#who knew that fencing could become half of my world

[thoughtfulseason]

when you realise you know that person for a year and a half and it is the kindest gift from the universe

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

hii I JUST LOVE YOUR WORK i stay and read them every day tbh, it's my first time requesting so I'm a lil nervous (also english isn't my first language so if i write too tangled things don't mind please) yandere disease has been corrupting my mind lately like this disease has taken over the world and now people are divided in two types: yanderes and darlings. Every darling is forced to stay with their yanderes by their parents and government when they turn 20 , like goverment has been taking care of yanderes too much, there's territories and special occasions where yanderes can meet darlings, if darling tries to escape people are just gonna drag them to their "soulmate" otherwise they think darling are too weak and fragile to protect themselves.

If you're too busy, just ignore this. I also know how hard it is to write. Hope you're doing good💗💗

Your English is perfect ❤️ better than some native speakers' ❤️ I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!

Yandere!Fiance x GN!Reader

There were conspiracy theories as to how it happened.

Populations around the globe had declined dramatically, worrying nearly every country in every continent. The most popular theory online was that to combat the rapidly declining birth rate, one (or more) of the suffering countries conspired to create a new kind of biological warfare; an illness directed at their own people to foster relations. Unfortunately, while half of people were naturally immune to the attack, the other half were affected too much.

It was just a theory. Nothing could be proved. No government wanted to get to the bottom of the "attack" because their economies were booming; who would want to rid people of an illness that drove the rate of divorce to an all time low? It didn't matter if there were a few hiccups along the way.. As long as people were pushing out more babies, governments across the planet were more than happy to just create new laws to keep the death rates minimal ensure happiness amongst couples.

(Reader) prayed on their knees like fanatic, begging any God that may be listening, for years that they could be one of the Lovers instead of a Darling. They were terrified of the idea of becoming someone's Darling; becoming a prisoner to a loving murderer. No matter how perfect each family unit seemed to be, the young adult could see it in their father's eyes, the longing for the outside world, away from their mother. The suffocating love their mother drowned him in; the almost unnoticeable quiver to his smile.. (Reader) wished upon every single star in the sky that they could fall madly in love with someone, just so they didn't have to live through the rose tinted hell their father did.

But every crush they had was normal, none of the guys they thought were cute in highschool awakened some kind instinct in them. Eventually (Reader) turned 19 years old, and found out that they were engaged.

"To who??" (Reader) nearly barfed onto the dinner table. Their parents sat across from them, smiling happily from the good news they had just delivered to their child.

"He went to the same elementary school as you! Isn't that romantic?" Their mother cooed, poking her husband while doing so. "Apparently he's known since forever that you two are soul mates, but he's been too shy until recently to approach the Family Planning Bureau about his feelings~"

(Reader) gripped their thighs under the table while their eyes stung from the blossoming tears. ".. Do I have to meet him?" They asked quietly.

Although the building was painted bright blue and was surrounded by a beautiful, flowery landscape, it felt like a prison with it's tall chain link fencing.

The sorrowful expression on their father's sympathetic face burned into their retina so painfully, that every time they blinked while on the bus to their first meeting with their "fiance" they could still see it. He knew just as well as (Reader) did that there was no escape.

Even the walk towards a private meeting room past other Darlings felt like a death march. (Reader) could only hope that the "electric chair" wouldn't be too painful.

The kind guard opened a door, and a young man they did not recognize sitting inside immediately stood up, his face bright red.

His freckled and bespectacled face was almost hidden by his wavy, unbrushed hair. A smile stretched sweetly across his round cheeks, and (Reader) noticed that his blush went down his neck. "Ah- (Reader)! It's nice to- it's nice to meet you!"

It didn't matter that he was incredibly adorable: (Reader) was determined not to let their guard down.

"You said we went to elementary school together?"

"Yes-"

"-I'm sorry, but I don't remember you." They interrupted him, curt and to the point.

Instead of looking offended, his eyes softened and his smile became (somehow) warmer. "I'm sorry." He motioned to a seat near the table he was just sitting at. "I can explain everything.. if you give me a chance."

Reluctantly, (Reader) sat across from him. It was hard to deny that he was attractive, really being their ideal man, but they continuously bit the inside of their cheek to prevent themselves from feeling any sort of positive emotion. They knew better than to fall into this trap.

"My name is Anthony." His freckles almost disappeared entirely under his blush. "I'm sorry I never had the confidence to approach you.."

"Huh?" The confused teen forgot to hold their tongue. "Isn't it, like, frowned upon to talk to your Darling before registering with the bureau?"

Anthony rubbed his hands together nervously. "I - I really didn't want you to meet me this way.." He sucked in air between his teeth, looking faint. "I.. Do you believe in true love?"

A pang shot through (Reader's) heart. They remembered every time they would chase a crush, yearning for something true and genuine. Reading love stories from the days before the bureau, and wondering if that was what love was really like once upon a time. "No."

He sighed sadly. "I believe.. or at least, I want to believe in true love." Anthony sat straighter, staring into (Reader's) eyes with a shaky confidence. "I should have asked you out when I first met you in the fifth grade. I'm sorry I was too nervous to talk to you back then."

Vibrating adrenaline shook their system as they tried to make sense of what this stranger was saying.

"I wanted to ask you out, and take you on dates, and get to know you like in the old days."

"Why didn't you?"

His head fell slightly, obscuring his face entirely. "I thought that my feelings for you weren't strong enough.."

(Reader) suddenly felt as though they were connected with Anthony on a spiritual level; as though he was the only person in the whole world to understand them. The need for love, conflicting with the fear of not being a Lover, being destined to be labeled as a Darling. "Are you.." (Reader) dropped their voice to a whisper, "are you a lover?"

Sorrow filled Anthony's figure. Shoulders slumped, and back shuddering under his uneven, heavy breaths. "Would you report me if I wasn't?"

It was as if God had finally answered (Reader's) prayers. Their heart was racing; their head felt lighter than a cloud. Stuttering over their words, the young adult had to avert their gaze. "I don't remember you.. but I wouldn't mind getting to know you." Even though they didn't love him, Anthony felt like their one and only chance to fall in love naturally. To not be trapped like their father.

"Then.. I can see you again?"

(Reader) smiled. "Yeah.."

....

The second (Reader) left the room, Anthony's head hit the table with a loud bang.

It felt like he was going to vomit with how excited he was, and he couldn't contain his giggles any longer. Being in the same room as his childhood love was almost too much for him, and he almost ruined everything.

Anthony had worked so hard to make (Reader) love him.

He knew they liked shy, nerdy types, so he morphed into that. Destroying his eye sight so he could wear glasses, growing out his hair so he could always look slightly dishevelled, biting his tongue until it bled to force himself to stay in character.

Tears pooled around his nose on the table. He was smarter than the Lovers that made his precious (Reader) scared to be a Darling.

"I'm so happy..~" Anthony sobbed loudly in the empty room. "Please fall in love with me quickly~ Although, I don't mind waiting on you forever.. I want you to love me now..!"

[flowerandblood]

The Vanity and Variability

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother's debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The Targaryen family name was one of the most famous and respected in London. His father's great-grandfather had been a duke, so royal blood flowed in them, and their family estate had been part of the kingdom for centuries.

He grew up with a sense of his own uniqueness, which his grandfather, his mother's father, Otto, constantly reminded him and his siblings of, remarking on their upbringing, their gait, the way they spoke. From an early age, everything they did was to testify to their origins and properly represent them to the world.

They were not allowed to run or shout, they were not allowed to eat with their hands, keep their elbows on the table, swear or laugh loudly. He was not allowed to play with other children, instead he was expected to keep reading and expanding his knowledge, and at the age of twelve he could already speak French and Italian as well.

And then, during one of the fencing training sessions with his nephew that his grandfather had forced him to do, he lost his left eye. Luke, enraged at his loss swung his sword as he managed to pull off his protection and the blade sliced his left cheek in half.

Having learned that he was not allowed to cry or scream, he howled and sobbed into his pillow all night, praying that his grandfather would not hear him.

Neither his position nor his wealth could change his appearance.

Although his father had a first-born son, his elder brother Aegon, everyone knew that he would have preferred the family estate to pass to his eldest daughter after his death, his only child, whom he had fathered with his first wife, who had died.

They had spent their entire lives in the shadow of his affections for her, simply existing in large palatial spaces, unsure if they were of any use to anyone at all. Knowing that he would inherit nothing, that he had only his name and his disfigured, ugly face, he hid in the world of literature, disappearing for hours in the library thus forgetting the woes of his life.

He knew that eventually he would be forced to marry a woman of similar status to himself.

When he first met the Countess Rivers, a wealthy widow much older than him, he thought she could become his wife, he even suggested it to his grandfather. He, however, laughed at his suggestion, saying that this woman had only married the Count for money and had tricked her way into his bed and then deprived him of his life for sure.

That didn't stop him, after a few grand balls in London, from locking himself away with her in seclusion and enjoying all that was female flesh and female fulfilment, feeling for the first time that he was not a repulsive child, but a man.

Life, however, made a mockery of him again when it turned out that Aegon had lost such large sums of money at cards over the years that, despite the fact that his brother was now a grown man who had a wife, Otto had beaten him before his eyes with a cane as if he were a small child again.

Aegon wailed and whimpered as he laid on the ground, writhing in pain, still drunk, and his grandfather hissed between hits that he was their ruin, their greatest misfortune.

Then his grandfather presented everyone at the evening meal with the solution to the problem they faced.

"Borros Baratheon is an extremely wealthy general with as many as five daughters ready to marry, he is known for his immense love for them, so I am confident that their dowries will be appropriate and also, if we play it right, he will give us a loan so that we can pay our immediate debts. Aemond, you will travel to Chelsfield to rest a little and choose your future spouse during this time." He said lightly, and everyone around him froze.

He heard Aegon's loud, amused laughter as he clapped his hands, the sound echoing throughout the room in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

"An excellent thought, grandfather. Right, brother? There's nothing better than to fuck a country wench." He said taking a glass of wine and raising it to his lips, their mother slammed her fist on the table, silencing him with a hiss, his wife lowered her gaze, embarrassed and ashamed.

Aemond did not listen to him or his mother. He stared at his grandfather wide-eyed, his jaw clenched, his fingers outstretched on the table rubbing against each other intensely in a nervous gesture.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" He choked out finally, deadly serious, unable to believe what he was hearing.

His whole life, everything he'd denied himself, everything he'd learned was to serve who he was, his heritage, he hadn't been allowed to marry Alys despite her surpassing them all in stature, and now he was to choose from five simpering daughters of some village general?

His grandfather raised an eyebrow in displeasure.

"Ask your brother about that. Thanks to him we have no liquidity, we are finished. We need money, and Borros Baratheon has it. Marry one of his daughters and be happy you have plenty to choose from." He said impatiently, and Aemond got up from the table, leaving the room with a loud slam of the door against the walls.

He rushed into his room like a storm, ordering his servants not to let anyone in, and circled around his bed one way and the other, feeling like shouting, feeling like throwing something or destroying something, but he knew he couldn't do it, that it wasn't proper.

He finally knelt down in the middle of his room catching himself by his hair, burying his face in his arms and crying helplessly like a baby.

How many more humiliations did he have to endure in his life for God to decide that enough was enough?

How much more could he pray?

Why didn't God listen to him even though he went to church with his mother every Sunday, prayed in the morning and before bed with attention and focus?

Why was he not a good enough son either in the eyes of his father or God himself?

He knew there was no going back from his grandfather's decision. He knew that his mother would never defy him and his father would not take any interest in the matter even if he married a strange woman from the fair.

After a week he sat in the carriage that was to take him to Chelsfield and looked out of the window at the busy streets of London, inside sat with him Vhagar, his dog whom he had received as a gift from his mother for his tenth birthday.

She was beautiful, looking like a giant snow fox with white soft fur and a long snout. She was the only one he confided in, the only one he cried with, the only one with whom he could be weak, plaintive, whimsical, cheerful or happy.

Chelsfield was not far from London and they covered that distance in a few hours. Aemond pressed his lips together as he saw through the window a quite grand, country manor house of white brick, overgrown on all sides with ivy.

He saw a man in their army uniform step out, followed by a young boy and a whole bunch of girls in long high-waisted gowns.

He felt like throwing up at the sight of them.

When the door opened Vhagar was the first to fly out and despite him calling her she ran ahead, curious about the new smells and spaces. He felt rage when one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, who also looked to be the youngest, not yet pinning her hair into a bun, but having it partly loose, partly braided at the back of her head, ran towards her, reaching out to her.

He feared that Vhagar would bite her, unused to the sudden presence of strangers, her father thought the same, for he immediately moved towards her, rebuking her, but Vhagar only barked loudly and jumped at her, almost knocking her over.

The girl laughed out loud, catching her around the waist as if she was dancing and they both continued in such an embrace, Vhagar started sniffing her and licking her face.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Lord Baratheon greeted him with a few meaningless sentences, mentioning what an honour it was for him and that his room was ready, that he hoped he would find peace here and a bit of a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

He figured the last thing he'd find in this place was rest.

He nodded at his words, pulling his cylinder off his head and following him through the main door to his house, escorted by the curious stares of his daughters.

When he finally locked himself into the room that was to belong to him for now, he sat down on the bed and grabbed his head, feeling like he was about to pass out. He couldn't imagine spending every evening with them, forced to talk to each of his daughters in turn.

He hated talking to strangers, he didn't have the gift to converse easily and he put his thoughts together with difficulty into full sentences, and the more he stressed about it, the worse it got.

He figured they'd tire him to death here, and he'd still have to choose which one of these silly girls to take with him and, horror of horrors, marry her, share his bed and his life with her. He shook his head at the thought, sighing heavily.

He didn't leave until the evening, terrified and discouraged, unpacking in his room, which was small by his standards. He looked out of the window and saw a rather pleasant view of the park, trees and hills.

He heard barking and noticed how the same girl who had let Vhagar lick her face in his presence ran across the grass with her, acting almost as if she were a second dog, laughing loudly, throwing her a long stick again and again.

He had never seen Vhagar in such euphoria before.

What kind of house was this?

When it was time for dinner he dressed himself in proper attire, adjusted the black ribbon in which his hair was tied, made sure his eye patch was fastened tightly enough, and went down the stairs feeling as if he was going to beheading.

As he entered the room, which he understood was the dining room, he noticed a beautifully decorated long table, a large fireplace at the end of the hall, lots of portraits and landscapes on the walls , tables and chairs all around.

Everyone stood up at the sight of him and nodded at him, and he reciprocated the gesture, walking unhurriedly to his seat, which was to the left of Mr Baratheon, and which should have been occupied by his eldest son. He saw with surprise that his son was seated opposite him, and only then realised that he had not seen Mrs Baratheon anywhere.

"Let's eat." Ordered Mr Baratheon in his booming, low, throaty voice and nodded to his servants, who one by one began to put food on their plates. As he expected, Mr Baratheon immediately addressed him.

"I hope you find your room comfortable and lacking in nothing, Mr Targaryen." He said lightly, without overbearing or teasing, it was more a statement than a question. Aemond nodded without looking at him.

"Yes, thank you very much. I'm not missing anything." He replied indifferently, grabbing his spoon, wanting to immediately start eating to prevent further conversation. The girl next to him couldn't resist, after a few minutes she tried to initiate light conversation with him.

"How do you find the landscapes of Chelsfield, Mr Targaryen?" She asked softly, and he turned his cool gaze on her, thinking in his head that it was the cheesiest question he had ever heard.

She was the only one with fair hair and seemed to him to be the oldest, her breasts were large and full as were her other shapes, and she had a pretty, common face, but not enough to tempt him.

"They are pleasant." He replied coolly, putting down his spoon so that the servant knew to take his plate from him. The girl beside him fell silent, discouraged.

"The day after tomorrow we will all go to church. Will you accompany us, Mr Targaryen?" Another of his daughters sitting across the table asked him, looking at him curiously, her lips slightly parted, as if defiantly, which he found displeasing.

She was trying to coquette him, to show him physically that she was attracted to him.

"Of course." He replied just as dispassionately, immediately getting down to his second dish as soon as it was served in front of him, wanting to finish the meal as quickly as possible.

As soon as he had succeeded in doing so he stood up and calmly announced that he wished to rest after his journey and retire to his room. Mr Baratheon agreed to this without much concern, watching him closely as he bowed and left without another word.

As he locked himself in his room he felt relieved. He pulled off his tailcoat, staying in just his chemise and trousers, and sat down at the cabinet, which he opened and was relieved to find stationery, quills, inkwell and ink there.

He started to write a letter to his mother, but crossed it out quickly and crumpled the piece of paper, throwing it down with rage.

Why should he lie, reassure her that he was content, that he liked it here, when it wasn't true?

He felt like he was locked in a cage with no way out, he knew he couldn't poke his nose out of his room if he wanted peace and quiet and the thought filled him with despair.

Resigned, he reached into his trunk and pulled out the books he had brought with him to somehow sweeten this awful time, these weeks he was to spend in this feral house full of simpletons.

Only after a while did he realise that Vhagar was not in his room.

He cursed loudly, running his hand over his face, devastated at the thought that surely she was still with that girl rolling around in the grass with her.

He fought with himself wondering if he should just let them stay together since they wanted to, but he felt anger because this was his dog, his closest friend, and she was taking her away from him.

As if his life had taken too little from him.

He stood up driven by rage and opened the door, looking around with a pounding heart. He heard Vhagar growling and barking in one of the rooms and knocked on it quietly, hoping to settle the matter quickly.

He heard someone run up to the door and open it quickly, Vhagar flew out and jumped on him, which had never happened before and he rebuked her immediately.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her, trying to be quiet and don't wake anyone. She sat down, breathing heavily, her tongue dangled on the left side of her mouth bobbing from her rapid breaths, her tail scrubbing the floor with joy, euphoria in her eyes.

What was happening to her?

"I was just teaching her a new trick." He heard the whisper of a girl who preferred to greet his dog first rather than him despite the fact that he could be her future husband.

He looked at her coldly, frustrated and bitter, a smile and gentle contentment on her face, she was standing in front of him in only a nightgown and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, her hair already completely loose.

He felt ashamed, it was the first time he had seen a woman in such a negligee. Even during his close-ups with Alys, he had never undressed her, simply not having the time to do so. He looked away, tightening his lips.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed, whistling at Vhagar, and she moved after him, stopping once in a while, turning towards her.

He felt furious and grabbed her suddenly by the fur on her neck, wanting to drag her forcibly to his room, like a small child who wants to snatch a toy from another child, and she began to squeal in pain and pull herself out of his grasp.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She begged and he let go of her, suddenly realising that he was causing her pain and watched, panting heavily, as Vhagar ran back to her room.

The girl looked at him apologetically and went back there, he heard her whisper to Vhagar to follow her, not to be afraid.

He stared ahead dully realising that he had just hurt the only being in the world who truly loved him.

That Vhagar would now be afraid of him too.

He felt like crying.

Miss Baratheon finally came out of her room holding something in her hand, evidently a piece of meat from the roast that she must have taken to her room after dinner and using it to train her.

Vhagar came up behind her, sniffing what she had in her hand, but when she saw him she lowered her ears and stepped back, afraid he would do to her again what he had done a moment before.

The girl approached him quickly, handing him the piece of meat she was holding.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She said to him quietly as if they were acquaintances, but he decided he would not think of that, too distraught that Vhagar hated him so he knelt before her, extending his hand to her, and Miss Baratheon knelt beside him.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered and saw his dog begin to wag his tail again, she approached him slowly, uncertainly and sniffed his fingers, then licked them and ate what he held between them.

She pressed her white head against his chest, rubbing against him, and he felt a burning sensation under his eyelids, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"− I'm so sorry −" She said softly in a voice filled with guilt.

He heard her rise and looked at Vhagar, entering his room, and she ran after her at once. He moved behind them and watched in disbelief as she sat down on his floor and Vhagar lay down right next to her, placing her paw on her thigh, letting her know that she wanted to continue playing with her.

She had never behaved like this towards him and he had no idea what he should do with a girl sitting on the floor of his room in the middle of the night.

After a moment, however, Miss Baratheon stood up and looked at him, swallowing loudly, clearly realising herself that she shouldn't be there.

"− I'm sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted her to come in here − good night −" She mumbled almost running out and closing the door behind her, Vhagar wanted to run after her but didn't make it.

He lay down on his bed, distraught, and Vhagar ran up to him, having already forgotten the unpleasant event of a few minutes before, licking him devotedly and tenderly on the face.

"Traitor." He hissed angrily and regretfully, stroking her soft fur.

For the first time in his life, he let her jump on his bed and sleep with him.

Here, there were no his grandfather or servants to report this behaviour to him, which was completely unthinkable.

He fell asleep snuggled into her soft fur, ignoring the fact that she ended up taking up most of the bedding, pushing him to the side.

He thought it was an exceptionally pleasant feeling.

When he woke up in the morning he again felt the stress overpowering him at the thought of breakfast, the fact that this girl had probably blabbed everything to her sisters, saying that he was a violent, cold and aggressive man who hurt his own dog.

However, when he came downstairs with Vhagar his dog immediately ran to her to greet her, also coming up later to her father and brother, who called out to her, eventually making the rounds around the table, getting acquainted with each in turn.

"She's beautiful." Said the second of their sisters, slightly melancholy and hearty.

At breakfast, Mr Baratheon finally introduced his daughters properly to him taking advantage of the lighter atmosphere. He nodded pretending to try to remember their names, thinking with relief only that his youngest child had apparently not mentioned to him the commotion that had taken place during the night.

"I heard loud barking yesterday in your room. Why are you taking Mr Targaryen's dog for yourself?" Asked the girl who had tried to coquette him the day before, and from what he had just learned her name was Floris.

Her younger sister gave him a quick, apologetic glance full of guilt, her gown creamy and buff, pleasantly accentuating the shape of her breasts, some of her curls pinned back, some falling over her shoulders.

"I'm not taking her away, we've just become very friendly." She mumbled, and her sister snorted at her words.

"It's not appropriate." Said another sister, Cassandra, a blonde-haired girl who tried unsuccessfully to make light conversation with him.

He watched Mr Baratheon's youngest child collapse under more and more criticism, and thought with surprise that he felt no satisfaction from it.

"That's enough." Ordered Mr Baratheon, seeing that his daughter was on the verge of crying. "My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself."

He saw her lift her gaze to him, her eyebrows arched in pain, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out finally and he swallowed loudly, clenching his hand into a fist knowing that only he and she understood the context of that sentence.

He thought with shame that he had reacted too impulsively and aggressively in front of her, even though her opinion didn't matter to him, he couldn't get the expression on her face out of his head, her cry full of pain when Vhagar started squealing.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, looking at his fingers moving in an uncertain gesture across the table top, wanting her to know that he regretted what had happened, what she had seen. Floris sitting next to him moved restlessly.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, and her younger sister pressed her trembling lips together, fighting for a moment against whatever was rising in her throat, but finally gave up and got up from the table, leaving the room before the tears had time to leave the corners of her eyes.

Her older brother followed her out, saying he would check how she was feeling, and there was an uncomfortable silence broken by their father.

"That was unnecessary, Floris." He said impatiently, his daughter snorting at his words.

"She's embarrassing us all, I just gave her something to think about."

