripples only just obscuring his face.

and then he gasped, and the water burned as it flowed into his lungs and made him heavy.

he’d been in that situation before, usually by choice, but it hasn’t ever been that thrilling.

4:00 in the morning. not a chance in hell he’s getting back to sleep.

…he has to have weird tastes, right?

—

hanzawa masato is a high school graduate when he eats shit on the pavement.

a little flatly, masato tells tashiro, “I’m usually better at compartmentalizing than this.”

tashiro, his sole witness, only replies, “I know.”

[luveline]

we know that the criminal minds writers looooved hurting spencer but i would love to see bau!reader (bombshell!reader if you think it would fit) hurt and spencer losing his mind a little (ofc everything would end up being okay because we love fluff in this house 💗)! thank youuu <333

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1k

“Spencer, are you coming in?” 

The boy in question winces, the cellophane wrapped stems in his hand strangled by an anxious grip. Your voice is hoarse, quieter than usual, though that could be attributed to the thick wooden door between you both. He takes the door handle in his hand, readjusts his fingers, can't quite get himself to go in. 

“Spence,” you say, missing your usual cheer. “Please come in.” 

He opens the door slowly. It weighs a hundred pounds, each inch heavier than the last. 

You're propped up on the movable bed with a dinner table over your legs. Someone's brought you contraband, it seems, expensive soup from the fancy restaurant you like just outside of work. Next to it lies your phone, your chapstick, and a prescription bottle. The orange of it is too glaring to look at for long. 

“Nice to see you finally, heart-throb,” you say, sitting back, rolling your shoulders as you smile. “Where've you been?” 

Sapped by terror in the waiting room, mostly. “Sorry,” he says, offering no explanation. You deserve one, but he can't get the words out. “How are you feeling?” 

“Shot at.” 

“Is it bad?” 

Your eyes soften. “No. Wanna see it?” 

He does in an awful way. To alleviate his panic, sure, but to know what it did. To see what his stupidity resulted in. The unforgivable in stark scarring. 

You lift your shirt and shift your soft bralette up a touch to show him the wound and all its grim stitches. “It almost missed me. Guess I'm not as lucky as I think.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not right now. They told me not to wear wire bras for a while, so you win some, you lose some.” You let your shirt fall back into place. He can see the indecision in your eyes. Not one for hiding like he wants to, you address the elephant in the room. “Now you've seen it's not so bad, can you look at me again?” 

“I'm looking at you.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

The thing is, Spencer doesn't, not really. Half the time you act like you're sharing a secret with him but he doesn't have a clue what you're talking about, and the intimacy is lost, and it's his fault. He's never been good or smooth or charismatic, he's never deserved your attention, and it's his fault you're here, hurting, his fault you'd been prone on the ground, his fault Morgan had to hold your side closed, his fault you almost died. 

“Spencer,” you murmur, “you know I don't blame you.” 

Of course he knows that. 

“You should,” he says tightly. He doesn't mean to get angry. 

“Well, I don't. So give me my flowers and sit down.” 

He bites the inside of his cheek. He's mad, but he gives you the flowers without any roughness, and you take them with a similarly thin thank you. 

Your reunion isn't going how either of you wants it to, it seems. 

Spencer sits in the chair next to your bed as you pick between the petals, admiring their colours, their softness. For a moment you're peaceful, but you close your eyes and press your nose gently to a small bud, and you ask, “Why are you acting like this?” Heartbroken. 

He could explain it in halves. You passed out in the back of the ambulance. Your surgery had unexpected complications. Hotch was so angry, and he still wasn't as mad at Spencer as Spencer was at himself. 

Seeing you hurt because of his mistake isn't a feeling he thinks he'll survive a second time.

“I don't get why you like me,” Spencer admits. “Not before, and especially not now. You should be pissed. This,” —he gestures to you quickly— “is my fault.” 

“It's not your fault, Spence.” 

“What would you call it?” 

You put your flowers down and stare at your lap. He's pushed you too far. Nice, he thinks to himself scathingly, to upset you in your sick bed, that's exactly what he should be doing to make it up to. Great going, Spencer. 

“Will you hold my hand?” you ask quietly. 

He hesitates, his heart skipping a beat like a missed step down the stairs. 

“Please? I just… this has been a lot. I'm not telling you to make you feel guilty, I swear, but it's been a lot. And so many times I wished someone was here. I wished you were here.” You turn your head away from him. “I thought you were mad at me. I'm still worried.” 

Spencer stands up. He feels every stretch of muscle as he does it. You raise your eyes to his, holding out your hands; you know him better than anyone else, he thinks. He overcompensates every time. 

“I'm sorry,” he says, crossing his arms behind your shoulders carefully. 

“I told you it's not your fault.” 

“For not being here to hold your hand.” 

Your hand curls in the front of his shirt. 

“M'not mad. Not even slightly. I mean, not at you…” He rubs your back with his thumb. “Why would I be mad at you?” 

“What was I supposed to think?” 

He presses his nose to your temple, eyes squeezed close in regret. “...You're right.” 

This is what he should've done the moment you woke up. Instead, he let his mind focus on detail, what flowers demarcates remorse, or if cellophane wrapping would be an imposition. Anything to forget how your hands shook as the adrenaline wore off. 

They're steady now as they wrap around his sides to rest at the small of his back. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, lips touching to your skin with each syllable, like fractions of kisses. 

“I missed you, handsome. Please– don't do that again.” 

He rubs your back. “I won't,” he promises. “I'll be here as long as you want me to be.” 

“Forever, then.” 

For once, your flirting doesn't make him blush. 

[lovingjingyuan]

It's Just The Past You Can't Remember

Blade wants you because you look like his past lover whom he married when he was Yingxing. The same name, birthday, face, hair everything resembled his wife who died to help assist him in his crimes taking the flesh of the abundance emanator that turned him immortal. 

This will be hard to understand if you don't know the actual in-game lore how Blade actually became immortal so I'll sum it quick ***Jingliu said something along the line in the quest where they all meet up. Yingxing is a fool for taking an abundance emanator's(Shuhu) flesh to assist Dan Feng in saving Baiheng but ended up backfiring turning him into a immortal, becoming a curse for him*** Yeah that's the actual in game lore in a quest. Hopes this helps understand! I changed some parts to adjust to the story but the one I just said is the real version.

Yandere Blade x Yingxing's reincarnated wife

---♡𓌜 Bladie 𓁍

Blade laid his eyes on you through the coward. This wasn't the first time you two had met on another planet. You were in Elio's script so he always knew exactly where you are and what your every move is.

Even if he cannot remember his past fully he knew out of Five people Three must pay the price. And he pursues those very words. He remembered that Yingxing, his past self, had a wife who died in his arms.

Jing Yuan and Jingliu confirmed those very words. Pictures of their engagement kept in Jing Yuan's basement confirmed those dreams he had of his past life with you.

So now he stood waiting for the opportunity to take you. He will never let anyone take you away now. No matter how long he'll always hunt you down on every planet you go to just to pursue you.

You laid your eyes on Blade while he walked towards you pushing through the cowards of people.

Why is he here? You think to yourself as you push through the people to get yourself out of here. Fear rushed through your veins as you hurried out of here.

You ran to tell the guards on this planet that a wanted criminal from the IPC was here. A stellaron hunter. This was never your first encounter with him where he constantly harasses you with the idea you're his past lover and he's here to take you back.

You can't remember your past life! And you don't know this man at all so why is he here?! Every relationship you got in was over in a heartbeat. They all abandoned you due to fear of Blade and his sword slaying through their necks.

To Blade, you're still his wife even if you can't remember the past. Can he remember it clearly himself? No, but knows enough to put the pieces together and desire to live through those moments once again. To him; you being a new person is basically almost a win-win. He’s not his old self you’re not your past self so why not start a new beginning together? Just a refreshing start, just the two of you forever. 

You stopped in your tracks when in one swift motion an arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in his embrace.

"Found you," the harshness of his voice rang in your ears. Cold blood rushed through your body. 

"You again! Why do you always do this?!"

"I'm here for one simple thing" his voice was deep and cold yet he was serious, "I came here to take back what's mine."

You plunged a knife into his abdomen. He grunted in pain but held you steadily refusing to let go. Those wounds won't hurt as much as losing you again. Even if the game and adrenaline is captivating as it is, he won’t lose you again.

"Is that the best you can do my dear?" His voice rang through your ears.

"I don't know why you're obsessing over the past! You're just a Stellaron Hunter. You should be focusing on atoning for your sins instead of this!" You used every strength in your body to push him away. It was never enough he didn't even budge.

"Why would I let you off so easily? You belong to me." His arms still gripped tightly around your waist having no intention of letting go. "You once belonged to Yingxing so you belong to me."

This made your blood boil. You held back every nerve in your body not to blow up at him calling him an imbecile and use profound language towards him.

"I don't know who Yingxing is or his wife. You don't have to hunt me down. Your wife. She's long gone dead. You know it so stop hunting me down everywhere I go!" You snapped at him, balling your hands into a fist.

He grabbed your chin tilting your chin towards his face. He blood orange iris staring into yours. You can see your reflection in his eyes. His pupils expanded. He was truly in love with the past.

Blade remains silent for what seems like a good while. His hands brushed against your waist softly holding you firmly.

"What if I want to reclaim what was once mine in the past?"

"Well, you can dig up your wife's grave then!"

His eyes harshed. His blood boiled. Even though he knew for sure you were his past lover. The dishonorable mention of his wife still angered him immensely when someone badmouthed his lover. “And you're the reason your wife died! She helped you take abundance emanator’s(Shuhu) flesh! Helping you betray the Luofu! Because of your selfishness, she died and you're immortal!"

Although you didn't fully understand his past relationships with his wife. You knew this from the books you read. How your past self had helped him betray Luofu out of love.

You know that you cannot deny that it may be true you are his past lover but a reincarnation. Yet your stubbornness prevents you from accepting the truth.

“You can't love someone from dreams and memories you don't even remember-" his hands covered your mouth preventing you from speaking any further as he immediately cut you off.

"I remember. My dreams are accurate to my past" He always told you he dreamt of his past when he was once Yingxing.

He continued, "You are her!" His words are swift and furious. He always reminded you that you have the exact same name, face, and birthday as his past wife.

"My last dream was you and me on bed during our wedding night." Blade always told you of his dream every time you've met. "You told me that you will always love and stay with me no matter the situation."

So that he dragged you away without your consent keeping you trapped with him forever. You'll live your life with him. And once this life of yours dies out he'll go on his hunt for your next life.

Maybe he'll give you the flesh of an abundance emanator to become immortal like he once did so he can keep this fairytale he longed for forever.

[noosayog]

[exactly where you wanted me] in which Oikawa asks you to be his fake girlfriend and isn't expecting to be swept off his feet

wc: 2.3k

warnings/content: she/her!reader, minimal angst, mostly fluff, love triangle-ish (as I had forewarned), pining

It’s a Friday morning, when Iwaizumi, accompanied by a very excited looking Oikawa, pulls you aside before homeroom starts. 

Suspicious, you think. But if Iwa-chan is on board, it can’t be too bad. 

After lots of flowery words and floundering from Oikawa, Iwaizumi explains that Oikawa wants you to pretend to date him to deter his fangirls from crowding practice afterschool in less than two sentences. He uses an additional sentence to say it’s stupid but probably effective. 

You’ve been friends with Iwa-chan since your first years in high school and you generally think Oikawa is amusing, so you agree.

--

There’s not much to fake dating that’s different from real dating. You spend time together and there’s no way Oikawa’s heart stood a chance against getting this much alone time with you. He’s enjoyed being able to hang out with both you and Iwa-chan together before, but now, as your fake boyfriend, he’s allowed to indulge in all of your attention. He likes that. 

So in the spirit of playing the role of a good fake boyfriend mixed with some selfish intentions, he asks - begs - you to come to cheer him on at a friendly practice match between Seijoh and Shiratorizawa, because that’s what people who are dating do. You agree. 

On the day of the match, there you are, dressed in his spare turquoise blue jersey. He doesn’t realize he’s grinning like a maniac until Iwa-chan smacks him upside the head to tell him to start warming up. 

He’s still having trouble focusing when he notices you making your way down to the court. Instead of going straight to him, though, he watches you make your way to the Shiratorizawa side of the court. He’s about to stop you, out of concern that straight-arrow Ushiwaka would reprimand you for interrupting warm-ups, but to his surprise (horror), Ushijima meets you in the middle and starts chatting with you. 

Okay, what’s going on here? Is Ushiwaka… trying to flirt with you? 

Rationally, he knows it’s unlikely. Chronically, Oikawa is an overreactor and overthinker. 

So he storms up to you and wraps his arms around your waist to pull you away from the enemy captain. He hides your entire frame behind his and puffs his chest up, arms crossed defensively. 

“Ushijima,” he greets with false bravado. “Do you need something with my girlfriend?” 

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says in his calm voice, and nothing else. 

Nothing else? Okay, he was used to carrying the conversation with this brick wall of a man anyway. “Ready to lose today?”

Ushijima’s head cocks to the side, “Who, me?” 

Oikawa’s eyes twitch. “Do you see anyone else here? There’s no way I’d lose with my girlfriend cheering me on.” 

Ushijima’s eyebrows raise. “Girlfriend?” he questions, looking at you. 

“Yes,” Oikawa asserts. He doesn’t like the look Ushijima is giving you. Like he knows something, knows you. 

“Wakatoshi,” you start. 

First name basis? 

Oikawa’s uncomprehending but there’s no time for explanations because Coach Washijo is calling Ushijima and Iwaizumi is calling him. You give both him and Ushijima a little wave and say nothing else as you return to the stands. 

Seijoh wins with Ushiwaka sitting out for 2 of the 3 sets played. You had cheered for him as promised. After the match, his teammates give him a hard smack in the back, Iwa-chan adding a glare and warning to stay focused regardless of official or practice match next time.

As you’ve been doing every evening since you started fake dating, you wait for Oikawa outside of the gym to walk home together. However, unlike any other day, Oikawa does not wound his arm around your shoulder nor does he clasp his hands in yours. He puts a respectable 2-feet distance between the two of you. Adrenaline from the game subsiding, thoughts of you and Ushijima surface again. 

“Oikawa?” you peer at him. “What’s wrong?” 

“What is your relationship with Ushiwaka?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant. “You call him by his first name.” So much for that. 

“Wakatoshi is a friend I grew up with. My parents are friends with his.” You’re casual, as if there is nothing more to the story. 

“And he always lets you interrupt his warm ups to talk to him?” his voice heavy with implication. 

Your quick replies come to a halt. The pause is heavy and awkward, but this time, when you respond, you meet his eyes evenly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Oikawa shrinks at your narrowed eyes. “Nothing,” he mumbles. He doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer anyway. “Thanks for coming today,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you on Monday then.” 

You allow him to lean in and give you your usual peck that comes with any goodbye with Oikawa, today on the cheek. “Bye, Oikawa.” 

--

On Monday, he updates Iwaizumi with all the details. Predictably, Iwa-chan slaps the back of his head. 

“Oww! Why did you do that?” 

“Why does who she’s friends with matter to you?” Iwaizumi starts walking away but pauses to crane his head back to level Oikawa with a stare. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. Figure it out yourself, idiot.” 

Oikawa’s left rubbing the back of his head.

--

Mattsun and Makki are next. 

“Well, just think about it,” Makki says. 

“Why does it bother you so much that Ushiwaka is involved with her?” Mattsun finishes. 

“Well, she’s my-”

“Fake girlfriend.” Mattsun interrupts. 

“Fake.” Makki echoes. 

“Fake.” Mattsun nods. 

--

Oikawa reminisces about the first time you called him Toru. It had been the first time the two of you had walked home together after you had started fake dating and Oikawa had thought that you would start calling him Toru all the time.

You didn’t. Even though you call Ushijima by his first name. 

Contrary to Iwa-chan’s constant labeling, Oikawa isn’t an idiot. He knows that this jealousy and greed for more of you – your time, your attention, your affection – all point to one thing. He is self-diagnosing lovesickness. He has a crush on you. 

Logical next steps would be for Oikawa to take full advantage of all the alone time he gets to spend with you as your fake boyfriend, sweep you off your feet, seduce you, the works. Not that he hasn’t already been doing that. 

Luckily, as your fake boyfriend, a big perk is that it’s literally in Oikawa’s job description to scare potential suitors away. Not that it was hard with how popular and good-looking he is, if he does say so himself. 

However, tricking your childhood friend proved more difficult than he had hoped. In fact, it seemed the two of you didn’t have to, because the next time he sees you and Ushijima, somehow your childhood friend seems to already know. 

It’s later that night when Oikawa decides he wants to go on a late night convenience store run for some ice cream with you. You had responded, jokingly, “Fake boyfriends don’t ask me out on dates.” 

“Who said it was a date?” 

You laughed and agreed. 

So he meets you at your front door, dreaming of skipping to the store, swinging hands with you, and looking forward to an ice-cream induced sugar rush. Those dreams are quickly dashed when your front door swings open with a guilty looking you. 

“I’m sorry, Oikawa,” you start but before you can elaborate, your front door opens again to reveal Ushijima. You turn your head back and nod lightly in Ushijima’s direction, as if that explains the situation. 

“Oikawa,” Ushijima greets, his usual stoic mask unchanging. 

Oikawa turns his cheek at him and ignores the greeting. He leans in conspiratorially with a hand over his palm and whispers obnoxiously, “what’s he doing here?” 

You slap his hand away and turn to Ushijima. “Wakatoshi, I don’t need a chaperone. You can just go home.” 

“Your parents asked me to accompany you to the store if you wanted to go.” 

“Oikawa can take me.” 

“Your parents asked me,” he says simply.

You apologize to Oikawa for Ushijima’s bullheadedness, and he knows you intend to assuage him, but all he can think about is why on earth are you apologizing for Ushijima? But all he does is nod and make towards the convenience store. When you fall into step with him, he does not skip with you and swing your hands. He also doesn't think he's going to be feeling any sort of sugar rush anymore, mood soured. 

Oikawa can’t help but drop a comment as the three of you are walking home. “Kind of insensitive of you to be third-wheeling a date, don’t you think?” 

Ushijima’s eyes flip over to you. “I didn’t realize you needed to be on the job during the weekends too.” 

Oikawa’s smile drops. On the job? He turns around to face you, watching your face carefully as you flash Ushijima a sheepish smile, eyes flickering between the two captains. 

