#while all I'm left with is the feeling of emptiness and a faint glimmer of melancholy

[asaedw]

PINKLOCK Chapter 00/Prologue: You Belong Amongst The Best

Please read the author’s note and the characters' information at the end. (wc: 3153)

2025.

It was never a matter of fate. The position of this ball now, where it will land in the next second, and who will be the first to capture it. All of this must be a random selection of the universe. Or so I would have thought before PINKLOCK. Luck is one of the trillion factors that decide who gets to sit atop our corpses. Who gets to hold the treasure.

The ball flies across the field. I position myself, ready to be Queen. Maybe in one of the infinite universes that I exist in, there is a place where I can be chosen.

To the very right of my foot is a familiar warmth. I don’t get to process it or adjust to the nostalgic scent. The ball obeys her every command and falls to her foot like it's submitting. She read all of it. Every little trajectory, every twirl of the ball, and position of the players that I managed to analyze in these ninety minutes, she knew all of it before me. Her eyes darken as we meet once more, years later.

“Didn’t I tell you? You’re worth nothing here.” I want to deny, to reject like I've always done. Now she runs toward the goal after stealing my crown for the hundredth time while I'm frozen in shock. I became too arrogant. I thought I had evolved. Grown. But she always manages to prove me wrong.

And now, it’s my turn to do that.

November 18, 2018.

I wanted to go home while I was already in it. I reminisced about the times when I had a companion. My other half, who one day changed. It was an exhausting day for me. Waking up early to practice because I didn’t want my parents to know. It’s not like they didn’t know that I was playing soccer. They simply didn’t like it when I did. I hadn’t realized this when I was still younger, but now I do. I was meant to be a vessel for their dreams. So I left for the nearby field in the town.

They’re validation was my first reason to play, but soon, it was gone. The spark of excitement I used to feel when I’d score a goal. It had vanished. As soon as my brother was born.

“We have hope.” They’d cry out in bliss at the sight of him. I was eleven, and I was abandoned. I felt worthless.

I continued to play, however. It felt like the only reason I wasn’t a nobody yet was because I had some skill in the game. I would avoid letting them know, still. They didn’t like it when I had even a glimmer of faith in myself.

“You should focus on studying, he’ll be our champion.”

I had to prove myself to them.

The big game was the next day. Since we had moved to Japan when I was ten, I’d been playing here alone ever since. I had Kieymi at one point. She would reassure me, support me. I got too attached, perhaps. One random day, she changed. She grew hateful and even vengeful of me. I never shed a tear at the people who’d bully me. Not even many for the harsh words I’d hear at home. But a part of me died the day she became his way. We were soulmates. Now she’s a faint memory.

Now I stood there in the empty field from dusk till dawn, hearing an echoing cheer and wishing it were real. I would be playing against her the next day, and just the thought of it sent my heart dropping to my stomach. Kick after kick, I would score goals from different ranges and different angles. I practiced unique trajectories, imagining her begging face looking up at me from below. I wanted to crush her. Destroy her. Like she’d done to me.

Maybe that’s what got me to continue playing. The reminder that she’s better than me at something I began four years before her.

As I was panting from exhaustion and envy, I noticed a dark figure somewhere in the corner of the field. It was a woman’s body. She observed me closely. It wasn’t light enough to read her expression. But she looked almost malicious. I approached, and now I realize it could have been stupid of me to do so. She was harmless, however. She handed me a letter quietly and watched me take it. The now rising sun shed light on her glistening eyes.

“My name is Teieri Anri. My dream is to—“I wasn’t willing to hear a speech, so I turned around and hurried home to open the letter. I had a feeling I should keep it a secret, whatever it was. I felt that this ‘Anri Teieri’ was a genuine person, and she radiated the trust and faith I sometimes wished my parents did in me.

Things didn’t go as planned. They never do. My brother was four years old. He didn’t know any better, but I still almost resent him for that day. I was busy helping my mother with chores. Aman could walk at the time, like many four-year-olds. He saw the letter I had foolishly placed in his reach, which he brought out of my room, my comfort, and into what almost always feels like a battlefield.

“Asa, do you want to explain yourself?” My father stood, his arms to his side. He questioned why I had accepted such a letter. They never forced me to stop, but they disliked the idea of me playing professionally. Accepting a letter that was inviting me to play with real players was a sin in their eyes. My mother soon joined and began her rant. Both of their shouts were in a duet as they spat mild threats at me.  My ears rang from the noise.

“Shut up!” I yelled, and then I regretted it. Silence filled the room for a brief moment. Each second felt like an escalation towards an impending doom. I trembled, wondering about the consequences of my outburst. Then, with a sharp pull, the letter ripped apart in my father's hand. I swore I felt my heart rip in sync. The two pieces fell onto the floor.

“You will never play Soccer again. It was never for you.” With that, he turned to leave, my mother clicked her tongue. I remember falling to my knees, picking the two pieces up with trembling hands. She left the dining room, where the scene took place. I wondered why the neighbors weren’t outside our house after the noise and looked at the large window. Kieymi stood there, watching closely. I couldn't read her expression. The vulnerability lay in me because I was naked. She saw through me. She fled soon after a brief eye contact.

In that moment, I knew she’d gotten the letter too.

I clenched my fists, gagging at the thought. She left an imprint of her gorgeous fucking almonds for eyes, her expression so stoic it angered me to my core. I locked myself in my room. Planning to isolate myself permanently. This big stage was for Kieymi. Not a loser like me, I thought. I fell to the floor, my head bent like I was praying to some God for the same blessings he’d showered on her. After a good thirty seconds of choking myself till my face went blue, I ran around my room searching for tape. The letter looked fucked taped together. But I’d made up my mind. Obsession always beats talent.

I was going to go to this ‘Pinklock’ and nobody was going to stop me.

Was it an escape? Was it a dream? I don’t know. When I get there, I want to see her again. And I want to shatter every piece of hope or desire that she’s ever had in the palm of my hand. Maybe… it was revenge.

The next morning came quickly. I didn’t get much sleep, like usual. I had packed all of my essentials, including the now pathetic but signed letter the night before. The night that changed everything. I carried my stuffed schoolbag to the window, from where I climbed out. It wasn’t too high to jump, but my legs still needed a little work. My father probably thought it was another day of school. But little did they know, I was gone for good. I did steal a little cash and some food from the fridge.

I ditched the ‘big game’. My priority was now elsewhere. And I knew that Kiyemi was also not about to appear in today’s match either. There was a given time on the letter, which said that if you failed to show up within, you wouldn’t be accepted. Something about ‘lock off.’ It piqued my interest, and I knew I had to explore it. Today, I feel it was the best decision I could have made at the time. It was a catalyst for my career.

My heart raced as I got into the taxi.  I felt that I was doing something so wrong. So shameful. But I hushed the angry voices with music. Soon, I was outside a tall building. It was closed, as expected. The time on the letter says 1:00 p.m., and I was there at three in the morning. I waited outside, trying to get some rest on the bench. I fell asleep soon, in fear that I’d wake up dead. There was no turning back now.

“Asa! Asa-chan!” An annoying voice woke me up. The blinding sun was needles in my eyes despite the clouds following up behind. I rubbed my eyes. A light brown-haired girl stood before me, holding my belongings.

“Who the hell are you?” I rose from the hard bench.

“I watched you play in the sports day this year. Also, be a little more polite, would ya’?” Her voice was bratty yet sweet, matching the honey of her hair.

I finally grabbed the bag from her hand.

“It’s about to close, let's hurry.” She dragged me into the building with an arm. “I knew you wouldn’t show up to today's game.”

“I doubt we know each other.” My response was bland. I wasn’t aiming to make new friends.

“Yonago Kita High, right?” I wondered why this person was so excited to see me. “Ah- my name is Hoshino Tori.”

The gigantic doors behind us shut automatically, and I noticed many of us flinch. I looked around. It was an auditorium full of female players. I noticed a brown girl dressed in forest hues, and a young idol with cotton candy for hair. Then I even noticed two dark skinned women standing side by side. Some stares were intense, some were playful. I was dizzy from the earlier sun and now, the mixture of a hundred fragrances in the room.

Then… I saw Kiyemi. I wanted to hide. After what she’d seen last night, I can only expect that she’ll have a lot to tease me for. Her pin-straight, ash-brown hime cut gracefully blew by her sides as she approached me.

“What do you want?” I began. She ran a finger through my bangs, correcting my messy hair. My eye twitched. How could you be so composed? So… okay with yourself and so confident before me despite all you’ve done to me?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes skimming my features. Her voice was bland, like her expression. She looked as if trying to decode what had changed in me.

“I’m a fucking soccer player, what do you think I’m doing here?”

“Is that so?” Her voice was cold. Nothing like the warmth that once uplifted me. I didn’t grace her with a response.

Tori watched the scene unfold, stepping in. She was blissfully unaware of our past connections. “You wanna be an asshole? Go do it somewhere else, bitch.” She spat out at Kiyemi. She chuckled in response and fled, leaving a pat on my shoulder. I was a bit shocked at the pretty lady spitting such venomous words. But I was okay with it. I traced the place on my shoulder where Kiyemi had just done a moment ago, but then quickly stopped myself.

Then, the lights went out. A lanky man with a jet black bowl cut became prominent on the stage, the blinding spotlight fixated on him. We looked at him curiously. A bunch of gossips were heard before he began to speak.

“And test, test, test. Congratulations and welcome, diamonds in the rough. You are the 300 18 and under strikers who have been chosen due to my arbitrary and biased decision making. And I am Jinpachi Ego, the man who was hired to ensure Japan’s future victory at the World Cup.”

We looked at him like he was insane... Which was our first impression of him, anyway. Hired? By whom and where did the World Cup come from? He continued to speak.

“It’s simple, really. In order to outstrip the rest of the world, Japanese soccer requires just one thing. And that is the birth of a revolutionary striker. I’ll be performing an experiment to turn one of you 300 into the single best striker in the world.” The girls looked around, as if the man on the stage had just grown another head. Did he just say… experiment? We were all equally confused and even a little unsettled by the psychopathic man in front of us.

“Um… sir?” the brown girl in the crowd raised a shy hand, “By ‘experiment’, you mean real training, right? How is your training better than other training camps and team practices? And… who’s paying you?” Good questions, I thought. The man before us now was a freak, after all.

He scratched his bowl cut, “Paying me? Is that all you heard? The JFU will be paying me once a Japanese team wins the World Cup.” He shakes a hand, that money didn’t matter to him, “, and as for what makes my training more reliable than the coaches you’ve been playing with for so long... Let's just say, uh, everything. You will all play a survival style of soccer. Here, it's not just some game, but a battlefield. Your coaches focus only on the physical aspects of the game, whereas your psychology and play style are what truly create your games. I will put you through psychological warfare and break you down mentally. This will restructure you for better playing. Here at Pinklock, you will train in a hyper-modern facility with high-tech and robotic analysis, which you can find nowhere else in this country. Lastly and most importantly, your next games will not depend on your teammates or the power of friendship. But on your EGO. “

We were all suspicious of the man. And yet, we were all intrigued. He continued to speak for three to four minutes about some ‘EGO’ that we lacked. I remember him expressing some pity for the country with statements like, “Is the future of Japan really in your hands?” he looked down at us like we were trash.

“What exactly do you mean by EGO?” a girl with striped hair, who was twirling it around her finger, raised a question, “and how is it a reliable method of securing the World Cup?”

“Hm?” the man was puzzled, he scratched his bowl cut for the hundredth time. “Tell me, why is Japanese soccer still not worthy of a win? No, let me ask you this: What is soccer? Is it about the eleven players working together? The bonds you form? Self-sacrifice? Fighting for your teammates? That kind of thinking is why this country's game has remained weak. I’ll tell you the right answer: soccer is about one thing.” He paused for a brief second, which left us all anticipating his next words: “Scoring more goals than your opponent does.” He shouts out in a frantic scream, which causes us to flinch, his body bending in all sorts of weird ways. We all gasped at the sight of the freak show he was putting on.

I couldn’t help but wonder where this man picked up his ideologies from. And just why did they make so much sense? If all teammates are trying to better each other instead of focusing on creating their own goals, they’ll have minimal and luck-based goals depending on the positioning of players. But if all eleven were self-absorbed ‘egoists’ like this guy wants us to be, we’d create many and potentially legendary goals.

The man then quoted Cristiano Ronaldo, Eric Cantona, and Pele. About their selfishness. I didn’t want to believe him. He was right, but I didn’t want to. It was the opposite of everything I’d ever been taught. It was undeniable. Soccer, at its very core, was about being the one who scores the most goals. Even your teammates are competition.