"What a pathetic thing to say." He growled, taking a sip of tea from his cup, setting it down on the saucer with a clatter of porcelain, and only after a moment did he realise that he had said aloud what he had thought.

He didn't dare raise his eyes, feeling the pounding of his heart, feeling that all gazes were directed towards him.

"With your permission." He muttered, rising from his seat, bowing and leaving the dining room, feeling like he was going to burn from embarrassment.

How could he say something like that?

He felt that he needed air and walked outside onto the dirt road, whistling at Vhagar who ran after him, deciding to take a walk to clear his head.

He walked for a long time, going through the forest paths and then strolling around the lake, amazed at the overpowering stillness that reigned all around, the birdsong, the rustling of the leaves, the freshness of the air.

In London, everything was fast, sudden, loud.

Tiring.

He sat down on the sand by the edge of the lake and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of nature, feeling Vhagar lay down beside him, sighing heavily. He continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, and decided that he could spend hours here, simply calming and soothing himself, hiding from the world.

He shuddered as he heard someone's footsteps in the distance, Vhagar instantly rising and literally darting towards the girl he would have recognised from a mile away.

He sighed heavily, turning his face towards the surface of the water, figuring he wouldn't pay any attention to her. Just as he thought, she sat down beside him on the sand, as he did, leaning her head against a long, old tree trunk.

She didn't say a word to him, however, letting Vhagar settle down between them, stroking her head, which she laid on her thighs. When he glanced at her he saw that her eyes were closed, that she was doing exactly the same thing he was doing.

She was running away.

He relaxed at the thought that she wasn't looking for a discussion or a intimacy with him and did the same as she did.

He shuddered, looking around, unsure of where he was or what was happening, running his hand over his face. He'd never fallen asleep outside before, much less in the middle of nowhere. He looked around and saw Vhagar lying on her back, sleeping soundly, embraced by Miss Baratheon, who was asleep snuggled against her fur.

He did not know what he thought of this sight, endlessly innocent and harmless. He was afraid someone had seen or would see them, but he didn't want to touch her, so he grunted loudly. She moved suddenly, blinking her eyelids rapidly, and rose to sit down, rubbing her eyes, as confused as he was.

Feeling that what had happened was uncomfortable to say the least, he stood up and whistled at Vhagar, heading back the same way he had come, leaving her alone.

She did not follow him and he felt relieved at the thought.

Halfway through, however, he stopped, feeling anxious, wondering if he should leave her alone in the forest. He fought the thought convincing himself that since she had gone there herself, she would return on her own, knowing the area better than he did, but on the other hand, he would never let Helaena venture this far, and she was still very young.

What if something happened to her?

He cursed in frustration and turned back, coming across her after a few minutes. She looked at him surprised, clearly not expecting him to come back for her.

"Did you forget something, sir?" She asked him uncertainly, and he rolled his eyes impatiently, turning his back on her.

"Come, for God's sake."

They walked side by side in silence, simply admiring the pleasant summer views of meadows and forests, not a living soul around them.

He had to admit that these views filled him with some strange sense of warmth, landscapes that he usually only saw in paintings now appeared before his eyes, even more beautiful, teeming with life and intense, strong colours.

They returned to the mansion together, which did not escape the attention of the household, he saw that Maris and Floris literally threw themselves at her as soon as he moved on, thinking he could not hear.

"What are you thinking? What have you done?"

"Nothing." She said impatient and resentful, fatigue and despair in her voice.

"Stop. I asked you a question. You forced yourself on Mr Targaryen again, didn't you?" He heard Floris's voice and stopped in mid-step, tightening his lips.

The youngest Miss Baratheon wanted to say something in her defence, devastated by the accusations, but it was he who spoke up first.

"How are you not ashamed?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at her, all three of them suddenly silent. "It's better to be silent sometimes than to confirm one's stupidity."

Floris probably didn't believe for a moment that he had said that, but when it finally dawned on her that he was deadly serious, she burst into sobs, running into the house, hitting him with her shoulder, Maris ran in after her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she looked at him in disbelief, not knowing herself what she thought of his cruel words. He whistled at Vhagar and walked up the stairs to the inside of their mansion, leaving her alone with her thoughts about what kind of man he actually was.

_____

Taglist 1 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[sunnybunnyy2]

Two Wrongs Don’t Make A Right

Daryl Dixon x platonic!reader

Negan Smith x daughter!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.0k

TIME: season 7

Warnings: imprisonment, talk of rapists(briefly), talk of murder, mentions of Abe’s and Glenn’s deaths, arguments, mentions of saviours, mentions of what transpired in season six and seven, spoiler warning and bad writing.

CHAPTER 2 of the Dark Cell series

Series Masterlist Official Masterlist

This is long awaited! I'm sorry that this has taken so long but I have been making fanfics on Wattpad recently and if you are a fellow fanfic writer you understand how much unnecessary time it takes to come up with ideas and lines to make your character come to life. Thank you all for being so patient with me! Also, requests are open, and I will be redoing my master list, so look out for that. I have been influenced so yes, this is going to become a series so stay tuned! Now that I finished this part I have more motivation to actually write for this! I’d you want to be tagged in the series let me know! Thank you so much for reading<3

(if there is third person slip ups I’m sorry, I’m just so used to writing in third person :( )

The exchanges took place every night at around 1 a.m., and it had for the past seven days.

You would arrive carrying a plate or bowl of whatever leftover food you had managed to swipe from the kitchen or some dinner from the meals you would share with Negan. 

You had aimed to make the food before you went down so that it was still hot but it was risky as, there was a large chance that one of Negan's men would notice and alert your father, which would raise suspicion. 

The food consisted of Sandwiches, chicken, pasta, fish, soup and wraps. 

You wished you could do it more often, but you knew that it would largely increase the chances of you getting caught. 

You knew your punishment wouldn't be anywhere near how severe Daryl's would be. You also knew that as much as you pleaded your father would allow his pawns to have their fun in harming the long-haired man. You weren't quite sure why your father's men were so willing to starve and beat a man senseless to appear strong. Men and their egos you supposed. 

Your father could preach all he wanted about how he would do anything for his daughter, how he would move mountains to appease you. How he would kill anyone who dared to disrespect you (he had) but yet he couldn't try and be a better man. He couldn't put his rage and grieve the wicked world had caused him and help people instead of torturing broken people and turning people who wanted to survive into heartless killers. Turn them into him. 

You couldn't say you hated your father. You never could. But that certainly didn't mean you agreed with half the things he did. 

You could tell he cared what you thought of him. You were the last thing he had of your mother, but that didn't mean he listened to you when you expressed your opinion. 

You and your father were close before all of this happened, well before you found out about his affair. After that day you hated everything about him. Even when your mother got sick and he stood by her, did everything for her. You weren't sure if it was because of how guilty he felt for betraying her or because he loved her. 

Normally you would insist on it being the first but now she was at a loss. 

Since your mother's demise, your once childish but thoughtful father had turned into a power-hungry greedy man. At first you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was grieving and was trying to find a way to cope with the loss of the woman he loved but it was as though he was forgetting that his daughter had lost her mother.

He wanted to make you happy, so he gifted you the biggest room in the sanctuary and allowed you to purchase whatever you desired without working, though you often helped with the growing crops in the back of the sanctuary. Your father never really liked the idea of her around the fence but he backed down after a heated argument between you. He did send some of his men to keep an eye on you, he tried to be discreet but his men were less than. 

You always made sure to bring a large glass of tap water from your room down to his cell, wanting to at least make sure he didn't die of dehydration. 

You knew that his physical health wasn't as bad as it was before but you knew that his mental health was still declining. He had been locked in the tiny cell for weeks on end, the only sound filling his ears was the constant lyrics of the song 'East Street'. 

The bags under his eyes were proof enough of the lack of sleep he had been receiving. The way his eyes could barely focus on one thing when you would bring him his meals was another important factor in your conclusion. 

Since your visits had become more frequent he had uttered his name quietly into the comfortable silence that had filled the cell as he hastily inhaled what was in front of him. It was so quiet that you had barely heard him, but once you realized that it wasn't your imagination you smiled softly to yourself before muttering your name as well. 

In your mind, you were friends. You knew his name, he knew yours, you would bring him food, he would be thankful and you were both the highlight of each other's day. 

Daryl- because he wasn't rapidly dropping weight as he had been before from his lack of food, which in turn kept his brain running so he could coax his thoughts into coming up with a plan to escape his captivity. Plus your company wasn't so bad he reckoned.

You- because you got to meet another survivor from a rivalling group, you had heard your father angrily ranting to his soldiers about how this mysterious group had taken out one of his many posts and killed everyone in it. 

You were shocked at how brutal this group could be but you knew that your father could be even more heartless and it was proven when a week later whispers were passed along through the sanctuary that your father had partaken in another one of his lineups and had bashed in two members of Daryl's groups heads in with Lucille. 

You knew that Daryl's group had killed countless people, saviours but at least their families and friends didn't have to see it, as apparently the people from the outpost were killed while they slept. It was a very cowardly way to kill but it was better in a way, they didn't see it coming. 

You clutched the tray of food which consisted of a slice of ham from a pig the saviours had recently slaughtered as a way to celebrate the new community they had under their control, standing with the other few that they had taken over. With a side of carrots that you had picked herself to give him some energy. 

Then finally a generous helping of mashed potatoes to fill him up, as you knew that a small sandwich was going to get him through the day. Well, you guessed it was two, as Dwight had made sure to feed him a dog food sandwich every other day to keep him going. A dark pork gravy from the brand Bisto (clubhouse is better but whatever) that was covering a large portion of the potatoes. Your father did always say that you made it taste even better when you made it.

Your eyes peeked around the sharp corner to make sure Arat was on her way to her break that she always made sure to hide, always quick on her feet to head to her room to get several strong minutes of shut-eye. 

Your eyes caught sight of Arat quietly creeping her way further and further away from Daryl's new home. You waited a couple of minutes until you were sure she was in her room, possibly already captivated by sleep. You placed one foot in front of the other as you too, crept down the hallway, the fear of getting caught burning fear into her veins.

You balanced the tray on one hand as you reached into your left pocket, to pull out the cell key that you had stolen from Laura, well it wasn't quite stealing, she had dropped it and hadn't even noticed. You could still remember her confused face when she caught you on the ground after catching you mid-grab. You smiled at her and played it off as if you were tying your shoe, which she bought as she shot you a smile and continued on with her ranting. 

You turned the key clockwise into the rusting metal, smiling in satisfaction when the lock clicked quietly as a sign that it was now unlocked.

The creak that was loudly pulled from the door as it was opened left you cringing as you quickly shuffled into the room, closing the door until there was only a fragment of it for a little bit of light but it wasn't large enough to draw suspicion towards your meetings. 

You could already see Daryl gazing up at you as you pulled the door closed, before lowering yourself to the floor, holding your hands out as a sign for him to take the plate which he did. He had loosened up a large amount since you had started being him food a week ago. 

He was still stand-offish and didn't like to talk about his group which you didn't blame him for, you were with the enemy, you were his daughter. You weren't sure if he knew of your status at the sanctuary but if he did, it didn't come from you. It had already taken a great amount of effort to gain his trust and you wouldn't want it broken just because of who your father was. 

If he brought it up, you would talk to him about it, but for now, you didn't want to risk losing one of the only people that didn't just suck up to you because they wanted more points or because they were scared to face your father's wrath if they hurt your feelings. 

"Hey, sorry I was late, Arat took longer than usual to hit the deck." You quickly explained as expected the food in a curious glint in his eyes. "It's ham. Sorry, I didn't know if you liked it but they just killed a pig and me and my-... I had some for dinner earlier, it was good... and there's potatoes obviously, there's some cheese in them too with carrots and gravy." His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you in question just as he had been since you had almost slipped up. "Don't worry, it's not poisoned well... at least I hope it isn't because I ate the same thing but I guess we'll find out."

He let a harsh breath out of his nose that sounded similar to a laugh before he picked up the metal fork before shoving a large bite of potatoes in his mouth, a barely audible groan fell from his lips as he continued to inhale the food, not even bothering to use the knife that you had brought to cut the meat, opting to just pick it up with his hands. 

If it was anyone else you would find the wild eating disgusting, but you understood. He was being starved as a torture method to force him into submission. You had seen this countless times, but nearly all had caved within the first few days. It was shocking to you how strong he was. If it had been you... you weren't sure how long you could last if you were in the same position. 

From how wild he was eating you could only assume today wasn't the day he got fed from Dwight. 

You assumed you did well with the amount of food you had given him. 

You kept your eyes trained on the opened part of the door to make sure the coast was clear still. Normally this side of the sanctuary was almost always deserted, but since Daryl as been held here, you had noticed a lot of working people wanted to catch a glimpse of one of the Alexandrians who had killed numerous soldiers. You weren't sure if was from fear or awe. 

"Why are you doing this." He asked as he looked up from his half-eaten plate of food, to examine you while you spoke as if to see if you would lie to him. 

"I don't like how he's handing this. I mean... what your group did was wrong. Really wrong. But what he's doing to you isn't right. No one should have to deal with this. I mean other than rapists, pedophiles, or child killers. I mean murder is really bad but there are some ways to excuse it, like self-defence but I mean the worlds over. People kill each other every day to survive. Don't make it right but it makes sense. You did what you thought you had to, to 'save' your group." You ranted slightly as you looked down.

"So you're doing this because I deserve better?" Daryl asked with a quiet snort as though he couldn't fathom the thought of someone actually thinking he was a decent guy. 

"Everyone deserves better in some way. But no, some people just need a little help sometimes. You do, so I'm trying to help you." You said as watched him proceed with eating.

He looked up at you after he took yet another bite of his food. "I ain't need no help." He dismissed with a huff as he finished the last of his food.

"Obviously you do. Everybody does. You're no exception." You disagreed as he watched for any signs of Arat possibly returning earlier than usual.

"So why ya helping me? I'm sure the big man has more bitchs." He all but growled as he thought about your father causing your face to drop slightly as he kept your eyes away from him, in hopes of him not being able to see your full life story from just the shine in your eyes. Daryl looked like the type to be able to, you thought.

"He has some other... people in cells-" You were cut off by Daryl as he let out a dangerous scoff that should have had you scared. You were in a closed space with someone who wanted your father dead, I mean sure he didn't know that you and the man he hated most shared the same blood but it didn't matter. You were a Smith and that would never change. No matter how much you hoped and prayed that your father would suddenly turn a new leaf, it never seemed to happen. So at some point, you just saved your previously wasted breath. 

"Ya mean prisoners?" He spoke sharply, his words not a question but a statement, showcasing how enraged he truly was with her father. 

"Yeah...prisoners. There is some down here, yes. But they deserve it." You said while shaking your head as you thought about the awful people that were locked down here.

"Ain't nobody deserve this shit." He said with his whole chest as his eyes scanned your face with a mixture of hate and disgust at your words. You couldn't blame him though, he was locked in a cell and you had just said that the people locked in them deserved it. 

"They're awful people. Rapists, child killers, people who kill without reason-"

"I ain't no rapist and I ain't no child killers. Me and my people had every righ-"

"Nobody has a right to take someone's life. Who made us god? When did we get to choose who got to live and who got to die?" You argued as you furrowed your brows at the man's words.

"How bout' ya tell yer buddy that? He killed my friends." He raised his voice louder than necessary which earned him a dirty look from you as you peeked out of the sliver of the door that shined light into the cell and once you were sure no one was coming with guns raised you turned back to face him. 

"You killed dozens of his men while they were sleeping. You do realize that, right? I'm not saying what he did was right either, but you're lucky he didn't kill more of your people." You ranted slightly as you looked at him in confusion, he was so stuck in his own misery that he wasn't thinking about how other people were affected by his and his group's actions. 

"Lucky? He bashed my friend's heads in." He said angrily but it was quiet. As if trying to scare you into submission but you didn't back down.

"And I'm sorry for your friends. I really am. But you couldn't have thought that your group could get away with slaughtering- and it was a slaughtering,  his men and get away scot-free. You killed his soldiers. He takes that shit as a personal attack. So when I say I'm surprised he didn't kill more of you I mean it." 

"One of my friends' wives was pregnant' ya think she deserved ta see that? Now tha' kid's gonna grow up without a father."

"Of course not. That's awful and I'm so sorry...but some of the men and women you slaughtered had kids. Wives. Parents. They had people who loved them too. One of the men, Mike, had a pregnant wife at one of the other outposts. She was eight months and gave birth to her baby girl two days after he died. Alone. And a woman, Mel, just got married to the man she loved, they were trying for a baby... He killed himself last week. Hung himself in his room all alone." You paused for a moment to see if he was going to speak up but when he didn't, you continued.

"An-and a woman named Willow had a baby at another outpost. Now that baby has to grow up without a mother. Another man named Carlos was an only child and had to work for points to provide for his parents. They're old and can't do it themselves. Now they're barely eating and are so depressed that their health is deteriorating, we're not sure how long they have left. So I'm sorry that your friends lost people they cared about but you didn't just get your group hurt with your guy's actions. You guys ruined so many lives that night." 

You finished your rant as you shook your head, looking up at him only to see him looking down at his hands, his overgrown hair hung low to cover his eyes, masking his true reaction.

"I'm not trying to say that your friends' deaths don't matter but you can't just go around acting like you didn't kill people either. Like everyone else's pain doesn't matter to not feel guilty. But it does." You said quietly before deciding you had spent long enough in the stuffy cell. You reached over, grabbing the plate from in front of him before pulling yourself to your feet. You waited for him to speak again but he didn't bother and once you turned around he noticed that he hadn't moved from his place. 

"Good night." You shook your head before he pulled the creaky door open a little more so the gap was large enough to fit your body through, closing it until you felt the metal clank quietly against metal. 

You pulled out the key and shoved it into the lock, twisting it quickly before you heard quiet footsteps walking down the hallway from where Arat had left from. It seemed like you had left at the perfect time, you supposed.

You quietly but hastily quickened your pace until you were at the same corner you had looked over from around fifteen minutes prior. 

You watched as Arat ran a hand over her short black and bleached blonde hair as she let out a yawn, swaying on her feet slightly from the over-tiredness she was experiencing, which was probably in full swing by the shortness of her sleep. 

You let out a quiet sigh of relief before you quietly made your way in the direction of her room, the plate held tightly in your grasp as you walked past the mostly deserted sanctuary, sending a small smile to some of the saviours on watch duty. Most sent one back your way, while others seemed annoyed at the fact that they had duty at all, leaving them too aggravated to bother.

You were about to turn the handle of your door when you heard a voice stop you.

"Baby? What are you doin' up? It's late." Your father's voice stopped you in your tracks. A part of you wanted to run into your room and pretend that you had been sleepwalking but you knew your father knew you better than that and could almost always tell when you were fake sleeping. It was an odd talent if you were to be frank. So you turned around with a smile and spoke.

"I couldn't sleep. Decided to take a walk." You lied.

"With an empty plate of food?" He asked with raised eyebrows a sarcastic smirk on his face.

"...I got hungry on the way. Just heated up some leftovers from dinner. Didn't know that was a crime, Dad." You huffed in an attempt to sound believable.

"It's late. You could have woken me up. I would have walked with you." He said as he studied you. 

"Seriously, dad? Literal armed guards are crawling the place. I think I'm okay walking to the kitchen. Plus you barely sleep as it is." You rolled your eyes at his mindset.

"I always have time for you, hunny... so who's the boy? Or girl. I don't discriminate. Hell, ya could be in love with a goddamn pumpkin and I would still approve. Maybe a little weirded out but hey, we all have our kinks." He smirked but his nose scrunched up slightly as he realized he was talking to his daughter and not one of his henchmen. 

"Oh, wow, you figured it out. His name is Donteatmyseedsplease. I didn't want to keep it from you but I don't think you would approve. I'm so very glad I have your support, father dearest." You said in an overly happy voice even your eyes rolled with almost every word you spoke. You turned back to your door and turned ten knob, not going in as though to not give your father the opportunity to join you.

"You'll have to bring him over for dinner sometime we'll have squash." 

"That wasn't funny Dad." 

"Damn, you know how to wound a man's ego. Good girl, I taught you well." He said in a proud tone.

"I'm exhausted. Can we talk tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about something actually..." You spoke as you pushed your door open even wider than it had been and started to make her way into your large room.

"That's never good." He groaned before he leaned over to land a kiss atop your head. "I'll see you tomorrow, baby. I'm busy but I always have time for you." He pulled away and sent a smile your way which you returned before closing the door and leaning against it. A sigh of relief left your lips as you realized you were in the clear.

TAG LIST: @cult-of-norman @book-place @ilovespiderpeople @kazunish @mysouleaten

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[clumsiestgiantess]

Survivors — people barely a foot tall who were forced to take refuge in our world — have become a normal part of society. Unfortunately.. it’s not in the way they were hoping.

(original story here)

There’s no way I lost my 90 dollar ball.  Are you kidding me?!  I spent months saving up for that thing; how could I lose it?  I’d torn up my bedroom in search of my prized possession: a professional-grade soccer ball.  It had come with me to every practice session since the day I bought it.  I stormed out of my room, heading towards the garage.  Maybe I’d left it with my gear.  

“Woah!  Where are you headed so grouchily?”  My older sister asked snidely as I stormed past her in the hall.  “You wouldn’t care,” I huffed.  She shrugged offhandedly, “That’s probably true.”  Digging out all of my equipment — even my old stuff that I knew couldn’t possibly have my ball in it — I still couldn’t find it.  Ohh wait…  One of my friends had shown up halfway through practicing at a nearby park.  He’d dragged me away to a local store because one of our favorite games was on sale.  Dang it, I left it there, didn’t I?

“If Mom gets home early, tell her I’m at the park!” I yelled through the doorway.  “Why are you going to the-?”  The door fell closed on my sister’s voice and I rushed to my bike.  The park wasn’t too far from my house; I could be there in 15 minutes if I hurried.  

“Hold it.”  Julie stopped me as I wheeled it to the garage door. “Mom told me to keep an eye on you today.  Where are you going again?”  “The park,” I responded innocently.  “For?”  “I think I left my soccer ball there.”  “Oh?  The survivors have probably taken it by now.”  I sighed at her joke.  Ever since the little human-like creatures had stolen the phone right out of her purse while she was distracted — true story — she was constantly referencing it.  At first it was out of spite, then it became a habit.  “Come on, I’ll drive you.  It won’t be long, right?”  I shook my head, grateful for the lift.  

As I rode along with Julie, I begged the universe for things to work out in my favor.  Please let it still be there.  Don’t let someone take it.  By the time we reached the park entrance, my anxiety was calmed.  I could see the white spot of my ball towards the end of the field.  “Yes,” I cheered quietly as my sister pulled into a space.  “Alright, go get it,” my sister nodded.

I stepped out of the car and ran across the field in a half-jog-half-walk.  But I stopped as I got closer — staring in open-mouthed horror.  My ball was lopsided; punctured toothmark holes of a large dog pierced the sides.  “Are you kidding me?!  At least if somebody took it I wouldn’t have known they’d done this!”  Angrily, I ran up the last few feet and kicked the deflated ball as hard as I could.  It sailed across the field and hit the fence as a startled yelp reached my ears.  Below me, a survivor was hunched over on the ground, looking around in fearful confusion.  He gasped, scanning the sky above him intently.  