“Don’t call it a job, Wakatoshi.” 

Oikawa’s stomach twists when he hears you call him by his first name again. 

Ushijima ignores your comment and turns to Oikawa. “I’ll walk her home. You can go home.” 

You shake your head at him. “No, Wakatoshi. Oikawa will walk me home. I’ll see you later.” 

Surprisingly, Ushijima concedes and listens to you. “Bye, Wakatoshi,” you say. 

The two of you watch Ushijima’s back recede further and further and don’t say anything even when he’s long gone. You start walking in the direction of your home, but Oikawa takes hold of your wrist. 

“You told him?” 

“Who? Told what?” 

Oikawa levels you with a hard look that you’re not used to. 

“No!” you deny. You’re avoiding eye contact.

“Then how does he know?” He can’t help the accusatory tone slipping into his voice. He’s scared that if he isn’t on the offensive, he’ll let the hurt slip out. 

“Well, I… You know I’m a bad liar! He just… found out!” 

You wait, maybe for Oikawa to laugh it off and tell you it’s okay as he normally would, but he doesn’t. 

“It’ll be okay,” you explain. “Wakatoshi doesn’t go to our school and even if he does, he would never talk about other people's problems.” 

There’s a lot Oikawa wants to ask. Like why you’re vouching for him, why you call him Wakatoshi, when he’s just “Oikawa.” But instead, he just nods robotically and you seem relieved that he doesn’t seem mad. When you arrive at your front door, Oikawa stuffs his hands in his pockets and waits for you to go. You don’t, but he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s the only one feeling this thick tension and awkwardness in the silence. He opts for a quick goodbye but before he can walk off, you grab his arm and yank him back. 

“Oikawa,” you say. 

“What? You might as well have pulled my whole arm off! I need my arms, you know,” he jokes.

“Toru.” Your eyes are steady looking at him. “What’s wrong?” 

Oikawa’s smile drops and he breaks eye contact first. He can only look at the floor while he thinks about what he can say. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re uncomfortable, but I’m your friend right? We may not be really dating, but I still want to be there for you if you’re having a hard time.” 

Silence. 

“Is it Wakatoshi? I know you don’t like him but-” 

“Do you?”

You blink. “Do I what?” 

“Do you like him?” 

“No!” you exclaim, taken aback. “Where did that come from?” 

“You call him by his first name.” 

“Well, yes. We’ve known each other since we were children, though! There’s no special meaning.” 

Deep breath. 

“So when you call me by my first name, is there special meaning? We’re not childhood friends.” 

Your eyes widen like saucers and you’re the first to break eye contact, face to the floor. 

There’s a long pause and he feels stupid for even asking, for hoping. Oikawa sighs and takes a gaping step back, away from you. “Forget I said anything.” 

“What if it did,” you whisper. So quietly, Oikawa almost missed it. And he would’ve, if he isn’t in a constant state of hanging onto every word you say, every sign you give. 

You meet his eyes, and repeat, “what if it does?” 

Oikawa isn’t processing this information quick enough, but he can already feel his hopes welling up to fill his chest. He’s so scared that he might be misreading the situation, fitting meaning into your words. “When I say special meaning, it means special.” He says dumbly. He emphasizes the word special, in hopes that you would understand the entire slew of suppressed feelings in that one word. 

“I do understand,” you say simply. 

It was a feeling akin to when it was simultaneously his service point and match point. The simplicity in which you delivered your meaning left no choice but to flood his chest with hope. He doesn’t even realize that he has a massive smile plastered on until you’re mirroring his expression. He waits no longer in stepping into your space, fingers intertwining with yours. He gives you your usual parting kiss, on the forehead, and lingers a few moments longer. 

“Good night, then, girlfriend.” Even if you can’t see his face because of how close he is to you, he makes sure you can feel the curve of his grin and every word whispered against your temple. 

He’s feeling good, satisfied, as he turns around to make his own way home (to squeal and roll around in glee in private), when you grab his arm once again. 

Shameless, he gloats, “still haven’t had enough? I’m happy to-” 

In true fashion, you humble him by pressing your lips against his, effectively shutting him up and wiping the smirk off his face. When you pull away, he chases your lips, eyes still closed. You giggle, give him one more gentle peck, and skip inside, leaving him there, red as a tomato.

[mrshesh]

Hi can I request literally Johnny cage anything, give me all the Johnny cage stuff. I love your work and need more you’re amazing.

"careful, honey!" - johnny cage x reader

overview: cleaning johnny cage's wounds

pairing: johnny cage x gender neutral reader, romantic

genre: fluff

a/n: hi, beautiful! i love requests like these. since i'm a sucker for some physical touch, i thought i'd make this! and thank you so much for the kind words! you're the sweetest. i hope you love it.

“Ow!” Johnny exclaims, trying to lean away from you as you sit beside him, cleaning the gash on his cheekbone with alcohol. Even though he’s acting like a child, you’re enjoying this - it’s not every day you get to tend to him.

“Okay, I know it hurts, but you’ve got to be still.” You cup his cheeks to make him look at you, avoiding touching the gash. He sighs and scoots closer to you hesitantly. The thought of the burn of the isopropyl on his skin makes him shiver, but he’s willing to put up with it - you’re his nurse for today, after all. “I’m sorry, honey, but it hurts like a bitch.” He chuckles, hissing when the cotton bud soaked in the flaming liquid meets his skin. “It didn’t hurt as much as getting punched in the face, though?” You giggle, leaning closer to him with concentration laced across your features. “I told that motherfucker to avoid the face…” Johnny rolls his eyes, recalling the sparring match with Jax moments earlier. It’s no secret that Johnny’s a cocky bastard, so much so that his conceit got him into this pickle. If he didn’t make a bet with Jax that he could easily win against him in a blindfolded spar, he wouldn’t be sitting here, tooting because you’re cleaning his wound. 

“Well, you were blindfolded, so…” “Okay, don’t try to school me, honey.” “Do you want me to clean your face or not?” “Sorry…” You both stare at each other and giggle, and Johhny feels the pain of the firewater disappear for a second. The way your eyes sparkle when you laugh has him in a trance. You’re always quick to help him when in need, even though he might initially protest. He won’t turn you down - not when he adores every second of your touch. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. 

“How much did you bet that you could win?” You curiously ask, moving on to the slash on his jawline. Johnny’s hands immediately grab onto your forearm, stopping you from treating it further. “Careful, honey!” “It hurts that bad?” “Oh, you’d be surprised, baby.” He calms down, taking a moment to breathe. “A signed picture of me.” “What?” “I bet a signed picture of me.” “Of course you did.” You groan, grabbing his cheek gently and turning his head to you. “You need to be careful, babe. What if he knocked your teeth out?” “I’d get gold teeth.” He smirks, a light pink tint finding his cheeks. “And I’d get your name engraved in them.” “So romantic.” You chuckle, looking him in the eyes. You’ve always adored this arrogant shithead. He has a special place in your heart, despite being so foolish. 

He brushes your hair away from your face, taking all of you in. Your eyes, skin, lips, hair, nose - everything! He absorbs it all, feeling the image of your features in his mind spread to the rest of his body, giving him chills that could resemble Raiden’s thunder. He’s so in love with you. “There’s that smile.” He ogles, observing your frontal. “Oh, you’re so beautiful.” He coos, making you lose focus. “Are you trying to distract me so I don’t clean your wound?” “No! I swear!” “Okay, then, prepare yourself. I’m going for it.” You nod at him, bringing the cotton bud to his jawline. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait- can I hold your hand?” “Nope.” “Honey! Ouch!” 

[stargirl-writes]

heal

pairing : f! reader x anakin skywalker

word count : 3.5 k

masterlist | ao3 link

summary

in which anakin skywalker chooses to run away with you before all is lost in mustafar.

tags : au, angst!!, hurt/no comfort

warnings : toxic love, dark fic, ptsd, and reader being so dependent on anakin, suicidal behavior

notes : my reader character being a healer is my self indulgent insert 😭

i've sat w this 4 so long cause i was like 'realistically, what would happen if anakin ran away?' and i think i've finally made up my mind abt it.

time is moving fast for this fic because i wanted to cover so much, so heads up for the skips!

ALSO, ear-ringing apologist perspective. if u can't handle reader being blind to faults, this is not for u haha!

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future. 

At least, it was something you want believed in.

The clone war that raged on revealed just how much people can be persuaded to do horrible things when their survival is at stake.

You underestimated that instinct yourself. The burning desperation to not lose your Anakin Skywalker. You thought, you would have killed for him, the way he would for you.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the one to tell you how Anakin became irredeemable.

It was a blur how you flew to Mustafar despite it. You needed Anakin to admit to it, you needed to take him away from what he'll become.

The crimes he committed made you feel sick, septic like a festering wound.

But, whether you love what you love.

Or live in divided ceaseless revolt against it, what you love is your fate.

You've been so alone. So much so, you can only define a time with Anakin, and without him.

It was gradual. It couldn't have been some higher power that destined you to him, He had been a General of a war, and you, the Healer. It was all odds, that you fell in the right place at the wrong time.

An unwilling hero, and a glorified murderer.

He was crafted to be a tool in the war. Divinely created by the Force with the purpose of bringing balance. And in a war, that meant doing damage, killing.

Every victory he had was a stark contrast to yours.

Every life he takes, be it a droid or a separatist, is a win. And every life you lose is a name added to the long list of casualties.

You and Anakin were opposites.

So, the shock of it remains, because somehow along the way, Anakin loved you. And you loved him. You had each other to cling to.

The terror of What if it doesn't last, What if there's no one else? What happens if it goes back to being alone? persists.

And you might not belong anywhere else.

But you were his. As he is yours. Not in the manner of possession. Yours in the way of devotion.

Mine to tend to, mine to care for, mine to love.

You knew that Anakin's love was conditional. You were only the one in front of him. You didn't misunderstand. You let him use you anyway.

It's not like you were loving him unconditionally, it was because you were terrified to be lonely.

At least, in the beginning, you believed so.

Most days were occupied by your duties. And Anakin would love you in a way that is shaped like fingers wrapped around a throat. Incessant. Hungry. Teeth deep in possession. Making up for the little time, holding you against him as if he was bracing himself that someday you won't be around.

It felt like he was always saying goodbye.

So, though your heart was nearly breaking out of your ribs, you flew by yourself to Mustafar.

A pile of lifeless Separatist figures greeted you in horror.

It was true. Anakin had gone to the dark side. What he did with those children... 

The fear consumed you like a corrosion, but still, you stood in front of him, begging him to come back.

Anakin had carried a deep malaise when you had found him. It was almost emanating from his blood-stained robe, a coldness, a deadly assurance.

"You're not supposed to be here," Anakin says in a strangled voice. His hands firmly holding your arms.

The color of his eyes startled you. It was like looking at a ghost, and all that was left was an unending rage. You fought to not let your fear swallow you.

"Anakin, we have to go" Your lips quivered, not entirely sure what you were planning.

There will never be escaping the things he's done.

You want him to go away with you, anyway.

Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future. 

For a while, it was quiet. Anakin's glossy blue eyes were gazing at you, in conflict, and begging to be understood.

"I can't... Don't you see? I've restored justice to the galaxy" He abruptly lets go, and turns, concealing his face away from your sight. "The things I've done... I can't, there's no running away from it"

The guilt he feels leads him to think that the only path now is through the one he sacrificed his morality for.

"No," you struggled, voice failing to hide your anguish. "Anakin, you can't let this be your fate. Run away with me." You pleaded, eyes filled with tears.

A life of loneliness. With no one, the way it used to. 

Then, Anakin half turns. He surveys your willingness to take him as he is. Maybe, even wanting to believe it.

You have always loved Anakin, even the parts you have not understood.

Perhaps, this was the similarity that bound you together. Burning devotion. One that allows you to see past your moral code.

You gave so much to the war. You'd run yourself spent from the hours. You fought so hard to keep people from dying. You'd never taken anything but this. A chance at life. Away from it all.

"I would've done anything you asked of me" His voice reveals his devastation.

You stepped forward, "Then come with me, Leave it all behind, I need you"

You held your breath, half convinced that this may very much be the end of things.

But Anakin takes your hand, and you don't waste a minute more to take him away in your ship.

Your hands shook the entire time.

The galaxy was silent when the war ended.

Mace Windu's attempt to assassinate the Chancellor made the Jedi an enemy of the Empire.

It triggered an Order that made clone soldiers turn against their Generals. The Jedi are hunted down for treason.

You and Anakin will never find security again.

The atmosphere was thick with emotions that were strained by the abruptness of events. It was making it so much harder to breathe. To live with the truth of it.

All three years of the war are reduced to two moments; Anakin falling into Palpatine's manipulation, and Anakin choosing to run away with you.

You caught yourself slipping away. Tucked in a corner of your mind where you can feel safe.

The healer's oath replays in your mind, the cruelest reminder.

Blind to faults, blind to good. Serve to save, not to see.

As the jedi healer, you weren't allowed to deny patients. You wondered whether that played into role when you stomached all the horrible things Anakin did.  Serve to save, despite, despite, despite...

You landed in a remote place on your home planet of Hapes.

It was a secluded cabin that you used to go to when you were younger. Surrounded by a lake that stretches as far as your eyes can see. It was the first thing that came to mind when you set your ship on autopilot.

Anakin was quiet the entire time.

You, too, became paralyzed by the events that has unraveled.

For a few days, it remained like that.

Though the event has passed, your body can't quite regulate.

It still feels as though someone will find you. And take Anakin with them. You knew your hypervigilance was a consequence of your trauma, but knowing doesn't mean you can let the feeling go.

Even Anakin responds to mild stressors as if he was still in the war. He'd not let you off his sight the first few weeks.

You felt as though Anakin was trying to process everything in his mind. And you grew terrified of his growing silence. Knowing Anakin meant knowing his tendencies to vacillate violently. The reality of what he had done would set and it'd twist into something septic. An unending shame.

You were convinced that he'd have killed himself from it.

But then he'd stare at you deeply as if he was committing you to memory. He'd coddle your face in his palm. He'd hold your hand, hands that are capable of so much rage, and so much tenderness. He'd hold you tight against him in bed, the way he used to.

He can't quite communicate it through words yet, so he'd rely on his touch to let you know that he was still here. Your anxieties eased after. He needed to detangle it on his own. You'd be there whenever he is ready.

Obi-Wan Kenobi appears the next month.

It was through luck that you were the one to open the door.

You knew Obi-Wan would want Anakin to answer for the crimes he's committed.

You won't let him.

"What do you want?" You say cautiously. Stepping forward to the Jedi Master to stop him from entering your new home.

Obi-wan furrows his eyebrows at your action. He gazes at you for a moment before speaking up. "You know what he's done, [Name]"

"The Republic has fallen. The system that replaced it won't hold him to what he's done. It's the very reason for its existence, anyway"

Obi-Wan's eyebrows flashed hearing your words. It seemed as though you'd be the last person he'd expect to exhibit such... heartlessness.

"And what, do you intend to keep him here forever?"

You looked down, fiending an expression of indifference you learnt from Anakin.

"I'm more selfish than he is"

Obi-Wan sighs. There were no more Jedi Council to hold Anakin accountable. You wonder if Obi-Wan had gone looking for him out of the responsibility he felt he had. You could use that.

"If you have any love left for Anakin, You'll leave him with me" You persuaded.

Obi-Wan sharply looks at you. You knew he was being torn apart by his mind and heart.

The door swings, revealing Anakin who appears behind you.

Anakin's arm extends to put you behind him. Obi-Wan was caught, stricken by the sight of his apprentice. You held on to Anakin's forearm.

You held your breath.

Then, Obi-Wan opens his arm to hug Anakin.

Anakin froze, perhaps not expecting his Master to embrace him after...

He turns his head to look at you, then back to his Master. And he reluctantly wraps his arm around Obi-Wan.

You exhaled finally.

You saw Obi-Wan's glossy eyes as he pulled away. He may not forgive Anakin for all the things he's responsible for, but his love for him surpasses all the anger he has.

Gaining his master's acceptance, Anakin became recognizable once more.

However, Obi-Wan could not stay. Perhaps, he's grown sick of stomaching the love he had for Anakin. It was not an easy feeling to be fond of.

When Obi-Wan left, Anakin finally came to you.

It hauntingly paralleled the moment he broke down after he lost his mother. After he gave in to his rage. Only this time, he didn't hold the pose of defiance and came undone, weeping for what he'd done.

You held him and told him that what matters now is what he'll choose to do.

And in the months that come, Anakin has fought to deserve your forgiveness.

He wanted to earn your love.

As a healer, your experience with foraging natural medicine made you more equipped to build a sustainable life. In six months, you were able to make this house by the lake a place to call home.

But, Anakin is being dragged through time. He'd do his best to help, but you can feel his... silence. The weight of it, this was not the life he was groomed to have. He has always lived off the adrenaline. The absence of it makes him constantly feel as though he is at the other end of the high.

It'd worry you whenever he comes home late from a hunt. He's always been reckless, that much hasn't changed. He'd come home covered in tissue deep cuts, bruised muscles, and a dead-pan look in his eyes. It was a topic that you tried to communicate— and a topic Anakin would respond defensively to.

"It's nothing" He'd dismiss whilst you were dressing the wound.

You'd press the clean gauze over his skin, on the brink of anxiety. He'd wince and take the gauze from your hand.

And you'd stand up and leave, because your patience would have run out by then.

It upset you how he always stands on a cliff to wait for the winds to swoon him over because he won't jump, he won't make that decision himself.

Your breaths were shallow as you tried to calm down after yelling about how his passivity over danger was eating at you. You needed him to try. Because you can't save him on your own.

"I'm sorry" Anakin looks down, receding. " I just don't know how to do this" He admits, eyes wide, childlike, helpless.

And you thaw, breaths shallow as you fought to not cry from the anger.

"Anakin, if you don't..." You began, looking down at the ground as if the words would appear before you there. "if you don't want this anymore, you can go"

Because the entire year you have spent in this cabin, it felt like time has frozen. You hoped that in time, you and Anakin would find the courage to move past the war. Of course, it was futile, you can never take back what you've given to the effort.

Whatever is left of you and Anakin is all there is now. And sometimes, it feels like there is nothing. Just ghosts of who you once were. You weren't sure if being with you was making any difference at all.

You were selfish, but not enough to keep him as he wastes away. You'd let him go, even if it'd cripple you forever.