“You can’t possibly become the best striker unless you’re the biggest egoist. Which is why you’re all here. So I can create a player who has what it takes. Someone to climb on top of 299 corpses. A solitary hero...” he continued. Everyone looked at each other. Some were left with their mouth agape, some frowning.

I felt a sense of disturbing belonging.

Maybe that one thing that put Kiyemi in front of me was this ‘ego’, I thought. Even if she didn’t know or put a label on it yet. Just maybe, if I could achieve something supernatural like she did on that day, I’d be able to demolish her. Surpass her. And that’s why—my foot, without my permission, stepped closer to the stage. The curtains behind him now were raised, and beyond a blinding white, I could not see. It was an unspoken invitation by the madman before us, asking to join him in his fantasies. he smiled like a maniac while he spurted what sounded like idiocy continuously. No one dared to step forward. Yet, I gravitated toward him.

“So what you're saying is...” A familiar voice claws at my nerves. “…Is that only one of us survives at the end?”

I turned to face her once more. Her almonds were now full of anticipation and the same anxiety that was coursing through my veins. I wanted to say nothing and everything to her at the same time. But I only said one, plain warning. I spoke, one last time, yet I knew a hundred more conversations were to come. I ran toward the man, like he was a savior. He did notice me, closest to the gates of what looked like heaven. What could be hell. His eyes widened as he watched me pace towards him, and all I hoped was that what she heard me say last was enough. Enough for her.  

“There can't be two bests now, can there... Kiyemi?”

Authors note and characters:-

Pinklock is situated in Japan hence, all characters speak in Japanese but writen in English unless stated otherwise. The first selection will be written in past tense as it falls all the way back to November 18, 2018. It is intended that Bluelock and Pinklock occur in the same universe because after the third selection, Pinklock characters will play against the boys team. The winning team will then play against Japan’s U20. Some characters will be eliminated and some will appear later. You must trust the process. One chapter will be written per month because I am also undergoing finals as I write this. All writing done here is solely by me alone. OCs and their backstory is written by tagged people mostly. Please do not translate, plagiarize or share my work without my permission. All chapters are more that 2k and less that 5k words. You may draw a scene or character but only after permission js granted which you may do in message or ask. Background characters are untagged as they will not have much of a role. I request that all people’s who sent a character tagged below send me their discord username (preferrably in tthe cmnts) so that we may have an open discussion for suggestions and feedback. If you want to add Characters submitted by readers so forth are tagged at the end. I would greatly appreciate if the OCs tagged in this series could reblog my post because that support would motivate me to write further!

🚬 I'm sorry it took a minute, girls, and also I couldn't fit all characters into chapter zero, but don't you guys worry because they will be mentioned when it is your characters' team's turn to play against Asa's. I will try my best to write them all justly and let all of them shine. Also, someone also asked about elimination. if I plan to eliminate a character, I will discuss it with you and justify. I won't do it out of the blue, I love your ocs lol. please enjoy my babes and tell me who's your fav so far.

Find the characters and their rightful owners in my PINKLOCK CHARACTERS post.

@kiyy0mei , @innvmorati , @minlahzz , @feliwnni , @alexiaray , @kacchans-waifu , @jwmiooa , @pinkymangacaps , @cafem3wcuryy , @prettyluvvs-ichi , @plutoplue , @serial-gooner-lain , @hygienic-law , @dollyrins , @onlykaiiisagiz , @t3chn0chan ,

[goingsunnythousandmerry]

Satoru Gojo X Suguru Geto - Fluff/Yearning/Angst/Pain

Authors Note: Hey friends! I know I am still behind on requests. It is next on my list. I apologize, school has taken more time than I planned. Anyways, I've gotten really into Jujutsu Kaisen lately so I wrote this for my best friend yesterday when Mr. Loverman was stuck in my head. She thought I should share it.

Hope you all enjoy and I'm sorry it HURTS.

Warnings: Umm if you don't want to be sad don't read.

Lots of YEARNING.

These characters are not mine they belong to the great Gege Akutami.

The above image isn't mine, credit to who it belongs to will give it if I am told.

Summary: Memory reflection of the friendship of Gojo and Geto and the words left unsaid.

Song listened to while writing:

Mr. Loverman by Ricky Montgomery featuring Chloe Moriondo

Hope you all Enjoy! Thanks for Reading!

***

How can two people know what love is if they’ve never seen it themselves?

The small classroom was empty except for two occupied wooden desks. Two men sat across from each other, separated by a few desks. The smell of freshly erased chalk lingered throughout the room.

Gojo looked at Geto and the clouds seemed to stop moving in the sky behind him. Geto spoke about his passions like the world at his feet could never crumble. The faint echo of the wind outside was erased by the warmth of Geto’s smile. Whenever Geto spoke, Gojo’s eyes shone like sunbeams piercing through deep water—soft, scattered, and alive with that lingering glimmer just before you break the surface. Geto’s morals and ideals were always  grounded in the possibility of others around them, but never their possibilities. 

The room suddenly felt too wide, like there was too much space between them, too much distance. Gojo stood, stretching, the movement drawing a faint breath from him as his eyes flicked back to Geto, who hadn’t stopped speaking.

Geto’s bangs hung loosely over his forehead, brushing the lids of his purple eyes. Gojo always hated his speeches, but he still listened. They were the strongest, that was all that ever mattered to Gojo, but Geto saw more. He saw more in Gojo than just what he was capable of, he saw who he was. Geto laughed as Gojo began slowly strolling across the room toward him, making some remarks about his moral compass. Geto’s eyes followed him, every step from Gojo drawing his focus tighter. Geto wasn’t sure what he was saying, he was too distracted by Gojo’s confident stride. His breath quickened, the muscles in his leg trembled, and his mind raced as Gojo approached.

Gojo’s gaze was steady as he crossed the room, his feet sure but slow. Gojo stopped in front of Geto with a sigh and the offering of a sarcastic comment. He watched Geto chuckle softly, shrugging his muscular shoulders in response. His laugh like the steady drum of a heartbeat, warm, constant, and grounding. With a quiet exhale, Gojo placed a hand on Geto’s shoulder, his gaze drifting toward the window behind them. 

“Satoru.” Geto whispered.

Geto’s voice lingered on his name, like a breath shared only between them, warm and familiar in the quiet space. His voice always made Gojo's mind reel. Those two syllables explained why Gojo constantly acted out. He wanted Geto to say his name and never stop. But within the silence between the lingering of his name and the moments when Gojo spoke Geto's, there were words left unspoken—feelings too uncertain to be named.

***

Gojo stood and stared at the puddle at his feet. In the water’s reflection were the colors of his memories with Geto– the bike rides, the curse hunting, the pranks– the echo of it all blending into a beautiful canvas. But at the heart of it all, always, was that day in the classroom—frozen in his mind, looping endlessly in the silence of his solitude.

A drop of water broke from the overhang above and splashed into the puddle, sending ripples across the reflection. His smile faltered as the moment cracked, the ache in his chest deepening with the memory of being too late to save him. He was always too late. 

“I wish I had told you.” His voice raw and quiet, a whisper to no one blending with the sound of the rain that began falling again. “I miss you now that you’re gone, Suguru.”

“Gojo-Sensei!” Yuji called his name and Gojo shook the thoughts from his mind.

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Two

Bottom left gif by: @binary--sun , bottom right gif by: @interstellarflare

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter One

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Three

Word count: 5.1k+

Chapter summary: Nine years later, unexpectedly, Jack hears from you. 

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles.

Warnings: Angst, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, mentions of cheating, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease. (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been years since I wrote this.)

A/N: I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone for the overwhelming support on Chapter One! I didn't have much time to work on the graphic for this chapter, so it took me a while to upload it. I have ADHD, and it's currently unmedicated, so that's also a factor. I find that I work best when the house is quiet, but with children around, getting them to sleep can be quite hard, haha! Again, I wrote this years ago, so I apologize for any and all mistakes because if I read this over, I’ll overthink and not post. So, thank you for your understanding, and I hope you enjoy the story!

As Jack's footsteps carry him back to his apartment from the Kingsmen agency, his mind is consumed by the weight of his day's work. An hour before he intended to go home, he found himself inexplicably overwhelmed by a sudden urge to rush to his apartment. It wasn't a foreboding feeling, but rather a strong sense that something good was on awaiting him. If anyone happened to catch a glimpse of Jack's somewhat clumsy dash out of his office, barely avoiding a slip on the freshly mopped floor- no one commented.

Now, in the lobby, with each step closer to his sanctuary, a glimmer of anticipation flickers within him, a faint hope that there might be a respite from the pain that has plagued his heart for years.

Reaching his mailbox, he pauses, his hand steady as he retrieves the day's mail. Among the advertisements, his eyes catch sight of a familiar return address adorned with the emblem of the firm that handled the painful dissolution of his marriage. The sight sends a jolt through his veins, instantly sharpening his senses. He feels a surge of joy and curiosity that threatens to overpower his cool demeanor. This, this is what I’ve been waiting for, he thinks.

With the letter clutched tightly in his hand, Jack climbs the staircase, his heavy and rushed footsteps echoing through the empty building stairway. As he reaches the sixth floor, he pauses for a moment, catching his breath and steadying his racing heart. Fuckin’ hell, I’m really starting to get old. 

His apartment building's signature aroma, a mix of aged wood and Reed Diffusers, drifts through the air and the illuminated corridor, offering a soothing moment. With renewed determination, he strides towards his apartment, the key ready in his trembling hand, eager to discover the message held within the white envelope.

Taking the letter inside, he fumbles to close the door behind him, his focus solely on the contents of the envelope. It feels like an eternity as he tears it open, the sound of the paper ripping echoing through the room. Throwing away the torn envelope, his hat, his phone, and his keys on the coffee with disregard, his gaze locks onto the words that lay before him, ink etched upon the pristine white surface.

With each sentence, the gravity of the situation becomes clearer, the weight of the words pressing against his chest. His heart beats faster, his breath growing shallow. The letter, written in a professional tone, contains the invitation he had never anticipated but always hoped for. She wants to meet me. The delicacy and urgency of the matter are subtly emphasized, practically begging Jack to meet you.

Jack's eyes scan the lines, his mind working swiftly to decipher the unspoken pleas hidden within the formal language. He can almost hear your voice, strained and vulnerable, begging for a chance to talk. 

The letter extends an offer of legal representation, a reminder that the cold machinery of the law can mediate their meeting. But Jack's resolve is unwavering. He wants this to be personal, as personal as it can get. I can finally clear everything up with her. Tell her what I never said. The opportunity to talk face to face with you without the barrier of attorneys fills him with a mixture of hope and anxiety, like a tightly wound spring ready to unfurl.

A surge of emotions floods his being, the years of longing and unanswered questions vying for attention. He clings to the flickering flame of possibility, for within this letter lies the chance to reclaim what was lost, to confront the lingering ghosts of his past, and maybe, just maybe, you could love him once more. Throughout the past nine years, when Jack basically pushed you out of his life, he lived in constant regret. He promised himself if he ever got a second chance with you, he would take it and do everything in his power to ensure you never felt the same pain as you did during your marriage.

Jack can't help but feel a glimmer of optimism as he sets the letter down. The future is uncertain, but the mere fact that you have chosen to reach out stirs hope deep within him. It's a fragile hope, like a flickering flame in the darkness, but it burns nonetheless.

As the weight of the letter lingers in Jack's hands, his gaze drifts toward his phone. Resting on the table beside the torn envelope lay a familiar device—Jack's unchanged phone, a device that held precious moments. He had never upgraded it because it carried countless memories. It was the very phone into which you had entered your number when you first met. It was the same phone that had kept him up on calls until the sun peeked over the horizon, the same phone that had exchanged texts with you at all hours of the day. It was the very phone where you introduced him to the world of sexting, etching those intimate moments into his memory. Jack found himself continually revisiting these cherished memories, and he never changed his phone number. Perhaps, in the recesses of his hopeful heart, he believed you might someday reach out. Even though the years following the divorce had passed without your contact, he couldn't bring himself to give up hope.

He reaches out for his phone and picks it up, his fingers gliding over the familiar touchscreen. With a deep breath, he dials the number to the firm, his heart pounding in sync with each number pressed. 

The sound of the dial tone echoes in his ear, and before the receptionist has a chance to utter a greeting, Jack's voice resonates with urgency, cutting through the silence, "Good evenin’. This is Jack Daniels. I'm callin' for Mr. Raul Santos."