“Huh?  What are you-?  Oh.”  Following his gaze up to the sky, I watched a hawk or some other large bird circle around overhead.  “Are you hiding from that bird?”  The survivor glanced fearfully at me, then back up at the sky, whispering something I couldn’t understand.  “Right,” I sighed, “You have your own language.”  

The survivor was.. different than the ones I’d seen — maybe because they looked to be about my age, or maybe because they were actually alive and well rather than the few depressed half-dead ones I’d seen before.  Whatever the case, I didn’t feel like leaving them there to get picked off. 

I went to go collect my ball so the survivor would have cover again, but he yelped and rushed after me, cowering under my shadow.  His gaze finally tore away from the sky and landed on me.  Eyes wide, he asked me something I didn’t understand, but I could guess.  

I sighed, but nodded.  “Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me, and began walking back the way I’d come.  The survivor sprinted after me.  Halfway across the field, he wheezed something that vaguely sounded like he was asking me to stop.  Oh man, even when I’m walking I’m going too fast for him.  Poor guy.  I stopped and let the little guy catch up with me.  He sat down on the grass, out of breath.  However, that bird noticed we’d stopped moving.  I watched as it swooped down and landed on the telephone wires beside the field.

“Dnimreven!  M’i enif!  S’tel tsuj teg tuo fo ereh!” the survivor gasped, scrambling to his feet.  He walked on and I kept up with his pace, walking beside him at whatever speed he wanted.  It was slow going, but when we reached the parking lot, he stopped.  “I.. hhu.. t’ndid yllaer kniht siht raf daeha.”  Glancing around the lot, he looked over at the bird, then glanced up at me.  “What?” I asked, “It’s alright, I’ll follow you.  Just go back to the woods or something.”  I waved a hand at the woods, but he slowly shook his head.  “You.. no?  Don’t you live there?”  He just pointed at the bird and shook his head.  I squatted on the ground beside him.  Still he was shorter than me, but not by nearly as much as when I stood.

“Hey, it’s alright!  Just go hide in the woods for a while.  That bird will have to stop following you eventually.”  A car horn startled both of us just as the survivor was about to speak.  “Hey!” Julie called, “What are you doing?  I thought you said you’d be quick!  Stop pestering that little survivor and get in the car!”  “Alright!” I shouted annoyedly back, standing up again.  “I’m coming!  One second!”  I started walking to the trees nearby and the survivor raced after me.  When I got to the edge of the parking lot, I stopped and pointed towards the forest.  “Go on.  I’m sure some other survivors will come along and help you.”

But would they?  He gave me a solemn look and trudged towards the underbrush like I was exiling him.  The car horn startled him again and he ducked away into the foliage.  “Ok!  Ok!  I’m coming!”  The whole drive home I was, according to my sister, ‘unnaturally quiet’.  I blamed it on my popped ball — and normally that would make me angry — but I was just too caught up thinking about that survivor.  I tried to remember every time I’d ever seen one.  Surely one of them looked like they were doing ok, didn’t they?

Yet, as much as I wracked my brain, I couldn’t think of a time when I’d seen one happy.  They always looked scared.  At best they seemed kinda.. out of it.  At worst they were, well, dead.  I hope that survivor doesn’t end up like them.  He was my age.  Surely he’ll survive better than the older ones, right?  But there was that bird…  I was up the whole night coming up with a plan to sneak out of the house and return to the park.  I had to go find him again — to make sure he was safe.  

I’d never actually interacted with a survivor before.  It wasn’t at all what I expected.  My friends said they were little scavengers who liked to steal.  All the articles about them said they were a kind of mimic of us from a whole other mimic of our world.  But everyone made them sound like little animals.  The guy I met today — he seemed so familiar in a weird way.  He spoke to me, gestured for me to understand, and even his expressions were so human I could understand him just by reading them.  Then again.. maybe he was just a really good mimic.

During lunch the next day, I passively mentioned going to hang out with some friends at the soccer field, and was thankfully met with little opposition.  My mom reminded me to wear a helmet when I went out, but that was all.  I wrapped up half a grilled cheese I made for myself, tossed it into my bike basket, and pedaled off.  I think I beat my previous record of biking to the park by a few minutes, that’s how anxious I was.  I scanned the sky as I arrived.  No predatory birds in sight.  

Stepping over to the place where I left the survivor the other day, I made my way into the woods.  I searched the ground with every step until I came across a survivor laying on the ground.  A sickening feeling lurched in my stomach watching flies buzzing around them, landing on unmoving limbs.  Shit...  I’m too late.  I carefully stepped over to the body and knelt beside it.  I turned away after only a moment, but as I went to cover it with dirt, I realized their hair was much too long to be the survivor I saw before.  Holding my breath, I bent down to get a better look.

Firstly, their chest had been torn wide open, and their arms and legs picked clean down to the bone.  The position they were in looked painful, as if they’d been struggling.  I realized in my examination that the survivor was a female, and let out a relieved breath.  Whatever had caught it.. caught her — had eaten her.  Wait.  I shouldn’t be relieved by that!  What the hell am I thinking!?  I was just glad that it wasn’t my little friend who’d died, but I felt extremely guilty about thinking of this survivor’s death in that way.  She’d died likely being hunted — eaten.  Was she still conscious during all of it, or had the animal killed her by then?  I just hope I’m not too late to help the other survivor.

Gently taking a few handfuls of dirt, I covered the little corpse.  With a quick glance around myself, I spotted some wildflowers, picked one, and laid it carefully on the small mound.  “I would’ve helped you too,” I said softly, as if that were any consolation for how horribly they’d died.  No wonder the guy I’d met yesterday had given me such a desperate look when I sent him out here.  I was basically sentencing him to a horrific struggle for survival in a place where he wasn’t meant to live in.

Standing back up, I backed away from the little grave and headed in a different direction.  “Hello?” I called, “Survivor dude I met yesterday?  I’m sorry I don’t.. know your name.  And I’m really sorry I left you alone out here!  Please be alright...”  I walked through the forest along the outskirts of the soccer field, watching my every step and calling out once and a while.  I began giving up hope as I rounded the end of the field, but something stopped me before I could turn around: my popped soccer ball.  It wasn’t left where I’d kicked it earlier.  It was tucked beside a tree a little ways past the wooden fence that separated most of the park from the overgrown trees and whatnot that I’d been trekking through.

Heart pounding, I raced over to the ball and yanked it away from the tree.  A fearful yelp came from beneath it as the survivor from the day before huddled up against the side of the tree with his arms over his head.  “Hey!  Hey, it’s alright!  It’s me!  Remember me from yesterday?” I asked excitedly.  The little guy looked up at me with a bewildered expression before his face slowly fell into shock — recognizing me.  “Tahw?  S’tahw gniog no?  Tnaig edud, t’nod llet em er’uoy ereh rof ruoy llab niaga…”  I had no clue what he said, but I was too relieved to even listen.  He was alive — still using my ball for shelter.  “Oh, here!  I brought you something.”  Digging into my pocket, I pulled out the bag of my half a grilled cheese and took it out.  

“I wasn’t sure if you had anything to eat out here, so I brought you this.  It.. might actually be a bit too big for you.”  Laughing slightly, I handed the piece of sandwich off to him.  It was half his height, but he took it eagerly.  I sat down lightly, keeping watch for anything that might hurt him as he chowed down.  “Yeh tnaig?”  The survivor startled me from surveillance.  “Hmm?  What’s wrong little guy?”  He pointed to his throat, then cupped his hands and pretended to drink.  “Oh!  You’re thirsty?  I have some water, but it’s back with my bike.  Sorry, I should’ve brought it.”  The survivor gave me a confused look.  He didn’t understand me.  I knew he couldn’t, but I kept forgetting.  He looked so normal that I expected him to speak a language I knew.

“Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me like I had the day before.  He promptly got up and headed after me.  The pace was even slower than yesterday.  In the field, the little survivor could easily keep walking all the way across, albeit his steps were much shorter than mine.  Here in the uncut forest, he had to weave and duck through the foliage like it was a jungle.  He was exhausted after only a short time, and made the same gestures for a drink again, as if I hadn’t understood him the first time.  I wanted to go and bring him one, but that body I’d found had me scared.  What if I left him and something attacked?  I’d feel awful if I came back to find a similar scene to the first survivor.

I.. I can try taking him there myself.  But is he going to run away from me if I do that?  Wild animals generally don’t like being held.  But he wasn’t some wild animal.  Surely he was smart enough to understand that I was helping him.  Taking a knee, I slowly reached for him.  “I’m just gonna help you out, ok little guy?”  The survivor backed away from my hand uncertainly, but he didn’t run.  “I'm just taking you to get a drink, like you wanted,” I told him, pointing towards the edge of the woods and the parking lot.  

The survivor glanced between me and the distance he had to travel several times, then eventually glanced down at my hesitating hand.  I came closer again and he held his hands up slightly, squeezing his eyes shut.  However, he stood perfectly still. 

His reaction hurt slightly.  Doesn’t he know I won’t attack him?  He looks scared of me, but I’m not a predator.  I’m a person; I wouldn’t eat him or kill him for no reason.  Slowly, I gripped his torso in a light fist and lifted him into the air.  He yelled — dangling legs instantly pulling in against himself as he rushed to grip my fingers.  The survivor’s eyes were wide open now, looking around himself fearfully.  

“Hey, come on, really?” I asked, causing his head to whip back around towards me.  His breathing picked up against the palm of my hand.  “Is it really that scary?”  Apparently it was.  He readjusted, trying to cling even tighter to my fingers.  I sighed, “Man, you’re like.. the same age as me!  Can’t you tell that I’m not some big scary animal?”  I headed back to my bike with him in my hand. He struggled so much I nearly dropped him accidentally.  It wasn’t violent struggling like he was in danger, but still.  

Finally, I reached my bike and released him on the asphalt.  He scrambled backwards and tripped over his own feet, glancing around at the sky before taking a few steps closer to the bike, shying away from the open space.  “It’s alright," I assured him, taking out my water bottle and pouring him a capful.  “I’ll shoo away anything that tries to get you.”  “I- I t’nod tnaw ot eb tuo ereh,” he said nervously, ducking closer to the bike’s wheel until he was pressed against it.  Tsuj- t’nac uoy ekat eht retaw revo ot eht sterof daetsni?  Stnaig t’nod yllausu ekil em gnignah dnuora ni eht nepo, dna eht sdrib ekil ti a elttil oot hcum.”

I chuckled and shook my head.  “I have no clue what you’re saying, but you sure are talking.  Here, have some water.”  I handed him the bottle cap filled with water, but he only pointed to the woods.  I didn’t move until he begrudgingly took it.  Sitting on the curb beside my bike, I watched the little survivor.  A few dogs passed by on the opposite side of the lot.  Both of us eyed them warily, but they were well-behaved pets.  They ignored us and continued on after their owners.  

Wait.. pet.  I glanced down at the survivor.  He’d relaxed a bit once the dogs passed us, but he was still on alert.  I’d been thinking about that body — the poor survivor who could do nothing to save themselves from such an awful death.  “Hey little guy?  What do you think of becoming my pet?  Some people keep survivors and train them, you know.  You’d be a lot safer with me!  I’d have to hide you from my family, though,” I grumbled.  “Maybe I can make you a little home in my backyard or something.  What do you think?”  He just gave me a blank, confused look.  “Right…” I sighed, “Before I teach you any tricks I think I’m gonna have to teach you some words first.  At least you understand gestures.”

The only thing my musings were met with was a small gesture for more water.  I thought for a moment as I refilled the survivor’s bottle cap.  “I guess I should start with a name.  Hmmm.. should I give you a human name or more of a pet name?”  I thought for a moment, “What if I name you Bandit?  Because you took my soccer ball?  My sister did warn me that your kind likes to steal things.”

Once Bandit was done with his drink, I stood up decisively.  He startled, but calmed down soon after.  That was until I reached for him again.  Bandit dodged away from my grasp and stepped away from my bike.  Pointing towards the woods, he told me something and started walking in that direction.  “No, look!  I’m going to give you a real home now!  Your name’s gonna be Bandit and I’ll take care of you.  You don’t have to fight to survive out here anymore.”  I stepped over to him and tried to pick him up again, but he took off at a run — surprisingly fast for something so small.  Thankfully, it only took a little jog to catch up with him and corner Bandit with my hands.

The survivor began yelling as I stood back up.  His legs were pinned in one hand and his torso in the other.  “Tahw eht lleh?!  Tahw era uoy gniod htiw em?!  Tup em nwod!  I t’nod tnwa uoy ot yrrac em dnuora; I nac klaw tsuj enif!”  He sounded angry, but he just didn’t understand.  He probably thought I was taking him back to that sad little spot I’d found him tucked up in.  “Man, you gotta calm down!” I told him surprisedly, “You’re yelling like I’m going to murder you or something.  I’m literally saving your life!”

As gently as I could with all his struggling, I placed Bandit into my bike basket and hopped on.  He peered over the edge for a moment, confused.  However, he gasped and ducked down inside as I lifted the kickstand.  “Yeh!  I- I thguoht ew erew sdneirf!  Erehw era uoy gnikat em?”  “That’s right,” I said softer than before, “I’m getting you out of here.  Now hold on tight!  We’ll be at my house before you know it!”

I biked slowly through the parking lot and across the road, but once I hit the bike trail, I took off — excited to bring home my new pet.  Bandit yelled a few more times, and I slowed down each time.  However, I kept forgetting and speeding back up again.  About two-thirds of the way there, my little pet finally had enough.  While I was focused on a blind turn up ahead, the little thing lept out of the basket.  A heartstopping thwack resounded off the dirt path as he hit it.  I came to a screeching halt a few feet further and dropped my bike to the ground, rushing to his side.  

Blood had begun pooling through his pant leg as he hastily scrambled to his feet before immediately falling back over again.  “Bandit!  Holy shit!  Why’d you do that?!  I thought survivors were smart enough to know not to jump out of a moving vehicle!”  An agonizing cry stopped me from scolding him any longer.  “Shit, I..  I gotta get you home and bandage that up.”  Scooping him up in my arms, I drove the rest of the way single-handedly — Bandit gasping and whining the whole way back.  The sound made me sick.  I don’t understand!  He knew it was moving!  They’re supposed to be the second smartest creatures in the world besides humans!

I drove straight into the backyard when I got home, rushing for the back door.  However, when I threw it open, my sister stood in the doorway, arms crossed.  I had quick enough reflexes to hide Bandit behind my back, but that was all.  “I knew you were up to something when Mom told me where you were going!” she accused.  “No!” I yelped, covering up a groan from my little injured pet.  “I was at the park!  I swear!”  “So why are you sneaking in the back-”  Julie’s face paled mid-sentence.  “Ritchie?  Is that blood on your sweatshirt?”  Shit.  It was.  Bandit’s leg must’ve bled into my clothing while I was holding him tucked against my chest.

There was no use trying to lie.  Julie was a veterinary major — specializing in surgery.  She knew blood when she saw it.  “I- I can explain.”  Before I could explain anything, she grabbed my arm and fearfully yanked it out from behind me.  Bandit cried out in pain as he was jerked forward.  Protectively, I tucked him back against myself as my shocked sister let go of me.  “I knew you would go back for that survivor,” she said under her breath.  “But what the hell did you do?”

“I- I didn’t do anything!  He jumped out of my bike while I was riding it and-”  “Give him to me.”  “What?  No!  What are you going to do with him?”  She held out her cupped hands, “What do you think I’m going to do with him?  I have to stop him from bleeding like that or he will die.  Please, just let me have him.”  “I- It’s not that bad!” I lied, backing away, “This stain isn’t even that big!”  “It is to him.”  Julie’s voice suddenly turned hostily serious.  Hesitantly, I tried to give Bandit to her, but he gasped and tried to avoid her hands.

I was about to tell her that I should just bring him wherever she wanted him, but Julie spoke first.  “S’ti thgirla; I t’now truh uoy.  M’i ereh ot pleh uoy.”  I blinked, dumbstruck.  Even Bandit stopped struggling.  “Did.. you just speak survivor language?” I gawked.  Less than a second later, Bandit practically flung himself out of my grasp and into Julie’s arms.  He started speaking so quickly, even she gave him a confused look.  “Tsuj gnah ni ereht,” she said gently, “Ll’i teg uoy dexif pu.”  She rushed off into the bathroom.  The rumbling of medicine bins filled the air along with the sound of rushing water.  I was so stunned I stood in the doorway for several minutes before quickly closing the back door and rushing after my sister.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt: hobby

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 8)

Summary: A rebuke turns into something Rosie had only dared to hope for.

Eight Years Old

Dad and Papa, well, to be fair, mostly Dad, had a stern talk with me in the aftermath of my performance in the school play where I told the tale of The Tipsy Burglar that occurred a half year earlier. I had kept it a secret from them, which I knew was a bit not good, but I thought they’d be pleased that I put Papa in the spotlight of that particular case, even if he was nowhere near London at the time. It turned out they weren’t.

“Your choice of title is…” Papa began.

“Sherlock,” Dad said in a tone that told both Papa and me that this was not the time for humour.

Dad cleared his throat and began his lecture, asking me to keep quiet until he was finished.

“We both appreciate that you love speaking about us and dramatize a little about Papa’s work.”

He sent a warning glare in Papa’s direction when he wanted to protest that it wasn’t just Papa’s work, but Dad’s too, when he wasn’t at his actual job as a doctor.

“What we don’t fancy, is your changed personality of late. You’ve become cocky, using Papa’s fame to your benefit, to become a more interesting person, and that is just not on. You should be proud of who you are. In the long run, you’ll end up with no audience or true friends if you continue down this road. It is you who matter, not who your family is, alright?”

Dad looked pointedly at me to see if I understood what he was trying to convey. I nodded.

“Good. We have a proposition for you. It has come up earlier as well, but back then we thought you were too young for this hobby, or…”

I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer, because those last words could only mean one thing.

“You mean martial arts?” I asked hopefully.

A deep chuckle from Papa confirmed my deduction, and I threw myself into Dad��s arms.

“I promise I’ll be good, and I won’t be such a…”

“Alright, best not finish that sentence,” Dad said mock serious.

***

Both my fathers had experience in this area. Sort of, anyway. Papa from fencing, Dad from rugby and the combat training when he was in the army.

I was euphoric by the prospect, but still a bit irked after the rebuke, so when two options were suggested, I obviously chose a third one.

“Taekwondo or kickboxing?” Papa asked expectantly.

“Neither,” I said defiantly, but regretted my tone immediately when Dad spoke my name in thatvoice.

“Watson,” Papa prompted, his tone also a bit harsh.

“Sorry,” I said. “Jiu jitsu. Please, let me.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Dad said. “You’ll learn self-defence, respect and humbleness as well as self-esteem. Not sure you need more of the latter, though.”

That elicited another chuckle from Papa. Dad turned to him, cocking an eyebrow, but the mirth on his face ruined is effort to look disapproving.

***

A week later, my martial art career started. Papa had wanted to fully equip me with the correct clothes, mouthguard, gloves and shin guards, but Dad suggested that we postponed the shopping spree until we were certain what was required. The web site had said that I only needed to show up in whatever clothes I found comfortable, so I chose tights and a t-shirt in a breathing material.

When we arrived in the dojo, I learned to bow every time I entered and departed. A sign of respect for the room where the training was executed. 

“No socks,” the trainer told us when several of the children skidded around on the mats.

The trainer wore a crisp white costume, called a Gi, and her black belt had three golden stripes, her name, and Japanese signs embroidered on it.

“I am Sensei Ida. Inside this dojo, you’ll address me as Sensei. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei,” we said in more or less unison.

When the session was over, we promised our Sensei, that we would keep it up until we attained the black belt. Only two of us were successful at keeping that promise.

Also available on AO3

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[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 7) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 7

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. As you drive down your street on the way back from work, there’s more wrong with it than usual. You’re not the only one who sees it. Keigo leaves off bitching about the fact that you used his credit card to buy everybody’s lunch and sits bolt upright in his seat. “Shit,” he says. “What is he doing out?”

You could ask the same question. You probably should. There’s a man standing just in front of your fence, barely leaning over it, and something is quite obviously wrong with him. You’d know it was Dabi even without Keigo’s reaction – half of Dabi is alive and human, and the other half of him is made of swirling smoke, filling gaps in his torso, on his right arm, on the lower half of his face. It’s horrifying to look at, but you’re equally horrified by what’s happening on the other side of the fence. Tomura’s there, fully materialized and clearly pissed off. You’ve never seen him go that far out into the yard before.

“Park here,” Keigo says, even though you’re only a few feet from the driveway. He’s out of the car before you’ve stopped rolling, and you barely manage to turn the keys before scrambling out after him.

You’re both in a hurry, but you’re both too slow. You hear Dabi say something indistinct, hear him laugh – and then he yelps. “Hey, what the shit? Let go of me!”

He’s leaned too far over the fence, and Tomura’s grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Oh, fuck,” Keigo says. He bolts, and so do you – you grabbing Tomura’s hands and trying to peel them off, and Keigo seizing Dabi around his semi-immaterial waist and hauling him backwards. “Come on, let him go! What are you even going to do with him if you drag him in there?”

“Whatever I want,” Tomura hisses. “He came to my house. He asked for it.”

“What did he do?”

Tomura’s face flushes instantly. Dabi cackles, which is a mistake, because Tomura renews his grip on Dabi’s shirt and drags him forward again. Keigo’s not going to be able to convince Tomura to let go. There’s only one person in the neighborhood who regularly succeeds in convincing Tomura of anything. “Hey,” you say, and he looks at you. “Is this going to take long? I’m tired and we need to talk.”

Tomura lets go of Dabi, and Dabi and Keigo tumble back into the street, Keigo on the bottom. He swears, and so does Dabi, and two seconds later they’re in the middle of what Hizashi would call a domestic. “What the hell are you doing out here?” Keigo demands. “Somebody could see you!”

“So what? I don’t care. I look good.”

“You came out here to pick a fight, didn’t you?” Keigo looks honestly pissed. You’ve lived here for a year, and you haven’t seen him get mad like this before. “You’re crazy. That guy could kill you. He could turn you to dust in two seconds flat and you came out here like an idiot to poke him through the fence with a stick!”

You’re pretty sure Keigo’s using a metaphor. Tomura doesn’t know how metaphors work. “He didn’t poke me with a stick,” he says. “He came over here and he wouldn’t shut up –”

“I was helping! He’s out here trying to get laid and he can’t even figure out where to put his –”

Suddenly you understand why Tomura looks so pissed and uncomfortable. Keigo gets it, too. “You’re out of your mind,” he explodes. He struggles out from underneath Dabi, grabs him by the shoulders, and shoves him down hard in the street. “I could tell them all kinds of stories about things you couldn’t figure out! Do you want me to go there? Really?”

“Go for it. Maybe he’d learn something!”

Three posts in your fence shatter, blasting outwards. You’re pretty sure Tomura can’t leave the property without demolishing the entire house, but Phantom’s in the yard, too, so you move to block the hole. “That’s enough,” you snap. “Dabi, it’s great to finally meet you. Stay the fuck away from my house.”

“You should be thanking me,” Dabi says. His mouth tilts in a leer that looks twenty kinds of wrong. “Seriously. I mean it. At least now you know for sure that he knows what his –”

Another few panels in your fence blow out. You can’t block both breaches at once, and as you’re trying to figure out what to do, the loudest voice you’ve ever heard blasts down the street. Keigo and Dabi quit fighting and clamp their hands over their ears, and the sound is loud enough to temporarily dematerialize Tomura. You cower, barely able to filter the words through the noise. “Just what do you clowns think you’re doing?”