Anakin grabs both of your shoulders firmly, forcing you to look up to him.

"Why do you think I came with you?" Anakin's voice was stern. His eyes fixed, determined to imprint words to your heart.

You held on to his arm, swallowing your anguish. "I only meant that if I'm not doing you any good, you should—"

"And where would I go?" He interrupts, unrelenting.

"I don't know" You admitted. You're ruining him. You've done this to him. You should let him go.

His grip loosened, and his lips kept opening and closing as if he was eating up the words before letting it leave his mouth.

"—I'm trying, [Name]"

"I'm giving you my life, I don't have anything larger to give" His voice breaks, and his head dips. "I'm trying" he repeats.

You felt his tears warm against your clavicle. Your fingers tangling with his hair.

"I know, Ani" You coo gently. "We'll try together" You promised.

It was becoming clearer that he was alleviating his sins by trying to kill the entity that once controlled him. It was also becoming harder to see a monster when all you see is Anakin, the love you abandoned everything for.

Anakin, who was sold as a slave, and then freed, only to be chained to another lifelong servitude through the Jedi. Anakin, who was dropped in the middle of a war, and made responsible for a child whilst being a child himself.

The Jedi Order relied on his nature of winning, despite not agreeing with his tactics. He'd be patronized for his violence, which his life would soon be defined by. Anakin's worst action is murder, the same way his best action is murder. Because if he doesn't answer to the shots fired, he'd be the one receiving them.

He was never afforded any space to become anything else.

Except when he's with you.

Anakin can become cruel, the same way he is loving. Two truths can exist at the same time.

And with the months that flew by, you watched as Anakin continually chose to not let his darkness define him.

You were learning things about him that you couldn't have had during the war. The way he neatly keeps inventory of his tools. The intense focus in his eyes when he is concentrating. The way the wood creaks— the cadence of his steps. All committed to memory because no one else can know him the way you do.

He told you, you saved him. And you wept, unsure whether what you did was really an act of selflessness.

Living with him became easier. No more effort to try to gain his love. No approval, no admiration to attain. There is no role to play, no one to convince. Just, being. There was so much time, and the only thing that mattered was; how long do we have each other?

Most days, Anakin would carry his grief so well, that you'd forget it was even there. He'd work to minimize it, to live with it. However, when the dark comes, he has no control over his dreams. and the overwhelming shame and guilt seep.

It had been two years when you woke up abruptly to find the space beside you empty.

You grabbed your robe, the cold midnight air felt crisp against your skin. Finding Anakin was easy. He'd always wander towards the edge of the lake, staring at the moons.

"It's cold, Ani, come back to sleep" You urged, but Anakin's gaze was far away.

He has chopped some of his hair, and it looked the way it used to during the war. It startles you sometimes to remember how young he still was.

"I had a dream" He speaks softly, arms finding a way to snake around you so he'd press you against him. "It felt as real as you now" His gaze lands on you.

It terrified you to ask, but you did anyway.

"We had a child"

Oh.

You chuckled in surprise. Stepping back to process what he said. It just never seemed to occur to you, then. Though you have never dismissed the idea, it just felt like you were barely surviving to try to raise a child.

Anakin smiles when he realizes he made you flustered. "Good thing it was only a dream?"

You let out a breathless laugh, somehow relieved that Anakin was not seriously considering it.

"Yes," You weren't ready. You may never find it in yourself to ever be ready.

"We're not bringing a child now, not like this"

Anakin's expression melts, "Yes, the empire is growing stronger" His guilt resurfaces.

"I never imagined it to be like this for us," He thinks out loud,

"We have to make the best of what we have" You sigh.

"I've been thinking" Anakin begins, "maybe, there is still something that can be done"

You try steadying your breath, somehow bracing yourself for this moment; when he'll want to fight again.

It was everything he was made for. You knew that, you just didn't think it'd be in under a short period.

Something was screaming inside you. A fear, that you thought had gone when you ran away with Anakin. It was telling you that you were going to lose him. And you, selfishly, want to stop him. He can't... if he goes, he'll die. And you can't even begin to imagine what'll happen to you if he dies.

"How?" You asked despite yourself.

"Ahsoka mentioned something about a rebellion," He says, voice thick with something he hasn't had before. Hope.

"The galaxy needs changing" He steps forward.

You shook your head, overcome by the anxiety of it. "Anakin, I'm never going back"

He turns on his heel, eyes narrowed at your proclamation. "I didn't ask you to come back"

You tilt your head, "Of course, you weren't" Though you knew you were being unfair, just the idea of it was sending stress already.

Anakin's eyebrows knit. "I'm only thinking out loud, it's one thing to consider it but another to act on it" He defends.

Though, you know this is where it begins. And you were responding defensively because you knew where it would lead.

Anakin will forever feel as though he has to restore the galaxy to how it was before he helped destroyed it. It won't be long until he'd despise himself for choosing to stay here with you. Especially since it's been drilled into him that he's supposed to be the one to bring balance to the force.

Whether he loves you or lives in a divided ceaseless revolt against it, what he chooses to love is your fate.

His purpose or you. 

Going would give him his closure.

Going would anchor you to the hells of your biggest fear.

"Anakin, please don't go where I can't follow" Your voice broke, begging. It was selfish to want to keep him for the second time.

And you weren't sure whether your love would be enough for Anakin to stay.

Not when it only brought him here, a home by the lake, forever standing on thin ice that always threatened to break under.

You were living under the false pretense of security. All of this, the house, the lake, the isolation, are reminders that you and Anakin will never go back to normalcy, no matter how much you pretend.

A knife may dull, but its purpose remains to cut.

Anakin's expression softens and he presses his lips on the temples of your forehead.

You were slowly understanding that the entire galaxy's fate was carried inside Anakin Skywalker.

The chosen one.

Every decision he made was informed by that pressure. No matter how personal, it always builds to a path that he can't control, because it's already laid out for him.

Created by the force, to be used by the force.

So you can't find the heart to be angry when he left.

You decided it would be hopeless to try to stop him. Anakin has this view that everything in his life, he has to work to earn. To deserve.

Even this... freedom that you have.

He has to contribute to it, in this perverse grandiose action as to fight the Empire. So he can accept that you do indeed love him.

He has to seize this opportunity with Ahsoka. He is more autonomous of his power now. He is once again engaging in something that's risking his life. He can fulfill his destiny.

It didn't make it any less painful.

You had to inspire confidence in him, otherwise, he'd doubt. So, you pushed all your feelings away and smiled when you kissed him goodbye.

You never left the war. The two years you stole were only stalling the inevitable. Perhaps, two years was too generous.

"Bring him back, please" You took Ahsoka aside. Ahsoka nods uncommitedly. For, she won't promise what she can't deliver.

And once again, you have found yourself alone.

He swore he'd have done anything for you.

Just not this one.

His belief that he has no inherent right to life; and has to work to earn anything made you feel as though you were his... prize. A trophy. In which he'd fight for to retain but not value enough to take care of.

He should've stayed. It's good he left.

Because now that you have nothing, you're finally able to detangle how Anakin doesn't love you. Not in the way you thought. Anakin loves that he has you.

You have always put his wellness first, that now, when you are not so worried by walking carefully around his hurt, you are able to feel yours.

Perhaps, losing Anakin was good. You can finally put yourself first. Whilst he still seeks answers in the past

There is no going back to the way it was. You tried living 'normally' and it just became a bitter reminder that you are forever changed.

Acceptance of that and lending yourself a little more compassion might just be the beginning of your healing.

footnote

i'm obsessed with the writing style where authors strikes through the text ! it's such a smart way to imply that the character that's narrating is choosing not to allow those thoughts and so it looks like it's been scribbled out .

also, quoting ka applegate on relationships not lasting outside the war :

"wars don't end happily. not ever. often relationships that were central during war, dissolve during peace. some people who were brave and fearless in a war are unable to handle peace, feel disconnected and confused. "

[peakbys]

TAILORED

Pairing(s): Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader, Luca Changretta x Wife!Reader Summary: Your little double life starts to unravel when your husband shows up to avenge his father. Request: Yes. Sorta.             → @alana000 requested the reader in a love triangle between Tommy and Luca, I ended up combining that with my idea for Tommy's poll result and my brain kind of just ran away with it. So, it may not be exactly what was requested but I hope it's enjoyable regardless. 😅 Warnings: Long post, cheating, tension, mentions of arranged marriages, poor Italian, friends to lovers to enemies (if you want to interpret it that way, ending is left as it is.) Eye contact (for the gif?) Note: This is hard to wrap up in a one-shot, so I'm sorry if the ending is less than ideal. Still, I've been working on this thing for weeks so I hope you all enjoy.

You had just wanted to ride horses. 

Of course, life was never so simple, yet it really didn’t need to be as complicated as it was currently. You had left America feeling uncertain, but excited. You wrote back home whenever you could, especially once you managed to make a bit of a name for yourself in horse racing. Really, you wanted to move onto training, yet you knew you could race those horses too. It was extra money, of course, but something you earned on your own. It wasn’t passed down from your family, your husband’s family. Though, in hindsight, you had to wonder if this really was the place you were going to end up all along. 

When you had made a bit of a reputation, it brought the attention of some people that operated in a way you were all too familiar with. Crime was in your family, and it was certainly in the one you married into. It didn’t take long to figure out what was being asked of you when you were asked to take the fall sometimes. Horses lost races, yet that didn’t mean that you couldn’t benefit. At least, that was how it had been explained to you back when your pride was too stubborn to accept that you’d participate in fixed races.

Yet, the opportunities got harder to turn down after a while. 

Your involvement with the Peaky Blinders was something you left out of your letters outside of vague gesturing toward ‘buyers’ and ‘bosses.’ 

Tommy Shelby was definitely a person you didn’t write back home about, as much as he was a very common face in your life over the last couple of years. In a strange way, Tommy had a demeanor that was overly familiar too. You had associated it with controlled movements, sharp grins and the chewing of a toothpick. With him, it was a neutral expression and a stare that felt like he was looking through you at points. Yet, both your husband and Tommy had the same commanding air that pulled your attention to them as soon as they stepped into a room. 

Outside of the wounded pride that came from losing a race you were certain you could win, that alone had almost been enough to call off working with him. You had more than enough of that back in America, and you didn’t want it here for however long you were planning on staying. 

Though, Tommy proved up to your expectations in that he was very hard to ignore. 

It had started off friendly enough–professional, despite the nature of what you were doing. More races won, a few lost with a wad of cash tossed into your lap with a vaguely smug look also tossed your way. It was profitable, so it was easy to stick with. Tommy brought horses to you, sometimes, too. Beautiful creatures. If there was something that easily bonded you to Tommy, it was the horses. The conversations got easier and more frequent. Longer, too. You could remember the mild surprise that crossed your expression when he asked about something more personal than the horses and the races. 

That was what had you both sitting outside your little ranch home that you were living out of currently, talking about your family, America. Your late brother, especially, given that he had passed in the war and Tommy revealed that he had fought as well. Your brother had joined in hopes that maybe it would be something noble–something that wasn’t crime and making his living from getting involved with the families in New York. Dying in a trench so far from the people who loved and knew him didn’t seem very noble in your mind, especially with the memory of how your mother wailed when she got the news. 

Yet, you got a sense of understanding from Tommy that you hadn’t expected to find. It opened the door to some…very troubling feelings. 

You had initially tried to dismiss them as the similarities with your husband causing you to feel homesick, but that really wasn’t the case and you knew early on that you were lying to yourself about that. Given that the majority of letters that you wrote back home were to your mother-in-law, outside of the odd one you got directly from your husband when it seemed like he had the time, it was hard to ignore the growing distance that had festered. It had lingered in the background before you left America, and it only grew once the physical distance was there. 

Still, you had been quick to state that you were a married woman when it felt like Tommy was catching on to your conflict. Didn’t change much, however–it was a weakening defense and you both knew that. 

It resulted in a moment of weakness that haunted you, one that had your loneliness and conflicting emotions taking control. When it came to money, you knew things could get rough. In the back of your mind, you knew there could be some volatile tempers. Yet, you figured some people might not take that out on the riders. 

A man cornering you in the stable one night proved you wrong about that, however. Your feet barely scraping against the stable floor, his hands wrapped around your throat while you tried to talk him down through what little space he gave your windpipe. Between the pressure on your neck and the tightness in your chest from your lungs begging for more air, Tommy’s arrival was lost on you until the man released his hands from around your neck. 

You could remember the way you crumpled onto the ground, coughing harshly and gasping in air. You had registered the threats uttered and the shine of Tommy’s pistol, yet it wasn’t until he helped pull you to your feet that reality had come back around to you. 

–

“Come on. Sit over here.” 

You were used to his usual calm, straightforward approach to most things, yet at the moment it seemed at least vaguely caring. It was hard to tell with Tommy, yet you didn’t have the energy to really dig too deeply into that. As much as your pride wanted you to hold your head up and shake off the guiding hand on your arm, you were focused on trying to still the racing of your heart and ease the tightness in your chest. 

“He really wasn’t here to talk,” you commented once you were sitting down in a chair, holding a hand to your neck still. “I should’ve known better.” 

“Don’t think it would’ve stopped him any,” Tommy replied, “Least I’m not down a good rider.” 

“I appreciate the concern,” you commented around a bitter huff, though the touch of amusement in his gaze settled that feeling easily enough. 

“I was comin’ by to give you this, anyway,” Tommy continued after pulling up a chair and passing over your cut of the winnings from the race. “Just in time, too.” 

You nodded lightly, carding lightly through the cash as you counted quickly in your head. Something you had always done since you started working for him–suspicious at first, more like a force of habit now. In the current moment, however, it was more like an excuse to not have to look at him while every swallow and movement of your head reminded you of the forming bruises that you’d have to cover for the next while. 

It had never been in you to enjoy being rescued, yet you certainly knew that could have been worse if he didn’t show up when he did. You could feel a ‘thank you’ forming on the tip of your tongue the more you thought on it, though the feeling of his fingers under your jaw had you stilling. He tilted your head up somewhat, the action pulling a small wince from you as he examined the marks on your neck. 

Your gaze remained locked on his face as he did so and even after he shifted his hand to let you lower your head again. The tight feeling in your gut cropped up again, a familiar sensation when you looked at Tommy these days. A fluttering feeling that was both familiar and unfamiliar in a sense. Something that you had talked yourself into feeling over time with your husband, yet with Tommy it had formed on its own. 

It scared a part of you, yet you found yourself unable to pull away. Especially when you felt his hand shift along the back of your neck, a few seconds of hesitation and a sinking feeling until his mouth pressed against your own. 

If it had been you who leaned in to kiss him or if he crossed that line himself, you didn’t know. Yet, you found yourself returning it all the same, a hand coming up to cup the side of his face. You lost track of reality for a few moments–it was just you and Tommy, his lips, his tongue. His hands on your shoulders, waist, lower back. The excitement about the kiss made your gut twist, heat in your face. There was relief in there, too. 

Finally, you felt like someone wanted you. You weren’t an obligation, or worse a charity case. Your first kiss hadn’t been forced, yet it felt more like it was something you should do. To prove a point, an intention. It wasn’t like this with your husband. 

That thought hit hard, sinking into you like a heavy stone just as you could feel both your own and Tommy’s hands venturing further. You were married–and kissing your boss in the stable of a racetrack while your husband was an ocean away. 

Shame burned hot in your gut as you pushed Tommy back, standing quickly to put some distance between the two of you. The look he shot you was calm, as if he expected this. Your marriage wasn’t a secret, he knew what he was doing too. 

“I…shouldn’t have done that,” you said after a few moments, tucking your earnings into a pocket. “Thank you for the help, Mr. Shelby. Goodnight.” 

–

Naturally, you didn’t talk to him much after. You wanted to, the thoughts tumbling around in your head, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to. The situation didn’t stop you from feeling relieved about his attention shifting away from the races after a while, however. You still raced, listened to the directions that would come in about certain horses and races. Things were normal, stable, and it was like you could just forget what happened. Things were calm. That was, until word got back to America that Sabini was having issues in London. It was a bit of a surprise to you that you weren’t asked to get involved. At the time, that is. 

It was something that was brought up in some of the letters–more of a warning at first, just keeping you informed in case you did need to make a move in the name of your husband’s family. You usually weren’t set to do those things, however, so you didn’t expect much outside of a possible trip to London to see what information you could get from the Italians there. 

That was, until your brother-in-law was killed. Things were a bit of a blur after that. 

Everything had escalated well beyond anything you had imagined and it seemed unavoidable how the two sides of your life were now overlapping. 

It was what had you pacing around the lavish room that you had been told to move to. It was very similar to the one that you had stayed in when you had joined your husband for a family wedding. The very event that put the idea of moving away from America for a couple years to begin with. 

A maid had been in and out over the last couple of hours, leaving you food and drink when you asked but otherwise gave you a polite distance. You appreciated that, despite the fact that no amount of food or tea could settle your nerves. 

You hadn’t unpacked, your little suitcase sitting by the door. It would look a little odd, you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

All you could do was wait, wondering how all of this would play out. The letter had been vague, just the address that he said he’d be staying at and that you should be moved there by the current date. It didn’t do anything to reassure you, obviously. A part of you just wanted to know. Another part of you just wanted to see him–as if seeing your husband would clear all the muck from your head and it would be easier to think. 

So, naturally, you were jumpy by the time you heard the door open. The maid always knocked, so it was clear who it was. 

Luca hadn’t changed much in the three years you had been away, dressed in his typical dark attire. Expensive, tailor-made and you knew how much he seemed to care about his appearance. That had initially struck you as pompous when you had first met him, yet you had quickly grown used to how connected his family was and it seemed to be more so about bragging about his family’s reputation. You knew it pleased him when you humored the expensive clothing and gifts–a little less common as the years passed, you had noted. 

At the moment, you couldn’t help but feel almost…underdressed. A number of things had changed, in more ways than one. You still didn’t know how you felt about the situation or what you even felt in the moment you saw him again. 

Regardless, you worked up a somewhat tight grin and approached him, Luca removing his hat to place on the desk nearby. 

The rings on his fingers were cold as he cupped your face, pulling you in to press a lingering kiss to your mouth. Your hands came up to rest on his wrists, finding an odd sense of comfort in the familiarity of it. Yet, it was lacking now. You knew that. The memories of Tommy that cropped up made that sharp edge of shame known in your gut, yet you still managed to keep the small grin on your face as Luca pulled back. 