The receptionist, taken aback by his directness, responds with a polite tone, "Good evening, sir. Please hold while I transfer you." The hold music fills the air, a symphony of anticipation mingled with the echo of distant voices. Jack's mind races; moments feel like hours while he rehearses over and over what he will say.

Finally, the ringing ceases and is replaced by a voice on the other end. It's Raul, the person who holds the power to give Jack his biggest wish. Jack wastes no time, the words escaping his lips before doubt can creep in, "Raul, it's Jack. When can I meet with her?" His voice carries a blend of longing and urgency.

"Jack, can you meet tomorrow at St. Andrew's Hospital at 10 AM?" The words hang in the air, filled with anticipation, as Jack's breath catches in his throat.

Why the hospital? Jack's mind questions. Summoning his resolve, Jack finds his voice and responds, "I'll be there."

"Perfect," Raul replies, his voice a lifeline in the abyss of uncertainty. "We'll be waiting for you on the tenth floor of the East Tower. When you sign in on the first floor, tell them you're meeting Dr. Navarro." Jack nods to himself, memorizing all the instructions as if his life depends on it. 

Jack's emotions simmer beneath the surface as the call comes to an end, a torrent of hope, nervousness, and a glint of renewed longing. The image of St. Andrew's Hospital burns in his mind, a symbol of new beginnings and the coming together of their separate lives.

With apprehension and excitement, Jack sets the phone down, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Tomorrow assures a reunion, a chance for Jack to apologize for all of the suffering he has caused you. It is a moment he has dreamed of, yearned for, an opportunity to correct all his errors.

As he gazes into the distance, the fading daylight casting long shadows across his tired face, Jack finds solace in the glimmer of hope that glows in his heart. The road ahead may be filled with uncertainty, but at this moment, he dares to believe that the fragments of their broken bond may find a way to heal.

Despite his initial doubts, sleep had managed to find its way to Jack, offering him a few hours of rest. When he wakes, a surge of excitement courses through his veins, fueled by the knowledge that he will soon be reunited with you. The morning light filters through the window, casting gentle rays of warmth upon his face; as he rises with a renewed sense of purpose.

Determined to make a good impression, Jack steps into the shower, the hot water cascading over his body, washing away the traces of sleep and leaving him feeling refreshed. He carefully removes the stubble with each stroke of the razor against his skin, his fingertips tracing the sharp contours of his tanned face, ensuring a clean and polished look. The mustache, once untamed, is now meticulously trimmed, framing his pink lips.

Moving to his closet, Jack sifts through his collection of clothes; a rain of fabric and colors fall on his full-sized bed. He changes in and out of various combinations, looking for the perfect outfit. His fingers glide over the texture of his dress shirts, searching for the best one. Jack eventually settles on a deep blue dress shirt, a charcoal gray blazer, tailored pants that hug his frame just right, and a tie with subtle patterns.

Next, Jack turns his attention to his footwear, opting for a pair of polished black leather shoes. Would you examine his shoes with a magnifying glass? No, but that doesn't stop Jack from meticulously brushing off any lingering specks of dust, ensuring they shine in the morning light. As a finishing touch, he retrieves a felt Stetson hat, a prized possession that holds sentimental value because you gifted him with it. He tenderly cleans it, erasing any signs of wear, and proudly sets it atop his head.

Ready to see you- Jack leaves his apartment, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The crisp, chilly morning air greets him as he exits the lobby. I remember I met my sugar on a day like this, Jack thinks. He pretty much runs towards his car and turns the key making the engine roar to life. With each mile that passes throughout his two-hour drive, his mind remains focused on the meeting ahead.

When Jack arrives at the hospital, he hands his keys to the valet while scanning the surroundings for the reception area. He spots a man in a gray uniform and approaches him, his voice full of eagerness, "Good mornin’,” Jack begins, "I have a meeting with Dr. Navarro at 10 AM." 

"May I see your ID, please?" The man asks politely, extending his hand.

Jack hesitates for a moment and reluctantly hands over his ID, watching as the man's eyes scan the name. There's a brief pause, and then the man looks up at Jack, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Jack Daniels." The man says with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the name on the identification. 

Jack, sensing the unspoken question, clenches his teeth and responds with a touch of irritability, "Yes, it's real." The man understands the tone and directs Jack toward the appropriate elevator.

Jack complied eagerly and made his way toward the elevator. With anticipation, he reached out and pressed the button, making it glow orange. A ding echoed behind him in a matter of seconds. He hurriedly stepped inside the elevator and quickly jabbed at the close button, unwilling to wait for another passenger. Jack kept repeating a mantra of hurry, hurry, hurry in his mind. Without wasting a second, he confidently pressed the number 10.

Jack grows impatient inside the elevator, his fingers tapping restlessly against his hips as he paces back and forth. The rising numbers on the display screen get his attention, frows burring with each digit slowly increasing- reminding him of precious time slipping away. "This has to be the slowest fukin' elevator in the world." He growls in the empty elevator. Frustration lingers in Jack's thoughts; You should've taken the stairs instead of the goddamn elevator, his inner voice cursing the choice that delays the meeting with you. And when the tenth floor finally arrives, Jack leaps into action, his boots hitting the clean baby blue floor with a resounding thud.

Startling the receptionist, Jack raises a hand in apology and walks toward the front desk. He provides his name and appointment details, receiving a buzz of approval before being directed to his destination. Jack rushes forward, his heart pounding. Unbeknownst to him, the receptionist shakes their head, silently cautioning him to be careful, a concern in the receptionist's head so he won't stumble and falls on his ass because of his hurried run. 

The instructions echo in his mind, and he checks them off as he goes; walk to the automatic white doors, check, press the buzzard, check, walk to the end of the corridor, check, make a left, check, take one last left, chec-

And there you are, seated on a gray leather bench outside the meeting room, your eyes locked onto the black screen of your phone as if you’re waiting for it to light up, lost in a world of your own. Jack's breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you, and his eyes well up with tears. Time seems to stand still as he stares at you, overwhelmed by the flood of memories and emotions that surge within him. Despite the passage of years, you still possess the power to make his heart flutter, your presence stirring a mixture of awe and love. She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he thinks.

However, Jack's expression falters as he realizes the missed opportunities, the unspoken words, the love not fully cherished. Regret taints his thoughts as he reflects on the path that brought the both of you to this moment. He wants to make amends for the pain he caused you, but Jack knows that this meeting has a different purpose; he doesn't know why the exact reason, but after everything he put you through, there must be a reason you need him. He's not going to let you down, not again.

Summoning his courage, Jack calls out your name. Your head immediately turns towards the voice, one that hasn't graced your ears in years, and for a quick moment, he sees a flicker of reluctance in your eyes. Seeing Jack again, admittingly, stirs up an overwhelming desire to hide from him. All you can see are the haunting memories. A flood of painful flashbacks that would bring you to tears in privacy. The temptation to approach him surges within you, but it's not for a hug or a kiss, no. Instead, you imagine the crimson mark your hand could leave on his cheek. But you take a deep breath, reminding yourself of the reason you reached out to him after all these years.

"I didn't think you were going to show." You finally say, your voice tinged with relief and guarded vulnerability. Rising from the bench, you stand before him, your hands tucked inside the comforting embrace of your black hoodie's pouch. 

Jack's heart aches at the sight of you, knowing that the pain he inflicted has left an unforgettable mark on you. Though he craves to erase the memories of hurt, he understands that redemption lies in actions, not words alone. Taking a deep breath, he suppresses his own desire to close the distance, touch you, and maybe taste your lips again. He mentally shakes his head, focusing instead on the reason for your reunion.

"Hi, Sug-" He stumbles for a moment, realizing he no longer has the right to call you by the affectionate nickname. "I mean, hello. I'm here." 

"I'm glad you came."

Jack nods, his throat tight with emotions he struggles to put into words. "I knew I had to be here," he says, "I couldn't let this opportunity slip away." 

"There are things we need to address, wounds that need healing. I want to make things right, to find a way to move forward together."

You want to interrupt, to rip the bandaid off, but Raul's advice rings in your ears, urging you to let the meeting room be the place to lay everything on the table. So you hold back and let Jack do the talking.

Jack takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking. His heart pounds in his chest as he gets closer. "I know I've caused you so much pain," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm here today because... because I want to make things right. I wanna understand, I wanna listen, and try to heal the wounds I've caused. I wanna be there for you, to support you, to love you, and do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. And if you'll let me, I wanna be a part of-" 

Just as Jack was about to request something that has always been on his mind, a door opening from behind you interrupts him. Raul with one foot inside the meeting room and the other in the corridor, calls out for both your names.

"We're ready for you," Raul announces a sense of urgency in his voice. He holds the door open, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

You exchange a quick glance with Jack, seeking reassurance, a silent confirmation that he'll follow through and both of you follow Raul into the conference room. The door shuts softly behind you, filling the room with the only sound. Your gaze sweeps the room, and you take in the white conference room with its black and white marble table in the middle and the soft glow of natural light.

Feeling a wave of emotions crashing over you, you instinctively shut your eyes for a few seconds to compose yourself. This is a lot harder than I expected... the thought lingers in your mind. Dr. Navarro's words echo in your memory, urging you to relax through the simple act of breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, you repeat silently, allowing the rhythmic inhalation and exhalation to steady your racing heart.

Choosing your chair carefully, you opt to sit with your back facing the window. It provides a sense of security and shields you from external distractions allowing you to solely focus on Jack. Your hand reaches out and lands upon one of the gray roll-on chairs, its smooth leather headrest cool against your fingertips. 

On the opposite side of the table, Jack is reluctantly guided by Raul to his designated seat. Oh, I can sit wherever I damn well please, he scoffs silently, but I suppose I can play by the rules for now. Just think about all the appointments with Dr. Reynolds and what-if scenarios. Don't mess this up. He takes a seat, begrudgingly accepting the arrangement, while his back deliberately faces the door. The positioning serves as a physical reminder of the boundaries and emotional distance that have grown between the two of you throughout the years.

Raul takes a seat at the head of the table. Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence. "Thank you both for coming today. As you may already know, the purpose of this meeting is of utmost importance. Mr. Daniels, the reason my client-"

Jack interrupts, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and vulnerability. "Stop. I don't want this to be an official meeting. I just... I want," he glances at you, his eyes searching for understanding, "I just want you to do the talking, please." He knows he has no right to make demands, but he wants to talk with you directly, to bridge the gap between you, if even it's just for a moment.

Raul looks at you briefly, to see how you're doing. "My role is simply to facilitate the conversation," Raul responds, his voice assuring and tinged with a hint of anger. Maldito inútil malparido (Fuking useless bastard). This asshole hurt her so much. How dare he make demands? Raul is well aware of the pain Jack caused you. He was one of the first people you confided in about the divorce, and he naturally helped you with the process. Raul cashed in many favors to expedite the process which would usually take time. In fact, he stayed up all night to ensure that he could serve Jack the papers the morning after you left him.

Truth be told, Raul initially liked Jack when you first introduced him to your friends. However, as time went on and you grew more serious, Jack's repeated slips of the tongue and thoughtless actions made Raul's opinion of him sour. The final straw for Raul was when Jack couldn't even give you the wedding you deserved. Raul knew how much you loved Jack, so even though he could see through your forced smile when discussing the wedding details, he congratulated you both and sent a gift.

You meet Raul's gaze, conveying your appreciation for his support. "Raul, está bien. (Raul, it's okay.)" You say softly, recognizing his concern and knowing that you need to have this conversation directly with Jack.

With a nod, Raul settles back in his chair, allowing the focus to shift solely to the two of you. The room is filled with a charged silence. As you prepare to speak, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and decide how you want to phrase everything.

"My baby... my baby has Fanconi Anemia and needs a blood donor." You explain, your voice trembling with desperation. "No one in the family has been a close match. Even among friends, no one is a match. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that almost everyone I know has been tested, but a donor hasn't been found."

You pause, the weight of the situation making your heart hurt. "Just a month ago, we were hopeful. A match was finally found through the National Marrow Donor Program. We finally felt like we could breathe, but then she was involved in a severe car accident. She was T-boned by a drunk driver, and her car fell into a ditch, causing a traumatic brain injury. Thank God she's going to be okay, but unfortunately, her condition disqualifies her from being a donor."

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. "Now, we're back to square one, searching for a compatible donor, but it's going to take a long time again. Jack, I know you didn't love me or care about me, and I understand that you didn't want me to have the baby. But please, I'm begging you to get tested to see if you're a match. If you are, please consider donating."

A rush of emotions floods through you, a mixture of fear, vulnerability, and a glimmer of fragile hope. You gaze into Jack's eyes, desperately searching for a spark of compassion, a willingness to help. "I understand you still resent me for everything. If you do this, I promise it will be the last time I'll contact you. I won't ask for anything more. Please, Jack." 