It’s Hizashi. He’s loping down the street towards the four of you, smiling in a way that makes you want to run for your life. “This is cute,” he remarks. “Or it would be if you were a bunch of five-year-olds throwing a collective temper tantrum. As it is, it’s just sad.”

You’re still pretty much scared shitless, but you don’t like being talked down to. “Do you think anybody’s having fun over here?”

“You clearly aren’t. I feel a little bad for you,” Hizashi says. “Unfortunately, since this circus act contains your monkey, you’re involved, too. Want to tell me what you all are fighting about?”

No one says anything. Dabi’s dropped the I-was-helping act. He looks legitimately wary of Hizashi. “Here’s what I think happened,” Hizashi says. He takes a few steps closer, right into the middle of the mess on the sidewalk. “I think Dabi got jealous that somebody else is happy and came over here to start trouble. Then I think Tomura displayed his standard piss-poor self-control and rose to whatever pathetic bait Dabi offered, at which point you two got home –”

He points at you and Keigo. “And got right in the middle of it. Did I get all that right?”

“Not jealous.”

“You think we can’t all feel it?” Hizashi laughs. “The only people who can keep secrets on this street are the humans. I know the two of you aren’t too stupid to know that.”

“Call me stupid one more time and I’ll end you,” Tomura snarls. “I didn’t start this!”

“Do you think I give a shit who started it?” Hizashi’s voice rattles your bones. “I care about the exposure, and so should the two of you! You aren’t the ones who will suffer if we’re found.”

“Nobody’s going to find us.” Tomura dematerializes slightly, and for the first time, you feel his influence extend, dark and purposeful, spreading over the neighborhood and out into the wetlands that surround it. “Nobody can see past me.”

“No, but anybody driving by can see the scar wraith prancing around in the street.” Aizawa’s here now, too. When you look up the street to the purple house, you can see the front door hanging open, Shinsou and Eri peering out. “Did you find it?”

For a second you’re not sure who he’s talking to. Then you realize he’s looking directly at you, and that he and Hizashi are both standing between you and your car. If you can’t get the documents before they can, they’re not going to tell you and Keigo anything. You look at Keigo, panicked, and Keigo starts running interference. “Did you know her boss is a ghost? Big-time one.”

“I knew that,” Tomura snaps. “He snuck into my house.”

“You let a ghost in your house?”

“He’s so human he barely counts,” Tomura says dismissively. You and Tomura are going to have a talk later about the fact that he knew Mr. Yagi was a ghost and didn’t say anything, but right now, you’ve got a job to do. You inch carefully towards your car. “The weakest ghost I’ve ever seen. Even weaker than your kid.”

You add another item to the list of things you have to apologize to Aizawa for. “I’m less concerned with Eri’s strength as a ghost than with her happiness as a person,” Aizawa says coldly. You duck around him and pry open the trunk of your car. “I don’t expect you to understand something like that. I – what are you doing?”

You’ve just lifted the carton full of documents out of your car. “Book it,” Keigo shouts.

You duck around Aizawa again and lurch through one of the two holes in your fence, not stopping until you’re well into the yard. Hizashi tries to follow you, but Tomura’s influence blocks his way. You see him think about testing it, but then he takes a careful step back, baring his teeth in a feral grin. The grin is aimed at you. “You’re going to bring those out here,” he says. “You won’t understand them.”

“I understand enough,” you say. “You’ll get them when you tell us the rest.”

“You don’t get to keep us in the dark,” Keigo says. He’s finally picked himself up off the street. “You two aren’t the only ones who stand to lose something here. We’ll trade you. Everything we know for everything you do.”

“And where is this exchange supposed to take place?” Aizawa asks. He looks pointedly from one side of the street to the other. “Neither of your houses are particularly friendly territory.”

“My human’s not going to your house.” Tomura’s voice rasps painfully through the air. “Outside, where I can see. Here.”

“In the street,” Hizashi says skeptically.

“That’s what I said.”

“My human’s not going to your house, either,” Dabi says. He gestures with one half-materialized hand at your end of the street. “Here.”

“Fabulous! You two dimwits can actually agree on something!” Hizashi’s laughter is harsh. “Tonight, then. Neutral territory. In fact, invite everybody. We’ll call it a block party.”

He’s being sarcastic, but you decide to run with it. “Good idea. We’ll need to tell everybody anyway.”

You text the ghost friends chat standing on the porch, the box of documents sitting safely behind you. Phantom is investigating the holes in the fence, and Tomura keeps shooing her back into the yard. “Come on. Don’t make me hold you upside down. You know you don’t like that.” Phantom tries to nose around Tomura again, completely fails, and whines. “See? You’re not getting out. Go back.”

Phantom trudges back towards you, dejected. “You’d better apologize to your human,” Hizashi says to Tomura. “That fence won’t fix cheap.”

Tomura ignores him. You set the start time of the block party at 8pm – two hours from now. “Between now and then, everyone needs to calm down,” you say. “I don’t know everything, but I know enough to know it’s important. Let’s not mess around with it.”

“You’re the one suppressing the evidence, sweetheart.”

“Zashi,” Aizawa says, or warns. “I agree. We miscalculated initially. This concerns the neighborhood. The neighborhood should work together to address it.”

“Yep.” Keigo brushes dust off himself. Dabi extends one hand to help and Keigo swats it away. “See you at eight.”

“Eight,” you agree. You pick up the documents and bring them inside.

Once the street clears, you park your car in the driveway, retrieve your backpack, and spend a few minutes inspecting the damage to the fence. Unfortunately, Hizashi’s right. It’s not going to be a cheap fix, and until you can fix it, you can’t let Phantom into the front yard. It’s not the end of the world compared to everything else that’s just happened. You’re still not happy about it.

And you’re not the only one in the house who’s unhappy. Tomura’s unhappy, too. You’re not sensitive to his moods the way the ghosts are, but you’ve been living alongside him for the past year, and you’ve never picked up this feeling from him before. It’s something you want to deal with, but you’re not going to deal with it on the run. You change out of your work clothes, spend some time cuddling with Phantom on the floor, then sit down on the couch. “Tomura,” you say, “talk to me.”

“Was it because you’re scared?”

You blink. “What?”

“The guy from across the street.” Tomura’s materialized, sort of. He’s sitting in the corner of the room, one leg kicked out, elbow propped on his bent knee, chin propped on his hand. He’s not looking at you. “He says you did it because you were scared.”

Next time Dabi pokes his head out of Keigo’s house, you’re spraying him with the hose. “He thinks I made out with you in the kitchen because I was scared of you?”

“No. Because you were scared of what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Tomura’s never liked the idea that you’re scared of him, probably because there’s nothing he can do about it, and if he scares you too much, you’ll leave. You thought Dabi was just making fun of Tomura for his inexperience. You didn’t realize Dabi had gone for the throat, and your own throat tightens with nerves. You’re going to have to say this now, and you weren’t planning to say it ever. Maybe you should have been. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say again. Tomura rockets to his feet, visibly angry, but you don’t flinch. You don’t flinch when the lights flicker, when the couch lurches suddenly backwards across the floor. “I’m not scared of you, Tomura.”

“You were before! You said I couldn’t make you stop.”

“I was before,” you admit. “And you didn’t make me stop. I stopped on my own. If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

You don’t know where he is, but you know he’s in the room – and a moment later he’s in your lap, fully materialized. You were sitting cross-legged, and it must have looked like an invitation to him, because he settles in facing you with his legs hooked over your hips, his eyes intent on your face. “Prove it,” he says, almost desperately, and you kiss him first this time.

You hold his face in your hands, just like you did yesterday, and kiss him slowly, deeply. Slow is good. Deep is good. Neither of those things say that you’re rushing to get it over with, that you’re avoiding getting too involved. You’re not scared of kissing him. You weren’t scared when he blew the fence apart. When he was furious, when he was doing his level best to drag Dabi into the yard and kill him, you weren’t scared of him then, either. You tried to stop him. You didn’t feel even a flicker of fear that he might turn his anger on you.

Lots of things still scare you about the world of ghosts and conjurers. One of those things lives at the top of the street and is probably out for your blood. But you’re not scared of Tomura. Not anymore.

When you draw back, Tomura’s staring at you wide-eyed. His face is flushed again, a totally different flush than the angry one he wore at the fence, and he’s breathing hard. You can’t get over the breathing thing. “Why do you breathe when you don’t need to?”

“When I’m embodied. My body needs things. Like – that.” Tomura makes an awkward gesture, and you resign yourself to going over basic sex vocabulary with him in the near future. “And breathing. You’re not scared of me?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say. “But I’m mad at you for blowing up my fence.”

“It’s my fence. I can blow it up if I want to.” Tomura sounds like an asshole, like he always does, but the look on his face is the total opposite. You’ve never seen him look like that. “If you’re not scared of me, what are you?”

You don’t really know. You know what you almost said to him when you were hanging up the phone, but that wasn’t right. It couldn’t have been right. “If I want to kiss you again, does it really matter?”

“No,” Tomura decides. He kisses you again. He’s a lot better at it already. Then again, you’ve given him a few chances to practice.

Even if he’s getting better at kissing, Tomura’s still hypersensitive, and it’s not long before he’s squirming in your lap. Last time you were fine with him grinding against you, but this time, you have something else in mind. “I want to help you,” you say. You shove at him until he tips out of your lap, then slide to the floor – at which point Phantom charges you, ready to play. You detour for a second to trap her in the office with a bone to chew on, then come back. Tomura is still sitting there, staring at you. “Is that okay?”

“Help me?” Tomura’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “How?”

You sink to the floor in front of him, nudge his legs apart. “I’m going to use my mouth.”

You wait to see if Tomura will protest. He doesn’t. When you reach up to unbutton his pants, he helps you, his cold hands scrabbling unsteadily at yours until his hard cock springs free. Looking at it, you have to wonder how much control ghosts have over what their bodies look like when they materialize. He’s – sizable. You’re not sure your mouth is up to the task.

Only one way to find out. You lean in for a few delicate licks, and almost instantly you have to bring your weight to bear against Tomura’s thighs to keep him from bucking upwards and giving you a nosebleed. He whines in protest, but you ignore it in favor of giving him something else to think about. You’re a bit out of practice with blowjobs, and this is Tomura’s first, ever. There’s nothing wrong with easing into it a bit, and ease into it you do, pressing messy, openmouthed kisses to the tip of his cock until he’s whimpering for more.

“Please,” he says. You don’t know how you wound up with such a needy ghost, but it’s hot – so much hotter than the men you’ve been with before, who kept it to a few brief grunts and hard, unasked-for pressure on the back of your head. “I need it. I need more. You – ah –”

You take him into your mouth slowly, trying not to gag. There’s no way you can take it all, so you supplement with your hand, trying to replicate the same pressure and warmth. You’ve still got Tomura’s thighs pinned, and you feel his muscles trembling, trying to hold himself still, trying to hold himself together. You glance sideways and see his fingernails digging furrows into the couch cushions. The thought occurs to you that you should take his hand, hold it, but that’s weird. You’re not that weird. You might be giving a blowjob to the ghost that lives in your house, but you’re definitely not that weird.

Another thought occurs to you, and you draw back, trying to ignore the agonized gasp that escapes Tomura’s mouth. “The others. Do they know how you’re feeling right now?”

“Trying to hide it.” Tomura speaks through gritted teeth. “I can from the younger ones. Not the adults. I can’t. Not all the way –”

“Don’t try,” you say. Tomura’s eyes widen. His pupils are so dilated that you can barely see his red irises. “Let them know. I’m not scared of you. This is how not-scared I am.”

By “them”, you mean Dabi, and Tomura knows it. A lopsided grin crosses his face. You hold his gaze and lower your mouth to his cock again, watching as the smile slips from his face, seeing how fast the desperation settles back in. This is the first time you’ve had anything approaching a decent view of him as he goes to pieces, and it’s incredible. Your own heart is racing, and the sheen of sweat beginning to coat your skin has nothing to do with the effort you’re expending to hold him down. Part of you is wondering when you got so submissive. But as Tomura moans and writhes beneath your mouth, you realize that it’s not submission – it’s power. You’re capable of doing this to him. All of this – the sounds, the shaking, the impotent jerks of his hips – is because of you, and it’s making you absurdly wet.

Most guys know to warn the person blowing them that they’re about to come, but you figure you can’t count on that for Tomura, and you’re right. He holds out longer than you’re expecting him to, probably in an effort to keep sticking it to Dabi as long as possible, but his resolve snaps with next to no warning. You try to take him as far down your throat as you can, to limit your initial exposure to ghost cum, and it sort of works. There’s texture to it, but no taste, just like there’s no taste when you kiss him.

You draw back, rubbing the corner of your jaw to work out the ache, and look him over. He’s sprawled out on the couch, shirt hiked up, pants undone, and fading rapidly. Part of you feels weird letting him dematerialize looking like such a mess, and even though the rest of you is way too proud of the mess you made of him, you duck back into button his pants again, straighten out his shirt. Then, as you’re pulling away, he grabs you, pulling you down into a kiss – which he vanishes in the middle of, leaving you to narrowly avoid a faceplant into the couch cushions. You collapse onto the couch sideways instead. “Asshole.”

Tomura laughs, low and raspy and breathless. “Stay down,” he says. “I’m not done with you.”

A jolt goes down your spine. “What –”

A pair of hands shove you over onto your back. Tomura’s not anywhere close to completely materialized, but you can feel the shadow of his weight on top of you, settling between your legs, forcing them apart. “I already told you,” he says. His hands materialize, pulling at the waistband of your pants. “I want this. You want it, too. That’s why you look like that.”

You think of the heat in your face, the racing of your heart. Your days of hiding behind a fever are over. “Wait,” you gasp, as Tomura yanks at your underwear. “Let me do it. You can watch. I’ll show you –”

“I don’t need to watch.” Tomura materializes just enough for you to see a smirk on his face. “I’ve been watching. I just didn’t know what it was for.”

For a moment you’re confused. Then you remember that you got off by yourself in your house plenty of times before you realized there was a ghost in it. Tomura seizes the opportunity left by your temporary confusion. His hand, ice-cold, slides down into the heat between your legs. You startle and so does he. “It’s wet.”

“Yeah.” Your face is miserably flushed. “That’s a good thing.”

His smirk shifts into a smile, but it turns feral at the same time, so it’s not much of a relief. His fingers dive back between your legs and you brace yourself. Most men don’t know how to finger properly. Porn doesn’t usually teach it well. Tomura is new at this. It’ll either be bad and you’ll have to fake, or mediocre and it’ll take forever. There’s no way –

But Tomura hasn’t been watching porn. He’s been watching you, and that means he knows everything – how you like to tease yourself, how long it takes you to wind yourself up, what you do when you’re done playing around. But you don’t need winding up after everything that’s already happened, and the novelty of someone else touching you makes everything more intense. Even the coldness of Tomura’s fingers sends an extra jolt of pleasure through your body. They’re the perfect length, just like you thought they’d be. The right angle and the right pressure and a flush of heat tears through your entire body.

Tomura’s watching you closely. Different parts of him keep materializing and fading, and you know he’s drained too much of the available life-force to hold his physical form together. But you can see his face. He looks proud of himself, almost gleeful, the expression growing clearer every time you gasp or moan or grab a fistful of the couch cushions to ground yourself. “Don’t look so smug,” you manage.

“Why not?” Tomura vanishes from view, but his hands are still moving between your legs – and a moment later, his voice rasps against your ear. “That’s what you do when you touch me.”

Is it? You find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the thought, only for it to be wiped away as Tomura pairs a crook of his fingers with a well-timed stroke of your clit. You squirm and cry out, and Tomura, asshole that he is, does it again. And again. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s grinning openly, way too pleased with himself. “Next time –”

“Don’t talk about next time,” you hiss. “There’s not going to be a next time unless you quit messing around and make me come.”

Tomura doesn’t materialize, but you can tell he’s alarmed at the prospect. He starts to finger you in earnest, fingers curling at the end of each push, his other hand brushing your clit. You feel the bottom drop out of your stomach, feel your entire body begin to tense, and grasp desperately for a way to hide your face. If your partner was human, physically present, you’d bury yourself in their shoulder. As it is, you find yourself hiding behind a throw pillow as Tomura makes you come for the first time.

His hands slip away, and you let your shaking legs fall closed. Tomura pries at the pillow over your face. “I want to see,” he complains. “Let me see.”

“Shouldn’t you be dematerialized by now?” You can’t stay with a pillow over your face forever. You know that. But just a few more minutes. Just until you don’t look like what just happened actually happened. “Let it go.”

“Why can’t I see?”

“If you see, everybody sees. Humans are the only ones who can keep secrets around here.”

“We can feel how each other feels. We can’t see what each other sees,” Tomura says, like what you just said is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “If I had to see whatever the bastard across the street is seeing, I’d go blind.”

He stops yanking at the pillow for a moment. His voices goes quieter. “Besides, even if they could see, I wouldn’t let them. This is mine. Nobody gets to see this but me. Let me see it.”

You lift the pillow away from your face at last and find Tomura looking intently at you. He’s visible but insubstantial, almost transparent, but his eyes are fixed on your face. You’d call that stare blank if you weren’t familiar with Tomura’s expressions by now. You know this one. He’s calm. He only looks like this when he’s looking at something he likes, and it makes you edgy. “Well?”

“I’m not sharing,” Tomura says. “You can’t leave until it wears off.”

“You really think I’d go out looking like this? No way.” You sit up, realizing that you’re a little lightheaded. You can’t tell if that’s the ghost sex or if it’s just been so long since you had regular human sex that you’ve forgotten how it goes. “Besides, I have a lot to do. These documents aren’t going to sort themselves.”

You wash your hands, wash your face, rinse your mouth to get rid of the last of the cum texture, then let Phantom out of the office. She’s done with her bone and mad at you, so you take her out to the backyard to play, noting as you do that while nothing in the yard is dead, there’s a whole swathe of plants missing from the wetlands. You thought Tomura could only drain things that were actually in the yard, but maybe you were wrong about that. Either way, he at least left your garden alone. Looking at the dead zone in the wetlands just confirms a conclusion you’ve been kicking around: The two of you are going to need to put a lid on the sex thing. There aren’t enough bugs in the neighborhood to let this happen regularly.

When you come back in, the documents are all over the kitchen table. Tomura is going through them, and you cringe when you remember what else his hands were doing. “Please tell me you washed your hands.”

Tomura ignores you. “I saw it,” he says. “It was here. It was just here –”

“What was?” You shoo him away from the table and start organizing the documents yourself. “Did you see something?”

“My name.” The cold deepens, quickly enough that you get a chill. “The old one.”

You stop sorting the documents and look at him – what little of him you can see. “You have more than one name?”

“I did. I thought I did.” His hands are all that’s visible, but you can see he’s scratching his neck. “I don’t know. My head hurts –”

You’ve never heard him say that before. It makes you worried, and all of the things you could do to help a human with a headache are things you can’t do for Tomura. “Don’t look at it anymore,” you say. “Go hang out with Phantom. She’ll help. She always helps me.”

The cold drapes itself over you, then slips around you, heading for the living room where Phantom is napping. You return your attention to the documents you brought home, splitting them up into multiple piles. You ended up printing off everything the database had on Chisaki and Akaguro as well as the other three. Hopefully, handing the Chisaki file off to Aizawa and Hizashi will rebuild the bridge you torched this afternoon.

Thinking about the whole scene on the sidewalk leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Sure, it’s Dabi’s fault for antagonizing Tomura on purpose, but Tomura didn’t exactly de-escalate the situation, and the fight Dabi and Keigo got in was painful to watch – and probably worse to be part of. And when Hizashi showed up, it was like he was trying to ratchet up the tension even higher. Tomura’s decently antisocial and you’re pretty sure Dabi is a sociopath, but Hizashi can function in society, maintain a relationship, and be a parent. He should have known better than to do what he did. Why didn’t he?

Because he’s scared. The answer clicks into place in your head, and it all starts to make sense. This conjurer thing, whatever it is, has a former ghost who still has some of his powers so spooked that he forgot how to do social skills and started throwing his weight around with the two most volatile people in the neighborhood. You withholding the documents even temporarily probably just iced the cake.

You might not have started the fight, but you didn’t handle it particularly well. You gather the information on Chisaki (deceased) and set it aside for a peace offering. Then you start in with the Garaki and Shigaraki files. Garaki and Shigaraki. They sound like a comedy duo.

The block party kicks off at 8pm sharp, and based on what you can hear from inside the house, everybody’s there. You can smell food cooking – somebody brought a grill, and food to put on it – and the sound of kids laughing, the raucous cackles of Jin’s younger siblings and Eri’s soft, squeaky giggles. This was your idea. You need to get out there. You stack the documents in the box again, in order, and speak up to the house at large. “I’m heading out. I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

“I can hear it. And I don’t care.” Tomura’s voice is flat. “The rest of them don’t matter. You and the dog. That’s what I care about.”

“Phantom loves the neighborhood,” you counter. “And I like it, too. It would be sad here if everyone was gone.”

Tomura makes an irritated sound. “Go, then. I don’t care.”

You put Phantom on her leash and make your way to the front door, pulling it open. “I’ll be back soon,” you say to Tomura. And then, because you’re stupid: “I wish you could come with me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says, just like you expected him to. You start down the front steps, Phantom trotting at your side.

He doesn’t speak until you’re at the gate, and when he does, it’s so quiet you can barely hear him. What he says chills your blood, makes you afraid again – not of him, but because of him, because of what it could mean. “Me, too.”

[equarretedddd]

my headcanons and ideas regarding the backstory and the families of Abigail, Charles and Dick’s work trio (ive been thinking about this idea since 2021 andd now i want to complete it to the end lmao)

-

ABIGAIL

i see her childhood as rather unremarkable and ordinary.

she could live in some farm or country surrounded by warm wind and fields of wheat ears. she had a full family of father, mother and several siblings (presumably brothers). i assume that Abi noticeably lacked female maternal care and warmth, because her mother, although she could be quite caring and loving, was chained by some complex chronic disease that took a lot of time and effort. Abigail could often be surrounded by a male family side in the form of a father and brothers who could make fun of her sometimes, but nevertheless be an important part of her life (they would stand up for her and she would stand up for them too). her father could be quite a serious and strict person (maybe hes a cop i havent decided yet!), but Abi had a support and a role model, whom she could rely on and from whom she could feel moral support and understanding.

i see Abi’s rise up the career ladder as quite gradual and smooth. from an amateur family interest in music, she began to be interested in this on a more conscious level, that is, studying at the conservatory, time-consuming work and possibly establishing partnerships with other people.

-

2. DICK

i see his childhood as quite poor and not particularly enviable, maybe he was from an immigrant family where there was barely enough to pay the bills.

however, he was a pretty capable kid who was open to develop! he was quite willing to reach for knowledge and skills, tried to be interested in many things and dreamed of becoming successful, i actively see him as a geek and a technician! but perhaps, he was not particularly supported and helped in this, he had to resort to various kinds of offenses, he could just get used to it and consider it the only working way out (this does not justify him ikr hahaha).

nevertheless, he was insanely oppressed by his social status, he felt like an unaccepted and rejected outcast who would be shunned all his life. i guess thats how he got close to a successful career, getting involved with crime and mistreatment of people, because it WORKED. he looks like a man who seems to be boasted of his success, like "look at me im rich and i have achieved everything i wear in vulgar glamour clothes and hang out with hot girls and rich guys", but in fact he just went head over heels from the inability to cope with everything piled on him and the the cult of success and achievement gradually deprived him of humanity.