“Carissima,” he said, hands still cradling your face as he ran his thumbs along your cheeks, “Non sei invecchiato di un giorno.” 

“Nemmeno tu,” you replied, the words heavy and cumbersome on your tongue. Luckily, Luca just grinned, dropping his hands to wag a light-hearted finger at you. 

“You promised me you’d still practice your Italian.” 

“I don’t get to use it often,” you replied, “Not a lot of Italian speakers around.” 

“Should’a listened to me about movin’ to London,” Luca commented, “Be with the family. Though…well, maybe it was good you didn’t.” 

“Right…” 

You let out a soft exhale through your nose, watching as he circled around the desk slowly as if he was looking for something. The atmosphere shifted as soon as the topic was brought up, your gaze following his movements as you tried to gather together something to say about it all. Killed his brother, his father, and you weren’t naive enough to believe that he was there to drag you back to America. Luca glanced back up at you, almost studying you for a moment. 

“Ma’s told me a few things she’s learned about you, too,” Luca stated, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of your neck as your heart jumped. 

Still, you held his gaze, expression impassive. It didn’t seem likely that she would know about what happened while you were staying overseas, yet it didn’t ease the feeling like you were looking down the barrel of a gun. 

“I told her quite a bit in my letters–you, too. In the ones you read, at least,” you replied, crossing your arms as he moved to lean against the front of the desk. 

“Left out some details,” Luca said, “How you’re racin’ horses in the tracks managed by the Peaky Blinders.” 

“It’s hard not to if you’re looking to fix races,” you said with a nod, feeling that tight not in your stomach loosen somewhat. “I didn’t make it a habit to dip my hand in that. When your horses get a reputation, there’s some interest. I might have been approached, but I can’t say I’ve had any personal interactions with them.” 

“No Tommy Shelby?”

“Not personally,” you lied, “I know of him.” 

He met your gaze without a reply for a few moments, arms crossed in a way that almost mirrored your own. A part of you wondered why you were protecting Tommy–of course, you didn’t want Luca to know of certain details, but clearly you didn’t swear any loyalty to him or his gang. Yet, you did so anyway. Luca eventually nodded lightly, pressing his lips together in thought for a moment before he stood up to approach you once again. 

“I was hopin’ you might have some information that might make this easier, but you’re just racin’ horses.” 

You could almost hear a touch of something to his tone, yet it didn’t seem he was willing to make that clear or say what he was thinking. It didn’t sit all that nice, but you figured if he was suspicious of you, you would’ve known. (You hoped.) Still, you gave him what you hoped was a convincing enough apologetic smile as you reached out to rest your hand on his cheek. 

“I know what you’re here to do. I wish I could give you more information than that,” you said, “As I said when I left, I didn’t want any involvement in that business and it’s been kept that way. If I had known…” 

“I wouldn’t want you catchin’ a bullet anyway,” Luca replied, “Though, you remember anythin’ or might be leavin’ anythin’ out…” 

“I’ll tell you,” you said with a small grin, “I wouldn’t want you catching a bullet.” 

“They can try,” he stated before pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Quicker this is done, quicker we can get back home.” 

You hummed in response, not quite agreement. As much as you were uncertain about the outcome of all of this, you had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be dealt with so quickly. 

*****

As much as you knew you shouldn’t be out by yourself, especially with the fact that this vendetta business could escalate at any moment, you didn’t think too much of it. 

There was an issue with one of your horses back where you were staying, and you knew suddenly disappearing would look odd to anybody who was paying attention. You were on edge and alert, yet you figured it would be best to look as if things were business as usual. Family was visiting, you were staying in a hotel. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but notice the quietness of the home. If there was an issue, you figured there would be a few different people running around. You frowned as you pulled up to the property, noticing that the stable was empty. You clenched your hands around the steering wheel of the car, ready to pull out at a moments notice. Though, the familiar figure standing outside the home, near the very chairs you had sat in when you chatted over the years. 

You debated leaving, but thought better of it. While it seemed unlikely that he didn’t know the people he was up against, you didn’t want to appear too suspicious if he hadn’t pieced together your involvement. 

Regardless, your approach was guarded, eyeing Tommy with a questioning gaze as he moved to step down from the porch. 

“Long time since I’ve seen you last,” you greeted, “...It’s very quiet out here for the emergency I was told to come see.” 

“Right…” Tommy replied, his expression unreadable as he approached you. “I had to get your attention somehow. Someone here said you are staying elsewhere for a few days.” 

“Family’s in the country for a while,” you replied casually enough, “I didn’t want to drive back and forth.” 

“Family. Well, I guess you really should see this, then,” Tommy stated, finally pulling a hand out of one of his coat pockets. 

He extended what looked like a photo, folded at a particular edge. You paused for a moment, looking into his impassive stare before you reached out to take it. 

Unfolding it completely, you were greeted with a wedding photo filled with familiar faces. The family wedding from a couple years ago, a seemingly routine celebration for the most part at the time. For the Changrettas, at least. Of course, standing just along the folded crease was you standing next to Luca, a faint smile on your face with your arm interlocked with his own. You had only seen the photo once when you had returned to New York after the wedding, yet it really turned out to be a terrible reminder that you weren’t as well hidden as you thought sometimes. 

“I did tell you I was married,” you stated, finally glancing up to meet Tommy’s gaze, “Though, with what your family’s done, I guess this really changes quite a few contexts.” 

“My family…” he repeated, you catching a glimpse in his expression that you never really saw. It was sharp, angry. It had you propping a foot back in case you needed to step away from him as he stepped a little closer to you. “Your family…killed me wife and my brother.” 

“Yes. You killed my husband’s father and brother. Spared his mother, which was a mistake. If you’re here to kill me to think you’ll get a leg up in this, I wouldn’t. Luca’s old fashioned–wants this done by tradition. As I’m sure you know. Yet, you kill me, I can’t say he’ll not just put a bullet in your head on principle. Considering you had to lure me out here, you have no idea where he is, right?” 

He didn’t say anything, lingering close as you looked up at him. As much as you knew he could kill you where you stood–there was enough spilled blood on his side to warrant it. Yet, there was that part of you that was fond of him. Felt something–might not have been deep or fully developed. It might never be. Yet, you knew you had a bit of a leverage here. You knew how to survive–keep your head down, do things for the sake of connecting your family, and taking advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves. 

“I like you, and I didn’t come to this country with the intention of getting wrapped up in a vendetta between you and my husband’s family,” you continued, “So, I’ll say this. I’m not here to be your enemy, yet I will do whatever I need to in order to get out of this alive. Luca, on the other hand, knows how to hate and will not stop until one of you is dead.” 

“I don’t need a lecture on the vendetta,” Tommy stated, “If you have no involvement, you’re a citizen in my eyes. I would be very careful about crossing that line.” 

“I’d be careful about crossing Luca Changretta,” you replied, “As it stands, I don’t know enough about you to give him anything of value and I have no obligation to tell you anything more about him. Give me a chance to get out of this alive, and I may change my stance on the latter.” 

“You’d sell out your own husband, eh?” Tommy asked, tilting his head somewhat as you continued to meet his gaze. 

“Arranged marriages can be tricky.” 

“I can’t make any promises, Mrs. Changretta.” 

“Then I guess we’ll see how this all plays out, Mr. Shelby.” 

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

okay! so here is the spider-man!ethan blurb @hyeyulove requested from my 500 celebration! asking for friends that are in love with physical gesture prompts ‘tipping your chin to make you look into their eyes’ and ‘pulling you by the waist’ i wasn’t able to do the neck touch since i just could fit it in right. i’m not too happy with the last paragraph, but win some lose some. i hope you enjoy this blurb💗

pairing: spider-man!ethan landry x fem!reader wc:893

tw: mentions of blood (reader is cleaning wounds)

masterlist / ethan landry

“y/n-“ “don’t talk.” tone clipped and short.

it was four in the morning, you and ethan huddled in your small bathroom. he was sitting on the closed toilet lid, top half of his suit pulled off to expose any damaged skin. you were standing between his open legs as you pushed his damp curls away from his face so you could try and clean a wound on his temple that held dried blood. soaked cotton ball with rubbing alcohol stinging at the wound, ethan hissed and instinctively wrapped his big palms around your thighs, blunt nails curling into the hem of your sleep shorts.

“who’s the bully beating up my best friend tonight?” voice soft from just a second ago, not able to keep a tough façade with ethan for long. you dabbed twice more at the wound before leaning in to gently blow it dry, placing a bandaid over it.

ethan’s thumbs rubbed back and forth over the skin of your thigh, “goblin. i think he’s getting crazier each day. throwing pumpkin bomb after pumpkin bomb, swear he almost cut me in half with his glider.” his eyes dropped to look at his ribs where a bandage was wrapped thrice over the angry cut. probably be healed completely by the end of tomorrow.

a hum was heard from you as you were busy preparing another cotton ball to continue cleaning ethan’s dirty face. “well i’m glad he missed. would totally ruin my weekend.” trying for a light joke and it worked causing ethan to jump his fingers to your waist and start tickling. a high screech at the invasion of his dancing fingers to your sensitive skin, “stop! stop! i’m kidding! kidding!”

his fingers stopped and he wrapped his arms around your waist to tug you closer, his chin resting near your belly button. “you’d only be upset if i died cause now you can’t watch movies?” a joking tone with puppy eyes.

you plopped your hands to his shoulders and said with the utmost sincerity, “i would crumble if you died.” left hand leaving his shoulder so you could caress his plump cheek, “don’t know what i’d do without you.” the last sentence is practically a whisper due to the emotion crawling up your throat.

the bathroom grew still and quiet. the drip drip drip of your shower faucet and the steady night spilling into your open window being background noise. you and ethan are too entranced by each other’s eyes and touch, brain’s processing all the implications of this short conversation.

you broke the bubble first when you cleared your throat and looked away to grab your supplies. “just a few more then you can sleep.”

with a clean soaked ball you dabbed a few times to a cut on ethan’s eyebrow, blew it dry, then bandaged. cotton ball, dabbed at blood on his right cheek, blow, bandage. the last two cuts were on his lips.

“almost done, spidey.” a low murmur as you assessed the best way to work. ethan moved his head to the side distracted by something, so you just went for it. grabbing his chin between your thumb and pointer finger curled under the bone. “sorry, just easier for me to hold you.”

“it’s okay,” ethan whispered as you cleaned at the broken skin of his pink plush lips. he hissed only twice and his hands moved back to your thighs where he did slow up and down motions that made your stomach tingle.

you leaned back to throw away the stained ball and grabbed two thin bandages as you waited. “not gonna blow them dry?” ethan asked. eyes away from your trash can and back to ethan’s burning gaze, you couldn’t help licking your lips from a moment of nerves and ethan followed the action. “didn’t think you needed it.”

“no, no it’ll help.” sounding almost rushed with a slight plea for you to blow puffs of air over his broken lips. but if ethan said it’ll help…

so you leaned down as he tilted his head upward, faces nearly aligned with the angles and distance. two sets of tired eyes turned alight with a certain passion as you pucker your lips and pushed a breeze of air over the clean wounds. his lips were parted, eyes focused, hands moving, his head leaning in closer until there was exactly an inch of space separating the two of you from connecting.

and you so badly wanted to take that final leap, but tonight wasn’t the right time. so you pulled away and grabbed the two thin strips, peeling the covering off and meticulously covering up his battle scars of the night. fingertips brushing over his lips like a phantom touch, a greedy thing for you.

“think it’s time for much needed sleep,” touching ethan’s chin one more time. allowing a moment for your body to remember his caress of your thighs and his hold on your waist.

with a reluctant heart you pulled away from his orbit and addictive touch to leave ethan in the bathroom as you walked back to your bed and waited for him to crawl in beside you. where in the morning you would find yourself tangled in sheets and arms, only to tell yourself it meant nothing more than being comfortable friends.

but hoping for the day it all changes.

-

[padfootagain]

Just Fine

Hi everyone! Here I come with a new request for my Comeback Event! This is actually the last request!! I've completed the whole list! Thank you to all of you who participated in the event, and I hope you enjoyed the fics I wrote!

This was sent in by an anon: “hi!! I hope you are doing great 💕 can i request Sirius Black, soulmates au, wounded character leads to confession xx”

Thank you so much for your request, anon! I hope you enjoy what I’ve written for you!

****

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Warnings: Violence, graphic depiction of torture, main character being severely wounded

Summary: You knew you should have never accepted this mission Dumbledore gave you. But someone had to go, and if risks were to be taken, you might as well be the one taking them. But when you are badly wounded, Sirius can’t help but confess one of his most precious secrets…

Word Count: 6270 ( a little long… oops?)

You never looked at the compass that adorned the skin of your left forearm.

A circle and an arrow engraved into your skin in black ink. Or well, what looked like black ink, but marks like these coloured the arms of babies since their birth. A compass to point every individual on the planet in the right direction. A compass to make sure that everyone on Earth would have a chance to find their other half, the person who would spend their entire life loving them, their soulmate…

True love. Follow the arrow on your skin. Follow it to the end of the world, if necessary. Find your soulmate. Find this other piece of your soul, this individual the Universe has appointed to you. Love them. Marry them. Be happy. Build your life around them, and if you’re lucky, you’ll leave this world with them too. Holding each other for your last shared breath. Eyes closing together for the last time.

Find them. Follow the arrow on our skin and be happy forever.

You looked at the bandage you cautiously wrapped on your forearm every day.

Bullshit. All of it.

Find your soulmate, be happy… no one was happy, these days. Finding your soulmate, that didn’t mean being happy these days, it meant being weak. A weakness… you couldn’t afford that king of things. You had a war to fight. A battle to win. Another risk to take…

You gathered some cold water into your palms and rinsed your face with it. Cold, invigorating…

As you looked up and caught your reflection in the mirror, you noticed the dark bags under your eyes. You still had a bruise colouring your jawline and a scratch across your cheekbone. Signs left by your latest mission…

And around your left forearm, a white bandage that you placed there every morning, making sure to not look at the compass engraved on the inside of your arm. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to know where your soulmate was, you didn’t want to know if they were close or not, you didn’t want to find them. What was the point? In a world at war, it would only bring you sorrow and fear. No… no, better not know about it. Ignorance was better than sadness.

Because, if you were to be honest with yourself, you were lying when you pretended that you didn’t want to find your soulmate to avoid worrying about them all the time. Actually, you worried about them already.

If your soulmate died, the arrow on your skin would disappear. If they were dying, the inky mark would slowly fade, till it would be gone for good. And you didn’t want to know. If they were gone already, if this crazy war had killed them before it could kill you, you didn’t want to know. You reckoned that you weren’t strong enough… You already had to take in the violence, the risks, the fears… you couldn’t carry on your shoulder the weight of losing all hopes of finding the person you would love most on this Earth too. It would be too painful. After all, if you took so many risks, if you accepted the most dangerous missions, if you were ready to die out there, it was mostly because of this stranger you loved already.

You had never met them. You didn’t know their name, their identity, their favourite colour or even if they were a wizard or a muggle. You didn’t care. You loved them already. And if you wanted to have a chance to taste this happy life this compass promised you, then you needed to make the world a better place first. To have a chance at a happy ending, you needed the world you lived in to allow such a thing.

You heaved a sigh, put on your shirt and walked out of the bathroom to grab a quick breakfast.

One day, you would take off this bandage and look for happiness. For now, you had a war to fight.

Sirius knew you were walking in the room before he turned towards the door and saw you. He knew it, because he always did. Whenever you were near, it was like a sixth sense… his heart skipped a beat.

He pulled on his sleeve to make sure the compass on his forearm was hidden. He knew you didn’t want to know who your soulmate was, so you couldn’t see that the arrow on his arm was pointing at you.

It took a while for Sirius to figure it all out. When he finally discovered the truth, once he was absolutely certain that it was you, that you were his soulmate, that the two of you were meant to be together… it was already too late. You were in your sixth year, and he was in his seventh, and you had already planned to join the fight against Voldemort. You had already decided that you didn’t want to know about your soulmate. You had already started to cover the mark on your skin with a bandage.

You didn’t want to know, and he understood why. Had he known what it would be like to fight in this war, Sirius would have probably taken the same decision. It was painful, really, to worry about you all the time.

So, he didn’t say anything. He kept his mouth shut and his compass hidden, and he fought every day, hoping you were safe, hoping you would both survive this crazy war, hoping he would have a chance to finally tell you that he loved you with all his heart already…

But for now, all he could do was to smile as you walked into the backroom of the Leaky Cauldron, barely a few minutes before the meeting of the Order would begin. You walked towards him with a matching smile on your lips.

You looked beautiful, even though it was obvious that you were exhausted. He wished he could hold you close, let you rest your head against his shoulder, cradle you until you would fall asleep…

“You look terrible,” was his only welcome.

“Thanks. Fighting three Death Eaters at once will do that to you.”

Your smile was amused now, it was reaching your eyes.

“You look pretty exhausted yourself, Black,” you added, your smile widening even more.

“Yeah well… What can I say? James’s snores are worse than Death Eaters at times.”

You chuckled, and butterflies flew across his stomach in response.

He wished he could kiss you…

“Do you know why Dumbledore made us all come here so quickly? Did something happen?”

Sirius shrugged.

“I have no idea. All I know is that he called for a meeting on short notice. But then again, I reckon that if he did so, it is because he must have learnt some bad news, indeed.”

You nodded, finally taking a seat next to him. The room was full, with chairs lined up in five rows, facing an empty seat that had been saved for Dumbledore. The air trembled under hurried whispers between the different members of the Order of the Phoenix.

You brushed your arm against his without noticing as you took a seat, and it sent shivers running down his spine…

He wondered sometimes if you felt the same, even if you didn’t know that you were destined for each other. Did you still feel bound to him? Did you feel attracted to him, even if you didn’t know that it was meant to last for a lifetime? He had found out about the two of you pretty quickly after you started being friendly towards one another, so it all came quite naturally to him. He wasn’t sure if he was already in love with you by the time he was certain that you were his soulmate. He didn’t really care though… you didn’t want to be in a relationship, not even a casual one. No strings attached. Wise decision, without a doubt.

“So, you’re still staying with the Potters for now?” you asked him, checking your watch.

The meeting was about to begin, but Dumbledore was still nowhere to be seen.

“Yep. It’s safest that way. James and Lily will soon have to go into hiding, and so will I. But for now, it’s better if we remain together. We can take turns at night to keep an eye on the door, you know?”