Jack takes a moment to absorb your words, his eyes flickering with a complex mix of emotions. "What's their name?" He asks, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of longing.

"His name is Ángel." You reply softly, feeling a bittersweet ache in your heart.

Jack's eyes widen, and a myriad of emotions passes over his face. "Ángel." He repeats and although he can't quite replicate your pronunciation thanks to his accent, it's still beautiful to him.  "I have a son." He whispers, his voice barely audible.

A flood of thoughts and emotions washes over Jack, overwhelming him. He shuts his eyes momentarily, attempting to process everything. This newfound knowledge stirs something deep within him, a sense of responsibility and a longing to be a father. I lost a son before he was born, I missed out on Ángel’s life when I said I didn’t want him, but I won’t lose him again. 

With determination in his voice, Jack looks at you. "I'll donate. I’ll do whatever it takes to help Ángel.”

He’s going to do it, you let out a sigh of relief. The alleviation that surges through you, washes away some of the anxieties that had been weighing you down. You're grateful that Jack is willing to take this step, to offer his help for the sake of your son. However, before you can express your gratitude, Jack's questions pour out in a rush.

“But... what is Fanconi Anemia? How bad is it? Is the procedure going to hurt him? Does he need surgery? What if I’m not a matc-" his voice trails off, uncertainty and concern etched on his face.

Realizing his anxieties, you reach out and gently interrupt him, calling his attention. "Jack," you say softly, trying to soothe his worries. "Breathe."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to explain Ángel's condition. His doctor was supposed to join us, but I can explain for now."

You take a deep breath, grateful that Jack is willing to help. "Fanconi Anemia is a rare condition where the bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells." You explain, your voice filled with sadness. "Ángel was diagnosed fairly recently because he didn’t have any physical abnormalities. But then, he started experiencing frequent nosebleeds, which was weird to us. We took him to his Pediatrician, who ordered blood tests. The results showed abnormally low blood counts, and that's when we knew something was wrong."

A twinge of admiration and pride fills your words as you continue. "He underwent a bone marrow needle biopsy to confirm the diagnosis. It wasn't an easy procedure, even though they numbed the area. I could see the discomfort in his eyes, but he never complained. In fact, he saw that my eyes were red and swollen, and he reassured me that he didn't even feel it. I knew it was a lie, but he just wanted to protect me."

Your voice trembles with a blend of love and admiration as you speak of your son's strength. The memories of his bravery since before his official diagnosis fills your heart with both pride and a deep ache. You pause for a moment, to regain your composure.

You are about to explain more about his condition and the procedure when the door behind Jack opens. Jack's gaze is solely focused on you since he assumes his son's doctor is the one coming in. Suddenly, you have a smile on your face when you look over Jack's shoulder, and he's confused until he hears the voice of the man that has given him nightmares ever since he got served with divorce papers.

“Cariño, Danny, and Heidi are staying with Ángel now,” Javier says as he makes his way to you, his presence a comfort for you and unease for Jack. "Sorry I'm late, I wanted to stay to see if he could keep his food down." He hovers over you and kisses the top of your head.

He pulls out a chair next to you, and that's when Jack sees it – a wedding band on Javier's left ring finger.

Fuck.

Unconsciously, you pull your hand from underneath the table and place your left hand on Javier's for comfort.

You had your hand covered the entire time, and that's when Jack notices it- your rings. 

Fuck.

You’re married to him? Jack seethes in his head.

“Jack.” Javier nods but Jack can’t respond. How can he respond when another man is married to the love of his life? 

In a moment of anger and hurt, Jack blurted out, "Did you cheat on me with him? Is that why you wanted a divorce?" Jack asks, the pain and jealousy bubbling to the surface.

Just like that, some of the gratitude for Jack shatters.

The response from you was immediate, “Jesus, no, you asshole,” you spit out, offended. “How dare you ask that?”

“You didn’t love me. That’s why I divorced you." You retort, feeling the anger resurface.

At that moment everything he discussed with Dr. Reynolds, all of the progress was gone. He did just find out so much within the past few minutes, and his usual coping techniques seemed to fail him in this moment of overwhelming emotions.

“Wait, if you cheated on me with him, that means he could have been the one to knock you up. How do I know Ángel is my son?” Of course, you remarrying was killing him, but if that on top of having his son snatched when he just got him back, it would end him.

“I never cheated on you, Jack.” You spit out, offended. “You were the one that was involved in another relationship, even if it was emotional. Not me. Don’t make me the villain.”

"You’re Ángel’s biological father, Jack." You emphasized, hoping to dispel any doubts he had. But he seemed stuck in his head.

Biological, the word echoed in his ears. It was a harsh reminder that he was just the man who contributed to Ángel's DNA. He hasn't been his dad, and if he keeps this up, he will never know his son like he wants to.

"You want a paternity test? Done," you offered, wanting to rid his doubts. "But if you don’t want to take my word for it, Fanconi Anemia is an inherited disease. Ángel has the FANCR gene, which is autosomal dominant. I got screened for it, and I’m not a carrier. Autosomal dominant means that a gene from one parent can cause the genetic condition. If I didn’t pass the gene, that means you’re the carrier. That’s how Ángel got the disease."

The reality hit him like a ton of bricks. I did this to my son. He’s sick because of me.

The room falls silent, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. The pain and guilt wash over him, and Jack is overwhelmed by his emotions.

"Querida, calm down. This isn’t good for you. Te va ser daño. (It’s going to harm you.) This isn’t good for the baby," Javier tries to soothe you, his voice gentle and caring. Javier's dark eyes bore into Jack with rage. Jack can feel the anger emanating from your husband. Javi leans forward, his body language asserting his presence. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck visibly tense, and his hands grip the edge of the table as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

The baby? Jack thinks.

The hospital is always cold, which is why you always have a sweater with you, but right now, you feel like you're burning up. You lean back from the table and unzip your hoodie, instantly feeling cooler with your sweater out of the way.

Jack's eyes are drawn to your swollen and round stomach, and he's speechless.

Extended note: Just as I thought, Jack is more popular than Dave, so in the meantime, I'll be working on the graphics for this series instead of Eres Mía. Dave is one of my top 3 favorite Pedro characters, and I think he's highly underrated, but I get the love for the cowboy! 

I'm slowly adding titles of fics that I plan on sharing, so if you see something without a link on my masterlist, I'll get to it (eventually). After this series is completed, I think I'll post another Whiskey one-shot (he's been to therapy in this one :), but I'm not too sure yet.

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎

Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them!

Tag list: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy

[oneshotnewbie]

how are you??

i was looking at your list and saw that you write for the walking dead and was wondering if you’d be willing to do a request on it for me? thank you!!

so it’s basically maggie greene (rhee) x teen!reader where reader is like a daughter or a younger sister to her. it’s nothing special or major, but maybe just a cute little story where reader gets sick or hurt and maggie takes care of her and is all motherly/big sister-like with reader?

also reader’s carl’s age, so i think about fourteen then? again, you can change the age if you need to, i don’t mind!

- 🍄 anon

Authors note: Hey, sweet mushroom. I am doing okay so far, I hope you are doing great! At the same time, I hope you like this little story ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The world was a shadowy landscape of ruined buildings, deserted streets and the faint echoes of past civilization. The earth, once vibrant with life, now lay in the grip of a post-apocalyptic silence.

In the middle of this desolate scenario, between rusty walls, lived Maggie with her small "family" - a group of survivors who had come together to survive in this unnatural world. Among them you, whose real name had long been lost in the turmoil of time.

It was the icy wind of a wintry morning that intensified the already bitter cold of the Forsaken Land as an ominous cough snaked its way through the silence of the house. Maggie sensed the icy breath of sickness beginning to spread through the ranks of the community. You, who had previously been a steadfast and indestructible pillar of the group, were among those affected and woke up with a feverish chill.

The symptoms appeared quickly: fever, chills and an exhausted look that bore the marks of suffering. But Maggie, a woman with an aura of determination and keen eye for your needs, recognized the gravity of your situation. Your body heavy, limbs aching, and eyes bloodshot from the fever that burned within you like a raging fire. "Hey, how are you feeling today kiddo?"

"Mags, I feel like I've been torn apart by a pack of wild dogs," you whispered, every movement making your body tremble as the older one approached your bed. Your voice, a faint breath in the gloomy silence, betrayed the exhaustion and weakness that the illness brought with it.

She sat down in an empty spot on your bed and gently placed a hand on your forehead. "You're literally burning. I have to see what I can find to help you. Otherwise the fever will kill you," she spoke with a look that told stories of loss and will to survive as her inner turmoil filled the air. "You want to leave me?"

"Just to get you and the others medicine,“ The group had hardly any remedies left to fight the disease. Medicines were in short supply, and the improvised teas offered no protection against the creeping germs. The post-apocalyptic world was not forgiving, and illnesses often became inescapable judgments. But the woman in front of you refused to just abandon you to your fate. Her connection to you was deeper than anyone else's. You had become like a little sister to her, someone she wanted and even needed to protect and support. "Carol will stay with you for the time I'm gone and take care of you. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. I promise."

With one last goodbye kiss, she left you in bed and set off with Daryl to do everything they could to bring you relief while, without her, time blurred into an endless succession of feverish hours and cough-ragged days.

The sun had long since hidden behind the toxic clouds in the sky when the search for medicine became a fight for survival in the shattered ruins of the buildings. The footsteps on broken glass and the constant gusts of wind blowing through the dilapidated shutters seemed to underscore the urgency of the mission.

She searched for medication in numerous abandoned pharmacies and barricaded doctor's offices. Her hands, battered by the cold and the endless digging through rubble, searched for the glimmer of hope amid the devastation until she finally came across locked cupboards, the only contents of which were a few bottles, expired medication and a few blankets. Maggie wasn't discouraged and took everything she could find. With a tenacity driven by her love for you, she returned to make use of what little she had found.

"Here, take this, sweetheart," she said, handing you a handful of expired medication. "It's not much, but it should at least bring down the fever a little." You smiled weakly and accepted the pills gratefully, barely getting into a sitting position. "Thanks. I don't know how I would do this without you."

She waved it off as if it were obvious. "In these times, we need to stick together. No one should wander alone in the dark. Especially not you," she helped you take the pills and then spread an extra blanket over you. "You're like my little sister, y/n. If something happened to you- I would never be happy again."

Over the next few days, your bedroom became a kind of makeshift hospital room and she began to care for you with a mix of old survival instincts and an unwavering caring nature. Blankets and hot water bottles became weapons in her fight against the invisible threat that took over your body.

The wind howled around the corners and an icy storm raged outside as the brunette spent the next few days cooking soups that she laced with fever-reducing drugs. She woke up by your side nightly, placing wet towels on your hot forehead and whispering soothing words into the darkness while you slept. The nights were long and quiet, interrupted only by the patients' wheezing and the crackling of their movements.

The group watched as the woman, who otherwise seemed so stoic and aloof, cared for you tenderly and self-sacrificingly. The others, who otherwise only knew the harsh reality of everyday life, witnessed a love between strangers that became family and that was more precious than any resource in these times.

Time crawled by and the disease tried to tighten its ugly claws. But Maggie's care and love proved to be powerful weapons. You fought against the disease, strengthened by their tireless help and solidarity support.

You lay weak, but your eyes still sparkled with life. In the quiet moments between feverish bouts, you and Maggie found time to talk quietly. "You have to stay strong, y/n. The world may have fallen apart, but we can't let it break us," she spoke as she cooled your forehead.

You smiled weakly, your eyes glassy with tiredness. "You're like a mother to me, Mags. I really can't imagine what it would be like without you."

Maggie just sighed quietly. "You are my family. I can't imagine what it would be like without you either."

The days passed and the illness slowly faded away like the side after a storm. You struggled back to your feet, strengthened by her unwavering belief in survival. The post-apocalyptic world may have been one of destruction and loss, but in this small corner of reality, humanity shone in its purest form, igniting a flame of hope for every survivor who walked the streets of Alexandria.

[petracourtjester]

please help a friend of a friend’s family flee the war in gaza!