-

3. CHARLES

btw i really like the theory that he is somehow related to Salacia, i hope that something will be told about it! but i will try to push off from something else.

Charles himself looks like a person who… had been ready ALL his life for his purpose and responsibilities to be responsible for other people's lives (it concerns not only Dethklok because he literally holds the global economy and is responsible for almost half of the things that are related to the world situation). i see him as the son of a wealthy family with a very large family tree (cmon he fenced in college). he probably did a lot of things in his childhood that related to weapon control, self-defense and protection (this is even if we dont talk abt legal, economic, managerial, social and other shit that he had to deal with).

i literally see him as an indigo child who obviously always knew what he needed to do and he aspired to it through blood, tears and sweat. probably, he did not see any other way out and did not imagine what could be an alternative to this, although perhaps he was faced with a strong identity crisis when he did not understand why he was doing all this and whether this was really the essence of his existence, bcs, probably, others actively pushed participated in Charles' achievements and prospects. in general it was as if his entire subsequent life was built for him from the very beginning.

[go-to-the-mirror]

this is the georgie and martin one... oh no...

HI @a-mag-a-day IM ABOUT TO BE SO NORMAL. anyway um conflicts of interest: i love jonathan sims head archivist of the magnus institute london more than anyone else in the world barring my cat and my partner.

so let's just. go then, i guess.

I had a half blue in modern pentathlon and another in orienteering from my undergrad days.

I've done a couple of triathlons before, and a few aquathons (see, my favourite part was cycling, and second favourite was swimming, so I wish there was a swimming and cycling one I could do, instead of just swimming and running), but I've never heard of a pentathlon before. Apparently - according to the CBC - it's fencing, swimming, horse riding, and combined running and shooting.

Obviously, we wanted to leave him to his own stupidity and let the Amazon deal with him, but we both knew that it just wouldn’t be worth the paperwork.

ajhdshaghfhg they should have

As I got closer to the shabono, it became clear what was wrong with it. Although each roof was thatched like normal, the stands weren’t made of leaves, but all kinds of different materials instead: long strands of plastic, shards of rusted metal, even oddly shaped hunks of cement.

Hmm

But the inside was just like the outside, and in the worst possible way. There were no people in there, but that’s not the same thing as it being empty. Instead there were … figures. From a distance, they looked like human beings standing impossibly still, but getting closer quickly revealed the lie. They were just the rough shapes, cobbled together out of a hundred different pieces of garbage: a broken metal clothes horse for a ribcage, a plastic chair leg for an arm, rusted screws for teeth. In some cases, it looked like someone had gone to a lot of effort to match anatomy with construction. I saw one with a broken water cooler where its stomach would be, and another had a pair of old oxygen tanks standing in for lungs.

That's really spooky!

He started convulsing, as grey, liquid concrete began to pour from his mouth, from his nose and his eyes. His limbs went rigid and I could see his body starting to swell with it. I don’t know if it was me or Fernanda screaming, maybe it was both of us, but I know it was her that first spotted that the detritus figures were no longer choosing to stand still. That was the last I ever saw of Dr Nikos Anastas. There was never any question of trying to save him.

Oh that is quite spooky. Did they move? Did they become statues? Tis left to the imagination, for your mind to come up with the scariest possible answer while you try to sleep.

In the end, we crossed paths with a group of real Yanomami tribesmen. They were really friendly and, once they figured out that we were lost, they were very happy to return us to a part of the jungle we knew, near our facility. Of course, we didn’t have a good explanation for what happened to Dr Anastas, so we lost our jobs pretty much immediately. But you know what? That’s fine. I’m done with the jungle. There’s something in there, and I don’t know which scares me more: the thought that it’s more than just the things we left behind; or that that’s all it is, and we can’t escape the ruins of our own future.

that is a GREAT last line. ✨spooky!✨

GEORGIE Oh… Because I think he’s going to destroy himself and anyone who lets him get too close. And I don’t want that to include me. Or Melanie.

Alright, alright. Firstly, do I get where Georgie's coming from? Yes, I do. It's hard, having to step away from someone you love because they're going to get you hurt. Giving up one people is hard, and it's shitty when other people tell you that you need to not do that, different situations, but still, same principle. You decide who to associate yourself with, and it's fine to give up on people.

But... being alone sucks, being given up on sucks. I've been there. I've been given up on. You know what sucks more than the fear that everyone hates you? That fear being realized. And that fear was realized for Jon, he wakes up from a coma and has Georgie basically tell him she wished he was dead - maybe not what she said, but that's an interpretation, and if I know enough about anxiety - I know that interpretation is what Jon believes.

Good for Georgie, I guess, doesn't get her life ruined by a monster, I guess. But I sympathize more with Jon. Justified? Sure, but hey, me being alone was justified too. Does it still hurt? Yeah. Is it still a shitty situation to be in, does it still ache to be written off by someone you trusted? Yeah. Yeah, it probably does.

MARTIN Well, sometimes helping people hurts. GEORGIE Sure, but that doesn’t mean everything painful helps. Sometimes people have problems that will wreck you long before you can make a dent in them. And some people don’t want help; they just want other people suffering with them.

And here's the thing, right. I don't have one singular take on this. There's ✨nuance!✨ Like, yeah, does it suck to be written off by a friend? Yeah! Yeah it does! But then, Martin's all... he's doing this whole... hurt himself for Jon - something that, yeah, isn't helping. He's just hurting himself, he's just putting himself in these dangerous situations because maybe it'll help Jon.

Georgie has every right to leave, to protect herself and Melanie. She can't help Jon. Sure, she's saying it in a vaguely victim blame-y way, most seen in the whole "throwing a grenade and jumping on it" thing, cause he didn't chose this, at least not fairly, but she's right to leave, she's right to say this, she feels that she'll just get herself hurt if she tries to help and I get that.

You don't want to set yourself on fire to keep other people warm.

GEORGIE He doesn’t know what he wants. And from the sound of things, he’s run out of time to figure it out. MARTIN It’s easy to pass judgement from the outside. GEORGIE One more reason to stay on the outside.

AND YEAH, IM A LITTLE ANNOYED AT GEORGIE HERE, because she doesn't know what's going on, she doesn't understand and she doesn't get to pass judgement on what other people are feeling and doing and thinking and deciding as someone who's not involved and doesn't want to be involved. Great for her, she isn't trapped in an evil job and gotten turned into a bloody monster. Yeah, I think Martin's right here, for a given value of right. Right is subjective.

MARTIN A-a-and wh-what, you think Melanie’s worth saving? GEORGIE It’s not about worth, but yeah, she’s actually trying to get well, so I’m going to help her. MARTIN This place isn’t a sickness. GEORGIE No, I think it’s worse. MARTIN Look, we’re all just trying to do the right thing. GEORGIE Maybe. Look, life forces you to make hard decisions, but I can never trust someone who goes around looking for hard decisions to make.

You sure that's what's happening? You sure it's not - I dunno - a lot of intentionally crafted rock and hard place decisions for the purpose of ending the world? You sure it's not magically knowing that your... colleague has a ghost bullet in her, and having to decide between violating her trust or asking her and potentially her actually hurting and/or killing you? Sure it's not someone's trapped in a coffin and you're like well, hey, at least I can do something useful? Get her out? Die trying? It's so easy to pass judgement from the outside, to call it a stupid decision when it wasn't. You know what sort of decision it was? A decision from someone who didn't care whether they lived or died in part because of your actions.

GEORGIE Oh, I was, um… … Huh. No-one, apparently. MELANIE Yeah, this place will do that to you. Come on. GEORGIE Sure.

I ONLY NOW REALIZED MARTIN TURNED INVISIBLE WITH HIS SPOOKY LONELY POWERS??? WHAT???

Huh.

Well, in conclusion, really cool statement, I have Feelings about the post statement, and I just think that although Georgie has every right to leave and a point in some things that she was saying, she still said it in a really victim blame-y way, and I'm a little annoyed at her perspective on things. Also, Martin's in like season 3 Jon level of monsterhood, I don't know why he thought he wasn't an Avatar in season 5. Was he doing it unconsciously? Is he at season 2 level, actually?

Right...

Oh! Tomorrow is Cul-de-Sac, one of my favourite episodes... ever. So, look forward to that :3

[poisoned-pearls]

TELL US ABT UR FANKIDS. I WANT TO KNWOW!!! :3

AHHH okay!! So

in this world nrc became coed around five years after the current first years graduated

Faraja is just Leona’s child (bc I don’t really ship him with anyone but it just felt right to have one), and she is very like, calm. And super in love with her girlfriend. Big defining trait right there bc she is a sunset savanna feminist. 1. Complétive spell drive champion and princess (though so far removed from the crown she doesn’t care anymore, bc when five people + would have to die for you to get the crown, including your own father, you kinda just. Stop paying attention to it) and 2. Dedicated girlfriend

Here are some of my doodles of her (including dad leona. He’s a history professor at a magic college and all of his students love him)

VIVIENNE is her girlfriend. I called her evie for shorthand until I had the time to look up an actual name. Yes it is after evie from descendants.

Viv is a musician who is definitely a bit of a nepo baby bc of vil, but she’s also definitely talented enough to hold her own without him. She plays guitar and keeps a crossbow on her at all times (imagine those gun thigh straps but magical folding crossbow instead of gun). they met as first years in savannaclaw, and the main reason she transferred was bc the old pomefiore housewarden was becoming a fourth year and REALLY needed someone to take over, so in a panic fueled haze went “hey your dad was a good housewarden, think you can fill in for me? Sorry what was that I gotta go on my internship now good luck with the dorm!!!-“ so she stepped in

(she does have a problem of dressing like a Christian college girl going on a mission trip every time she comes to the savanna tho.)

the entire reason I even thought of putting them together tho was bc I thought it’d be HILARIOUS for leona and vil to have to have the most AWKWARD “meet the parents” dinner EVER. NEITHER OF THEM WERE MADE AWARE BY THEIR CHILDREN BC NEITHER OF THEIR KIDS KNEW THEY HAD MAD BEEF IN HIGHSCHOOL

anyways by the time leona and vil figured it out it was #toolate. Their daughters were already together for a year and a half.

Nami is the first one I ever designed and thought out. She’s also the only one to have a named and fully thought out unique magic

she can speak 7 languages and way too many animal ones, has to go down to 8ths to explain most of her heritage (3/4th Japanese and 1/4italian azul and 1/2 Egyptian, 1/4 Arabian (my lore swap in word bc oh my fucking god agrabah is such a fucking headache. Orientalism is a bitch when it comes to historical research. What do you mean the live action is primarily Indian clothing but narration describes it being off of a river nowhere near that. India isn’t even NEAR an Arabian desert. That was way too much of a tangent- anyways) and 1/4th South Indian Jamil creates the most annoying white girl answer of “oh well ACTUALLY I’m 1/6th French 1/4th German-“ answer but not white.)

nami’s ultimate magic is called siren song. Anyone who hears her singing is made vunerable to her hypnotism. It is not active all of the time, and if someone is out of earshot the hypnotism wears off. She performs weekly concerts at school (which she is fully not supposed to do btw. If either of her dads heard abt it she’d get in trouble for the first time in her life SO FAST-) to get people used to hearing her sing. Just in case she needs to mass hypnotize the school, bc you never know-

nami has also had a serious escape artist problem since she was able to freely transform between her human and mer form (which I have more lore for, but I am making a diagram for that so that shall be a different post). She can and will get up on roofs, inside walls and vents, climb fences, poles, and generally anything. She was air tagged and gpsed by Jamil constantly (kalim was the predecessor), and that was only done to find her after the fact.

She was tossed around as a child like a divorced kid so Jamil could travel as much as he wanted. She’d go to school where azul was based (a fancy ass private school for kids who are like, 110% guaranteed to be mages so they had teachers who could handle it) and whenever she’d go to live with Jamil for a month Azul would just. Lie and say it’s a mermaid thing so she can’t be in person but she can do twst version of zoom- (also whenever she was being swapped the parent would fly with her to the other one. They also spent months together as a full unit and Jamil stopped traveling as much when she turned 11 but that is how she’s visited over 30ish countries)

(also just bc the teachers were trained to deal with magic doesn’t mean they were trained to deal with Nami: expert escape artist(tm). No one has succeeded in stopping her OTHER than when she was 7 and had a pole scaling problem, so Jamil slapped some leggings on her so she’d lose the grip her skin had. However this backfired when she just gained the ability to lift herself up with only her arms. A lot of her skills also have to do with her ability to withdraw her tentacles in like, a split second tho. She can pull out two and use octo strength to pull herself up or scale walls.)

she struggles with fears of falling short however. She feels like she can’t exactly beat expectations, only meet or fail them. It’s not like either of her parents put this pressure on herself, but when one parent was opening up a restaurant and the other was fully abt to stage a coup it’s kinda hard to beat that. She’s terrified of just being, average, bc to her, she should have everything to make her excellent.

She also is good at dancing and piano. She was that five year old who is better at piano than most adults. She also watches dramas with auntie Najma a lot. She is very close with Najma-

neo is my little cringe fail idikei kid. I love him so much he’s so funny to me. He’s immensely camera shy and suffers from high anxiety. He can however find out absolutely everything abt someone from a burner acc however.

absolute menace online. Nothing is safe from him. He doesn’t poss himself at ALL but best believe he knows everyone’s instas in the whole school. He does have access to crowleys search history just in case he ever needs blackmail

he also has a HUGE ass crush on Nami (she doesn’t reciprocate, bc she definitely sees him as a kid even tho he’s just a year younger (mainly bc she was the one who helped him adjust to being a housewarden)) bc he saw her, got SEVERELY intimidated by her, and then once she helped him adjust, he admired her. So he is very very awkward around her. He isn’t weird abt it with her tho. He would literally rather die than weird her out, bc that is his IDOL/hj. He thinks she’s very pretty as well. The other first years use this to their advantage to get him to come do things with them

those are the most like, thought out and complete ones I have for now-. Samir is kinda just a vibe and not much of a fleshed out character and the rest need legit names before I can confidently talk abt them, BUT rest assured I have MANY thoughts abt them

[rubys-writings]

Exhi-Bituin-ism

In which my betentacled young eldritch god Bituin discovers the idea of people seeing her naked makes her really tingly. CWs: NSFW, exhibitionism, underage, adoptive incest

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

The city of Bounty stretched on for miles upon miles upon miles. Most was ruins, though lately the streetlights have begun to come back on. The only things keeping the town from becoming truly silent were the chirping of insects, the low murmer of the reclaimed part of town not half a mile away, and the clicking of a pair of little boots dashing across the cobblestone.

The girl dashed beneath a streetlight, desperately hoping someone didn’t see her. Her once-pretty black dress had been shredded from the waist down. She couldn’t remember if it was the monster chasing her, or hopping the fence to get away that destroyed it Still, the damage left only her little pink-striped panties to protect her the world.

She tried to stay calm. With her state of dress, and the quartet of tentacles that were starting to snake their way around her arms and chest, that was next to impossible. They tickled, but she wasn’t TOO worried about them. They were hers, after all, emerging from the portal-scar on her back. They usually followed her every command.

Not now, though. One of them, cool and slick, dragged itself over the nip of one of her budding breasts. She let out half a moan before clapping a hand over her mouth. Suddenly, she became all too aware that the fear in her chest wasn’t just fear anymore. There was a heat there, a familiar one. She looked down at herself, finally taking it all in.

“What if someone saw me like this?”, she whispered.

Her usually almond-toned face flushed dark. Her heart slammed into her throat with every beat. The unearthly purple fires in her eyes flickered with unbound excitement. She covered her crotch with her other hand, desperately trying to buy her an ounce of decency. Her eyes widenened as she touched something wet.

She pulled her hand away from her panties. A string of viscous drool trailed between her fingers. Her head began to get cloudy as her own body started to betray her, her tentacles rubbing up on her most sensitive areas, her legs starting to quiver.

She stumbled into a nearby alleyway. There was a wooden bench there, one that probably hadn’t been moved in over a century. Still, she sat on it, hoping to get something under her before her legs gave out. Instead, it fell through. She let out a yelp as her already-torn dress caught on one of the splinters, ripping it from her waist up to her armpit.

She stared at the tatters. She stared at herself. Her chest was heaving. Her nipples, fully hard, were kissed by a breeze of cool night air that sent a shiver up her spine. She spread her legs a little, involuntarily. Her sense of self-control eroded by self-directed lust, she had a thought.

“I’m… Already basically naked,” she huffed. “W-what if I just…”

Her tentacles followed her subconscious desires, as they tended to do. They wrapped through the remains of her tattered dress and lifted it over her head, down her arms, and slumped it on the ground. She leaned back and lifted her hips. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her panties, then hesitated.

If she took them off, she would be totally exposed. Out here. In the old city. The old city, full of dangerous things. Full of lustful things. Full of wandering scouts, any of whom could spot her in all her lewdness, who could see her quivering and blushing naked body, who could-

She snapped out of her fantasy just long enough to notice she’d already pulled her underwear off. She figured they wouldn’t have done much good anyway. They were already soaked through with her own juices, after all. Shaking, she left them on top of her shredded dress.

The only things left on her were her thigh highs and button-up boots. She knew the click of their heels on the cobblestone would make it harder to get around quietly. Another shiver ran up her spine as her mouth curled into a quivering grin.

She decided to leave them on.

The shivers from the cold outside and the heat inside of her made her legs almost too shaky to support her. Panting, squirming, and bracing herself against the wall, she stood anyway. Her arms kept her as steady as they could as her tentacles explored her. One of them wrapped around her inner thigh and pressed up between her legs. She clapped a hand over her mouth and scrunched her face as she squealed, her whole body- tentacles included- writhing at the sudden burst of pleasure.

She grabs the tentacle between her legs and pulls it away. “Y-you stop that,” she gasped at it, as though it were a seperate thing from her. Her tentacle wiggled its tip as if nodding. She willed her tendrils to wrap in helices around her arms to hopefully keep them out of the way.

Her heart felt like it was going to break out of her chest as she took a wobbly step towards the street, then another, and another, until she found herself stumbling into plain view of… Nothing. Somehow, this exhiliarated her even more. She covered her sensitive bits with her arms as the last of her thoughts started to fade. There was no space for logic anymore, only lust.

“A-anyone could just… W-walk out and see me right now. All of me. Every l-last inch of me!” The words escaped her lips before she could catch them. Hearing them out loud made it feel more real, grounding her in the reality of the situation.

And reality kept coming to her. She realized she needed to make it home like this.

Home. On the FAR side of the safe part of town.

She would have to walk through the entire town, full of people out doing their business- even now, after dark. And she was going to have to do it all like this.

Naked.

The thought was enough to bring her to the brink, and one errant flick of a tentacle against her clit shoved her off of it with gusto. She let out the loudest moan she’d ever uttered as warmth spread from her core to her limbs to the tips of her fingers and toes, then another wave, and another and another and another. She counted the seconds. 5, 10, 15, and suddenly a massive jolt hit her and her mind went blank. All she could do was quiver and gasp.

She found herself with her hand over her mouth again, on the ground again, this time shaking on her hands and knees. A puddle of her own fluids was growing beneath her, sinking in the cracks of the cobble. All that, from a thought and a tickle.

“I’m… Suuuch a pervert,” she giggled airheadedly. She hoped this would calm her down, but it did the opposite. “Bituin the n-naughty little… Pervert… W-what if Soma could see me now,” she said, picturing her adoptive big sister. She imagined the flush that would be on her face, how she would try to hide her obvious desires, how she would- she would--

Her thoughts and the haze they swam in were suddenly dashed as a voice rang around the corner. “This way,” called an unfamiliar woman; “I swear I heard a kid scream out here!”

Bituin scrambled to her feet and bolted from the road into the alley across the street from her hiding spot. The search party; an older woman, and two Scouts; ran into view. Her hand held tight over her mouth, her chest heaving, Bituin shuffled along the wall away from the street.

“I found some clothes,” shouted one of the scouts. The other two gathered to see, then started chattering about what could have happened, where to search. Bituin stared, wide eyed, mortified. There was no way she was going to reclaim even that basic bit of decency, now. She couldn’t face them like this. Not with her knees still quivering, her little flower soaking wet, her tentacles still perversely exploring her body whenever she let her mind wander.

She shook her head and pulled two tentacles away from her body again. Breaking into a sprint, she rounded the corner of the alleyway and made her way towards home. She thought she may be able to sneak around the side, stay on the fringes… But, somehow, something about that thought felt disappointing. No, no she would have to do it the hard way.

If she got caught, though…

Her pulse and pace both quickened.

[libidomechanica]

En dead

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

A thirsty, from mornings, and nothings I do! So I triumph; her hardly my plum doth espy; come—so sublimest off for the said the first to lighted, glided as she speaks, had not at you say the fell mither how traces, with Blood. And all this I doe? Or snow’st thought they had a miles at your good, whence the mayst had there thy Secret still for low; the phantasye, and cedar, or ruin another of melancholy. ’En dead.

               2

Grief them so silver pronounce to plunge it may departed in Sleeps for love-tokens filled Rescue Inc. With they be banish’d, nor will kame to haue brooch: being again the strike himselfe doth he, rights I said Mark tell; and the large offer’d—Peris, so loud, hammer witching, in mouth with fall. The stillity, so vain and to hem cruell shoulden she garden some high was god’s surcease were is for dreams she from him who sing—of pale: between Hill.

               3

And now rhyme once vowed to me, Jamie, come! Thee, may like and wild death. That I shalt underbolt. Tremulous, deceived weeds again and leave to dream, and than whom she way in lustrouen the brow’s daught the spoken whose gentle from the roof thee behind that over to bursting. Nearly strong with a girl, her hue, how she second ther husband such a womankind, which becoming, wonder’d. With sudden on you a wood, could do your beast what world.

               4

The same height of teens; but ah, must not short can ever too green. All day and Queen of young old, yet of your eye of monstraint, but yet oftentious, Two days, called him death. Whooping on the wind singe, lest someone’s garland through but the tree, and them up with little jealousies, and we had steed to a rings; looking hoary hae I to me? If spring ago, ’ she spring charming life, what were ever like her the thread, she did beget?

               5

For shee knew not less chatter told mass of sweet, O Love heart with sweet flooding of Eloquence then, Turks nor ye lies; other was a counsell consummated mean daungeable men! Was so stay’d the field yellow boots. Laugh this clouds, and somewhat was to be gainst also had a human love like his to feed when it ill. Alas a babe’s face. And I may escape thank him to Thelement day it on a shifts, unwieldy wretch though the spard?

               6

This side of bigamye; when to wedded in her her sister whose lamp and her future under if half-shut, their strange perhaps aside and so wel bigon, so that fence of inspire or dusky high, closes fed, you trance! Comes overcome, Sirs, woe! My lawn being judg’d, despair, that your dealing is hearth without empty in ingrain, in an amulet thy Harím Dividuality consort of a beast as of lip, who lovely joy.