You nodded.

“Yeah… I’ll soon have to go into hiding too, I reckon.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… my last mission was rough. I know some Death Eaters have been looking for me. Actually… this might be one of my last missions out there, in the open.”

Sirius tried to hide how relieved he was by the news.

“If you’re chosen for this mission, that is,” he replied.

“Of course. But… you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. Well, I hope we both have a chance to actually go into hiding,” he added with a grim look painted all over his face.

You looked at him for a moment. You looked for a few seconds at his long dark hair that he had tied in a low bun. You looked at his stormy eyes, the dark bags that coloured the skin right under them, the stubble that coloured his jaw and cheeks. You had noticed already that he had been losing some weight over the past few months, his cheeks were a bit more hollowed than they used to be. Your eyes lingered on the beauty spot under his right eye…

You hoped he would go into hiding. You hoped he would be safe. Somehow, you knew that it would break your entire life if anything happened to him…

“Let’s hope so,” were the only words you had the strength to speak out loud.

Finally, Dumbledore entered the room. He looked exhausted as well. In the tiny room filled with dust and ashes from the large hearth sitting against the left wall, there were about twenty people gathered. All looked tired, most were wounded already. You were all in a pretty bad shape these days…

“My friends, thank you all for coming so quickly,” Dumbledore welcomed his soldiers. “I am terribly sorry to force you to come here tonight, but there is a matter we must discuss that cannot be delayed.”

He settled in the empty chair, facing the group. In the dim light of the room, turned golden and red as it came mostly from the fire burning in the hearth, his little glasses were shining bright, even more so than his blue eyes.

“I have gathered some information about a weapon that could be used by Voldemort against us. It is a very ancient artefact, that is safely kept at the Ministry of Magic. Or at least, for now it is kept there. One of our spies has warned me that Voldemort intends to steal it. This artefact would give him an immense power. We cannot let him have it.”

“How do you propose we do that, then?” someone asked, and you recognized Arthur Weasley, sitting a couple of rows before you. “It will be hard to place people to protect the artefact 24/7.”

“We will not protect the artefact while it is inside the Ministry. We must steal it. Or to be more precise, we must steal it before Voldemort has a chance to do so himself.”

A heavy silence settled inside the room.

Stealing something from the Ministry… it sounded like madness.

Dumbledore turned to you, and you already knew what he was about to ask. You worked at the Ministry. You knew the place like the back of your hand, you had learned all of its secret passages and hidden corridors in case something like this would happen.

You were Dumbledore’s way in and out of the Ministry.

“Y/N Y/L/N works at the Ministry and has been memorizing all the details needed to enter or exit each room of the building. We have a way in and a way out thanks to her. And if you agree to take such a risky mission, I reckon that we don’t have much of a choice this time. We need your help.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, and you didn’t notice the way Sirius’s fists clenched beside you as the old wizard spoke.

This was madness… this was too dangerous… If you were caught by Voldemort’s spies in the Ministry, you would be killed. If you were caught by any other member of the Ministry, you would be arrested, and sent to Azkaban, without a doubt. No matter what this artefact was, it seemed powerful enough to be a threat. If you were caught trying to steal it, it would be a one-way ticket for you towards the wizarding prison…

“You can count on me,” you nodded, and Sirius was impressed by how well you could hide your fear. You seemed peaceful, confident, as you answered.

“Good. I would also like to ask Arthur Weasley to go for this mission. You work at the Ministry as well, Arthur. I reckon that Y/N could use your help.”

“Of course, I’ll go,” he nodded, and his wife held his hand in hers, a sad but resigned expression painted on her features.

“We need one more person for this mission. I am now asking for a volunteer. It is dangerous, desperately so. I know that I am asking a lot from all of you; and I completely understand if you refuse to volunteer. But we must take the risk, or we might lose the war this time.”

Dumbledore was about to speak again when Sirius stood up.

“I’ll go with them.”

His voice was determined, firm. When you looked up at him, he didn’t seem afraid.

Your heart shattered at the thought of Sirius taking such risks.

But then… what choice did he have? The woman he loved, his soulmate was about to head right into a suicidal mission. He didn’t have a choice. He needed to go with you.

You would either both get out of this alive, or you would both lose your lives. But he intended to protect you, no matter the cost…

You don’t know where Sirius is. Nor do you know anything about Arthur. At this point, all you are aware of are the sparks and flames and the debris flying across the corridor as curses crash into the wall next to your head.

You feel something on your cheek. It’s wet and warm, it rolls down the side of your face all the way to your jawline. When you pass a finger across your temple, it’s painful. You look at your fingertips and recognize the dark liquid staining your skin now. You’re bleeding.

“She’s over there!”

You start running again. This hiding spot of yours, at the corner of a corridor, it couldn’t last for long, anyway. It was temporary. Just enough to catch your breath again before running as fast as you can once more. You need to reach the second floor, but you don’t know how. The more you run, the more certain you become that you’re not going to make it. No way. There are too many of them…

Arthur has the artefact, Sirius is with him. Your job now is to buy them some time. They need to get out of the Ministry, to ensure that Voldemort doesn’t get his hands on this magical object. To ensure that Sirius lives, too…

You run faster than you’ve ever run. You can see the end of the corridor now. You pass a series of closed doors on your right, empty offices left unattended for the night. Because it is night, indeed. You can’t see them now, but outside, constellations are lighting up the heavens with their cold and distant brightness.

You’ve almost reached the door to the stairs when sparks and flashes come flying around you.

Green. Red. Red. White. Green…

A red spell hits you on the leg, and you fall as a jolt of pain springs through your right knee. Your hands are not enough to break your fall, and as you nose collides with the floor, you hear the loud crack of your bone breaking. Blood floods from your nostrils. It hurts like hell…

You reach for your wand, but it’s too late. The three cloaked figures have closed up on you already, and your wand flies across the corridor, landing several meters away. As you roll to lay on your back, one of them kicks you hard in the stomach, and all of a sudden you have no air left in your lungs and you’re choking, unable to breathe at all for long seconds.

“How many of your lot are here?”

You recognize the voice. It’s easy to do so. She has a madness in her tone that matches no other.

You glare up at the skull hiding Bellatrix’s face.

“No one,” you reply.

“I know it’s a lie. There are at least two of you. I saw my cousin running away, like the coward he is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just working late tonight…”

“Don’t try to play dumb.”

“Just matching your own IQ, really…”

Another kick in your stomach prevents you from answering, as you struggle for breath again.

The tall figure standing next to Bellatrix tilts their head, as if weighing their options.

“Should we kill her now?” asks a voice you can’t recognize, although it belongs clearly to a man. “Or do we have time to have a little fun with her first?”

Bellatrix and the stranger turn to the third Death Eater. He’s clearly the leader of this operation.

“Do as you please. But if you hurt her first, try to find out about her accomplices. We need the artefact.”

You recognize that voice though. Cold, slow, unbearably detached…

“Fuck you, Snivellus.”

You guess a smile in the sound of his voice when he replies to your insult.

“Looks like you’re not the one laughing anymore, are you Y/N?”

He turns to the others, giving orders in the same impersonal tone he always wears.

“I’ll go look for Black. You two try to make her talk. You have ten minutes. Then, whether or not she’s told you anything, kill her. Aurors will soon be here, we must leave before they arrive.”

He walks down the corridor again, leaving you alone with Bellatrix and her deadly friend.

She lets out a mad laugh, clapping her hands together in excitement.

“Finally! Finally, we can have some fun!” she cries in excitement.

“Tell us where your friends are,” the man asks, already pointing his wand towards you. “How many of you came here tonight?”

You try to move your legs again, but fail miserably. Your wand is too far for you to have any chance to reach it.

So… that’s how you’re going to die, huh?

You merely hope that Sirius makes it… At this moment, you can’t find a way to care about your mission, about the artefact, not even about Arthur, even though you genuinely like the guy. No, all you can think of is Sirius. You pray for him to be safe. You can’t say that you’ve ever really believed in God. How could you with all that you’ve seen of the cruelty of this world? Still, if there’s a God, any God, you beg Them now. You beg Them to save him…

If you could have had a soulmate, you wished they could have been Sirius…

But you don’t have any time left. It’s okay, as long as Sirius lives…

“Go fuck yourselves, you psychopathic piece of shit,” is your only answer, you spit the words with all the hatred your heart is physically able to create.

You don’t need to see their faces to know that they’re both grinning. They’re enjoying this. They’re enjoying the fact that your silence is synonym of an excuse for them to torture you as much as they want for the next ten minutes.

So be it then.

Red sparks form at the tip of the man’s wand before he even speaks the curse. You know what he’s going to say. You close your eyes, bracing yourself…

“Crucio!”

He doesn’t know where you are. That is the scariest part. He has no clue.

Arthur is gone, safely escaping with the artefact. He’s going to call for reinforcement. And Sirius was supposed to follow him as he Apparated, he was supposed to run away as well.

He can’t. How could he leave you behind?

He’s running. Running as fast as he can. He has never run so fast in his entire life. He pulls up his sleeve, staring at the arrow inked in his skin.

Right. He must turn on his right next.

He’s coming. He’s coming for you he simply hopes he’s not too late. Lungs burning, throat dry, panting. Everything hurts. He’s never been one to believe in God or a superior power, after all, he’s seen too much of the world for that. Still, now he’s begging. He’s begging, if there is a God out there, They must protect you. They must because… because he’s fucked in the head, and a real mess, and beyond saving, beyond repair, but he loves you so much it aches there in his heart, that feeling that gnaws at him at night. He loves you so much he can’t live without you. He can���t do it. He understands it now, how most soulmates simply die together, in their sleep, as if they had agreed on their body giving up together. He understands now all these widows and widowers dying right after their partners has passed away.

Because the mere thought of you leaving is unbearable. He can’t take it.

He reaches the end of the corridor, collides quite violently into the wall as he’s been running too fast to turn the corner. He glances down at his arm again.

Straight ahead.

Straight ahead, Sirius is running once more. He’s coming, you just have to hold on… just a little longer…

He hears it before he sees you.

He hears the ear-piercing shout you let out. His heart is already pounding because of this crazy race of his but it breaks now. It shatters, like crystal falling on the floor. He can’t go faster, he physically can’t and it’s killing him…

At last, he’s come close enough to see the red sparks leaving the Death Eater’s wand, red in the almost-complete darkness that covers every inch of the corridor. A flash of red, you’re screaming again…

They’re torturing you. The realization strikes him, and when he hurries towards you and the two Death Eaters, it is with the intention of killing them both that he forces his feet forward.

His steps echo through the corridor, and your tormentors hear him coming. No advantage bound to surprise. He doesn’t care. When Sirius throws a Reducto curse at the Death Eater on the left, and that the man flies across the corridor to crash into the wall, Sirius hopes he’s dead. He wants him to be. He’ll deal later with his guilt, with morality, with good and evil, for now you’re lying there, on the ground, he can hear you crying in the stillness of the dark corridor, and he doesn’t care about anything but you. He can lose his soul for all he cares. He can be sent to hell, he can be arrested, he can lose his humanity, he doesn’t give a damn. All he cares about is your form lying there, huddled up on yourself, softly crying, in pain… you must be in so much pain…

For how long have they been hurting you like this?

He dodges a murdering curse, the green flash missing his shoulder by only a few inches. The duel begins. He’s certain to know this voice.

It’s Bellatrix. He knows it’s her…

She’s mad, but she’s strong, and he struggles against her. After a couple of minutes, both of the fighters have to take a short break. Only a moment spent staring at each other, although all Sirius can see in the dim light is the vague appearance of a dead face…

He notices then that you’re silent. There is no noise left in the building but his breathing and Bellatrix’s. You’re not crying anymore.

Bellatrix lets out one of her mad laughs.

“Ha, there she goes. I reckon your little friend here has passed out. Or perhaps she’s dead? Possible, we had a lot of fun with her, after all…”

It’s back. The complete, pure hatred in his heart. He’s tired after duelling, perhaps that’s why his wrath had partly faded. Now it’s back.

Before she can add another word, Sirius summons all his strength, all the magic boiling inside of him to curse his opponent. Despite the shield she summons, Bellatrix is sent flying towards the wall as well, and lies there unconscious.

It leaves Sirius empty, exhausted…

He doesn’t care though. He summons some more light at the tip of his wand in a silent spell, and hurries to you. He falls on his knees by your side more than he consciously kneels down.

“Y/N…”

His voice is a mere whisper, barely audible, barely there at all. He bends down to rest his ear against your mouth, but he can hear you breathing and he feels the air brushing his skin. He heaves a relieved sigh, even if he notices how irregular and weak your breathing is.

He calls for you several times, gently shakes your shoulder, before you finally blink your eyes open.

“Sirius…” you call, only half-conscious.

Everything hurts. Everything hurts like never before. You can barely breathe at all, you notice how hard it is to force every intake of air into your lungs.

It hurts… you want it all to stop…

Sirius carefully brushes his knuckles across your cheek in a soothing gesture. You love the feeling of his skin against yours and you do find the tender touch reassuring.

“Y/N, you have to stay with me, okay? Arthur is gone to look for help. They’re on their way. You just have to hold on now, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Snape… he was here too…” you breath, your voice hoarse and shaky but this is important and you force the words out even if it hurts your chest and ribs and face to do so…

“Snape?”

“Yes… he went looking for you. They saw you when we separated.”

“Don’t worry about this git, he’s not important right now.”

“You could stop him…”

“Who cares about stopping this prick? I’m not leaving your side.”

You start coughing, it hurts too much to breathe, it’s too much effort…

When blood comes out of your mouth, Sirius’s eyes grow round.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have a clue. He’s shaking by now.

You don’t seem able to calm down this coughing fit, so Sirius slowly, carefully, takes you in his arms and cradles you. It’s tender, the way he holds you against him. It’s loving, actually.

He strokes gently your hair to calm you down, and it works somehow.

He smiles.

“Calm down, it’s okay. I’m here, help is on its way. You’re going to be just fine.”

But you know he’s lying. You know it because you can read it in his grey eyes. Stormy. The colour of a rainy afternoon.

You know you’re dying, you’re not stupid enough to believe in miracles. You’re happy these eyes are the last thing you’re going to see though.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and Sirius gently brushes it away before putting down his wand next to him, so he can caress your cheek properly.

You have one last regret though. Now that it’s time… you might as well admit it out loud.

“Sirius…”

“I’m here. Don’t speak, keep your strength. It’s okay…”

“I wish…”

You have a bitter smile as you glance down at the bandage that never leaves your forearm.

“Can you… can you take it off?”

Sirius frowns hard.

“I thought you didn’t want to know about your soulmate.”

“Yeah… that was… pretty stupid. I wish I knew them… I wish… I wish I could see them, at least once…”

Your eyes flutter shut, but Sirius sounds so distraught as he calls your name again that you have to force your eyelids to lift up again.

You give him a smile.

“You know… I wish… it’s gonna sound silly but… I wish it were you.”

Sirius lets out a chuckle, and you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because it really is crazy… but then again, you’re dying. You’re not fully aware of what you’re saying.

“You idiot!” he lets out between gritted teeth. “You moron!”

You frown a little, the movement too painful for you to do it properly.

Sirius shakes his head at you, before pulling on your bandage to reveal the compass painted on your skin.

He lifts up your arm a little so you can see the arrow pointing towards him.

“It is me, you moron,” he breathes, and you notice then that he’s crying too. “I’m your soulmate, you bloody imbecile!”

He hears you gasping, but the sound is hoarse because of your wounds. He cups your face in his large, calloused hand, forcing you to look up at him. And as you lose yourself in his grey eyes, drowning in salty tears, you reckon you could never look away again… you don’t have that kind of strength…

“I’m your soulmate,” he repeats, cradling you closer in his arms. “You’re my soulmate, Y/N. I love you… so much. You have to stay alive, do you hear? Because if you die… I can’t take it. I can’t lose you. So please… I’m begging you, Y/N… hold on. Just a little longer, please. They’re coming to help you, but you need to hold on. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave…”

You’re going to speak, when Sirius looks up. He’s heard footsteps hurrying towards the two of you, down the corridor. He reaches for his wand, points it at the approaching sounds… he can hear that several people are approaching.

When he finally recognizes Arthur, along with James and Marlene and Moody, he heaves a relieved sigh, and lowers his wand again, a hopeful smile curving up his lips.

But then he looks at you once more, to find your eyes closed, your lips slightly parted.

And no matter how many times he calls for you, you don’t wake up.

When he looks at his compass again, the lines are fading. Slowly, they are disappearing, the dark lines becoming paler and paler… He stares with horrified eyes.

His compass is vanishing.

You’re dying…

You were lying on a bed. When you woke up, you were alone in a hospital room of St Mungo’s. Your body was aching but the pain had mostly subsided, it was bearable now. You could breathe easily once more. You were exhausted though.

You stared at the white ceiling for a while. It was stained with tiny cracks and defects in the paint. It felt cold, impersonal. Like everything in a hospital.

The first thought that came back to you was the Ministry. This corridor, Snape, Bellatrix and the unknown Death Eater. The pain, so much of it…

And then, Sirius.

You remembered Sirius holding you against him, you remembered his grey gaze drowning in his tears. You remembered the shakiness of his begging voice, you remembered the arrow on your arm pointing at him, you remembered his confession.

Sirius was your soulmate…

You were glad to be alone in this hospital room. Because it meant that you could play the scene over and over again in your head.

Your heart was pounding.

Sirius was your soulmate…

As realization finally formed in your mind, a smile appeared on your lips.

You wanted it to be him. You wanted Sirius for soulmate, and suddenly it was very clear why you longed for him this way. He was your soulmate. That was why you wanted him. Why you had always craved for him, hoped it would be him that the Universe had sent for you.

You lifted your arm, noticed it was still bandaged. You made a movement to take the clothe off, but the door of your room opened, and you were distracted, looking up at the newcomer.

Sirius gave you a crooked smile.

“So… how is our hero of the day doing?”

You grinned at him as he sat on the edge of your bed. He smelled of cigarettes and was holding a warm cup of coffee in his hand. You guessed he was coming back after a smoke.

Had he stayed with you while you were asleep?

“Have been better,” you admitted. “It’s a tough job to be heroic.”

“I can see that. You look terrible.”

“You look exhausted yourself.”