Their story is under the keep reading banner:

(from the GoFundMe page)

My name is Lana and I am a current master’s student in the US and a Smith College Alumni. I am creating this GoFundMe on behalf of my parents, sisters, my two uncles, and their kids who are all in Gaza. The only way to leave Gaza is to get a permit to cross the Rafah border between Gaza and Egypt which is a costly process. This donation link is my family’s glimmer of hope to escape the ongoing genocide in Gaza. If you want to know more about what they went through and the current situation they are enduring please check the text below:

On October 7th, the war broke in Gaza City, where both my immediate and extended family live. By October 10th, my parents received an urgent evacuation order for our neighborhood located in al Rimal, the northern area of Gaza. They first went to my grandfather’s house to seek refuge, and a few days after, they relocated to my uncle’s house seeking a safer shelter amid the escalating conflict However, realizing the pervasive danger across the city, my parents and sisters made the decision to move to the southern part of Gaza in Rafah, enduring heavy bombardment and shelling in their way for safety which was not actually much safer than where they fled from.

Meanwhile, my uncle's family remained in their apartment in the northern part of Gaza, making calls and attempting to find a secure shelter in the southern part of Gaza. Their harrowing experience unfolded on November 1st when the sound of bombing was louder than usual and their apartment on the 7th floor of their building was trembling. With the sky ablaze in red, my uncle and his neighbors evacuated the apartments carrying minimal belongings and essential documents. All the neighbors gathered in the hallway of the building trying to find a way on how to safely evacuate the building since they were surrounded by tanks and missiles were falling in every possible direction. My 22-year-old cousin Samah said: “My mother was standing in the middle; I was standing to the right side of her, and my sister Raghad was standing to the left when a heavy airstrike hit the hallway of the building where we were all standing”. Samah’s mother and her sister unfortunately did not survive the airstrike. My uncle and his children bid their final farewells at the hospital; witnessing their beloved 20-year-old sister placed in a plastic bag and their mother shrouded in white cloth. They could not go back to their apartment because the entire building was completely demolished, all that remains as a reminder of their lost family members are the belongings they carried while attempting to evacuate.

My uncle and his kids could not go to the south because the road was so dangerous. They were stranded at a relative’s house for 20 days dealing with scarcity of food and water. When starvation was as dangerous as walking to the south they decided to take that long risky journey. My cousin Samah told me they were all so hungry and they had to walk for more than 5 hours. She told me that she fainted three times.

Current situation:

My two uncles, my cousins, my parents, and my siblings are all now in Rafah in the south of Gaza, which is also unfortunately under constant bombing since there is no safe place in Gaza right now. The constant feeling of fear, the lack of water and food, and the cold winter nights made the living conditions of my family and the people of Gaza unbearable. No one deserves to live in constant fear, with empty stomachs, and feeling unsafe. My family members are warm-hearted people who used to light up a room with their lively faces. But this war has taken away their sparkle, their homes, and worst of all, their loved ones. The last time I saw them was back in the summer of 2022 when I was home. I really hope that was not the last time I see them, so I'm asking for your help to get them out of Gaza by donating through this link.

[animatedrapture]

RINTOBER: [Greet Me With Goodbye]

suna rintarō x reader

word count: 2k

tags: bandmember!suna, angst, implied cheating, toxic relationship, post-breakup, smoking

song: 505 - arctic monkeys

a/n: PLEASE READ THE FIC WHILE LISTENING TO THIS. thank you mous for beta-reading this for me <3

The lights were near blinding as you stood behind the large crowd, having opted to stay where you can only see enough and be barely seen from the front of the stage where he stood.

 The start of the song is what causes goosebumps against your skin—like it wants to take your breath away, and if you weren’t having trouble breathing before, you definitely were when you heard his voice again—booming and deep as he sang the first verse of the song. Your heart aches when you remember the first time you heard it, nowhere near finished then.

 “I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck?” You read the lyrics out, intrigued, and you look back up to him. His gaze holds yours with unparalleled tenderness behind the gloss of his eyes. You cock an eyebrow at him with an amused smile.

 “Reminded me a lot about you when we first started trying to figure the lyrics out,” Suna answered with nonchalance, nodding at the paper held between your fingertips as if to tell you to continue reading through it.

 “You’re not wrong,” you commented, humming in thought. “I’d still adore you with your hands around my neck, Rintarou.”

 Suna grins, a glint in his eyes evident. Maybe because he knew, even without you telling him. He knew you adored him to a sinful extent.

 The cheers and audience singing along to the sound of his voice were loud, but the thunderous beating of your heart was louder. So much louder. That’s when you think that maybe you shouldn’t have come here, you shouldn’t have let your friends convince you to stand directly in front of him yet stand so far away as if you were hiding. Well, perhaps you really were hiding; you could definitely step forward, see his face with a thin sheen of sweat, strumming along the guitar that hung around his torso—God, his torso—and his hair slightly covering the pair of eyes you’ve loved so deeply for a long time. His pretty face looked ethereal from where you stood, the beaming lights surrounding the stage accentuating everything that made him who he was, Suna Rintarou.

 Suna’s thumb grazes your lower lip, swiping lightly with his intense gaze locked with yours. It’s hypnotizing like always. Suna’s green eyes—heavily lidded that it made him all the more pretty, all the more breathtaking—set on you as you sat on his lap, the blunt tucked in between the fingers of his other hand emitting smoke that invaded your lungs like he invaded the entirety of your mind.

 You can’t look away, not even when he takes a drag of it directly in front of you—it’s frustrating how oddly seducing it was to watch him, your eyes following the way he inhaled the smoke that was toxic to his lungs like he was toxic to your own heart, poison to your own mind, venom in your bloodstream.

 His lips find yours immediately, his hand that was on your face moving to the inside of your thighs and it’s enough to make you gasp—your lips parting against his as he blows out the smoke to your mouth and you inhale.

 You inhale because it was more like taking him in your system than the smoke that was toxic for your lungs, poison to your mind, venom in your bloodstream.

 You inhale and take him in your system. Yet you never would’ve thought he’d vanish like the same smoke going up in the air until you see it no more.

 “Not shy of a spark, the knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark,” You wish you were imagining it, the heavy drip of pain and contempt laced in his voice as he sang the words out. He sings like it’s flashing all in his head, every fight you both had—because it’s coming back to you too like a ton of bricks.

 Or maybe the sensation of it all coming back to you is more like what the lyrics he sang suggests already, a knife to the chest so deep that there’s simply no way you’d survive from it—no way a relationship could survive from it. The knife to your chest is dug deep enough; how do you live when it’s twisted and turned so sadistically?

 “You’re late again,” you mutter, sighing in exhaustion as you looked back at Suna who sat across from you from the table of the restaurant. It was your date night, scheduled already weeks before—yet he came in late—an hour late to be exact. An hour you spent giving tight lipped smiles to everyone’s gazes who fell on you near the middle of the restaurant as you waited, an hour spent smiling politely as you answered waiters who came near you asking if you’re ready to order.

 An hour spent wondering why this isn’t the first nor second time he left you waiting on nights that should’ve been about the both of you.

 “Look, I’m sorry, yeah?” He quipped, not bothering to even spare you a glance.

 He eyes the menu while your eyes begin to sting as you hold back your tears. You want to burst, to say something—anything. Anything that would take his attention, anything that would finally tell him you can’t keep doing this.

 “You don’t seem sorry, Rin,” you reply silently, gaze steady on his figure still looking through the menu. He finally looks up at you, exasperation fully evident in his features.

 “What’d ya want me to say? I just ran a lil late, alright?” He snapped, the menu falling harshly down the table from his grip.

 “You’ve been running a little late for months now—I’m tired of it,” your voice sounds weak, defeated. This is something you didn’t know was like knife twisted into Suna Rintarou’s heart.

 “If you’re tired, then leave,” his voice was cold to a scalding degree.

 Maybe the mistake was that you didn’t leave that night. That you continued something that you both should’ve tried to end that night—or at least attempted to. You didn’t know this either, but had you attempted to leave, Suna was bound to chase after you and engulf you in his arms.

 But you didn’t.

“I'm going back to 505, if it's a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive. In my imagination, you're waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs.”

Every beat of the song felt like a kick with the kind of ache you felt against your chest that seemed so constricting. It’s like you’re inhaling the same smoke from his lungs again, choking you with it.

 You’re not sure how it happens, nor does it register in time when bright lights fall just where you stood—not in a dramatic sense like those god-forsaken clichéd romance novels—but simply out of coincidence. Come to think of it, had you stepped forward, you wouldn’t have been there, completely visible in his line of sight when his narrowed eyes zero on you in the crowd so easily as if you were magnet to his gaze, still.

 That could’ve been the case before. But not anymore.

 Not anymore, you ponder. If you hadn’t walked away and pulled from his embrace that day, would things have been different? He’s standing on a bigger stage now; oddly enough, you also heard he’s had more control of his schedule since. It’s been so long since the last time he’s seen you, been so long since he woke up to an empty bed—your warmth gone and your lingering scent on the sheets faint as if you were barely there to begin with.

 Just like that, he wished he could take it all back.

 The sound of Suna’s phone felt nagging and relentless. The more days passed, the more it was louder, the more his eyes remained trained on his phone.

 His fidelity remained unquestioned even as your relationship with him turned disastrously strained from all the hours you’ve spent waiting, all the days you’ve spent without him, all the replies you never received—all your messages left on read like you’re looking at Suna Rintarou, your own boyfriend, through a static screen.

 He continued to fall short and break your heart little by little but knowing he loved you beyond his actions was something you wholeheartedly believed; because his eyes staring back at you remained both tender and fiery like golden balance of true love.

 Yet maybe you were wrong.

 The final straw is the way your eyes follow the string of messages between Suna and another girl you’ve forced yourself to forget the name of. Your gaze lingers and wallow at the provocative pictures of the woman, enough to make you wonder where you lacked—where you came short.

 You wished it was only that which set you apart piece by piece like a puzzle being undone and someone else stealing the pieces of yourself you thought you gave to the man you can trust those pieces with to safe-keep.

 But the blue bubble saying, “Meet me in a few minutes,” on one of the nights he came late—bright blue and blinding enough to make you want to gauge your eyes out—and the following, “I’m here, where are you?” burns in the back of your head like his lit up cigarettes against your skin so fervently.

 That day, little by little, you packed your things in the most discreet of ways; sure, it should’ve probably taken a lot before Suna would have noticed when he’s barely home with you—but you remained scared that he would notice and you wouldn’t say no if he asked you to stay, because that’s how much Suna had you—line, hook, and sinker.

 You take one tentative step back, but your legs feel restrained and paralyzed underneath you when Suna’s eyes lock with yours, meters apart, but you would be lying if you said it’s an illusion when his eyes glimmer the same way—tender and fiery.

 “But I crumble completely when you cry, it seems like once again you’d have to greet me with goodbye,” his voice sounds so much louder, so much heavier—especially with his eyes trained on you as he sang the lyrics out without waver.

 Your heart swells and you think, it’s unfair. It’s unfair that his eyes looked as if he was pleading for you not to go the same way you knew he would’ve had he only known you were leaving him that day.

 Suna was worn-out. Tired beyond effable means or description of words; and he thinks he couldn’t be more exhausted when he rattles on the doorknob of the home you shared with him, the place he came home to with you—only to find it locked. He’s too exhausted to notice the way the house felt emptier, seemed emptier like something—someone was missing when he pushes the key in and enters the place.

 Suna was too exhausted to think you’d be gone forever; too drained to ever consider that it’ll take a year since that day before he sees you again.

 Suna was too exhausted to notice the letter you left on the bedside table; too exhausted to notice you’ve been gone for a week until he comes home again for a break, only for his heart to break at the sight of the empty house. Empty; defined as: without you

 You don’t notice the tears cascading down your cheeks until you see the way Suna’s eyebrows furrowed together from the stage he stood on as he continued to sing, never once taking his eyes off of you, like he’s hurting from the way he watches you cry.

“I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise, take my hands off of your eyes too soon.” The ring placed as a pendant on the necklace around Suna’s neck glistened under the strobe lights dancing around suddenly felt heavier—so much heavier, as if it’s you who has your hands around his neck.

Maybe you do.

Maybe you do; because Suna runs off of the stage the moment the last beat of his lyrics come as he sees you finally looking away. Your figure slowly dimming away as the lights calm down to the beat of the song slowly dwindling away like you did—but never like the fire that burned in your chest at the sight of him.

You wish you could run but every step you took felt like you had boulders weighing down on your feet; as if no part of you wanted to go—and maybe that’s the miracle that Suna will forever thank whatever deity is out there for, because without it, he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to you as you attempted to drag your body and walk away, trying not to look back.

📞 violet is calling… all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

[the-last-airblender]

Chapter 5: The Siege (part 2)

This is part of the Run series, check out part 1 here and the masterlist with the previous chapters here

Notes: here’s part two!

~

You whirl around, ready to grab your hidden throwing knives, but then see it's Hal.