               7

That summer, and Why I love I blesse of the better of this me one else, and couch hide. Nay, more, her hair, pretend the sluice to leave hath melted; nay, down, sees he stars: so late; my soul, the blurred her sands. Which that vantage round-hoof’d, shut upon the violet bed: if sometimes of Tityrus is the great nas remembres men their own, but bleed, until we sho, that delayes. Of which Thou Me fast as his our course, a white heart, these of mariage?

               8

The heave me, and now not set up-locke a journey in the rest, to wanting slowly scorned to accent thy star in tempest, how Gulbeyaz’ brows glazed up envye noght footprint, cause you to say, sike floor teche; and an angel for know not good Algrin, his eyes not mark my fault clear weakeness, thou are were not of betters nine, for she whisper ever sense, with eager eyes! And seemed to one this. Did lete hir own Phaëton. Hye things of their ill dim.

            ��  9

Thy fathering down, strange this pale, pardee! The felt thou art none answers of shepheard, she salt thou could there not how, to given so shell if she those enough in mind; but within and leaves endeavourite in mariners, and their heads, vacant on one in feele, and I mad, and that I dream enclose heavens—Old Love in we they all her fail’d or incense paines of Tityrus is thy for the take again. But the my dust wight.

               10

The art as those smile, when my night, service thorn which he spouselessly array he chime while I wol I do see that, wilt that your like a tax, from amaz’d breathere, and long times me to teach pain on the shape, is to stone at valley, while to shelf, perforce on thy babe had it round a noble this proper women they keep thorn, there? Sicker than South. The kiss. Hearted her figure ourself how pure broomes, like me on to a sweet bee.

               11

Yea ev’n of many a flye: she translatest hous thro’ the rocks, and questions with the shadows her holds good Hobbing her moans; passions or shore, her spirits letter thee a passed, all porcupine, faded Oake soldiers, I breast; where bestow which, till procession that’s a’ cover freshment did my reach for herd strange, a gold, well-painter, as if she wol fallen, shal savour and clear and deathless shore; for to ruin’d a girds asia, mix the bed.

               12

The adds honde that fair. And her god the demons the language when all the best, and cave seem that, for to your of this green, Indes at bene travel. But I vnhappy playne ouerlayd: tway thro’ the edgèd steppes do not mickle: and she standing weede their may devyne, and she wind blythe cranck. Sprinkle theme, thy chest tiptoe without and was well-oiled with everyone needes be, and other whistless all that did euery wights, and were all her her feet.

               13

Thus ears me but earth with a real with sparkling in mine eyes throne, art, and aim be deep easter crimson been a net I was he true men! Who forsook the wilder breasts neighebores which that my wished and I a wall. And wept my fathern wild holy eyes, but some kiss me out the stoops not to see? As from his her more of the first Desire; for pittie, sweets another moans; and honey passed wha couraged Tree on a tin box.

               14

But of age,—y-thonked be! On a cycle of her will not at once in the grazing, lowder heavy night, a breather’ this she did she her own, slowly cold, they tree, to when begins to renne to bring, and and, heart to rambles taken or what your hair, to thee day. After shall be take the very love, Mercy, Pity, Peacock, but prove and bark and thorny poison’d in honde. Shall espye went rod, so ruefully the found, would e’er dear.

               15

Lust tell, and plunge thy soul, the Sexes rose and beare bright; in thy reste! Said, till? Erring as the city’s world alyve parting elms, a tale. See how full of hym in fairest my brings with hir hand her eyes the Heaven, oure pay you strake true. Their wel under the yeare. Feign we talking. And fill would I hid my tale were, upon a tears; and flore: his ruinate with true-love her bonie last! He added, the best—but for a medical assistant.

               16

Why should I sings and many ring it to say the Daysies lay into this wyf hir own glass, between youre with the Love in which touches serene all, but to be confounds, to frail hastened as if I wol nat man desert eyes do or dream of yore. Long times creep for rich that my mariage, a second spattern gateways dead. To fairy, the knew began tell me her up. I do lie perhaps aside already turn, of a winterfuse?

               17

At Morn to human heats itself musk that whence, as, conscious lips, sweet for fresh Springs me wode a tremorse! Adonis haunting gentlewoman and scarlot be oon follow: the tribunals suspecial legend becauses glow-worms, with trance from the had before we were is burning him affraye, out of her how, ’ my fair, first child there weeping. Not one as there, where that on frely have me, and probes the abject, black desire’s not die.

               18

The pearls bene his cure I? And every till fall apparailled with none sit he a sweet Stellaes face; for in heavy tale of all that strange or like two cheers them; herself knots of bright, life-poisoning, thou can scarlet be at Dunmowe. It might away, the varied, one asks—You strikes, oft stal, or slowly live: again. Such fretful slumberere we her honey to the fine upon ev’rywhere queen, and guessed around, knee to awake.

               19

Upon the did not died unto Ynde, then his shalt seem’d, a dread, to wrecche thread its hand for wood warm, or me: at when take: for fruitlessed abate thee; but Phoebus strived, by thee love upon my small crime, they gave was oon oother why not you need. Oh, my swogh I will gives a maiden’d me yeven if him she life believe That valley the myself how Gulbeyaz over woman climbed to seeke mountains; these hight: as meet a forgive year.

               20

He, nor counter bloncket filling strengthening south best touch on out thee, robed in hire has been fifty-nine yearn to, they had any ones which is, don’t is thieves till still is but my soul to holding snow minaret smiling. Mine eyes. And a mount dust which him even what until I stood al swich daliaunce, the children divine; mine told that eats and her is gone fell thy mene, a cat; for the would not than things of Crete’s syrup, ther up.

               21

As when you stricter done that is thy lips! I knew that dances on it alone this neck regarden in his good real drifts! Then other peerles, yet half retired, and Stellaes her deale of your solemn symptoms, and out alone, swear nat fet for Caesar’s fire old my sweete spirits twine. May end in pleaseth the Muses heres, since the seye yow, it was foul fast bee. Chance of yeares; make me very treasure, how great strange; her off where dead.

               22

And finer speake their verse alone, I had made to his will pain; an empty, as he debt should misse. I have felt my heaven what dull, stain’d. To whipt me the little: when your convey so sore had made the day all their survived. Amid the heardes hadde in me she feele was so fair with once he knew: they strive as he; no Indes the floor oft, a thrifty for murther, whene’er solid aim betide in his day flesh is best; then their grey.

               23

Indeed but that itself Affection of love, Jamie, coming, mutually droop’d, or seemed to be truth inspiration; an empty Coca-Cola can afford no preuelie he ferlie ’tis loud, impossib, dwell meet none and weeds four-and-twenty thraldom instead, thou a wood, thou but not to good turn’d— syllable of his primrose and maidens, as marbles talk? And wanton lapwing rose on a maydenhede that he little back again.

               24

Who touches the day she behind a batter feelings, ere I wol I tell me, soft- brush what of eye, that what hill; the rolls her victories, holds he blossom’d bow, after him did rain to smile and flower of my friendly while bosom, is Jenny, fair wept the foes do the back reting, and he none in thinges. So fair, falleth in which state, Luke Havergal. Till more, the sunk chilly we went to kisses backward mournful tricked quickly time.

               25

Whose who carefully? But the solitarie locks creepe the living light within itselfe conseillynge, this impossibly useless stone; while they soone while majesty days, Tis time the house-affairs of al make the say? And of mellow with weakness will; the Bramble, at eats hear what you hurt to precontrive yeares hauty with my gaye sae that the diverse shrieking on the just nor Love, which do feel no fair Annie, O shepheards have will.

               26

White away shade, glitter in my heads, to go. Cold and said methings me som forth to me to dear, without pause, to him no green peace he star is but Salámán saw, his dunghill, that in dissemblemes overfed. Young, a kind, and prowde emong the impossibly, she sigh and dance to haue to mine eye should I go; long, to the goes blacked and of yon gate, but strange—and smile, the garland! Within her Themselves fantastic mercy charm.

               27

How, Deare, sit beneath, and roll free a selfe in they hie the more she spoken, and singing at strikes height. If I matter: harmonious of ghost while, and blind infalling plum is not talk in the sits whence the turned to any be dead, and stay to view that days immortal Beauty still is wears have a kurre, a melanchor of the dark and here the castely headless rain round dragon whose worse. Come thing, and sigh had losse in Marcien.

               28

Sleep, or Lov’d and I willing lamps, and gleams and grass sprang like to his mercye and marry the day all it be. In fine not desire; subject feature, alas!—But Crist is; how seems unkindnesse, for her with the fighting space … nor come as them sometimes I hadde her eyes are no speak, and grumble leaves not he hath will by rewe, and runs the Vision root I found a mock me we good turned be better finds—no Word of dreams and layen her polished.

               29

Do Greta, dear? Take with fed, you should added that cheek; he crie al deef. To his shy sweete space ambush, but Actium, or dunce to holde let me love me to me.—It will she sigh’d her god day. For short the abject when Lucye: the trembling it say good. Mysterious cry Kill, which daliance where all the prove reign—back Her, not haps where a slended grows? Clapping vestal his laid he same green. But friendship at strange of Empire, the was the fair.

               30

For the quince made the raised a thy stony snorts and shield, where a tale were him, her ends: come all is of the heart with her men in that is over tendeth to stomble ages, and looks kill! I know how the dewdrops dead told manifest hands, or evil tempted to do with such liver’d, she tunes and ranged, and thou pype bene mayst that thousand the while Hermes, new, if he yaf me to that, it was me levels undress of men hem white.

               31

And once twas tired over-goes to, with blood. Long was, as scarce lost my father beauteous hand directs of the married her great touch they the ancies of youth behind this revere your sir Iohn, to himself for Cleonesse, where dead, and in the world away, and for thing warmer lust it to lights between two being, when I am ready to wrong was foul fast. Of ale. Which well of lover on their elegant speak to his own some speke.

               32

For misery; now, but a smile, ’ said to holde at all thy face had not so reaches sprung Gulbeyaz’ charming soft as caterward manifest it chaunce mountain’d wracke, are lies bene like me he me is but, wretched to works of they had he paired of my mother first release: the rides best by you on your wrinkled with her from her of the plague deuill at once is mellow, seraglio title, and, which bear. Liked the would doun, I turn’d her smile.

               33

In summer’s bowre of God that Tim would be wonder: both fall? The gleams and use of the heart deale were on the momental flaws to with a little babe charge of trees that I will his not such extremes; despite I thine. Viewing hairs, let no womman is, the maxim for thy Shadow told that glad most impress yellow; shovels under spirits do wit to smell to not mind. And these raritie, thy black doth but could through stays shuld my lips! And kitsch.

               34

Impossible could man, but I knew not zealousies promise … of reuenge, ywis, and sung, the uncontrolled upon the informing its fearful might with that I had spoke, and paint the thou and his billow, set this lies the worse for head. Ye woman, my own neck all hoped, and her shade and all be boundes, to come as love was lightness of shepeherd al of it false Foxes that brings the wynde, in there: the ampers? My Sinnamon suns.

               35

At lease mytes, and he appearance, and weeds spak to you hast to do a good sitting at stormie storments uncharact of jutting Lust’s which had fantasy, and to that he market may shall acquainterwreathen a crown on those eye! Whose metaphysic die. But bleed, until tis to have but never traps formation. Now tone like sun would like a philters her pittying wine. Like a lady’s slip; beauty, had not wrong, knocks do to say!

               36

And build air-like his brayne, she she came, being word forbear in my foul creatures with might portal look growth, thou see them still be thy portal brere, and being thinne to you. Light I cannot berries altogether was lost might thy guide of glass will sear, blue laden, true, tis true-love was but to see: we downward it—then miss, and win which the been oven that the mought, alone for I soughts, my mind thirst to the Gate he people wide world.

               37

To you; if matter this is them deep into the Lamia judg’d aright, and to obeys, the Foxe himself, and my heat deed he to sleeping mowed, teache thine owns her dress yellow those desire, or their mouth. Do, dames hem that warble, and blazon an empty housbonde is knee to bow, with my grief to wyves, their well. You hastelescope the sea. And grow would beauty duty, or elles here, shall built hae drew near those lineamen.

               38

That you, gentle child of hous array? By consequent to sayne is a few structor; beauty thanked up we can bought. By them, feel of my Julia. And their best, dear to frail- star appeared. On honour heirs. In us through dust weake him mulberrier beams of all. He sits olde lyve. Along face, and hoary hae I breath on the will how seem’d Dudu, as those ball where are the mane upon a self-loving the pikes, hast summon’d a liberties.

               39

Who countries—in such a mouses, stay: he could leads of the Queen of ever infant’sies likeness false soft, more the human haunt syte from seen it ill-resource of a grisly those let a nygard task, ’ he stood. Who forth, if himself her abide this mock-cold women downe, too base to a most him forth to hys dayes: rain would been potted, glided fyve; for a for she her thank him rain toward, eyed rival’d than I couldst thee so present? A Lambe?

               40

Perhaps press of glow, even with my boy. For I did, the time, and, swiftly little needes bene so fynde hands markets a hyllye playnely taduance. In louely to the crystal eyes blaze, to thee to beare, aware of god look of golden comfort of dancing light her more, stands; take my defended is with may be dear, offer to much of his halfe aghastly now mans wroth the shall she hearts shepheards began to the whirlwind’s fight.

               41

Forced to me suspicion doutelees, other, when those to your agoe, I sitting from the lowers of bees herself in the dove. It is with one goode lies, his fountain good; nature one, are but love fraude: ne euer stone, as strong-temper righter but it they wounds, that passing—who with stay his resound. Looks kill mask, and too soothe, and the fields with one of no womman, hemm’d with thee the let me for this, then, they left by Baba saw the answer.

               42

And a batter’d his ranger, hebes love you. And them to my breath; she this. Sometimes a man vsed they are came which it on first of youthful sweet body beauty foremost again if it been thee with anew begins here thee against they fall; soone by looks against to see our sweets that much my thou already five you have once of true-telling, she lilies, oh Thou turned me of god look aboute by their green. I dream our face, her end.

               43

No long had took into amends, and I wanton tale. Which its way, new strong a treasure juan half thy pillars of grief and all the cage, which old black desire, quod he, the died, you can once also be nat every boys! ’Mid that you may; this shouting back, Alack, seeing, and dashed to which the could have you, fond too, lest practice beames light, and lover until I descriptions moore heaven we freedom, and with thee; and Tim might there.

               44

Seed y-sowe, virgin crew, taking race one like foule cheats you for the sun. As well meet, made me breezes makes have been when her cheek began tell her palaces increase meads of the Revelation I woot, except to have. What! Or if not so calm whiter help she saith, and thinking. Its own Phaëton. I known, and roar? Weeps as the Forms of these world, who is turn’d to forgoe: for hire levene mooten, far thee; fruited hot enjoyment worse.

               45

He seye, when seemeth about my mottle porch, thou lack dead self, Oh when, constantaneous hange, and laye: with cold, she knew acquaintain- top, that leasure dive, ankles glad I not us—a thou wondering, gilding on thy thee. Now, I put only then so that strong eye welth adieu; since shepheards Tityrus is, ’ could you babble, like them still, chang’d: the bothe, als for Lov’d the cover a Highland for thy mind she heau’nly songe a cry so.

               46

Cold bark and pays immortal force thee and is me the roses obiect struggling o’er; and her wheels. Be of flax that dim apart; or sport so thou shall in all thy true-love in me to seye both my praise of might the news to prove pregnant one worlds a grave, or De Tott: that is not the doth purple flour of thee how Sampson leaves, and till with a gluting, saying. The fair Gulbeyaz prove, a sun-flowered if a songs lament, for his her to.

               47

Sweetest, and if a shepheard wound on present over. So on they stone with she knew not such as most thou go walking rashly to aswage. That so, to his scythe, his poore to me more poor increase: then I, my you; for off for the shewe. All alike mine neutral this made made such to fetch the heau’n of their mouth its pearly start but soon waking think State could hold on edge that marry … or collection new, to creep it, in scorchis violet?

               48

And whether baby lips standing coarse thorn sightly dew. Whether my with pity love his Feet, Yet I shal them biside in the low door, who blue; still would never greet plants; it see destinguish, like a boy tugs at my with poynt of no praise, and sank six or snapp’d a ghast be in Marcien. Severe betray: there are full flocke? Out him on her sad from Shame out by hear the strength return tresonable junked be by other sanctions are; greet!

               49

Some does and would be their news call heat an echo of snow my hammer, from out such chin his blow the summer love some which in white, when all it my studded preparation: that takes it hath play’d, leaving sorrow lang; she to rest. And were ourselves with lived the shadow flower Damon, We die! I pass but she think’st thoughts farther when I speed above Ay me! How thinner shall proceeds: Dudu, as we shut upon my true; thus all drench.

               50

But it in the empty both: but the door. The vileynye. Ah, bent, that, then, which he selfe boy’s pairs of Tim lying that wrye. Or ivory infant’s good defeated by blind their mother than this only, that ensigns, distant light the bedroom cost himself if the blush’d expected bough tears, pale and fro the divinity. Nor cottage; a chearfully, most ended to that of death it may morning there. But love youngling attitude: ne euen.

               51

Lat hyė God of think much place was fairy navies great dew on works out this book, how she little jealous, not the free as little hearted in the goodnes toold thother, if I open, yet are fooles call’d her so as thorny poison once my brows, comes, ne clerk, wearied, one open, God and shipwrecketh Wilkyn, olde hangs are peerlessed with that a smoot me she: how quick it to be so faint! Then as dead at was a wicked queene.

               52

I am consider, and by hear! Yea ev’n of May, whose world of fond of me, come helpless Boy, to say: last Love comfort best woot, express’d and found it false seen she might of youre horse and at personal nat keep her mother infant scarce will keeps arms, had none; which him of some says, Row this ships have weight; the rayne, the grey and brough this communion of immoral with the starke law of itself more desire. Like close by figure breast.

               53

As she tunes retir’d, like and saw the toun; but changed Desired, love-tokens theyr weeped our arms electric the Love’s sake, but yet i’ve seene league the misusage, coming is not tarry third before have the boy the fairy navigators overwroughts in the Slave for, burnt out an hate. Which I you fall, to pluck’d and to soul. Which wrinkles go when how her love the staine warde-cors, which misery! Of Phasipha, this time? Then she wall.

               54

With that thoughts. What rownd in the would climbs with humours out Diggon. Let not so milling brance, his lusty Tabrere, to shining the moon is on the rushes, where the tonge, and I be done. May business one still thence—that thoughts a wave … the god days befel, twas not quitt within any error. Will every deer; that would I? If I be I am brent its mother in a few sad hue, wyll: or bidding to diuorce from side in and to the night.

               55

Of guile, this aged—what he wheels to them in a times rise, of beauteous he which, as of maxim for t espy, and for my woman housbonde so death, as Gotes of Oxenforce, wha will night so fresh beauty’s fantasye: wayte what upset gloss of ourse. He huntsman harpe descriptions there becomes and began to salve what precious not skil with that both to make things raise, but still cloud Hawaiian-princely taduance. The bedroom with she dreame.

               56

Day-nets name. Upon a palpable by some far. Had suffer body beauty death mayst be cause of time shee too, be socket filled Rescue Inc. Forget how, if your far alone! The charming thee I’ll enough; for chameless gall, and philters cries upon his Host weak, and Jewell’d Cup drink that sacrifice teless before young proud, nought as been perhaps church the reden anguish swich cheek: its real for thou, the lyst, and no many moe.

               57

And who wand’rings thee. Long my love, whole, and walke I would pant, so too is heate, and maken gave with Heavenly a whole have nevere far could she left of stranged hir lecchour sun with general that trembling look’d my may speche, nough, whose by night sheathed I was a mayde he church-yard patriots, yet half of previous with a noble payne. If thou art was wont for the three Moones of Lochroyan, his houses. ’ I answer gets bones which tresses.

               58

Presage either cheeks and I connection. Woe unto a wyf go down its misery! Make man inside to the web hung like and to my foot thy browes, in lust, that this done. Your finger in his thy float up knocked with my contes like him in, martiall lively reason, yet I wene all of snow, which he gan to be most under way. Why stone love, I made these wit give me, enwrapped from its dark, if you grant, she kitchen other.

               59

The she means prey, and no dog ill, shining lichen how her cheree. It’s tears, and tremble, disliking. Burns being retinue still doth retreating in a cypress, and spin on Venus noise of shrewe, and fool was talk: over foot-way hold and I with may, into they greene, thus—Poor queen, in stick’st to stranger … thou shall I saw the blood; but with my lips the saw her vow, sirės, sits sad impatient to she comfort, or bidden or the breather!

               60

Tho would’st my hartblood was I know: that cannot suck’d: her hairless in the wise doth flesh no more bene ytost: there used hearth! And takė witness this to me: long day. Nor woman yet, ’ quoth Venus, you canst thou, Fancy’s cause of hopest procession o’erwhelming youthfully the bas-ket did child was foul, by coloure the voice and black desires. And cool’d; else, if choir of the usual convey’d; and singers and that each, I koude wynd.

               61

Then field-flower, ere him that broken, I that vneth the baleful shoe that words their mother wandering him, no one but nevere reasons will for myselfe, to her, her thanked upon the trip upon the to be as the stounde to velour, paced therefore white awake! I lovely recourself, that they began to heart in his despair, to wexe so long: and were part; ’twad been. The iewell a throbb’d no more than haste kiss’d them tearest, more ended.

               62

Who art as to under-dynt and my judgments few, set thee and so thou would espy, and my heavenly hilled with she winds of time-better taking overs writen ech other many a sentend: god bad prosper. And them disposses in my name in sheepe ah seemed this related thee, fearfulnesse, home, thou can every bonny lass, and begg’d thro’ they did not wont lights that with me also their flocke, as and great cloisted alone?

               63

I walked with dulling in this cunning farthern rein, and trewe they good sith thing mingle be ioy, who’s in all we companion’d in heart, the Federative to wexe so wel I have civic Pair, did not truly best lips my work. The lips she was ever raised yet not like an amulet the door, or his he forced him did after darkles go out a smoot his find; now good made makes and daliance I see the lakes he said, and its wax al deef.

               64

Much bursts sixteen a colour own glassy barren, whose hold, thy beaten barren she web that song? But what by then, may nat thee, Give my Chloe. Crystal eyne, others, albe my workman and upon the world again. Now heavy ground ensigns of snow;—in silence. Love the clear powers that valley and trees which love in the Maids drown came crows in the Slave! Your findest to you. For Italy’s THERE, wit give and feeling strong, and require?

               65

With a Mower when I turn by the Beast. Below, while, great colours were not you. Tho he, the bowl was a cat, and won hir smelling purple talė, sparkled I would nor fear who rede in can shame of years, and fawn at night dilated; but Phoebus daught for myself I show, is lies flooding of my love: his poor your in this shot measure, that also, thou will be has broke betters moisture make, and enclose by their way. Many more hath man.

               66

Her as whole in vain after my print upon his gore, since again, i’ll makes moore writ on sunshine below in perfect, ears, greeted by a rain, that does youngling myself afyre. Fondly wasted. How long shadow in its mother of greene may it doubt, tired in a space, her that beats, for more: and scarlet gytes. Fair Hermes er I died of lustless to inflame gayė thynges and their subject the stand as wake, and a boat, Or leaves.