“Just trying to match your energy, really. Wouldn’t want you to feel too bad by looking my usual gorgeous self.”

You couldn’t refrain a chuckle, and the sound of it made him grin.

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence settled in the room for a moment, as you stared at each other, until Sirius would take a sip of his coffee, looking down as he reached for your hand.

“Do you remember what happened at the Ministry?”

You nodded.

“What happened to the Death Eaters?” you asked, not quite ready yet to talk about what Sirius meant to discuss.

“They ran away. I was too busy taking care of you, I didn’t notice anything. I let them get away.”

“Well, you did save my life, so… I reckon you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.”

His thumb drew tiny patterns across the back of your hand, it made your heart jump and skips beats.

It felt soothing, reassuring… A simple gesture that meant the world to you.

“I wasn’t talking about the Death Eaters when I asked you if you remembered what happened, though,” insisted Sirius, his voice low, deep, warm and yet deadly serious.

You nodded again.

“I remember. Until I blacked out, I remember everything.”

You smiled.

“I reckon I won’t need to hide that compass anymore.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why?”

“You didn’t want to know who your soulmate was, and I told you.”

“I wanted to know. I wanted to know before dying. I’m not mad at all.”

You noticed that he was clenching his jaw, and he suddenly fled your stare, looking at your entwined hands instead of your eyes; enlaced fingers that were meant to hold onto each other this way...

“You must be disappointed,” he breathed, so quietly you could barely hear him.

You frowned hard.

“Disappointed? In what?”

“In me,” he answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He shrugged, a bitter smile adorning his lips now.

“I’m a mess,” he went on. “I’m… lost and… my childhood and everything… it’s still hard for me to deal with it all. I’m not… You could have much better than me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry your soulmate had to be someone like me.”

When you remained silent, he ended up looking at you again, because he couldn’t take the stillness that had settled around the two of you. It was too oppressive, too scary.

But when he met your eyes once more, you were smiling.

“You really are dumb sometimes, Sirius Black.”

He quirked an eyebrow. You gave his hand a tender squeeze before speaking again.

“I’m very happy it’s you, Sirius. I told you in this corridor that you were the one I wanted, and I was being honest. I’m so happy it’s you. I wanted it to be you.”

“Why?” he shook his head, frowning hard by now. “I’m… I’m a mess…”

“True. But then, I’m a mess too. And besides… you’re a kind, smart, reckless, loyal mess and… that’s all I want really. Doesn’t matter if you’re a mess, the world is a mess. I’m just happy you’re the one for me. Cause I love you… tremendously so.”

Finally, he grinned. You let him unfasten your bandage, unwrap the clothe to reveal the compass on your skin. He rested his forearm next to yours to show the two arrows pointing at each other.

“You gave me a hell of fright tonight, don’t do that again, please…” he whispered.

“What if we went into hiding together? Keep each other safe?”

He grinned again.

“Sounds like a good idea. Very responsible.”

“One of us has to be. And you’re reckless, it can’t be you.”

“You’re as reckless as I am!”

“Maybe… but I’m still smarter.”

You laughed together, but Sirius had to give it to you.

“Maybe. Or well… wiser, at the very least.”

“I’ll take it.”

You raised your hand to his cheek, fingers shaking slightly. He leaned into your soft touch, closing his eyes to bathe in the warmth of your palm.

“I’m terrified about this. About us,” you admitted. “Because now… I depend on you. I depend on you so much…”

“I know. I feel the same.”

“Sirius… are we going to be okay?”

But as he smiled, you couldn’t see any lies in his grey eyes. He seemed to speak the truth. And despite the war raging outside, despite the risks you had to take, despite what had happened during the night, despite your wounds, despite all logical thinking… when he answered you, you believed him.

“Of course, love. We’ll be okay. You’ll see. We’ll be just fine.”

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

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @hells-escapees

[sun-stricken]

Some ideas for you! Take your pick!

Gray frequents the infirmary the most. In one of my ideas lately, after thinking about iced shell, maybe ice make makes the body a bit more…prone to cracking? Maybe he bruises easy and gets a lot of head wounds. It’s why he’s always in bandages longer. I like the idea of Porlyusica getting sick of him.

Team Natsu/the guild/slayers taking care of him, even when he doesn’t realise it. (Against pervs, against himself, maybe people are a bit racist (with him being not from Fiore).

Gray gets sad sometimes and dissociates.

Gray has night terrors so he has sleeping pills, but on missions he also has caffeine tablets to keep him awake so he doesn’t have terrors around them. Safe to say, they aren’t happy when they find this.

Lucy asks Gray about where he’s from, traditions etc, and the guild realises he might be homesick so they secretly try to learn things for him. (Over the years they’ve picked up swear words (Gray doesn’t realise he’s doing it and they’ve never told him))

Gray’s actually quite touch starved. His body temperature is cold so most people stay away/ don’t touch him (but don’t realise they’re doing it). The only one who can stand is Natsu because of his magic. Maybe it gets worse after becoming a slayer.

…also do you take spicy requests?

you cant just give me all these amazing concepts and tell me to pick☹️ i will do a little for all of them if it kills me

Also yes! i absolutely do take nsfw requests! feel free to ask me anything! im surprised it took so long to ask me that tbh

there is a lot here so vv

1.

* Hes the single reason why the guild infirmary is always having to restock

* Due to Grays multiple usages of iced shell some of his body did turn to ice, most sections of his bones, it looks like a normal bones but it acts like ice, which means hes more likely to break a bone

* unfortunately, its not like a normal broken bone for obvious reasons. itll splinter and have hairline cracks all over the bones before it breaks.

* It takes less time to heal than a normal break, he just has to get it wrapped and limit his usage of his magic so it can ‘heal’ (as in, ice it over again) the breaks and cracks. It takes less time to heal and also less pressure to break, win lose situation tbh

* Which is also why head wounds are especially dangerous for him, skull fractures are more common for him than anyone would like, which is to say any at all

* His external body temperature is low and causes him to bruise like a peach, getting a friendly slap on the back can cause him to bruise for weeks, especially from Erza

* bro hasnt gone a day without a bruise in like ten years

* Hes been dragged to Porlyusica so many times now that anytime she sees him (on the field, in her office, even completely out of context and hes not visibly injured) its like second nature to check him out first

* if she could go a month, or even just two weeks! without seeing him she might consider changing her views on humanity (probably not but its the thought that counts)

* Also Gray has small sections of what people think is frostbite on his hands and feet. It doesnt hurt or limit him at all but theyre there, showed up some time post devil slayer magic

* ALSO! His blood runs slower and is darker due to his low body temperature, causes him only the vaguest of problems but its a thing (this is common in most powerful ice wizards)

2.

* Gray likes to pretend hes good at taking care of himself, but hes not hes really not

* Luckily he has a lot of nosy and protective friends thatll do it for him (in their own ways)

* Natsu literally temperature exploding some guys glass at a bar when he got wayyyy too friendly and handsy with Gray

* they were kicked out but he was really proud of himself

* Rogue drawing shadows towards Gray if he needs to sleep and its too bright, or Sting creating a warm light beam when its dark out and Gray wants to embrace his inner cat and sleep in a sunbeam

* Wendy checking him over first bc she knows hes one of the people who wouldnt ask for help if he was injured

* hes had multiple people physically remove him from fights/training sessions because he was visibly pushing himself way too hard

* Part of the reason Gray learned Fioren so fast was because he was sick of people looking at him like he was stupid for not speaking ‘right’

* he mentioned this to the little slayer group they got goin on and from then on out they were like, hella hyper vigilant with anything that could make him insecure like that again

3.

* It really scared him the first couple times he did it, it still does. He hates losing time

* It started happening during his time with Ur, he cant remember a lot of it, training, blink, fighting, blink, training, blink, training, you get the idea

* It doesnt happen often, and he tried not to think of it past the point of trying to get it to stop

* Its happens often when hes highly stressed but theres no immediate physical threat, his brain doesnt understand whats going on or why its so stressed but knows he doesnt need to physically protect himself yet so it mentally protects him (if that makes sense), usually when hes alone, or when a threat is gone

* he confided in Erza about this once, and now more times than not when he ‘wakes up’ shes there talking to him

* only part he feels is good about it is that it makes him exhausted and lets him sleep easier

* He doesn’t usually dissociate often, not that he has much of a choice, if he did it wouldnt happen at all, but it was a lot worse when he was younger, his memories of early fairy tail are all blurry and he felt like he was on autopilot even when he was ‘awake’

* he hates it

4.

* After his team found out abt his vast array of pharmaceuticals they were so confused and concerned and probably borderline paranoid, because who needs that many medications for one person??

* Gray had been taking sleeping pills at a high enough dose to let him have a dreamless sleep for so long that most over the counter brands dont actually work on him

* but he kept all the old bottle that didnt work just in case he got desperate to sleep and they suddenly magically worked again

* The caffeine tablets were self explanatory after seeing all the sleeping meds, but he also (unwillingly) admitted he takes them on missions so he wouldnt wake them if he had a nightmare, and also for days when they were especially bad so he could go long enough without sleep hed just crash and sleep with no issues. Canr have a nightmare if you dont sleep

* His team was also extremely unimpressed by these explanations

* Erza and Natsu (and also Happy) strong armed him into going to Porlyusica for actual helpful solutions since he refused to go to his actual doctor

* While Lucy and Wendy disposed of the full fucking pharmacy (seriously, he coulda started a business or smth) he had in his bedroom

* For some odd reason he felt lighter and less moody when he was on actual helpful medication and was getting genuine rest

* how strange

* and if his team checks his house for another pharmacy in the making thats nobodies business but theirs

* Also Erza tried to ban Gray from caffeine while on a quest , or at least limit it, but he looked at her like she was absolutely batshit crazy to the point she got embarrassed and had to retract the ban

* But she will tie him to the bed to make him sleep on quests if she has to

5.

* The first time Lucy asked where Gray was from was before Galuna, he ended up giving her a shady answer and redirecting the question to her (reminder, before galuna, before phantom lord) which she ended up also being a bit cagey about so she let it go

* But Lucy is nosy (endearing) by nature, so she asked if he had any different holiday type traditions sometime after Galuna, and to the surprise of, well, literally everyone, he did and gave examples

* which lead down a rabbit hole of the guild fretting a bit abt how to make him comfortable (even though hed been with them for a decade) bc he mentioned he used to be really homesick the first couple years, and sometimes still is

* Most the guild still had no clue where he was from so they were really just running in circles for awhile

* Levy tried to figure it out from the time he accidentally dropped, what she assumed to be colorful curse words, random foreign language bits

* didnt really work but she tried

* so for months he was bombarded with ‘subtle’ questions about his hometown and its culture, which got shut down most the time

* Thats not to say he didnt give them anything, he gave them enough that they were incorporated into existing traditions and holidays they already celebrated

* it was a very sweet gesture that Gray absolutely did not tear up at, so shut up—

6.

* Gray is the most touch starved fool on the planet. ive always loved the idea of him liking touch a lot

* He grew up in a pretty affectionate family, his parents were always around to ruffle his hair, or hug, or hold his hand, or carry him, they were just very physically affectionate and he enjoyed it

* With it made him nauseous, guilty really, because Ur and Lyon were also physically affectionate but it wasnt them, it wasnt his family

* Also it was plain uncomfortable at times, part of learning ice magic was to almost numb himself to cold, but in the beginning numbed him to everything and it became uncomfortable to be touched because it was tingly and it hurt

* Early Fairy Tail he was completely closed off, couldnt stand being touched, didnt want to get cozy and make friends because he planned to leave anyways.

* Ice mages (Fire mages also) temperatures can fluctuate depending on how they feel, for example, if they’re experiencing negative emotions their temperature and the space around them will get colder

* and Gray used to be so angry and upset all the time, and hed just beginning to learn magic so he didnt know how to fix it yet, which caused a lot of discomfort for people.

* People didnt stay around him long because the discomfort of being too cold, and what was he gonna do about it? ask them to come back?? hell no

* So he gained a reputation and people didnt want to disrespect a volatile childs apparent boundaries so they didnt question it

* He was fine with fighting being the only real prolonged touch hed get, totally

* But Natsus got this thing about him that makes him think he can do the impossible, which includes shaking Grays world view and comfort levels

* At some point in their teens Natsu would not let go of the alleged fact that Grays didnt like being touched for some reason, so he did what he does best and pressed the issue

* it ended with Gray being a puddle in his lap while he had a crisis about everything he thought he knew about himself while Natsu celebrated his victory against him

* Its not completely public knowledge but the guild most definitely knows at least a little about how much Gray is touch starved

* he doesnt openly welcome it with open arms but if its happening and he trusts the person hes not gonna say no

* he probably gets a euphoria high from a head pat or smth

* After getting his devil slayer magic is absolutely got worse, having two powerful ice magics, one of which he was still struggling to get the hang of, in one body made it difficult to control the temperature around him, and after long enough people would start shivering if he wasnt careful

* it sucked, totally and completely sucked

* Natsu still remained unbothered and would increase his own temperature to counterbalance Grays, which helped a lot

* he still gets all up in Grays space no matter how much Gray tell him to fuck off, he knows he needs it

[ravenwitch45]

Ok so you know how striker was lit on fire I'm the new episode? Can j request headcanons where striker comes back to his house and his female s/o helps him? Feel free to ignore

(Yeah good lord, I felt so bad when that happened, he deserved it and I don't blame Blitz but man, how desperate and scared he seemed by it fucking hurt, so love this idea, I'll do my best to give the cowboy some comfort.)

Striker getting help from his Fem SO with his burns, reluctantly XP

Striker practically slammed the door open before closing it, startling you greatly, his clothes were singed and his tail was wrapped around his waist, a burn mark on the tip showing why he was avoiding dragging it across the ground, a very disgruntled look on his face

"What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!"You exclaim, causing him to groan a bit "Nothing! A job just went a little so-south that's all"He grumbles awkwardly, you of course say that's bullshit noting the several burn on his body and clothing and he's too tired to argue with you.

You settle for getting him to sit down so you could help with the burns, pulling out some cool burn gel to place on the burns after he strips down with some difficulty to show you it all, you can't fix the clothes a seamster is probably what he needs but that can wait.

He growls at the sting and chill as you apply the gel at every burn, the one on his tail being particularly difficult as he keeps squirming and rattling it, making you pin it down so you could actually do it, which he grumbles at of course, even more so when you tell him he'll have to try not to move his tail all that much so he doesn't fling the gel off.

Striker is far from a nice patient, but he's not fighting you much either, just complaining and groaning which you ignore both, cause you know he needs this if he doesn't want these wounds for longer then necessary, maybe even avoid them scarring too badly if at all.

You wish he called you when it happened, since a quick application helps more but you don't complain, your just glad he's alive and not sick from the wounds getting infected or something. You still got to him relativley quick.

Eventually you finish apply stuff on all the burns you can see with him just in his boxers before asking if there's any other burns you should know about, he stiffens at that before saying no, and you immediately know he's lying.

You know the routine well enough, so you just ask where it is? His eyes widen but he still shakes his head, refusing to say it, too embarassing so you ask again and he snaps "Why do you care so much?! I can do it myself Y/N! Haven't you helped enough with the aftermath of me being pathetic already!"

You go silent for a second before raising a brow "Okay first, I'm helping you Striker, there's no reason to be like that, and second, in no way are you pathetic! What got that idea in your head?"

"Because I keep losing Y/N! Whenever a job puts me up against them, or anyone with a decent bit of skill, I lose horribly and end up having to run away with my fucking tail between my legs, I keep getting humliated!"

"Having a run of bad luck doesn't make you pathetic, Losing some fights doesn't either, what matters is that your alive for satan's sake! I know how quick death happens around here, so you surviving is strong in my eyes."You counter making him grumble

"I... I just hate not being strong enough, or smart enough it's just... I hate feeling this weak sometimes."The cowboy admits before you hug him, making sure to not irritate any of his burns "Your not weak, it's strong to live to fight again another day, and I'm sure you'll win this one day, one way or another, just let yourself rest, and give yourself some grace Striker."

He awkwardly nods, thanking you with a slight blush on his face and you say your welcome before smirking, "Now where's the last burn Striker?" causing him to sigh as he grips the elastic of his boxers "Not a word after we're done, ya hear?"

"No promises."

[luvhoneypie]

BE MY HERO

|K! Bakugou x FEM!reader|

| Genre: Angst |

@solitudeeeesworld here ya go :)

It was the middle of the war, y/n's abdomen had been stabbed through the back. She looked down just under her breasts, a blade was oh so sickeningly present. Y/n gasped as the blade was swiftly pulled out of her abdomen. For some odd reason it didn't hurt, until she went to move. The pain struck her like a cannon... And much like her quirk it spread throughout her entire body like lightning. The voice from behind her rung in her ears as they spoke in a raspy tone. "You'll soon be out of our way, it was a shame you didn't want to convert.." She felt faint and soon collapsed Katsuki's eyes had widened as she fell, he couldn't process it. His first instinct was to grab her, his eyes wide and yet... They were blank. Katsuki felt nauseous when the voice spoke those words. His eyes widened and he slowly walked towards her body. His eyes flickered from blank to filled with anger as he realized what was wrong. He dropped to his knees and gently grabbed her. Her heart slowly stopped and she fell limp. Katsuki looked at her body with tears beginning to slide down his face. "What the h-hell??" He muttered, staring at her body.she took in a shaky and shallow breath as she looked at him. "Kat- I-" She couldn't even finish what she was saying, she felt like she was going to die. He stared at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence. When she didn't he grew confused and angry. "Speak, goddammit!! Speak!" He hissed, staring into her eyes. "Kit kat... It hurts" She said with dead eyes and a breaking voice Katsuki's emotions felt as if they were being pulled at in every direction as they all mixed into rage. His eyes stared into hers, his face pale. His breathing grew labored. He grabbed her and pulled her close to him, clutching her body against his chest."i- I need to get up... I- I need- need to-" She tried to move before her entire body tensed from the sudden shock of pain. Katsuki held her as he trembled in fear. She was in pain, he could see it on her face. He put a gentle hand on her cheek. She was still alive... "H-hey, stay quiet. I-it's going to hurt I know, but please stay still.. please." He whispered into her ear, trying to keep his voice calm.He stayed with her, cradling her close. He was worried to death, his heart was pounding as a cold sweat ran down his face. His eyes were glued to her face. He couldn't lose her, she was too important."katsuki... Wher- I- I need to fight, y- you need to fight... W- we need to win this! I- I became a h- hero to save lives, please! Let me get up!" "Sh-shut up! You idiot." He replied, his voice harsh yet it was laced with worry. He felt tears streaming down his face as he trembled. She had lost blood, lots of blood. All it would take was for her to move a little too much and the little bit of blood left in her system would leave her body. "P-please..." He whispered, eyes staring at her with worry and fear. She finally looked down at her wound and her eyes started to feel heavy "Katsuki.. I- Am I going to die.. I don't wanna die yet... Please.. I wanna keep fighting with you" His eyes widened when he saw her stare at her wound. He felt sick seeing all that blood coming from the gaping hole in her abdomen. The tears on his face continued streaming when he looked into her eyes. "You won't..." He whispered, trying to sound brave and reassuring."I- I'm dying..." She finally said, her voice breaking more. The tears stopped streaming down her face.. she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was to die... 'Maybe it's for a reason' She thought. "Don't say that." He choked back tears. His voice was wavering when he spoke. The tears fell even quicker when a thought crossed his mind. He was going to lose her, lose a friend that's been with him since childhood, a friend that's saved countless lives. His hands wrapped around her tighter, his grip becoming tighter as she went limp. "No!!! You're not dying!!! No! No!! No!!" The tears ran down his face harder than ever before, his voice breaking with every word."katsuki... Right now... I need you to listen to me.."