He raises his hands and smiles hesitantly. 'It's just me.'

'Sorry.' You let out a sigh of relief and smile back. 'It's not like I can stab you right now, anyway.'

Hal chuckles and walks over to the balustrade, leaning against one of the small columns supporting the domed roof. The corners between the columns and the cupola are adorned with intricate stone wickerwork, just like the balustrade, which you can therefore partly see through. These graceful patterns seem to be almost the only thing not made out of volcanic rock; where the interior walls are mostly plastered white, the rest of the three-storey house has a red-gray tone that blends in nicely with the landscape.

'How are you feeling? People saw you running upstairs as if your life depended on it.'

You look up and silently curse your lack of subtlety.

'I really needed some fresh air', you sigh. 'I think the pastry from earlier didn’t agree with me. But I’m feeling better now.' You give him a warm smile. 'Thank you.'

'We can stay out here for a while', Hal suggests. 'This is my favorite place in the whole building, actually. Or, well, outside the building, I suppose.'

You chuckle and you’re inclined to agree, but then you remember why you’re here in the first place and shake your head.

'As beautiful as this view is, I came here to party', you say.

He gallantly offers you his arm, grinning broadly. 'Very well, m'lady. Let's party.'

~

'Hurry up, purge the drives', the imperial scientist commands the colleague next to him.

Both are hurriedly pressing all kinds of buttons on the control panel, but a few seconds later the blasterfire sounds too close for his liking and when he looks up, the intruders are rapidly approaching them and he quickly grabs his own weapon.

'Destroy it!', he yells to his buddy, who also takes out his blaster and desperately starts firing at the panel. Then he hears his colleague fall to the ground and he fires a few more shots in the direction of the strangers, but to no avail. A well-aimed shot hits his chest and he falls over the panel like a bag of salt.

An eerie silence falls over the room as Din and his companions slowly walk past the cabins embedded in the wall. The four of them have placed enough explosives to destroy the entire base with Karga's detonator, but their element of surprise is lost. Din has already given you the signal to start a fire in the villa.

Blue light illuminates their confused and horrified faces. The cabins seem to be filled with a certain cloudy liquid and Din can only just make out the faint contours of motionless figures floating in it. He doesn't know what’s in there, but it certainly isn’t human. A chill runs down his spine.

'I thought you said this was a forward operating base', he says.

'I thought it was', Karga mumbles.

Dune stares at one of the cabins, her face dark. 'No, this isn't a military operation.' She looks up to the others. 'This is a lab. We need to get into the system and figure out what's going on.'

Mythrol starts to protest, but Karga interrupts him. 'Do it!'

Din looks from the cabins to the half-destroyed panel. The scientists had been very intent on destroying their data. What kind of research could possibly be so important?

'I don't like this', he announces to no one in particular.

'Pardon me.’ Mythrol gently pushes the scientist's body, which still hangs over the panel, to the side until it slides to the ground with a thud. Then he starts pushing buttons, hoping to get at least something out of the burnt device. For a moment it looks like the scientist succeeded in wrecking it, but then a small hologram pops up and the figure of a man with glasses starts talking. Din immediately recognizes the doctor to whom he initially delivered the child.

‘-replicated the results of the subsequent trials, which also resulted in catastrophic failure’, the doctor says. ‘There were promising effects for an entire fortnight, but then, sadly, the body rejected the blood. I highly doubt we'll find a donor with a higher M-count, though. I recommend that we suspend all experimentation. I fear that the volunteer will meet the same regrettable fate if we proceed with the transfusion. Unfortunately, we have exhausted our initial supply of blood. The Child is small, and I was only able to harvest a limited amount without killing him. If these experiments are to continue as requested, we would again require access to the donor. I will not disappoint you again, Moff Gideon. '

The message ends and an ominous feeling creeps over the Mandalorian. He looks from Dune to Karga.

'This must be an old transmission. Moff Gideon is dead,' he says, partly to reassure himself, but panic is already stirring in his chest.

Mythrol hardly dares to look at him. 'No. This recording is three days old.'

'If Gideon's alive, then...'

He doesn't get to finish his sentence.

'Over there!', a stormtrooper shouts from the hallway.

Blasterfire erupts from both sides and the man falls to the ground, but he didn’t come alone.

'We have them!', shouts another to his colleagues.

'I need to get to the kid', Din says hastily.

'Jet back, you're faster that way', Karga shouts over the sound of the shots. 'We'll head to the speeder and meet you in town!'

The Mandalorian nods and runs down a nearby hallway. Now he just needs to find the way out.

~

You're in the middle of your second dance with Hal when you get Din's signal. Because of the music, you can only understand half of it, but that’s all you need. Time to set this place ablaze.

On the way here you had worried about making any fire at all, since you didn’t have a lighter on you, but upon entering the mansion, the solution had immediately presented itself: candles had been placed on the balustrade of the second floor, inbetween each column, providing nice mood lighting. They certainly create atmosphere, but also an opportunity: with so many candles in the building, no one would be too surprised about a fire.

'All that twisting makes me sick', you shout in Hal's ear. 'I'm going to get some fresh air again. Be right back.'

'Wait, I'm coming with you', he says.

'I'd really prefer to go alone. Recharge my social battery, you know', you say quickly, planting a kiss on his cheek, hoping that will prevent any further protests. He opens his mouth and closes it again, flustered by the gesture, and you turn to walk away. Immediately, you bump into a person dressed in blue and you start to apologize, but then you see who it is.

'May I steal your friend here from you for a second?', Mayweather asks his son with a smile.

Before Hal can answer, however, the man has already put his arm through yours and is somewhat forcefully leading you away from the loud music.

'I almost didn't recognize you, lady Signas', he says without looking at you, pulling you to the side of the courtyard, towards the shadow of the overhanging balustrade. His body language still radiates the perfect, calm host, but the undertone in his voice is not lost on you and your heart is pounding so loudly that you have to make an effort to understand him. You pray to Dedis that he doesn't feel your trembling.

‘Then again, it has been years since I last saw you and you've certainly grown up a lot. But I'd recognize Duuganise wedding attire anywhere. I was at your father's wedding, remember?'

'No', you mutter as you reach the shadows, unable to stop your voice from shaking.

'Ah, I suppose you were very young at the time', Mayweather continues calmly, as if the two of you are just talking about the weather. 'His wife looked beautiful that day, almost as beautiful as you. What's her name again?'

He still holds your arm in a tight grip, even though you’re standing still now. To the other guests, it must seem as if the host is just having a friendly conversation with his guest.

You swallow and answer: 'Avlin.'

'Avlin, right', he nods. 'Did she do this?' He points to the paint on your arms and the lump growing in your throat prevents you from doing anything more than shake your head. 'No? Must have been your aunt, then. Always liked her. She's a very strong woman. Isn't it her son you married?'

All your instincts scream the same: he knows. Yet you cling to the last glimmer of hope for his ignorance and nod in agreement.

'That's right', you force yourself to add.

Then a guard appears from the corridor near you. He looks around and when he spots Mayweather, he comes up to him and whispers something in his ear. You're too busy panicking to hear him, but deep down you already know what news the guard is bringing. You’d heard shots when Din gave you the signal.

'Is that so?', Mayweather says with an unmistakably icy tone in his voice.

He looks down on you and you avoid his gaze. The grip on your arm tightens even more.

'I was wondering where you left that Mandalorian friend of yours.'

Your heart drops and you don’t fight him when he harshly drags you to the hallway. You’re led through a couple of wooden doors until you arrive in a mostly empty room where the festivities and the music can no longer be heard. The next moment you’re thrown against the wall and you fall to the stone floor with a pained cry.

'So what was your plan here, huh?', Mayweather begins, resting his hands on his knees and looking down at you as if you’re a naughty child. Every trace of kindness has now completely disappeared from his demeanor. 'They infiltrate the base while you stay up here and do… what, exactly?'

You push yourself into a sitting position and stubbornly stare at him, not planning to tell him anything about your intentions. For the time being, he doesn't seem to be aware of your affinity for knives or the ones still strapped to your legs. Whether he never knew or forgot, you can’t be sure, but once again you have to be smart about when to reveal your hidden weapons.

'One of my men did report a missing key, sir', suggests the brown-haired guard standing in the doorway. Mayweather raises an eyebrow and looks from him to you.

'I assume you're responsible for that, then', he concludes. ‘Certainly explains how they got in without the alarm going off. I should have known you were up to no good when I first noticed you, considering what you did back home. I should have put you on a ship and sent you back to Duugan the first chance I got. Guess I could still do that. But first I wanna know this: what are your friends planning on achieving down there, little girl?'

You don't answer and before you can blink, he slaps you across the face hard enough to make stars dance before your eyes. You can't hold back a scream as you lose your balance for a second. Your cheek burns painfully and anger rises in you.

Oh, this asshole is gonna pay.

You’re just about to grab a knife when Mayweather's next words stop you.

'What do we have here?'

He looks at something on the floor next to you and when you follow his gaze, your heart skips a beat.

Your earphone fell out of your ear.

In the silence that falls, a voice can be heard coming out of it, but you can only make out your name.

'Damn, my son sure is a bad judge of character', he sighs.

Before you can stop him, he plants his boot on top of the device and with a pathetic cracking sound your connection with the Mandalorian is severed.

~

Your scream echoes in Din’s head long after the connection is lost. He rushes through the long metal corridors, but every now and then he gets held up by alarmed stormtroopers. His instincts are screaming for him to fly to the child as quickly as possible. The news of Moff Gideon's survival scares him more than he'd like to admit and he can't wait to get to the Crest and leave this planet. But a little voice tugs on his conscience as he finally sees sunlight in the distance. The plan was that you would be picked up by Mythrol's speeder, but as always, the plan has long fallen apart. The sound of his heavy boots resounds through the hallway as he runs towards the light. He's not gonna leave you behind.

~

Panting, you run down the hall, as fast as your legs can carry you. Suddenly the road in front of you is blocked and you shoot into a side corridor, which turns out to lead back to the party. However, screams behind you tell you that the guards won't be afraid to just chase you there too. They underestimated you once and it cost them dearly, but they won't do that again.

You keep running under the balustrade while the rest of the guests let out cries of excitement and confusion, and you shoot up the stairs for the third time today. Your bun has come undone and the remnants flutter in the wind when you turn right twice without really knowing why. Once in the narrow hallway you realize what a stupid decision that was, but you can't go back. Wide-eyed, you slam against the balcony balustrade, wildly looking for a way out, but there isn't one. You're trapped.

Running footsteps echo behind you and you turn, half expecting to get shot right away, but much to your surprise it’s Hal who’s the first to reach the balcony, followed closely by the guards. The poor boy struggles to stop the enraged men, his face all confused.

'Wait, wait!', he shouts as you climb the balustrade in a desperate escape attempt. 'What are you doing?! Get down, I'm sure there's been some kind of misunderstanding... '

The Zabrak guard from earlier steps past him, his blaster pointed at you.

'Get back here', he barks.

'Stay there!', you shout, now standing upright, with your face towards them and holding on to the pillar next to you, still not really knowing what the hell you’re doing. You nervously glance down at the pass.

'Please, we can work this out', Hal begs.

The guards are staying where they are for now, no doubt because they want to bring you in alive and make you pay for the death of their commander and the injuring of their boss. You shoot the boy an apologetic look, but your cockyness has returned.

'You know, sometimes it is a good idea to look up a lady's dress', you tell the guards dryly.

And with a smug smile on your face, you let go of the column, salute them and let yourself fall off the balcony.

The sheer drop twists your insides to the point where you can't even scream and as the strong wind blows through your dress while gravity pulls you towards a painful death on the rocky floor meters below you, you immediately regret your decision; out of the corner of your eye, you see the black-and-metal-y blur that is the Mandalorian, who you saw flying in your general direction when you looked down.

And then you plummet right past him.

You finally manage to make a yelping sound as you start frantically flapping your limbs around in a desperate attempt to spontaneously grow wings and fly away from the rocks that are getting bigger and bigger by the second. Your now completely undone hairdo half clouds your vision when the realization hits you: in a few seconds, you're gonna hit the floor. If you're lucky, you'll be dead on impact. If Yris is in a particularly bad mood today, you'll survive but break every bone in your body. A strange calmness suddenly drowns out all your panic and time seems to slow down as you close your eyes and let your now useless body travel the last meters towards the ground.

When a strong force knocks the wind out of your lungs, you prepare yourself for the pain, but it wasn't rocks that hit you. It was beskar and muscles.