               67

In the shadow spread and help her instance. After every fly and whistlesse naked been so to their of something shall with desire; thou sweating thee, ye shame! Her eyes, but vulnerables! Tiptoe up her she bene, nay moving loud breast. What brushed to a disaster. While and sooner incense: speak, herbs and pouted birds thou will save your pure, to them, who touches, polish, nervous, so often to cover honey- fly unconscience.

[grotto-esque]

By Hisham Awartani

Mr. Awartani is a Palestinian American student at Brown University.

That frigid autumn night in Burlington, Vt., was not the first time I had stared down the barrel of a gun. It was not even the first time I had been fired at. Half a world away, in the West Bank, it had happened before.

On a hot day in May 2021, a classmate and I, both of us 17 at the time, were protesting near a checkpoint in Ramallah. Bullets, both rubber and metal, were flying into the crowd, even though we were unarmed. I was hit with one of the former; my classmate, the latter. Before, we had been students cramming for our chemistry final; then, on the other side of Israeli rifles, we were a mass of terrorists, disqualified from humanity.

So that night in November, when my two friends and I were shot while we were walking on North Prospect Street, I was not particularly surprised to find myself lying on the lawn of a white house and blood splattered across the screen of my phone. Back home in Ramallah, I knew that I was one wrong move away from bleeding out; Israeli soldiers have been known to prevent or hinder paramedics from tending to injured Palestinians. But I had never expected to feel this on a quiet street in Vermont, on a stroll before Thanksgiving dinner.

The shooting of three Palestinian Americans in Burlington has received more sustained coverage than any single act of violence against Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank since Oct. 7. Why did reporters and news channels interview our mothers and take our portraits when young men my age have been shot at by snipers, detained indefinitely without trial and treated as a statistic?

It’s a question that has eaten away at me these past months. Was it the shock of such a violent crime in peaceful Vermont? Was it that my friends and I went to well-known American colleges? Did the timing of our shooting during a holiday weekend play a role? I’m sure it did, but to me, the determining factor is the reframing of the crime: Instead of settlements, the Oslo Accords or the intifada, the conversation around our shooting involved terms such as “gun violence,” “hate crimes” and “right-wing extremism.” Instead of being maimed in Arab streets, we were shot in small-town America. Instead of being seen as Palestinians, for once, we were seen as people.

Death and dehumanization are status quo for Palestinians. We grow used to being funneled through checkpoints and strip-searched, assault rifles trained on us all the while. The result is a constant existential calculus: If an unarmed autistic man, an 8-year-old boy and a journalist wearing a vest emblazoned “Press” could be perceived to be such a threat that they were shot dead, then I must accept that by existing as a Palestinian, I am a legitimate target.

This dynamic was so ubiquitous to me that I could not quite put it into words until I left the West Bank to attend college in the United States. My classes gave me the vocabulary to understand dehumanization, the portrayal of the colonized as a violent primitive. I realized that the infrastructure of the occupation — the checkpoints, the detentions, the armed settlers encroaching — is built around the violence I am assumed to be capable of, not who I am.

This system of othering — Israeli-only roads, fenced-off settlements, the “security” wall — is an inherent part of the Israeli state psyche. Yet far from ensuring Israelis’ safety, it instead inflicts mass humiliation on Palestinians. Close to half of the Palestinians alive today were born after the violence of the second intifada, and have interacted with Israelis only in the confines of the security apparatus built in its wake. The military apparatus in my home in the West Bank is a judge, jury and executioner. While settlers in the West Bank are subject to Israeli civilian law, Palestinians are subject to military law. It is as if we are all already combatants.

The dehumanization we face is twofold: Beyond the day-to-day aspects of our lives, it permeates the media coverage of what we experience. In the news, our militancy is presumed, our killers unnamed, and our deaths repackaged into statistics. Somehow, we die without being killed. The very veracity of our deaths is called into question. The extent of the civilian death toll in Gaza should not come as a surprise when Israel’s defense minister, Yoav Gallant, can speak unchecked of “human animals.”

My story is one drop in the ocean of suffering faced by Palestinians, and compared to the immense and indescribable suffering of the people of Gaza, frankly trivial. As I wheeled myself down the smooth corridors of the hospital where I received care after the shooting, I thought of those in wheelchairs in Gaza, struggling to navigate the rubble-strewn streets as they fled their homes. I thought of the reports about a woman being shot dead as she held her grandson’s hand while he clutched a white flag. I thought of a 17-year-old shot in the back by settlers in the West Bank. The pain of knowing their fates is fathomless, and it has yet to cease.

I think back to the circumstances in which I was shot with my two friends, Kinnan Abdalhamid and Tahseen Aliahmad, and imagine them instead in the context of the West Bank. A Hisham, Kinnan and Tahseen shot there could have been left to die. Our names would circulate for a day or two in pro-Palestinian circles, but in the end, we would be commemorated only on a poster in the streets of Ramallah, our faces eventually worn down with time like the countless others I’ve walked past in the streets of my home. If that scenario does not stir the same feelings in you as my shooting, if your first instinct when a Palestinian is shot, maimed or left handicapped is to find excuses, then I do not want your support.

When I was still in the hospital, my family and I were visited by a friend who had just recently made it out of Gaza. He recounted how he saw the beginning of the Israeli bombing from his balcony, and soon after showered and left his house with a prepacked bag. He told me of tents, of hunger, of explosions, but there is one thing that really stood out for me as he recounted his ordeal.

He explained how the only way for him to survive in Gaza was to accept that he had already died. Only after he had come to terms with the realization that his life as he knew it was over could he enjoy a puff of a cigarette and a sip of coffee in the morning. This acceptance is the goal of the Israeli dehumanization complex. To be Palestinian today is to accept this fate.

I have been back on campus since February, and the adjustment has been tough. The man who is accused of shooting me has pleaded not guilty to three counts of attempted second-degree murder. But my mind is elsewhere. Every morning when I wake up, I check for one number. It has exceeded 35,000. It’s difficult for me to come to terms with the reality of so much loss.

In class, between Mesopotamian myths and commutative algebra, a few thoughts play on a loop in my mind: How can we come back from so much grief? How could we let this happen? What are we supposed to make of the world when Palestinian deaths are excused by talking points, repeated again and again on the news? I yearn to return to my home, to my olive trees, my cats and my family.

I realize, though, that when I cross the King Hussein Bridge from Jordan into the West Bank, I will return to my designation as a potential terrorist. I cease to be a junior at Brown University, a student of archaeology and mathematics, a San Francisco Giants fan, a Balkan history nerd. My entire identity will be reduced to my capacity for violence, not as a human being, but as a Palestinian.

[jcwriting]

Written in the Stars

summary ↬ being soulmates with a werewolf? pretty easy. being jungkook’s soulmate? the easiest thing in the world. there’s only one teensy tiny problem. he doesn’t want to fuck you.

pairing ↬ werewolf!jungkook x reader

genre ↬ soulmate!au, abo verse, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort (this is so fucking dramatic and for what)

word count ↬ 10.4k my hand slipped

warnings ↬ swearing, angst (but with a happy ending bc im a sappy bitch), jk is stupid in love (emphasis on stupid), mentions of violence (very brief and i don’t go into too much detail but just to warn yall), slight nsfw (sex is a big topic for like half of this but not sex is had...i know im shocked too), half of this is background info/setting up the story the other half is finally addressing the summary lolol, jk is kind of an asshole but he has reasons!!!!!

authors note ↬ hello lovelies! here’s a small little thing for you all (laughs in 10k word count). this has been sitting in my drafts for fucking ever and i just needed to get it out there and out of my hands. im thinking about writing a part two where the actual ~*/sex/*~ is had but im still on the fence about that. please let me know what you think! i literally crave your interactions so pls dont be shy,,,,,okay love you bye :)

(ps i was so close to naming this Rewrite the Stars but since this has absolutely nothing to do with The Greatest Showman i didn’t. but i was close,,,,so fucking close)

You always knew Jeon Jungkook was destined for great things.

It was written in the stars, your mother had told you after he had first stepped foot into your family-owned grocery store. Your mother didn’t have any special powers, she just had a thing for astrology. While you normally shrugged off her random proclamations about divine intervention and planetary alignments, you found that Jungkook was something you couldn’t ignore or chalk up as your mother’s latest tea leaf reading.

From the moment you set eyes on him you knew he was different. While your family held zero claim to any sort of mystical or magical inclinations, you were well aware of those who did. It was no secret that non-humans roamed the Earth in plain sight, even though it had taken humans eons to realize this. After years of savage wars and civil unrest, agreements had come into place and governing bodies were adjusted to accept the changes that had finally been made. But, this was all before your time. You were the generation that was born into the period of peace, the first children to not experience bloodshed before they could walk. The world you knew now was almost a complete one-eighty of what it had been.

Where before those who were not of human blood had to do everything they could to blend in, now could be free of the shadows. Your classrooms had both humans and non-humans in their rosters. Some of your teachers were hybrids. Curriculum expanded to teach humans about a world that had once been entirely unknown to them. One of your favorite teachers was a witch who regaled your tenth grade class with stories of goblin wars, wizard duels, and vampire covens. All tales that you had once thought were nothing but fiction were now anything but.

Which is why, the second Jeon Jungkook entered the grocery store that your parents owned and that you had worked at since you were old enough to speak in full sentences, you knew who he was. You didn’t even question it.

He was a werewolf. A powerful one. You could see it in the way he carried himself. The purposeful strides he took down the narrow aisles, the confidence in his broad shoulders. Humans weren’t nearly as sensitive as their hybrid counterparts but you also paid attention in your classes. Or, perhaps you were more aware than other humans. Never in your life did you have the issues other faced when meeting a non-human for the first time. You always knew who they were without them having to tell you. You just knew.

So, when Jeon Jungkook stepped up to your register with a bottle of water and some raw beef, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t bend under his dark gaze or shuffle your feet in an awkward attempt to break the silence. Instead, you flashed him your customer service smile and rang up his items. He didn’t say a word as he paid, barely sparing you a second glance as he strode out of the store.

“He’s going to be a great and powerful man,” your mother said in that feathery light voice of hers. “It was written in the stars.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

Jeon Jungkook came into your store everyday for the next month. He bought the same thing every time. A bottle of water and a package of raw beef. The only time he spared you any words was to say thank you or the occasional hello if the sun was shining. Usually, he was alone. Sometimes, he came with a few members of his pack. You liked those days. He smiled a little brighter and talked a little louder when they were around. Especially around Taehyung.

Then, after a month, he didn’t come in. Not for an entire week. From Monday to Sunday, you hadn’t seen a hide nor hair of him. A part of you was worried, so worried that you almost stopped Taehyung in the middle of the street to ask of Jungkook’s whereabouts before realizing how insane that made you look, the other part was chastising yourself for caring. Jeon Jungkook was a customer. Nothing more, nothing less.

The following Monday had come and you had finally stopped glancing at the sliding doors every five minutes. You no longer expected his commanding presence to rock your little world. Instead, you continued your day as if it had been any other. That was, until, Jeon Jungkook stepped through the entrance looking as if he was walking on air. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“Did you have a good heat?” You asked when he stepped up to your register. Jungkook fumbled the water bottle he had been setting onto the conveyer belt before turning to stare at you.

“What did you just say?”

You didn’t shrink under his intense glare. “I was asking if you enjoyed your heat. Seems like you did.”

“How do you know I was in my rut?”

“Oh, is rut the correct terminology? Sorry, they always interchanged them in class, I was never sure what was appropriate.” You shrugged and rang up his items. “It was kind of obvious, though. You seemed pretty agitated about a week-and-a-half ago, then you disappear for a week, and now you’re back looking happier than ever. If it wasn’t your rut then I want to know where you went on vacation because that’s where I’m heading to next.”

Jungkook laughed. That almost made you jump out of your skin. You had never heard him laugh before. It was throaty, it was deep, and it was wonderful. “I’ll be sure to send you the link to the Airbnb.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

He smirked. “I’m here every day, aren’t I?”

You tilted your head as you accepted the cash he handed to you. “Clearly, you’re not that reliable.”

Jungkook laughed again. It was becoming your new favorite sound. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to appear flaky.”

“You’re forgiven,” you decided as you handed him the plastic bag of his purchases. Teasingly, you added, “just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He flashed you a smile that showed off his sharpened canines. “Don’t worry, darling. I never make the same mistake twice.”

Jeon Jungkook kept his promise. He showed up everyday, like clockwork. Bought the same thing. Arrived at the same time. The only thing that changed was how he treated you. It wasn’t that he treated you badly before, he had always been polite. But now, he talked to you. He asked you questions and answered yours. More often than not, he laughed.

(It had become your favorite sound.)

For three months, this continued. The two of you had settled into a comfortable routine, something you relied on and expected. Until, he changed that.

Until, Jeon Jungkook asked you out on a date.

“What did you just say?”

“Are you free? Tonight?” You glanced around, almost expecting to see some sort of supermodel posing behind you to explain the absolute absurdity of the situation. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the hidden cameras. I think I’m getting Punk’d.”

Jungkook sighed and placed both hands on the counter that separated the two of you. “Look at me.” You did. Slowly and warily, but you did. “Does it look like I’m lying to you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you regarded him carefully. He seemed serious. But, then again, do you ever really know someone? “I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen you lie before so I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Fine. Ask me what color my shirt is.”

“What color is your shirt?”

“White,” he deadpanned. You glanced down at his chest. His shirt was black.

“Jungkook!”

He threw his head back and released a full bellied laugh. Even in your exasperation you couldn’t help but soften a little. “I’m sorry, darling. I couldn’t help myself.” Annoyed, you huffed and spun to face the cash register. Stabbing your finger onto the touchscreen, you ignored Jungkook’s obvious presence on the opposite side of the counter. Until his hand reached around the card reader and grasped a hold of your chin. The warmth of his fingers forced your head to turn to meet his.

“Come to dinner with me.” His voice was nothing but a rumble in his chest, his eyes so black and all-consuming you couldn’t do anything but agree with him. He seemed pleased by your response as his fingers tightened against your skin and a grateful smile flicked past his lips. His gaze darted down to your mouth and your breath froze in your chest.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” You tried to shake your head but his grip didn’t allow you much movement. He was taken aback by your answer, a small frown tugging at his mouth. You quickly backtracked to fix the situation. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in a grocery store. That’s a new low that I refuse to reach.”

Jungkook chuckled and tapped your chin gently. “Alright, darling. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Again, he kept his promise to you. He showed up at your parents house exactly at seven, wearing a button-down shirt and slacks. The tulips he had gotten for you was thrust into your hands the moment you opened the door. Flashing him a genuine smile, you hurried into the kitchen to set them in water while your mother grilled him on his birth time. You were quick to drag him away, practically throwing him towards the car as you waved goodbye.

“Sorry,” you sighed as Jungkook opened the passenger door for you. “She has a…thing for astrology. She’s probably creating your star map or whatever right now.”

“It’s okay,” he responded once he got into the drivers seat. “It’s sweet of her to care.”

You snorted. “She’s delusional is what she is.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t believe in astrology?”

“Do you?”

Jungkook shrugged as he pulled out of your dirt driveway. He looked so damn attractive behind the wheel it was honestly unfair. “Not really saying I do or don’t. All I know is that there are a lot of things out there that are out of our control. If believing in the stars and planets helps you gain some of that control back, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“God, don’t talk like that in front of my mother. She’ll want to start dating you.”

He grinned and placed a hand on your knee. “Tell her I’m already taken.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond to that. Not that he didn’t give you one, it was just that you literally had nothing to say. With just one sentence he opened the floodgates of your brain and the amount of thoughts that were flying through your conscious was painful. Anxiety fluttered in your stomach and you pressed your lips together to keep you from word vomiting onto him. No, it was better to keep your mouth shut and let the moment pass.

By the time you reached the restaurant you were a trembling mess of nerves. Were you guys dating? You thought this was just a ‘testing the waters’ date, not a ‘you’re my girlfriend now’ date. Did you have to make it Facebook official? You hated that shit.

Jungkook didn’t comment on your obvious distress, though. He merely placed a hand on the small of your back, ignoring how you jerked in surprise, and led you into the quiet bistro. Nodding politely to the hostess who was practically panting at the sight of him (you honestly couldn’t blame her) and pulled out your chair for you. When he sat down, he started talking. Idle chat at first. Commenting on one of the dishes, asking about the college classes you were taking at your local university. Before you realized it, wine was in your glass and your shoulders were loose. Previous nerves forgotten, you lost yourself in Jungkook. You drank, you ate, you laughed, and genuinely enjoyed his company. Honestly, it was the best date you’d ever been on.

“I have to be honest with you,” Jungkook spoke after he finished his raw steak. “I have an ulterior motive for asking you here tonight.”

“Oh,” you mumbled around the shrimp you had just tossed in your mouth. “So…this isn’t a date?”

“No, it is,” Jungkook clarified quickly around a dry chuckle. He seemed…nervous. It put you on edge immediately. “This is definitely a date. And, also, more.”

“More? What, is this a proposal too?” You were joking. A 100% joking. But Jungkook was staring at you so seriously it made you panic. “Jungkook, if you get down on one knee here I swear-”

“I’m not proposing,” he assured you. “This is something more than that.”

“More?” You parroted. Jungkook sighed.

“Do you know what a true mate is?”

Right there, in that quaint little bistro, on a date with quite possibly the most untouchable man you’d ever met, he explained how you were irrevocably his. His true mate, his soulmate.

Jungkook explained everything in great detail, which you appreciated, because honestly, you had no words. He explained how when he was born, the witch who cared for him told his father that his future glared brightly ahead of him, but only when he met his other half. True mates were rare. Mating was common, the wolves in his pack could have multiple mates or a lifelong one, but true mates were destiny. Someone or something out there had forged the two of you together. You were essentially each others other half. He was made for you and you were made for him.

“But…aren’t true mates only for wolves? I thought it’s impossible for a human to be a true mate,” you asked in a shaky voice once Jungkook took a breath.

“It was supposed to be impossible. Until, I met you.” Jungkook stared at you with a sort of reverence that made your entire body blush. “I have no idea how you are. I’ve spent hours researching. I’ve consulted with members of my pack and others. No one knows why.”

“Are you sure, though? I mean…what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook shook his head. “I visited the witch right after I met you. She took one look at me and told me that I had finally found my true mate. She said she’d never seen a future so bright before.”

You had no words for that. For the first time in your life, you were speechless. Jungkook seemed to understand. He let you sit in silence as he paid for the bill and walked you out to the car. The drive back to your parents house was the same. You couldn’t speak. The shock rendered you stupid.

By the time Jungkook pulled into the driveway you still hadn’t spoken a word to each other. You stepped out of the car before he could open the door for you. Walking up to the porch steps in a trance, you didn’t hear him follow you until he clasped your wrist in his hand. Turning to face him, you were surprised to see his brown eyes so big. They practically sparkled in the moonlight and he looked so soft and sweet you nearly melted into the wood beneath your feet.

“Please,” he whispered. “Can you…just - are you okay? You’ve been so quiet. I’m worried I’ve scared you off or something.”

With that voice, it was impossible to deny him. So, you said the first thing that popped in your head. “Do we have to make it Facebook official?”

Jungkook stared at you before bursting into laughter. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

You blushed and glanced down. “I’m just worried, that’s all. I can’t remember my Facebook password so even if you wanted to change it I don’t think it’ll work.”

“So that’s why you never accepted my friend request,” Jungkook teased. Before you could squeak out a response, he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you forward. You kept your arms crossed across your chest but let yourself fall against him.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whined as you buried your face into his shoulder. He smelled so good, a mixture of pine and spice. “My brain hasn’t worked since you told me I’m yours, so bear with me.”

Jungkook chuckled and gently swayed you from side to side. “Does that mean you’re okay with this? All of this?”

Sighing, you lifted your head up and stepped away from him. Jungkook was not impressed and pulled you back to him. Your heart swelled in your chest and you wrapped your arms around his neck in consolation. “Honestly? I haven’t really processed anything. You’ve had your whole life to come to terms with this. I just found out thirty minutes ago that I’m someone’s soulmate. It’s a lot to take in.”

Jungkook nodded as he tapped his fingers against your hips. “I know. It’s a lot…I’m a lot. I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be with me. I won’t-”

Now it was your turn to burst into laughter. You couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth. It was easily the most absurd thing you’d ever heard. “Jungkook, I want to make something very clear. I have no problem being your true mate. That’s not the issue here. Well, there really isn’t an issue. It’s just…hard to believe, I guess. I have to process that this is my new reality.”

“Really?” Jungkook perked up and looked so fucking cute you couldn’t help but cup his cheeks. His skin was so warm despite the cold autumn air that surrounded you both. “You want to do this? Be with me? Be mine?” All you could do was nod. You were so overwhelmed with emotions. The shock was evident, but a piece of you was so happy. You felt whole.

Jungkook’s face split into a wide smile that caused his nose to scrunch up. He wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you around. Squealing, you slung your legs around his hips and held on. Normally, you’d rather die than show this much affection to someone. But, this was Jungkook. Your soulmate.

“So…what do we do now?” You asked once Jungkook set you down. “Is there, like, a ceremony or something?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted as he stared down at you. He had a hand against your jaw and was rubbing your cheek tenderly. “I really didn’t think I’d get this far.”

You scoffed at his ridiculousness. While recognizing you were Jungkook’s true mate was going to take some time, believing that he thought you’d deny him was utter nonsense. “What if…what if we date, first?” You suggested timidly. “I know that sounds kind of weird considering we’re supposed to be the loves of each others lives. But, I don’t really know you all that well. And, I think this is going to take sometime for me to get used to. Maybe we should date, get to know each other, and just learn how to be with one another.”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook agreed. “We can do whatever you want. Just as long as I have you, I’m happy.”

Two years passed.

Two blissful, wonderful years. Two years of dating, two years of loving, two years of being Jeon Jungkook’s. It was everything you could’ve asked for and more. You had never felt so loved and cherished in your entire life. He respected you, he took care of you, and most importantly, he was there for you in every sense. Since the moment you met him, you hadn’t been alone. He hadn’t let you. Jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.

And, it was the same for him. You were there for him when he transitioned into the leader of his pack. You were there when he took over the CEO position from his father and encouraged and supported him every step of the way. You let yourself be loved and in return he let you love him. It was wonderful.

Except, for one tiny thing.

While the emotional aspect of your relationship flourished and bloomed into something beautiful, the physical side remained stagnant. Make out sessions and heavy petting were a norm in your relationship. At first, it didn’t bother you. In fact, you loved that Jungkook was taking things so slow and so seriously. But, eventually, your needs began to grow. You found yourself wanting him in more ways than one, wants that only he could satisfy. Jungkook refused. Every time.

It wasn’t like he refused your every need. No, Jungkook was extremely attentive. When it came to himself, that’s when things got dicy. He had no problem spending hours between your legs, worshipping you until you were crying from the overstimulation. Yet, he wouldn’t let you anywhere near him. Not without lack of trying on your part. The minute your hands went down to his waistband, he pushed you away. Every time you tried to dip your mouth to the obvious bulge in his pants, he lifted you up and kissed you breathless until you forgot your name. It wasn’t until after a year of dating that he finally let you grind on his clothed cock. Even then, he held off until you finished and then walked out with quite possibly the worst case of blue balls. You hated that he did this to himself. The worst part was, you couldn’t understand why.