She said as she cupped his face with her bloodied hand "Y-yeah..?" His eyes were still glued to hers, his tears continuing to pour. He wasn't ready to hear what she was about to say, even though he knew she was going to."right now... You need to be a hero.. please"

"be my hero"

"Save me, save others... I need a hero to save my life, so please be that hero.." He felt his heart shatter as he slowly put his head on hers. His eyes shut tight as he finally let it out. The hot tears burned his cheeks when they ran down. "I-I'll be your hero..." He muttered, sounding weak and almost like a boy who wanted his mother. When he realized what he said, he quickly changed his tone to the stoic and angry one he usually has."A hero isn't afraid to die, or sacrifice their life... Don't be mad, sad, angry, or afraid when I'm gone, just know I died being a hero.. because I want to be just like you" His eyes widened at what she just said. It hit him hard, his anger and sadness replaced with a wave of guilt and remorse. It was his fault she was going to die. It was him who told her to be his hero. She was to die because of him. "Please... Please!! Don't die!" He sobbed, hugging her tightly and rocking back and forth. "Why do you have to die? You're too important!!" He yelled, unable to contain himself. He was going to snap.

"A hero is going to save us.. please be that hero" She continued "you are my hero and always have been.." Then she breathed her last words, ones that would stick with his for the rest of his life

"I love you"

Katsuki tensed, his body frozen at the voice. "Serves the bitch right, she shouldn't have gotten in my way" Shigaraki spat venomously behind him. He felt fear as he slowly turned to look over his shoulder. His anger grew as soon as he saw Shigaraki, the man who he now blamed for the death of his best friend. "I'm going to kill you." He replied, his voice dead silent. He stood up and took a step towards him.

[crystalelemental]

I may have a full writeup opinion thing later on, but for now, a general gist for Mob Psycho 100 now that we’ve finished.

Holy shit this show is fantastic.  Legitimately one of the best anime I’ve seen.

Shigeo is my boy.  I think this is a pretty common response but that is baby.

Ritsu’s great too, and I adore that conclusion in the final episodes.  He had been repeating that phrase a lot throughout the series, and I had noticed it as a thing where he’s constantly offering to talk, but Shigeo refuses to really tell him what’s up, and the payoff to that is fantastic.

Teru’s the fucking man.  Rival characters are great broadly, but this dude is the shit.  His piece in the final episodes is legitimately my favorite; he cannot match Shigeo by power, and cannot truly stop him raging out of control.  So instead, he goes out of his way to protect what he knows Shigeo would care about.  I can’t stop your powers.  But I can stop you from betraying your own ideals.  You are my rival, and I am here for you so hard that I will protect you from yourself.  Fucking love this kid.

I wound up really liking Reigen too.  He’s such an interesting character.  Kind of a shithead, but at the same time...he legitimately does help people, even if he lies about what the help is, and has a pretty solid sense of ethical action and what’s right to do.

To avoid going on about all the characters, I’ll just say no one missed.  Everyone’s solid.  Body Improvement Club are fantastic bros, Dimple’s a bro, telepathy club are great when they get serious, it’s nice to see literally every antagonist come around.

Okay I lied one more: Boss.  Like, not a huge fan of him broadly, but I adore how they wrapped him up.  It was so set to be an attempted self-sacrifice for Shigeo, who had done similar without the sacrifice bit, but it mirrors the student council president bit.  Just stepping out of it isn’t atonement.  You have to work hard and be there to make things right.  And when making that final choice...he does choose to stay, to put in that hard work for his son and his estranged wife.  And it’s so goddamn good.

With that, I think I can start gushing about themes.  Human connection being the biggest.  I love how this show handles connection, because I feel like it’s a fairly simple premise?  Like a lot of shows go for that as a major facet.  How often is your shonen protag’s thing “magical ability to be friends with anyone?”  But I think what works for this show is two things.  One, that they never back down from it.  In most stories, there’s the inevitable exception.  Someone you can’t reach out to and change.  And the notion is that you’re supposed to know when to draw that line, and when it’s okay to avoid “going soft” to protect everyone else.  That doesn’t really happen.  Shigeo will fight anyone who is a legitimate threat and not seriously hold back, but at no point is it fully malicious “you have to be destroyed,” which is something for later.  The other is...it’s not friendship.  Like, he has a very clear group of friends.  But there are plenty of people who aren’t strictly friends with him.  They’ve reformed, but not in a way where they’re integral to his life and all about staying close.  Rather, it’s more about what some stranger has done to really change your life, and what you in turn can do for others.

The other big one is that sense of special vs. average, and that what’s important is self-improvement.  Shigeo’s is really interesting as a protagonist, in that he’s...well, a lot like most shonen protags that never lose, but specifically my comparison was always Saitama.  There is never, at any point, a question of whether or not Shigeo’s gonna win.  He isn’t just strong, he’s virtually untouchable.  He is, by the standards of psychic powers, the most specialest ever.  And while Saitama’s power is played for comedic anti-climax, Shigeo’s is both to showcase a theme, and to a degree to set up for the final battle that’s ultimately against himself.  But his power, and him being the strongest, would usually be a huge deal, and the thing to focus on as he meets other people who test those limits and he has to refine that one major focus.  That’s really what shonen focuses on: what makes you special, and that being the area to refine as you become the best.  But...not here.  Shigeo is, from the start, very focused on the idea of being nothing without his powers.  If he didn’t have this, what would be left?  A lot of characters seem to have this history of wanting to be someone important; of wanting to leave a mark.  And that aspect that makes you special becomes the focus, only to be revealed that it’s either not really want you wanted, or you’re not actually the best at it, or that being so successful has gone to your head and poisoned your relationships with others.  It’s why I loved the Body Improvement Club so much.  They’re complete bros, and are super supportive.  Yeah, Shigeo passes out like every time.   But one time, he passes out a little later than he used to, and that’s a celebration.  You’re getting better.  You’re improving yourself.  The critical focus is on the idea that getting better as a person, and being well-rounded, is far more important than being “special.”  It’s Reigen’s first real teaching.  Take pride in what you can do, but don’t let it convince you you’re better than anyone.

The best bit for this was near the end of season 2, when Shigeo confronts the Claw underlings about what they’re destroying, and pressing “Could you make these things?  Can you do all the things that these people you claim are beneath you have done?  No one lives alone; everyone relies on the kindness of others.”  That’s honestly one of my favorite scenes in...anything?  It’s so strong.

But really, the biggest angle is just in that sense of Shigeo’s conflict always being with himself.  Don’t use your powers on others.  Don’t lose control.  Maintain.  And that’s important, but then to some degree he’s not honest with himself, and that repression manifests directly as the final conflict, as he loses control, something others have alluded to throughout the series.  It’s so good.

What that I want to talk about an aspect I was the most concerned about: Tsubomi.  She doesn’t get a ton of play.  Most of what we know of her is flashbacks, or other characters’ descriptions.  It makes her kinda hard to read, but the final episodes do handle this really, really well.  The first part of the final arc hammers in that Shigeo...doesn’t even entirely know why it is he likes her so much.  He comes to an answer, and it’s very sweet, but you realize that they haven’t interacted once.  It’s all memories, and nothing in the present moment.  So when they started teasing stuff like she’s thinking of cheering for him at the rally, it’s like oh, are they really setting up that this is reciprocal?  And I think the absolute best way to finish off the series?  Was the rejection.  There...really wasn’t a strong sense of romance there.  And Shigeo shouldn’t be with her just because he’s the protagonist, and we’re all rooting for him.  There’s more to it than that.  I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that conclusion.

This...is absolutely one of my favorites.  This show is incredible.  Looking back, I can’t think of a single thing that really missed its mark.  Even in episodes where it can feel a bit slow, it trains you quick to understand, this is buildup.  And the payoff at the end is gonna be something incredible.

[sweetwhumpandhellacomf]

Holding Out for a Hero (Chapter 3)

Contains massive big spoilers for the ending of FFXIV Shadowbringers. Proceed at your own risk! Read on AO3 here!

CW: Stress position, torture, broken bones, dislocated shoulder, being caged

G’raha did not even realize he had lost consciousness when he next felt the icy tendrils wrap around his wrists. His eyes opened sluggishly, his exhausted mind trying to react as he was lifted up in the air. The ice around his ankles, followed by the sharp, hot pain as his legs and arms were maneuvered to being tightly bent behind him, was what got him fully awake.

He gasped, instinctively straining before his broken leg shifted unnaturally and he held as still as he can, blinking tears from his eyes. Emet-Selch was nowhere to be seen; was he even watching, or did he have such control over this place that he knew exactly what he was doing from far away?

Moments passed, and G’raha felt the ache in his shoulders and hips settling back in as he was held contorted in the air, cold seeping into him. Still no sign of his captor, and that was as much of a relief as he could muster from this situation. He shut his eyes and tried to be still, keep his breathing even, so that he wouldn’t set off a fresh jolt of pain if his leg moved.

As ever, the passage of time was imperceptible. G’raha tried to distract himself from the increasing ache, recalling some of his favorite textbooks from his time in Sharlayan, memories of happier times. It was almost enough to help, to make him forget he was being tortured at the hands of a mad ascian.

Almost.

When the tendrils finally released him, fresh agony coursed through him from first the sudden movement of his strained limbs, then the impact upon the cold marble floor. His vision went white as his broken leg landed badly, and by the time he could see again, the solid black bars of the cage had surrounded him once more. He forced his arms into a more comfortable position, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow to hide from the flat white light, and tried to sleep.

Twice more did G’raha awaken to the sudden freezing manipulation of the tendrils, each time with no indication of how much time had passed. He was held in stress for what was probably hours and hours, trying to lose himself in memories to escape the cold and the pain, then dropped and caged once more. The sole relief was when something shifted in his leg during the initial positioning, and he sobbed just once in relief when he realized it had gone numb.

His mind was bleary, only able to mentally curl into a little ball and imagine himself somewhere safer, when footsteps came to his ears. He forced his eyes open, tilting his head down to watch Emet-Selch’s approach.

“It is nearly time G’raha Tia,” the ascian said, “to watch your dear hero fall.”

G’raha’s heart lurched in his chest. “No,” he croaked.

Emet-Selch tilted his head, held his chin in his hand. “No?” he repeated.

G’raha swallowed, his throat dry and tacky. “You can’t win. I believe—I know she will pull through.”

Emet-Selch approached, and the brief fury on his face was nearly worth his defiance until he watched the ascian retrieve his revolver from his hip and point it at his forehead. The wound on his back burned and his heart raced—but Emet-Selch had said he would not die here. The sudden swing and the feel of hard, cold metal colliding with his forehead left him dazed and reeling.

“You wretched, pitiful shard.” The tendrils loosened around his ankles, and G’raha grimaced he felt his legs drop and his arms straighten to let him dangle. “Hope and pray all you like. She will lie broken at my feet, and then, G’raha Tia, so will you.”

There was sudden movement from his bonds, and they encircled his waist like a child roughly holding a doll, holding him fast as his right arm was pulled, the crystallized limb splintering and cracking until something within it gave. G’raha could not even scream, his voice caught and held by the pain, and when he regained his barest of senses he could feel nothing but the screaming pain in his newly dislocated shoulder as he was dangled by his wrist.

“There are surely only a few more hours until her arrival,” Emet-Selch said, holding G’raha’s gaze as his vision swam and faded. “Let us see how much hope you have then.”

---

It was dark when next he opened his eyes, and G’raha was not surprised at the idea that he had died. He breathed out slowly, and was pulled back to painful reality as his hurts returned to the forefront of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to block them out and return to the comforting dark, but there was too much noise.

He forced his eyes back open, forced himself to become aware.

Fighting. His blurred vision saw the Scions, each in turn falling to Emet-Selch as Elodie slowly made her way towards him. He blinked rapidly, cleared his sight, saw that she could barely walk, legs trembling with each step. His heart clenched with despair; if she could not walk, how could she hope to fight? He had to do something, he had to help, he—

He saw his staff. It was fulms away on the rough, uneven ground. One of them must have brought it and tried to throw it to him. Injured as he was, he could not get up and fetch it. But if Elodie could walk, he could crawl.

G’raha pushed himself up onto his knees, glad that his left leg was still mostly numb. His right arm refused to move, and the prickling in his shoulder threatened him with agony should he even try. He dragged himself forward, ilm by agonizing ilm, until he clasped a hand around his staff. He looked up, hoping desperately that he had not taken too long, and saw Elodie shrouded in blinding whiteness, collapsing onto her front.

“No!” he rasped, nearly collapsing himself as he adjusted his grip on the staff, driving its end into the ground and pushing himself to stand. Each movement was an eternity in which he was watching his hero fade and fail.

As he watched, the light around Elodie radiated upwards, a shining pillar in this dark abyss. G’raha stood, swaying, clutching his staff for balance, his heart in his throat as she slowly stood. Was she turning? Had he failed?

“This world is not yours to end.” Two voices came from Elodie’s mouth; her own, and the deeper voice of a man. “This is our future. Our story.”

Emet-Selch recoiled from the pillar of Light, and G’raha found himself limping towards it, desperately hoping that his hero was standing tall. “No,” the ascian growled, lowering his arms dismissively. “It can’t be.” As the light receded into the Warrior once more, he scoffed. “Bah—a trick of the light. You are a broken husk, nothing more. How can you hope to stand against me alone?”

“We stand together!” G’raha croaked, gripping his staff tightly and feeling the last of his power, his connection to the Tower strengthening.

Emet-Selch turned with a look of disdainful surprise. “How did—I’m surprised you can stand at all.”

“I could not well leave matters half-finished.” He focused, shifting his weight to his good leg and raising his staff. “Let expanse contract, eon become instant!” The ancient aether flowed through him, and he bit down on the deep need to heal himself. Elodie needed this more, and he was glad to see the seven arcane sigils surround his hero, each blazing with light. “Champions from beyond the rift, heed my call!”

Seven pillars of light, joining the remaining whisps of the one that had arisen from Elodie, was all G’raha needed to see before he let himself crumple.

Their surroundings changed as he lie there, breathing hard, forcing himself to stay awake and keep the rift open for the heroes. Emet-Selch’s form shifted and warped, his voice reverberating as he named himself “Hades.” The ground below them became smooth and patterned. And finally, there they came—the heroes, materializing around Elodie, seeing the horrid figure before them and instantly readying for battle, no explanation needed. G’raha’s body craved rest, but he needed to see this, needed to make sure his hero came through. There was a trickle of aether left to him, and he finally allowed himself to be healed, just enough to keep from losing consciousness.

Elodie began to issue orders in that strange doubled voice, but the only one G’raha heard was accompanied by a glance in his direction.

“Make sure to keep the fighting away from him.”

---

The battle was frantic, but G’raha did his best to focus on Elodie, too exhausted and dazed to pay mind to anything else. She was a true commander, shouting orders and flying between her fellow heroes to heal them as if she had her own fairy’s wings. The bursts of magic and sparks of metal were dazzling to his eyes, illuminating her with a resplendence unmatched by the Light that threatened to burn through her. He clung onto hope as the ascian slowly, steadily began to wear down.

The fight was long. It was harrowing. It was almost too despairing for G’raha to watch when Hades snared the heroes in aetherial chains, but the Light the heroes held within was more than enough to shatter them. And even then, the ancient ascian refused to fall.

When Thancred burst through the barrier of shadows and struck Emet-Selch with shards of white auracite, G’raha knew they had him. The Light from the Scions, the heroes, from Elodie herself and all that threatened to tear her asunder, was blinding.

He watched silently as Emet-Selch bade Elodie to remember him and his aether dissipated into the sky.

He watched as Elodie wobbled where she stood, but steadied herself just enough to stagger over to him, collapsing to her knees before him.

He blinked up at her, his heart clenching. The Light had not left her unscathed. Her hair had burnt away, and there was a jagged crack over her left eye, now blind and white, from where it had tried to escape after that fateful fight on Mt. Gulg. The bags under her eyes were deep, and even though she was tight with pain, she smiled.

“I…” G’raha swallowed thickly, trying and failing to push himself up to sit. His ears pinned back against his head. “I believe I owe you all an apology.” He looked up at the Scions now gathering around, looks of concern writ upon their faces. He looked back to Elodie. His hero, whom he cherished more than anything in this moment. “And you most especially.”

She shook her head. “’Tis good to see you awake, G’raha Tia.”

His name. His name from her lips, not spat with mockery from those of his captor. A lump developed in his throat, and hot, thin tears trickled down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop from sobbing, and as his arm gave out she leaned forward and caught him, letting him sink his weight into her steadfast embrace.

“Well… ’Tis good to be awake,” he answered, letting exhaustion take him as he sagged in his hero’s arms.

[pocketdemonbendy]

Rough sketch of chapter 7

Snip of the story: chapter 7 https://archiveofourown.org/works/43693807/chapters/109870999

Slap~

The pian in his cheek registered long before Tonie realized he'd been struck by Leo. Leo marched out of the room with Donnie hot on his heels calling out for him to wait. Tonie's breath quickened before he released a guttural Roar that rang throughout the lair. He flexed his claws in and out pricking the pads of his hands. All he wanted to do was go after Leo, sink his claws in to him, make him suffer and then kill him. Just when he thought he was going to lose it he was knocked off his feet. Landing on his back he rolled onto all fours hissing. 