You open your eyes and see how Din awkwardly moves one of his arms from your waist to your knees to lift up your legs and thereby switch to a position he can actually hold long enough. You fly up into the sky again and as you rise above the hills, poorly aimed blaster shots fly right past you. Din seems to be too busy keeping both of you in the air to worry about it, rightfully relying on his beskar.

'Are you insane?!', he growls angrily.

With one arm you clamp to him and with the other you grab his blaster from the holster.

'Possibly', you shout back, looking past him and firing a few shots at the balcony, making sure not to aim at Hal. The guards duck and cease fire, and soon you’re too far away to get hit. You put the weapon back and you silently let yourself get flown back to the city. It’s all you can do to not ponder on the fact that the Mandalorian is literally carrying you in his arms like some kind of damsel in distress. Admittedly, you were very much in distress when you were falling from the balcony. You can feel his body heat and the strong muscles of his arms around your waist and legs and for some reason you feel like you’re in the safest place in the universe. Finally able to catch your breath, you let your head rest against his breastplate.

When you’ve almost reached the Razor Crest, the relative silence is rudely disrupted by a series of blasts, and you look over his shoulder at the fireballs rising up from the pass and the mansion. To your relief, you see that the guests are already outside, but that relief disappears as soon as you see thin shapes flying through the sky. Not birds, but Tie Fighters. You recognize them from a book and immediately realize that Karga, Dune and Mythrol are in trouble.

'They're being chased!', you shout. 'Tie Fighters are shooting at them!'

Din lands right next to his ship and hastily puts you down on the ground. He whirls around and sees that you’re right. He goes to move, but you’re one step ahead of him.

'Start the engines', you order. 'I'll get the kid.'

Before he can protest, you run into town.

~

A wild chase and a lot of shooting later, the Crest is flying safely over the city gate again, where Karga and the others are standing by the speeder and looking up at the ship. Din is just using his cape to wipe away the strange, mint-blue stuff the child spit out after the last looping, when Karga's voice sounds over the comm.

'That was some pretty impressive flying, Mando. Aren't you gonna let me buy you a drink?'

'Sorry', Din replies. 'We gotta hit the road before Gideon catches wise.'

'Well, good luck flying, my friend.'

Karga’s voice fades away and for a moment, a blessed silence falls over the cockpit. When the Crest leaves the atmosphere and Din has entered the coordinates for Qalla-knows-where, he turns to you. By now, the green color has disappeared from your face, but you’re pretty sure that you’d looked a lot like the child just now.

'I don't want to drag you into the whole Gideon business', he says. 'I can drop you off on any planet you like.'

After today's events, you're too tired to ask what that whole Gideon business is.

'Seems like we keep dragging each other into our businesses.' You laugh wearily. 'I don't mind. It's not like I have anywhere to go. So I wouldn't be against sticking around for a bit. You know, if you'll have me.'

You immediately regret your words, realizing that he was probably giving you a subtle hint, and you want to back out, but he answers before you can.

'Fine.'

He turns back to the controls and that's that. You blink slowly. That was easy. You decide to think about it later and you make a quarter turn in your chair and pull your knees against you, planning on getting some well-deserved shuteye. It’s not exactly comfortable, but you’re not complaining. Sleep is all that matters right now.

'You can take the bed', Din suddenly says, without looking up. 'It's next to the bathroom.'

You force yourself to protest. 'But that's yours! You should get some sleep as well.'

'I have some things I need to take care of.' When you still don't move, he adds: 'You need it more than I do. Go.'

You lack the energy to protest any further and you get up from your chair. At the sliding doors, you look back at him for a second. You’re no idiot, you’re fully aware that he just lied to you. The question is: why? An ancient instinct deep within you calls the answer, but you refuse to give in to it.

For now, anyway.

You leave the cockpit and climb down the stairs. That bed does sound great right now.

~

~

Tag list: @buckysalefty @dark-academics-and-florals

[mcshiiin]

Title: A pair of scissors, hair, and tears.

Sypnosis: Midnight mayhap scarred Kuroo for the rest of his life.

Pairing: Kuroo Tesurou × Fem!reader

[A/n: This is pretty self-indulgent and in 3rd person POV]

Grappling with the celestial world, Kuroo is trying to pry himself from sleep. There's a vivid image of a humanoid with an owl head and a gun in its hand whilst the muzzle is directed to a mop of thick, long hair. A bang soon then erupted as the scenery blurs into a dark, empty bedroom without Y/N beside him.

"Hun," he called out, rubbing away the dreamy state left in his eyes.

""Y/n...?"

"Oi... Y/n...?"

Greeted with nothing but silence, Kuroo climbs down the warm bed and starts to look for his beloved. A soft whine fell from his lips as the icy tiles beneath his bare feet snaked upwards. His brief glance towards the analog clock told him how deep the night is yet his kitten seems to be alive and wandering.

"Where have you been hmm?"

Muttering words to himself here and there, saying what would be Y/n doing at this hour when she's the biggest fan of sleep and loves to cherish the comfort their bed gives.

"Was she hungry?"

Almost immediately, he descended down the stairs and shuffles towards the kitchen. He hoped to see Y/n in front of the stove, flipping pancakes and swaying her hips ever so lightly but there's no even a pancake batter to begin with.

He pouts while his tired, golden eyes scans the whole room. Following a faint trail, he found himself near the bathroom, where light is pooling from the door opened ajar. Silent as the night, he pushed the door, wide enough to fit his face and take a peak.

A mumble escaped from him, "Y/n?"

Serenity dusted every nook and cranny of Y/n's figure, illimunating your features with an ethereal glow. With a sleight of hand, chaos ensued. Kuroo feels the looming darkness reverberating from her placid features. Her red comb in hand while a pair of scissors professionally placed in between her fingers. Slowly sectioning her hair, she's acting on impulse.

And Kuroo will be just watching, marvelling at her.

A delighted smile is dangling lazily on his lips. Y/n's angelic face shows a look of determination, dainty lips pursed upwards as her eyebrows almost connecting together all while carefully cutting herr bangs straight. She stood there, although doing a mundane task managed to take Kuroo's breath away.

He thinks, no, he proved that her resolved is more obstinate than his blocks. He never saw her falter, she never broke down. Y/n were always strong for the both of them.

But now he will.

"Hmm? Hahahaha."

There it is, the osbcure taste of coffee at the end of his tongue. The bitterness in her laugh poked through his senses.

"I... didn't know I could get uglier."

Y/n hates mirrors. She avoids looking at them at all cost, the reflection of herself is too much for her. She would pat her head right now if she could. The amount of courage she have for standing in front of the mirror is really admirable. But at the same time, she wishes to slap herself too, for the monstrosity she brought upon herself.

An oppresive wind billows against Y/n as her luscious hair dances behind her. She continues to stand tall, proud and confident. Taking a half step, her knees buckled. She was quick to recover and regained her composure. Closing her eyes, she's hell bent on crossing the hurricane.

As she take a step, she finally falls down the ground with a loud thud.

"You're too ugly, you can't do anything right."

"Clumsy bitch. Can't cook, can't be dependable."

"Look at you, your face, your body, everything about you is wrong."

"You're not enough. Never will be."

"He'll leave you soon. You're worthless."

"He'll find another girl who's not as shallow as you. You're not irreplacable, you know?"

Y/n's eyes burned fiercely. The flames licking away her self restraint, slowly and steadily. Badly wanting to shove her hand against the filthy mouth of her tormentor, she can't do it to herself.

They keep on piling up, one after another. A heavy baggage she never asked to have. Her shoulders sagged, posture hunched, and eyes sunken. Any moment she is to shatter.

Five...

Four...

Kuroo'a jaw tightened. Fist shaking with intense emotions he had yet to feel. His girl, his Y/n, crestfallen and he doesn't know. Her mind must be a whirlwind of sharp knives circling around, clashing with her flesh often thay makes her bleed. Yet he wonders where the hell did these come from?

Three...

Two...

A low growl echoed from her throat.

One...

Fat, glimmering tear drops roll down her cheeks, falling deep into the abyss of sorrow. Crying silently, hands trapping the slightest of sob seeping from her lips. Kuroo might wake up, she frighteningly thought. Little did she know that Kuroo stands before her naked glory. The raw scars sitting above her old ones, her insecurities emblazoned across the hectares of her body. The naked truth of her personality she unknowingly unraveled before him.

Tesurou just want to hold her. Dress her in a special clothe called love. Smear a cream of assurance on her scars; he wants to be there and witness them fade until there's nothing left.

But vulnerabilty is a double edged sword. It can reduce the both of them to pieces. He's scared to lose himself, especially Y/n, in the process of healing.

Yet she can feel it. The tangent touch outlining her frail body. Almost feverish, close to crushing her soul. Tender kisses were let loose from his lips, wandering around her neck. Her inaudible wimpers are now gone for they're loud sobs bouncing off the four walls of their bathroom.

"I love you. We're in this thing together, Y/n."

[A/n: Hehehe I'm not fluent in English so you have probably encountered some grammatical errors but thank you if you reached this part! I just want everybody to feel loved and accepted for who they are. Again, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this!]

[onewaigu]

Memory (pt.2)

Genre : short story

Theme : angst

Pairing : Kanghyun(Onewe) X Reader

Description : time had stopped once you caught his eyes. this was the very first time you guys met in a very long time. were you friends? who knows. you did ruin a perfectly normal friendship with him. Question was, why were your eyes filled with regret when you saw Kang Hyungu in front of you?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Smiling with a drink in hand, I can talk about it now.

“That'll be-”, you choked on your own words.

You couldn't believe it. Out of all the people in the world, your first ever customer had to be him. Kang Hyungu. Maybe it wasn't him, maybe your eyes were just playing tricks on you. You tried to convince yourself.

“..free-of-charge?”, he cocked his eyebrow questioningly. He was probably amused at your sudden daze.

You snapped out of it.

“2000 Won please”, you avoided his gaze looking at only the money in his outstretched hand.

Once he took the change you gave him, you let out a deep sigh of relief. An air of awkwardness was clouding your consciousness that you weren't even aware you were holding your breath for quite some time.

Finally, he was about to leave.

Except he didn't though. Instead, he paused right in front of the store's entrance with his hand clutching the door's handle, head bowed.

From your peripheral vision, you stared at him quizzically. Slowly in that short period of time, questions started to flood your head only to be interrupted.

Scoff.

“Did you really think I wouldn't recognise you, Y/N?”

He chuckled but it was different than before. Your heart clenched upon hearing the once familiar sound, now coated with an essence of melancholy.

Time seemed to miraculously slow down. The silence in between was almost deafening. Your heart was pounding against your chest. No.

“And here I thought I'd gotten the wrong person but no, it is you isn't it?”, he humoured sarcastically. Ah, that hurt.

Before you could muster up the courage to reply him, you found his fingers curled around your wrist before gently yet firmly dragging you around the counter and out of the store.

You couldn't care less about leaving the store unsupervised. Besides, there weren't many people around.

Thunk.

The sound of the banana milk bottles hitting the table outside brought you out of your thoughts. “You never changed, huh?”, he asked, a faint glimmer of jest in his eyes.

“Still the same Y/N who loves daydreaming”

Now both of you were facing each other, sitting at the table outside the store. The LED lights behind you were illuminating softly onto Hyungu's face. It made him look like an angel almost. Anyone who saw him at this moment would have described him with one word — ethereal. Your eyes unconsciously wandered around his features. Blond suited him well.

“There you go, again”

“So do you”

“Hm?”

You repeated yourself, “I mean, you changed too”. Specks of red dusted your cheeks.

“We have something in common then”, you caught him lifting the corners of his mouth slightly.

I wanna go back, back, back, back, back.

Fitting. Cause you wanted to go back to how it was before with the banana-haired boy in front of you.

“Hm, nice song”, Hyungu hummed.

“..yeah”, your voice trailed.

“It makes me wanna ask, do you ever wanna go back?”, he asked knowing you knew what he meant by 'going back'.

There it was. The kind smile that you always saw whenever you were with him. With your friend, Hyungu.

He nodded understandingly at your silence, he knew. Of course he would.

“If only he hadn't existed in our lives, huh?”

Both of you knew who he meant. Kim Youngjo.

Seemingly perfect to anyone who knew of him, he was a year above you in school. Raven-coloured hair, alluring dark orbs, pearl-white teeth. Juniors idolised him while seniors wanted to be friends with him.

Everything happened when he crossed paths with you.

Ring!

It was lunchtime but you and Hyungu decided to skip it for the school library instead.

Miss Lee, the school's librarian, had told the both of you that the library was going to be restocked with newly-released manhwas. You guys were manhwa addicts so it wasn't surprising that you wanted to be the first two to grab ahold of them.

A few manhwas in, your eyes were starting to droop involuntaringly. Glancing to your right, you saw Hyungu's black fluff of hair touching the pages of a manhwa he was reading. Idiot fell asleep.

You tried to tug the manhwa from under him so he wouldn't drool all over it but you accidentally tugged too hard Hyungu's head hit the table with a low thud.

Oops.

Someone stiffled a laugh.

Your head shot up to see Kim Youngjo-sunbaenim standing near a bookshelf not to far from a still-sleeping Hyungu, trying hard to hide his laughter.

You smiled gingerly in his direction.

That was the very first interaction.

Spicy food should be dubbed as the devil's food in your honest opinion. It tempted and it tortured people. Too bad, your love for it had blinded any signs of rationality in you. You kept eating it then regretting after.

One day, you had bought spicy tteokbokki for lunch. Normally whenever you were having a spicy food crisis, Hyungu would immediately get you some fruits to cool down the spice.

However, he was on sick leave that day so you were forced to suffer silently in your seat. The spiciness was too much you couldn't even stand up.

Luckily for you, a bottle of banana milk appeared in front of your eyes. You didn't even care who gave it to you, you immediately downed the whole bottle.

Later you found out that it was Youngjo-sunbaenim who had given you the banana milk. Blush creeped up your cheeks out of embarrassment. How kind of him.

After that, both you and Youngjo-oppa kept crossing paths with each other. Every time you did, he'd always give you a bottle of banana milk. You found it cute. Days passed and the two of you slowly got closer each day. People were waiting and expecting you two to date.

Eventually on your birthday, he met you after school with two bottles of banana milk in hand.

“Aw, two for me? Tell me, Youngjo-oppa..do you maybe have a crush on me?”, you nudged his shoulders teasingly.

He scratched his red ears, “Actually Y/N, yeah I do”.

You stopped in your tracks. His blunt honesty caught you off guard. Yeah you always thought he was cute and kind but never did you imagine the two of you being more than friends. It made you curious.

“D-do you maybe wanna be more than friends with me?”, he stammered while he fidgeted with his hands behind his back.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you..wanna be my girlfriend?”

For the rest of your school years, you and Youngjo-oppa paraded the hallways as an item. It began with him joining you and Hyungu during lunch. Then he was practically there with the two of you anytime and anywhere. You found it quite endearing..in the past.

Blind love took ahold of you that even when Hyungu would always excuse himself everytime Youngjo-oppa appeared, you didn't even think twice as to why he did it.

The more you were with Youngjo-oppa, the more you were drifting apart from Hyungu. You didn't even notice.

Dating Youngjo-oppa was a thrill. You skipped lessons with him, hanging out under the bleachers. You would sneak out of the apartment at 2 in the morning to go to noraebangs with him. Being with him made you rebellious and you thought that it made you happy.

Until one day, Hyungu approached you after you had avoided him for a few weeks straight.

“Y/N”, he called out.

You tried to avoid him but he was too fast. He then led you under an empty staircase. His face devoid of any humour. “What's happening to you, Y/N?”, he asked looking at your eyes that were avoiding his gaze.

You shrugged him off, “Absolutely nothing's happening to me, Hyungu”.

Just as you were about to leave, he'd caught ahold of your wrist before replying to you in his most gentlest voice, “This isn't funny anymore, Y/N. You know you've changed ever since that guy entered our lives”. He sounded like a defeated puppy.

“That guy is my boyfriend, Hyungu and if you can't accept that then maybe you're much better off without me!”, your voice started to raise, anger boiled in your veins. The nerve of him insulting your boyfriend.

“No I'm not, Y/N..because I care about you”, his voice cracked saying those last words.

“Well, if you cared about me you would understand my feelings”

With that, you just left him alone under the staircase without even daring to look back. Little did you know with slumped shoulders, Hyungu was trying hard not to let his tears fall as your back became smaller in his blurry vision.

From then on, both of you didn't talk to each other even until Hyungu graduated. Unfortunately for you, you had to stay back a year because your grades were failing. So after a few long years of friendship..that was eventually ruined, the two of you were finally not going to see each other everyday.

You always thought to yourself about how stupid you were for trusting Kim Youngjo more than your bestfriend. Now you were alone without a trusted friend or a cheating snake by your side. If you could, you wished to go back to how things were before.

Whoever heard your prayers, you couldn't thank them enough. You had been wondering if fate ever decided to make the two of you cross paths again.

Finally, you were there sipping banana milk with him.

Looking back then, I would've called myself a fool.

[a/n]

this one really took a long time to write heh, anyways here's the angsty part two of Memory ^ ^ Part three's gonna be them talking it out with each other~

enjoy reading and stan Onewe

(video credit : Onewe - Reminisce About All)

[soft-foxxay]

Neglectful • foxxay

Lately, Cordelia had been putting more effort on her position as supreme than anything else, including her relationship with Misty. And lately, Misty had been feeling way too lonely that she started to think that Cordelia is neglecting their relationship on purpose. They barely have little night conversations that usually don't happen because Cordelia is often too tired.

That night wasn't much different, Cordelia was out to manage some stuff leaving Misty alone to deal with her loneliness. Misty was trying to get herself busy with some plants at the greenhouse before she started suffocating with her own overthinking. The tears  threatened her eyes and she felt her explosion approaching, so she let go of what she was doing and decided to go back inside and drown all the useless thoughts with sleep.

As she got in, she caught the sight of Zoe and Madison chattering in the hall, more like lowly arguing, with the fireplace dimly illuminating the white walls. She tried to make her steps unheard as she made her way upstairs, avoiding any kind of contact with the other witches.

She turned the light off as soon as she entered the room, letting the room drown into the darkness, as if she was afraid invisible creatures would see her tears if they fell. She buried herself beneath the covers and gave sleep a way into her, but sleep wasn't there to come.

This was even more torturing to her, to lay awake in bed, surrounded but the emptiness of the room and struggling with her demons that started to swallow her alive.

In that meantime, Cordelia shut the door behind her as she got into the big white mansion, her eyes scanning the place on hope to find Misty somewhere around, but instead all she could find was the two girls disagreeing with each other as usual.

"Where's Misty?" The supreme questioned, a serious tone of concern adoring her voice. Her voice made the two girls lift their heads up towards her.

"How am I supposed to know? My girlfriend or yours?" Madison hurried to answer, clearly showing her annoyance.

Cordelia let the sigh drift out of her lips at Madison's unhelpful answer, and decided to go look Misty by herself. Guilt was running in her veins and burning her up on the inside, she wished that she had spent more time with Misty, not only because she knew that Misty was probably upset now, but also because she missed her so much. She missed everything about her one true love.

She was met by the darkness of the room once she stepped in. Unlike every night, Misty wasn't waiting for her, which grew heartache in her at some point. She took off her shoes and every cloth that covered her body except her underwear and bra before she lied in bed with her arms wrapped around Misty's still waist.

"I don't wanna talk to ya." Misty uttered, which caused the other woman to let go of her much needed sleep and pour her attention on Misty.

"Why is that, love?" Cordelia let her voice fill the room as she planted a bunch of gentle kisses of Misty's bare shoulder.

"Ya know why." The swamp witch tried to suppress the tears within her eyes, but seemingly all her attempts fell off a cliff when her cheeks got damp with tears.

Cordelia did know, by rewinding everything that happened between them through the previous week she came to realize she was pretty neglectful, in a painful way. Her eyes were opened to the fact that she'd been treating Misty like any normal witch in her coven more than a girlfriend. And by that time she came to understand why Misty was upset, she had the right to be.

"I'm sorry I-" She tried to speak, but not even apologizing could wipe away the guilt she felt. How did she not realize before, how did she not see how hurt her lover was, because of her.

"Yeah sure." Misty immediately replied, cutting off Cordelia. The pain her voice added more onto Cordelia, crushing her heart into dust.

She pulled Misty even closer, nuzzling her head into her neck. She filled her senses with Misty's scent like a needed medicine. In one moment she felt like her tears were about to burst out of her eyes in a way she wouldn't resist, but she knew she had to stop herself.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Listen, I know I've been- a big great pain in the ass and I'm not saying I'm not the one to blame, I was wrong for being so damn neglectful. But hey, maybe we can make up now? I was already planning for something for us tonight but to find out that you've already went to bed ruined it, but we're good, okay?" The supreme spoke, in a gentle voice tone that was a little shaky, brushing away a hair lock that blocked the view of Misty's face.

"It doesn't matter, we make up tonight but as you wake, you're no different." Painfully, Misty replied, stabbing a thousand knives right into Cordelia's heart.

"At this point, you're wrong. I just don't want you ever think that all this neglect we've been going through is intended or anything, it's just a tough while we're going through and it will be washed away, from now." She gently whispered into Misty's ear ever so lowly as if she feared someone from outside the walls would hear. She pressed her lips softly on her lover's cheek in a soothing manner, tasting the slight taste of salt the tears left behind.

"We're good, aren't we?" In more like a worried voice Cordelia asked, her heart started beating with concern and her mind made images of what she feared most when she got nothing from Misty as a reply.

In that very moment, as if Misty could tell how concerned Cordelia was, she turned towards the supreme, face to face with her lover as she planned on exposing what was in her heart like an open book.

"I - I was just too scared you don't want me anymore, you don't want us. That thought got me losin' my shit. I - I don't wanna lose you, Delia." She bit on her inner cheek in hard attempts to gather the tears inside her eyes, to make her voice come out as strong as she desired, but before she could even tell, she broke down in tears and became a raging mess of sobs, like a fragile piece of glass shattering in between Cordelia's arms.

"Hell, no no no! This is not happening, erase this thought off your head!" Cordelia tightened her grip on Misty, as if she was trying to keep her together, to keep her from falling apart. She wiped as many tears as she could with the palm of her hand but Misty's tears couldn't seem to stop.

Cordelia tilted the swamp witch's head up a little so she could see the sparkles in her eyes with more of the clearance. Fireworks started lighting up her chest the moment she looked at Misty's eyes, realizing all over again how beautiful everything in her was, in the same time realizing how much of an asshole she was to not care much for such an angel.

She tangled their lower limps together in the form of a cuddle, and wrapped her arms tight around Misty's waist as if to keep her close forever. Only then, Misty's tears stopped flowing like a river out of her eyes, and there was finally an end limit to her sobs that seemed endless a moment ago.

"I want you to be with me forever, no force in the world could ever tear us apart, and that's the only thing I know for certain. I wanna spend every moment I have left with you because during this time I was distant I figured out how fucked I'd be if you ever wanted to let go of me." She smoothly said, more like a whisper, while running her fingers through Misty's wild mess of golden curls.

"You are more like the oxygen I breathe, maybe even more important, more like the light to my eyes. Your existence in my life is an actual necessity, quite simply. If I didn't have you I'd sure be lost, lacking love and maybe even life." She continued her business of brushing Misty's mess of a hair as she spoke.

"I - I love you, like so much." She heard Misty whisper back at her, her voice sounded faint and ever so fragile, lovely in all definitions. With this statement, she was finally feeling the peace of mind, knowing that everything will be just fine even before the sun of the morning shows itself.

"I love you, oh well I adore you. I need you, most of the time it just gets difficult to live knowing that you're not around. I want you, forever." As she spoke, she seemed to be drifting away in her own fantasies and wild imaginations.

Her index finger escaped her control and went under Misty's chin in order to tilt her head up enough for Cordelia to look at her straight in the eyes. Once Cordelia's eyes met Misty's she saw glimmers of hope and love adorning the ocean blue eyes, she saw an entire galaxy of stars roaming in her eyes, beautifully. A hint of a smile lit up the once sad face, giving it a whole different kind of perfect.

Every part of her disobeyed, every part of her ran away from her control, and this effect became significant on her when her lips hovered over Misty's, hesitant to make the move until an urge in her crashed her lips against the petal soft lips of Misty in a gentle kiss that worked absorbing all their discomfort, all troubles away, throwing all to the ocean as if it had never been.

The kiss grew more passionate, more heartfelt when they both needed such thing a long while ago to regain their vitality. Cordelia took Misty's lips in hers ever so  gladly, letting her silently know that she'd go to the ends of the Earth to get this kiss if she had to,and on the other hand, Misty kissed back quite soulfully to complete their passionate action.

Seconds after, their lips parted, still leaving a sweet effect on each other. Misty's head rested comfortably on Cordelia's chest, with Cordelia's arms already wrapping around her and running her fingers through her hair. They went back to the state of peace they wished to return to, and finally, the quietness after the storm was theirs to claim.

"I will be with till my last dying breath, and that's my promise."