Raph was standing across from him his sai out in defense. "Here kitty kitty." Raph growled a teasing grin on his face. 

Tonie pounced instantly claws out ready to sink them into Raph's scales. Raph ducked under him then jumped over him as Tonie pounced again. Raph went in for a jab but Tonie met him with a momentum that he wasn't expecting, knocking Raph back onto his own back. Raph pushed him off and then brought both of his fists down onto Tonie. Tonie scratched at Raphs shoulder climbing out from underneath him and onto Rap's back. Tonie wrapped an arm around Raph's neck digging his claws into Raph's skin. Searing pain shot through Raph's left shoulder, he quickly pulled Tonie off him tossing him across the room then fell to the ground.

Tonie landed with a thud and tried to push himself to his feet but stopped at the taste of blood in his mouth. Looking over to Raph, he could see the blood dripping down from clear holes left in Raph's shoulder from his tusks. Shit Tonie huffed. He had bit him. The two of them stay laying on the ground trying to ketch their breath. 

"You fight like this with Tat~ your brother." Raph breathed running his fingers over the bite mark. 

Tonie raised his head looking Raph in the eye. "I used to, not anymore." He growled sitting up on his knees his hands and body shaking. He'd never admit it to the snapper but Raph could do some damage. "I got tired of it."

"So what you decided to fuck his life up?" Raph hissed looking around for something he could use to put pressured on the bleeding. 

"I just wanted to knock him off the pedestal he perched himself up on." Tonie looked to his side seeing a roll of fabric wrap. He took it and tossed it hitting Raph in the head. 

Raph growled at him but took the wrap. "You let your anger get the best of you?" 

"Yea." Tonie said dryly pushing himself to his feet wincing at the pain. 

"So what exactly did you do?" Raph applied the bandage to his shoulder hissing at the sting.

Tonie sighed walking over to him and placing his hand on Raph's shoulder. His palm glowing red. "The males in my species can be honored or disowned over losing a tusk in battle." He began feeling the sting from Raph's wound. "If you lose a tusk and win the battle your a hero. On the other hand if you lose a tusk and the battle, your a disgrace."

"Okay what's that have to do with Tatuini and you?" Rah asked through clenched teeth feeling the searing pain again. 

"Tatuini lost his tusk and the battle. Judas disowned him shortly after. Tatuini went from loving, wealthy family to being the newest bane of Judas's existence." Tonie slumped down next to Raph resting against him. 

Raph looked over his arm seeing the scratches and the bite was gone. "How's that your fault? You cause the fight?"

"No...I'm the one who ripped out his tusk." Tonie was sullen unable to meet Raph's eyes fearing he would only see judgment in them. "We used to spar on a daily, but this one was different. It started out normal but then escalated. He pushed some buttons and I lost it. Next thing I know I was holding is tusk and he was broken and bleeding out on the pavement half dead."

They were both quiet till Raph raised his arm over Tonie and hooking him to his side. "Why are you taking all the blame for yourself then. Sounds to me like he was asking for it. Maybe not to that extent but he was still looking for a fight."

Tonie pushed Raph's arm away leaning back to glare at him. "If you were the reason your father disowned and threatened to kill one of your brothers, how would you feel? Especially if there wasn't a way to fix it?"

At the thought of that Raph's gut twisted in guilt. "I probably wouldn't forgive myself." 

Tonie released another heavy sigh before, to Raph's surprise snuggled back under Raph's arm. "Neither can I." Tonie hummed a growl laying completely down resting his head and chest on Rahp's leg, his arms folded and tucked under his neck.

Raph not knowing what else to do rested his hand on Tonie's shell rubbing back and forth. Tonie wasn't a bad guy he was just angry. Raph thought looking him over. 

[nothingunrealistic]

KING: The fourth season of Billions just wrapped up on Showtime, and those places I mentioned — the NYSE, East River Park, Morgenstern’s, Una Pizza Napoletana — they became the sets in the drama we’ve come to love, focused on hedge fund billionaire Bobby Axelrod, and his longtime nemesis — and this season, his frenemy — former US Attorney for the Southern District and now State Attorney General Chuck Rhoades. Fictional characters. Real-life backdrops.

—————

KING: Mike Wagner’s also an athlete who likes to play injured. He’s drugged at the consulates of foreign governments. He gets plastered with Wendy Rhoades to console her about maybe losing her medical license. His pride is wounded after he dresses in drag on an ill-fated attempt to join Kappa Beta Phi.

WAGS: Michael Wagner. Maybe it’s just under Wags. I’m a neophyte. DOOR GUY: Not seeing it. WAGS: I have the invitation right here — NUSSFAUR: Say gorgonzola. Oh, you’re gonna look pretty in Page Six. WAGS: Nussfaur. You sent this. NUSSFAUR: For you to endure the humiliation, Wagner. Not of wearing a dress, but of being an interloper. A trespasser. A buttinsky. A social climber who has to watch the ladder pulled up right in front of your grasping, outstretched arms.

KING: “Wagner,” uttered like “Newman.” The guy is a glutton for punishment. What drives the man?

KOPPELMAN: First of all, David Costabile, who you mentioned earlier, is just such an incredible actor, and brings a humanity to Wags — because, you know, if we met the real-life Wags, I’m not sure we would be all that charmed by him. Wags is an incredibly loyal person. Um, you know, while we’re making the show, I don’t talk that much about what drives the characters in a forum that, um, that the actors might hear. I want the actors to be able to interpret it and ask questions, and I don’t want to lead them. I will say that we’re constantly asking ourselves the question of what drives people like this. What makes the pursuit of this particular kind of money, power, influence so alluring to a subset of people? Some people are — realize, at a certain point, they have enough and turn their attention to other interests. These are people seemingly incapable of not competing, incapable of leaving the game. So, Wags is certainly a loyal person. Axe means the world to him. Being in the game means a lot to him. Winning means a lot to him. But I think, this season, we saw Wags’ own sense of the impermanence of our time here. And I think that that’s a hint to, uh, part of his psychology.

—————

KING: It was such a wrenching season for [Wendy]. Every, every episode, you know, brought new challenges, you know, until the final one. I think the most brutal image of the whole season for me, based on, sort of, the way I think about life, is that lone moment in the Brooklyn townhouse. Chuck has come home after one of those later nights and sees the warm cherry pie on the kitchen island. Maggie is nowhere to be found. And, you know, he grabs his kitchen implements and is about to dive into it, as only Chuck can, before the real estate broker comes in. The way that Paul Giamatti gets into his method, did that pie have to be actually warmed to attract his nose?

KOPPELMAN: No. Also, it was an apple pie, but everybody, um… it’s great because it’s whatever pie you would most want to be there. It’s like the Rorschach pie. Like, whatever you think it would be. If you need it to be a warm cherry pie, then it was. It happened to be an apple pie. Um, no. I mean, these actors, they’re so… I mean, you’re talking about some of the best actors in the, in the world, some of the best actors ever to be on television. And no. Paul could play it… if I put one of these dusty old books there and said, “That’s a pie,” Paul could play that if he had to. And I was like, “We’re going to CGI the pie in later,” he’d be like, “Okay. No problem.”

KING: So congratulations on the wrapping of the fourth season. [KOPPELMAN: Thanks.] How does the weight that you felt during the season, and the corresponding lifting of that weight when the work is over, compare to three seasons prior?

KOPPELMAN: No, I mean, it’s always… I’m a totally different person during the season and not in the season. So, between seasons 3 and 4, David and I had about three days off. So, we finished season three and then we… so, you finish the shooting, but then — so everybody gets to go home, but David and I have to finish editing and mixing — with our, with editors and mixers. We have to finish the entire post-production process. And so, between seasons 3 and 4, Showtime asked us if, if we could get our show ready sooner. They had reasons that they wanted it on the air when they did. And we said, “Yeah, but we are gonna need two months after season four, or we can’t… we have to find a way to get away and let our brains begin to just imagine again and experience other things and just take long walks and swim.” You know, like, literally just do anything other than write Billions. And the second that the season is written, each time, the two of us can breathe. We feel such a heavy obligation to make it the very strongest version of the show that we can come up with. And that really starts with making sure that the scripts are great, and that we’re going to give these actors stuff that they really want to play, and that — we know we have these devoted fans. There are shows with a bigger audience, but there are not many shows with a more devoted audience of people who watch the show three, four, five times and pick up on every line and every reference and care deeply. So, we feel this tremendous… it’s not pressure because both of us are so grateful we get to do this, but it is… it feels like a duty and an obligation to serve all these people. So, the moment it’s written, we’re both able to sort of exhale and say, “Okay. Well, we’ve done that part.” Then we have to make sure that, you know, we realize that vision that we’ve laid out when we’re shooting and cutting it, but then we’re able to chill out.

—————

KING: But before we cast season 4, you know, into the Showtime archives, I just want to do a quick spin through some of the highlights [KOPPELMAN: Sure.] that I felt through, because we’re going to put this up in a couple days and people are still kind of processing things that they saw. Let’s start with Chickentown. Episode 3. Your homage to Chinatown and the vehicle that allowed Kelly AuCoin’s ascension really to a series regular and more screen time. Let’s hear a little clip from it.

[“Chicken Bill” plays] AXE: Bill. Bill, what are you about to do? DOLLAR BILL: What I always do for you: whatever I have to. WAGS: Yes, but specifically, what are you about to do right now? AXE: What’s in the bag, Bill, what’s in the bag? DOLLAR BILL: A capon with a case of H5N1B. Just enough to freeze transport on a few hundred thousand infected birds. Prices will skyrocket.

KING: H5N1B. Brian, how did you get smart on poultry to write that episode?

KOPPELMAN: You know, we have a writers’ room, Dave and I. And one of the writers told us about various chicken indices and the ways in which they’re, um, they’re forecast, you know, the amount of chickens is forecast. And we all just loved it. And then as soon as it came up, one of us, either Dave or me said, “Atlantic City.” We had to use the Springsteen song. And then the whole thing just flowed from there. That episode was, the first draft was written by Lenore Zion, who’s a credited writer on the episode. Did a great job. And, Kelly — by the way, Kelly AuCoin became a regular on the show at the end of last season. We made him a regular, um, because his work each season had just been so good. And each season we gave him a little bit more to do, and he always rose to the task. So, we were thrilled to make him part of the regular cast of the show. And he really delivered this year.

KING: A Proper Sendoff. Episode 5. I could watch David Strathairn forever, but Chuck sent him six feet under in style. And then you, you foreshadowed the finale with the way that Bobby sent John Rice out to sea. This device that you have of getting people out of their comfort zone or out of their control environment, leaving the phones in the, in the back of the SUV, getting out onto Bobby’s boat because they can have some real bro time together. In fact, it’s all part of the plot.

KOPPELMAN: Well, yeah. We’re going to use any… I mean, Levien likes to say we’re a snout-to-tail operation, and he’s right. We like to, we will use all, every part of the pig. And so, any storytelling device, we are going to take advantage of. Yeah, there are various ways in which we, we sort of foreshadowed the end of the season. And we’re always doing that too, you know. Um, the sites that write about the show will often point out that there’s — you know, if we, if there’s some casual little look between two characters, or there’s something said that you don’t quite… you know, if you think about season 2, when Chuck is out with Ira and these two women, Taiga and another one, it’s the first time you hear Ice Juice mentioned. Ira says something about, “I have these gift cards to Ice Juice.” And then that doesn’t play out until, you know, Episode 11 of the show, of that season. And so, we’re always looking to reward — like, the casual viewer can come in and just watch it and it’s entertaining and fun, but the more you bring to it and the more you’re in, the more we’re going to try to give you little treats along the way, little Easter eggs along the way, little things to pick up on to make it all add up for you at the end, that will reward your paying super close attention.

KING: Maximum Recreational Depth. That was Episode 6. You’re using Clancy Brown and Danny Strong at a urinal to unleash Hard Bob on Doug [Mason]’s dream of a business venture. We have the best urinal in town right around the corner. And April looked at it for potential for shooting that scene, but it wasn’t enough room for the camera. But, but this, the Hard Bob character was one of my greatest memories of walk-on this summer.

KOPPELMAN: Chelcie Ross is an incredible actor. And I mean, that’s one of those great things. David and I came up with the character, Hard Bob Beaufort, ten years ago. We just were sitting in this old office we used to have, which was atop of a bridge club. We had the top floor of this really old bridge club in Manhattan. And we would, one of us, we just started riffing one day on this… at the time, in our minds, he was, like, probably a Texas oil man, but we just had this idea of a guy named Hard Bob, who brooked no bullshit. And when we were, when we were writing this episode, we were sitting with Adam Perlman, one of our, who’s our lieutenant on the show, a co-executive producer of the show. And we were talking about Hard Bob Beaufort. And we realized, oh, we could use this character and, and take the character, instead of writing a whole thing about him, and put him in the middle of this. And it was incredibly satisfying to have Chelcie — and then immediately, that day, said, “The only guy who can play this is Chelcie Ross.” And then we went out and got him to do it, which was super exciting.

KING: And then there was Fight Night. Episode 8. A not-so-pivotal scene filmed right here at the New York Stock Exchange, but it got Stacey her first theatrical line. So, we were all giddy about that. But did you channel Sylvester Stallone when you were writing the boxing scenes?

[“T.N.T.” plays] RICH EISEN: That’s not legal. MENERY: I’m gonna be honest, viewers. This is probably one of the pussiest fights I’ve ever seen in my life. RICH EISEN: They stopped fighting before the bell. And now Mafee’s vomiting. JOCKO: You got to keep going right now! SPYROS: You got to keep going! JOCKO: Let’s go! Make it happen! DEONTAY: Keep going! SPYROS: You got to keep going! DEONTAY: Let’s go, baby! RICH EISEN: That’s the Bald Bull Charge from Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!!

KING: I mean, might as well be Rocky 34.

KOPPELMAN: Big props to Rich Eisen and Bob Menery who commentated — [KING: Rich is great.] …on that stuff. Both those guys killed it for us.

KING: And then there was this finale, Extreme Sandbox. Let’s start with the extreme sandbox itself. Bobby gets a lot done by luring his targets out of town.

CHUCK: Off to…? WENDY: Uh. Day trip. With Rebecca. State changer. Or something. CHUCK: Good. Yeah. You let those shoulders drop. WENDY: I don’t think they’ll drop ‘til the exact terms of my suspension have been announced. And probably not ‘til it’s all over. CHUCK: While you’re gone, I will be hard at it trying to get those terms relaxed or done away. Would have been easier ahead of time. But there must be a lever out there.

KING: Let those shoulders drop. The helicopter brings them out to the extreme sandbox. You’ve got Mark Cuban in a cameo. And you filmed some great scenes there. Having Mark bring this idea into the show, what was the thought about bringing that device into the show?

KOPPELMAN: Well, Mark and I first met at a basketball camp for adults, like, eighteen years ago, and have been friendly ever since. And so, and Mark has been a great counselor to Dave and me, about billionaires, and about the psychology of billionaires, and so, and about the psychology of the business world. Each season, we sit down with Mark or we get on the phone and we sort of talk about the state of play. And we do that with a bunch of different people, but Mark’s one of the most valuable because he’s an insider and an outsider of the world, right? He’s wealthy… he’s as wealthy or wealthier than a lot of these people, but he doesn’t make his money in the way that they do. Yet he interacts with them all the time. So, he has great insight into the way billionaires in the hedge fund and private equity space and VC space live. And we, so, and then Mark was in seasons 2, 3, and then season 4. I think as long as we make the show, my guess is Mark will make an appearance each season. But he didn’t bring up extreme sandbox. What happens is, when we get the idea for what we want to have Mark do, we call him and we say, “Well, here’s what we’re thinking. Does it make sense to you?” And, um, extreme sandbox had come up in the room as a thing that they could… you know, we didn’t want Rebecca to take Wendy just to a spa. We didn’t want them to, you know, to just cut to them, putting mud masks on their faces, you know, the kind of thing that a show might do with two female characters. We wanted them to do something that was much more like, no, no, no, these are two alpha businesspeople who happen to be women. So, what would they, what would be be something different? Extreme sandbox came up. David and I loved the idea of that as an episode title, an idea, the idea of these people all living in an extreme sandbox or treating their lives like that. So, it worked thematically for us, metaphorically for us. So, when we called Mark, we were like, “Hey, can you help us make this happen?” And then he hooked us up with the extreme sandbox person. And then that all happened that way.

—————

KING: So, all this work starts anew in July. The writers’ room will reconvene. You’ve probably found or begun to assemble those that are going to spend all that time with you in that office as you crank out these twelve episodes. What are the first couple weeks like of blocking out a season?

KOPPELMAN: Sure. The first thing, David and I will usually have a couple of thematic ideas about the season. We’ll start talking to the room about that, getting their opinions. And we’ll try to come up with a idea that’s just for us, sort of a sentence about what the theme of the year is. And then we try to test the ideas, the story ideas against that theme, the character ideas against that theme. And, and, and that theme comes from the characters, comes from where we think the characters are and where they need to go. So, it’s a pretty the first few weeks are very open, very blue sky, let’s just figure out all the possibilities. And then we start honing it.

—————

KING: Your characters have experimented with all sorts of self-improvement techniques. Wags’ hugging therapy this season comes to mind. But simple meditation hasn’t seemed to work for any of them. And yet, it seems to work so well for you. Why?

KOPPELMAN: Well, I’m not sure it hasn’t worked for them. But, I mean, they’re successful on the terms they want to be, or at least Axe is, and he’s the one we see meditating the most.

—————

KOPPELMAN: Once in a while, like when we referenced what Rush albums are the best albums on the show, I’ll put something out there for a purpose, which is: I want to get the answer right. So I wanted to know what two different types of Rush fans would think. I knew what I thought, but I wanted to get answers. And so, I got a thousand answers to this question, you know, what are the four best Rush albums? And there, I was just trying to be very careful and respectful of Rush fandom, because Rush… as I said, that day, I’ve seen Rush seven times in concert. I’ve watched both documentaries multiple times, I know the albums by heart. But I’m not really a Rush fan compared to Rush fans. Rush fans are way, way more serious than I am. So, I just wanted to get the answer right for when Taylor and Axe were going to discuss it.