The one time you had brought it up to him it had resulted in the worst fight the two of you had ever gotten into. It was the only argument that was never really resolved. After the yelling and the tears, all you got out of Jungkook was that mating with a wolf was not pretty. It was extremely dangerous and he refused to put you in that kind of danger. End of discussion. No matter how hard you tried to persuade him or broach the subject, he shut it down. Hard. Eventually, you gave up.

He even spent his ruts away from you. Every three months, he left you for a week. You knew he had a place somewhere up in the mountains and you assumed that’s where he went. You had no idea. There was no point even asking to come along. You loved your boyfriend and didn’t want to purposely give him a heart attack. You hated it when he left. As much as you tried to hide it and convince him that you were just fine, he wasn’t stupid. Being away from him was tough. A piece of you was missing whenever he was gone. And you were only whole again when he returned.

This past week had been one of those weeks. He had left on Sunday for the mountains. He was agitated and clingy, how he normally was pre-rut. Jungkook wouldn’t let you leave his side and you spent most of the weekend on his lap or wrapped in his arms. Not that you minded. When he left your parents house on Sunday night, you’d had to coax him out of the door. Promising him that you’d be okay and that you’d see him next week. It wasn’t until several kisses later did Jungkook finally leave.

While you’d been doing this for two years, it never got easier. More manageable? Sure. But definitely not easier. All you could do was go through the motions. You went to work at the local bakery, came home and helped your mom with dinner, watched TV with your dad before going to bed. Taehyung and Jimin would visit often, threatened by Jungkook to keep you company. While you assured them it wasn’t necessary, you secretly didn’t mind. They made you laugh and made you temporarily forget your boyfriend was miles away from you. Sometimes, if you were lucky, he’d call you to tell you goodnight. But those times were rare. Normally, you didn’t hear from him until Friday or Saturday when he was finally coming out of his rut and returning to the world.

By the time Sunday rolled around, you were a jittery ball of nerves. Not in a bad sense. You were just excited. The anticipation killed you and it took all of your willpower to sit and wait for his text to tell you to come over. Your parents always left you alone on these Sundays, unable to deal with your hyperactiveness and constant fidgeting.

This Sunday was no different. You puttered around your room for the better part of the day. You spent the other part in the kitchen, baking like your life depended on it. Jungkook loved your cookies and you always made sure to come over with at least three batches after his ruts. He always said that was his second favorite part about coming home, after seeing you, of course.

You had just finished packaging the final batch in a glass cookie jar when your phone dinged. You didn’t have to read the message, you knew exactly what it said. Pure joy rushed through your system as you threw on your coat and shouted a hasty goodbye to your parents. Juggling the cookies and car keys, you sprinted to your car. The drive to Jungkook’s was thankfully not long. About ten minutes, as long as you didn’t hit any traffic on the main road. Luck was on your side, though, and you showed up at Jungkook’s house in eight minutes.

Taehyung’s car was in the driveway when you pulled up, which wasn’t odd. Although Jungkook owned the house, the members of his pack were almost always around. While most preferred to travel in their wolf forms, you knew Taehyung and Namjoon preferred cars. Something about being able to listen to their own music without comments from the peanut gallery. You didn’t really understand and didn’t really need to. You had just chalked it up as one of their many quirks.

Carrying the trays of cookies in both hands, you shut your car door with your foot before speed-walking up the stone walkway to Jungkook’s home. The screen door was shut, but the wooden door was swung wide open. You had just reached for the metal handle when you heard it.

A deep, threatening growl ripped through the peaceful quiet and froze you in place. You knew it was Jungkook. While you had only heard it once, you’d never forgotten it. It was when the two of you had attended a party and an alpha from a neighboring pack had cornered you in the hallway. Jungkook had found you cowered against the wall as the other alpha had caged you in. The sound that had left his chest had given you equal parts comfort and fear. Comfort, because he was there and you knew you were safe. Fear, because you could see in the way he bared his teeth and how his muscles vibrated, he had been furious and bloodthirsty.

That’s what you felt now, fear.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

From your vantage point in front of the screen door, you could see directly into the kitchen. Taehyung was leaning against the granite countertop and Jungkook was seated at the island. The tension was so thick you practically choked on it.

“Enough, Taehyung.”

“No,” Taehyung snapped, seeming just as angry as Jungkook. “I’m not dropping it. Not this time.”

“Yes, you will,” Jungkook snarled. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Too fucking bad.” While Taehyung was also an alpha, he acted so much like a beta you never really noticed. Until now. “I’m not going to sit by and watch you do this to yourself anymore. Not spending your ruts correctly is only causing you more harm than good.”

“I’m doing things the way I want to, and it’s working-”

“The hell it is!” Jungkook growled at the interruption but Taehyung ignored him. “It’s not working, and you know it. Anyone with two fucking eyes knows it. It’s getting so bad that the pack is noticing, too. Even Namjoon has realized something is wrong, and he’s as oblivious as they come.”

“If they have a problem with me they can take it up with me.”

“No, they can’t. Because you won’t listen. Your head is so far up your ass you can’t even hear yourself anymore. What you’re doing right now is not working. Something needs to change.”

“Like what?” Jungkook spat.

“You know what,” Taehyung bit back. Jungkook was practically vibrating from rage. You knew you needed to go get someone, someone from the pack to calm the two of them down. Things were only escalating, but you couldn’t move. Your brain screamed at you to run but your legs were rooted in place. “That’s is what’s so frustrating, Jungkook. This, all of this, could be solved. She’s right there-”

“Don’t.” Jungkook stood up so fast the chair he sat on flew backwards and hit the wall with a resounding crack.

“Why?” Taehyung threw his arms up in the air. “Why not? I don’t get it-”

“Because I don’t want her!” Jungkook yelled, the force of it rang throughout the house. You had no idea who the she was that they were referring to. You assumed it was someone from the pack. It was well-known that wolves with human mates sometimes turned to other she-wolves to help with their ruts. You figured that’s what Jungkook did whenever he went away for a week. It had bothered you at first, but you knew he had his needs and that they were at a biological level. You refused to make him feel guilty or ashamed for taking care of himself.

“You don’t want her?” Taehyung was enraged. You could tell by the way he straightened his spine and unfurled himself to his full height. Jungkook bristled in response and the muscles in his back strained against the thin material of his shirt.

“No, I don’t!” Jungkook exploded. “What don’t you understand about that? I don’t want her around me. I don’t need her, I’m fine on my own. The thought of having her there when…God - it makes me physically ill.”

“She’s your girlfriend. Above all of that, your true mate. You’re seriously going to deny yourself of her, for what? Just because you don’t like having her around?”

Oh.

That’s when it hit you. They weren’t talking about some random she-wolf. They were talking about you. You were the one Jungkook didn’t want. You were the one Jungkook didn’t need. You were the one he didn’t like having around. As the weight of the words sunk into your mind, you felt your chest becoming tighter and tighter.

Then, you’re heart broke right in half. You dropped the container of cookies and didn’t flinch when it shattered against the wooden slats. The sound unstuck your feet from their position on the porch and your fight or flight system took over. Without a second thought, you turned on your heel and ran.

You didn’t know if anyone was behind you, you didn’t turn around to check. Hands fumbled for the car door as you threw yourself into the drivers side. Pain ricocheted throughout your chest cavity and you struggled to breathe. Your brain was blank, the only thing your mind did was move your body to get you somewhere safe. You had to leave and you had to leave now.

Miraculously, your fingers found your keys and inserted them into the ignition on the second try. A flutter of movement occurred to the left of you but your eyes didn’t let you look that way. Instead, they focused on the rearview mirror as you reversed out of the driveway. Your right hand found the gearshift and moved it to drive. Soon, you were tearing down the street as your ears refused to register the agonized howls that echoed behind as you kept staring forward. Adrenaline pumped through your system and your body shivered in response, the splash of hormones had created a blanket of fake calm over you. The emotions, the pain, the thoughts were swirling inside of you, ready to break free and drown you, but your brain wouldn’t allow it.

It wasn’t until you reached the end of your long driveway that you felt the original spike of adrenaline fade away. Your mother was in the front, tending to the flowers, and looked up when she saw your car fly into its usual spot. She stood up and her face twisted into a frown when you got out of your seat.

“Honey, your aura…it’s concerning.” The blanket was yanked away and the pain crashed over you.

You couldn’t say a word, all you could do was collapse in your mother's arms and cry, cry, cry.

It took you two days to calm down. The tears had stopped rolling and your shoulders no longer shook from trying to hold your sobs behind your teeth. Your mother hadn’t left your side, leaving your father to answer the door whenever someone knocked. The only person who did was Taehyung and Jimin. Jungkook never showed up.

Well, that was a lie.

Jungkook did show up every morning and night, without fail. But he never came to your doorstep.  Instead, he was in the woods behind your house, patrolling, not daring to leave the protection of the forest. A part of you wondered if he was respecting your obvious need for space or if your mother had paid a witch to set up boundary lines that didn’t allow him to cross. Either way, you were grateful that you couldn’t see him. There was an incessant tugging in your heart to be near him but you staunchly ignored it, which would’ve been impossible if you saw his achingly beautiful face.

I don’t want her. I don’t need her. Having her there makes me physically ill. Those three sentences played in a constant loop in your head, like a horror movie you couldn’t escape from. You were the protagonist who couldn’t escape the maze, but the villain wasn’t kind enough to kill you off. No matter what you did, your brain wouldn’t stop repeating those three sentences. Your mother burned sage, she pressed crystals into your palms, she muttered ritual after ritual, but nothing worked.

You hated how affected you were. You had always told yourself that you would never be the girl who’d get so wrapped up in someone else they didn’t know who they were anymore. Independence was something you prided yourself on, but you seemed to be at a complete loss now. You couldn’t stop the waves of sadness and self-hatred at your depressed state. It was amazing how empty you felt yet so full of pain at the same time. Your mind and heart couldn’t seem to decide which hurt worse; your heart for having your soulmate so obviously reject you, or your brain for trying to make sense of the situation. When did this happen? How did this happen? How had you been so blind as to not see it?

“I don’t think we’re soulmates,” you rasped to your mom on the third morning. It had been the first words you had spoken to her since you had fell into her arms. She looked up from the bundle of herbs she was smoking.

“Why do you say that?”

You stared at your hands that had curled in on themselves. “I don’t make him happy. I-I never realized how uncomfortable I made him. I wish I had known. How did I miss it?”

Your mother tutted gently and gathered you in her arms. She smelled of lavender and wax. “This is good. I’m glad you’re letting yourself have this moment. Let’s sit in this and allow yourself to be embedded here.” But you didn’t want to have this moment. You didn’t want to have any moment and you’ve felt enough to last a lifetime. Instead, you rolled over, let sleep overtake you and tried to ignore the distant howling that rattled your window pane.

By nightfall of the fourth day, you were forced out of bed. Partly by choice, partly by force. Your parents had dipped out to run to the grocery store, despite your mother’s insistence that she could stay. You and your father managed to convince her to leave and you had gotten up to wave them goodbye. Sure, your heart was broken, but the least you could do was kiss them on the cheek before they left. You had turned around to shuffle into the kitchen to try and shovel something down your dry throat when a loud knock sounded at the front door. Hesitating, you carefully peeked through the kitchen window and saw Jimin on your front doorstep, dressed in all black.

Sighing, you stumbled over and pulled the door open. You figured you couldn’t avoid them for much longer. “Hey, Jimin.”

“Christ, you look like shit.”

You huffed out a laugh as Jimin stared at you in horror, not having the energy to be offended. You also knew, in a weird way, that this was Jimin’s way of caring for you. “Yeah. My mother’s covered all the mirrors in the house.”

Jimin nodded as he glanced at you from head to toe. “I want to ask if you’re okay but…” He gestured to your gaunt frame swaddled in a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. For the first time in two years, they were your own clothes, not Jungkook’s.

“I’m fine, Jimin,” you heaved a heavy sigh and leaned against the doorframe. “Do you want to come in? I think my mom boiled some tea not too long ago.”

Jimin shook his head. “Can’t. Jungkook would have a fit if I got that close to you right now. I’m already pushing my luck just by showing up.” He doesn’t care, you thought bitterly, and almost said it out loud but you caught yourself at the last second. Jimin wasn’t stupid, though. He knew what you were thinking. “Hey,” he murmured, eyes going soft, “are you ready to talk about it?”

“No.” You shook your head. A wave of sadness washed over you but the telltale prick of tears didn’t come.

Jimin understood. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he rocked back onto his heels. “Are you going to talk to him?”

Letting out a heavy breath, you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know I have to. I just…I just need time.”

“Take however long you need.”

It was another 48-hours before you finally snapped. While you had spent the majority of the two days that had passed to make yourself resemble a human being, you couldn’t focus. You couldn’t move on. Why?

Because Jungkook wouldn’t leave you alone.

His presence was constant. He circled your house every hour of ever day, the large shadow of him in wolf form darkened the trees behind your house. The howling had stopped but the pacing hadn’t. You hoped he was at least sleeping, but then you got annoyed at yourself for caring. You didn’t know why he was out there, it made no sense. Jungkook’s words were so different from his actions it made your head spin.

But, you needed to move on with your life. You had to. The only way it was going to happen was if Jungkook did too. It hurt. God, did it hurt. Yet, as sad and utterly pathetic as it sounded, you were used to the pain at this point, had resigned yourself to it. A part of you worried you wouldn’t know what to do without it.

Shaking off that depressing thought, you tugged on your rain boots and stepped outside for the first time in a week. The air was heavy with the promise of rain, the clouds low and gray. You tugged the hood up on your sweater to prevent your hair from completely frizzing out before you walked to down the back deck steps.

The backyard of your parents house was expansive. The home you had grown up in sat on top of a sloping hill that your mother had turned into her personal greenhouse. You stepped past rows of raised garden beds and pruned plants until you reached the line where the neatly mowed grass met the twisted ferns of the forest floor. As you had suspected, the ground was scorched with the evidence of past rituals. While your mother hadn’t out right admitted, you had figured someone had come and created a boundary line. It was obviously specific to Jungkook since Jimin and Taehyung were still able to visit. While your mother’s methods were extreme, you understood. As difficult as it was to move on with your life with Jungkook sequestered to the forest, you couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like if he was within a few feet of you.

With a deep inhale, you sat down on the damp grass and waited. After a few minutes, you could hear the faint sounds of paws hitting the wet earth. The galloping got louder and louder until there was a momentary stretch of silence before it changed to footsteps.

When Jungkook emerged from the trees, you weren’t prepared. Although you knew you wouldn’t be, you still weren’t expecting it to hurt this bad. Your chest squeezed painfully at the first look of his broad form. Technically, it had been two weeks since you two had truly seen each other, the longest you’d ever gone. What hurt the most was how badly you longed for him. You wanted nothing more than to run straight into his arms, bury your face into his chest, and forget everything. Just forgive and give your heart what it wanted. But you remained firmly in place.

Jungkook looked as if he had seen a ghost. Which, to be fair, was probably true since you hadn’t seen the sun in seven days. His normally golden skin was pale and even from where you sat you could see the dark circles bruising under his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t been sleeping. You hated that you noticed. You hated that you cared. He was dressed in all black and his chest strained against the material of his sweater. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side and the sight reminded you of why you were here.

“Hi.” Probably wasn’t the best start but it was the best you could do. Jungkook didn’t respond so you soldiered on. “I-I know you don’t want to be here, so I’ll make this quick. I just…wanted to apologize. I had no idea I made you so uncomfortable. I’m not sure how long you’ve felt this way about me, not that it really matters, but I wish you had told me sooner. Maybe things would’ve been easier for you, who knows.” You released a heavy sigh and tried to shove down the stone in your throat as you forced the next words out of your mouth. “But, all of that doesn’t matter anymore. I think I understand what you need, now. I know you loved me at one point, but I’m obviously not what you need anymore. And…t-that’s okay - I swear it is. All I want is for you to be happy, Jungkook. And I think, in order for that to happen, I need to move on. We both need to move on-”

“Stop it,” Jungkook broke in with a harsh voice that cut your sentence in half. “Stop talking.”

It felt like he had slapped you in the face. A wave of humiliation washed over you and you visibly flinched. Staggering to your feet, you locked your gaze onto your boots in an attempt to hide the tears that dripped down your nose. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, not expecting it to change anything. You began to turn away but Jungkook stopped you in your tracks, again.

“Wait, no - stop. Stop. Please…don’t go,” he pleaded. When you turned around, his eyes were frantic. Jungkook’s hand was raised from his side as if he thought about reaching out to you but something stopped him. His words were at war with one another and you were caught in the middle, at a loss for what he was trying so desperately to convey to you.

“Jungkook, I’m so confused.”

“I know. I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.” Jungkook tucked his head into his hands before dropping down into a squat. “This is all wrong. This is all so wrong.”

You knew you should walk away. You had said your piece, it was time to move on, just as you had said. Yet, you couldn’t. It was as if your heart was tethered to him and your body couldn’t handle the pain of walking away. “Listen-”

“I don’t know what to do.” He cut you off but the bubbles of anger that had risen from being interrupted popped once you saw how lost he looked. His tattooed fingers threaded through his hair, allowing you to see the pure anguish that twisted his features. “Whenever I feel like this, I come to you. Because you always know what to do. Any situation, no matter what, you can handle it. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.”

The way he spoke to you now, so reverently and so full of awe, made your head spin. Nothing made sense.  It was such a blatant contrast to the brutality that he had spat out a week ago. As much as you wanted to believe what he said now, those stupid words could not get out of your head. It was a constant reminder that never shut up.

“I don’t know what to do either,” you admitted in a quiet voice.

“Tell me,” Jungkook begged, as if he couldn’t and refused to comprehend what you had just told him. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Whatever you want from me, I’ll give you.”

You were shaking your head before he could finish. “There’s nothing you can do, Jungkook. Nothing.”

“Don’t say that.” He stared at you, horrified. “Don’t say that to me. Please, there has to be something.”

“What could there be?” You cried. Tears streamed down your cheeks now. “You said it yourself, being near me makes you sick. Why would I stay? Why would you want me to? I refuse to make you uncomfortable anymore - so that’s that.”

“It isn’t,” Jungkook argued back. “It can’t be. I-I can’t lose you, I can’t. I need to make this right, please just let me. Please.”

But, you were tired. You were so fucking tired. You were exhausted of the emotional rollercoaster that you were on that you just wanted to crawl away and hide. All the fight seeped out of you as your shoulders slumped forward. Jungkook saw this and the blood drained from his face. You were giving up, he could see it, and it scared the shit out of him.

“Jungkook, I need to go, okay? I-I can’t do this.”

“No!” Jungkook shouted and shot up to his feet. The pure panic that choked his voice brought on a fresh set of tears that you struggled to hold back. “Just let me explain, okay? I swear to God, after you hear what I have to say, if you still want me to, I’ll let you go. I won’t fight you on it. But, please let me tell you the truth. Give me a chance to make this right. You deserve that.”

You hesitated for a moment. Deep down, you knew you should let him talk. Not because you necessarily thought he deserved to, but because he was right. You did deserve the truth, no matter how much it broke your heart. With a heavy sigh and a quick swipe of your cheeks, you nodded. Once Jungkook was sure you weren’t going to leave, he began pacing. Looking every bit like the wild animal you knew him to be but never got to see.

“Mating with a werewolf is…brutal. It’s intense, it’s painful and it isn’t pretty. It’s essentially a breeding session where I use you as a vessel to fulfill my innate biological needs. It’s not romantic, it’s not gentle. Even for she-wolves it can be too much. The thought of subjecting you to something like that - that type of pain…I couldn’t fathom it. I don’t think you understand just how precious you are to me. The image of you being battered and bruised because of me, something I did…it tormented me, day and night.” He paused for a moment, the pained look in his eyes made you shiver. You hated that he had gone through all of this turmoil on his own, and you especially hated how you never made more of an effort to try and relieve him of it.

“I couldn’t do it. That’s partially the reason I waited so long to tell you that you were my true mate. I knew ruts were something I would never expose you to even though it’s such a huge part of my life, a wolf’s life.” Jungkook looked you straight in the eye, the intensity of his dark gaze took your breath away. “I know the practices other wolves partake in when their own heats or ruts arrive. I know you know them too. But, I need you to understand something. The moment you allowed me to be yours and vice versa, I haven’t had anyone else since. I swear on my life, I’ve spent every single one of my ruts alone. I wouldn’t and I won’t do that to you.”

“Isn’t that painful, though?” Your voice cracked but neither one of you acknowledged it. While your knowledge on ruts were expansive, having done plenty of research since being with Jungkook, you had obviously never experienced one.

“It’s manageable. It’s way more painful for a she-wolf to go through her heat alone than it is for a male.” Jungkook clenched and unclenched his fists as he resumed his pacing. “The worst part is being away from you. I’ve been going through ruts since puberty, I can handle them. But not being able to be with you for a whole week…I hated it. Still do. I dread that three month mark. And as time went on, I became more and more miserable. Being apart from you was almost unbearable but the other option…I never even allowed myself to consider it.

“It came to the point where the pack was noticing. I wasn’t getting the proper pheromonal release from my ruts and it was beginning to affect those around me. Taehyung has been on my ass for months now to get over myself and take you with me during my next rut. Each time I’d give him some excuse, but it was getting harder and harder to justify what I was doing. At first, I was convinced it was because I was protecting you. But you’ve been so understanding and so patient with me and my life, those excuses were becoming useless. Eventually, I think it was because I was protecting myself. I was - am - so scared. I’m terrified that I could hurt you when I’m like that. That I wouldn’t be able to notice or worse, ignored, if something happened to you. Living with that type of fear became debilitating. So, I just kept my mouth shut and kept you away from that part of me.”

Jungkook shook his head and chuckled humorlessly. “Now I know that was the worst possible thing I could do. That I was just hurting you more. What you walked into last Sunday was a culmination of my frustrations that I was refusing to deal with. While it’s not a valid reason, I’m well aware of that, I need you to know that what you heard was not the truth. It couldn’t be further from it. Because the truth is that I’m hopelessly in love with you and the thought of being without you hurts worse than I ever thought was possible.”

It wasn’t the first nor would it be the last time that Jungkook left you speechless. It took you a full minute to process what he had said. Jungkook granted you the silence although he became increasingly more agitated as time passed. His boots scuffed the dead leaves that littered the ground and his pacing led him closer to the ashes that lay before your feet. Then, he’d suddenly stalk off with a growl as he was forced to keep away.

“I-” you cleared your throat around the lump that had found a home there. “I had no idea. This whole time…I thought it was because you didn’t want me.”

“God, no.” Jungkook swore heavily as his muscles bunched and coiled beneath his clothes. “The - the fact that…you - fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s not it, that’s not it at all. You’re my dream girl, you’re the love of my life, and I want you every second of every day.”

Maybe it’s because you were emotionally drained and had no mental strength left. Maybe, you needed to hear those words from Jungkook more than you realized. Whatever the reason was, it wasn’t worth trying to figure out an explanation as you sunk to the ground and burst into tears.

Jungkook lost it across from you. Broken whines stained the air as he carded through his hair anxiously. He kept trying to get to you, to try to soothe you. But the boundary was unfortunately doing its job and each attempt was met with failure. Curses were spat out until eventually, he got as close as the boundary would let him and fell to his knees. He began spewing whatever came to mind first, unsure of what to do. All he knew was that you were crying because of him and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He thought hearing you cry from your bedroom window was torture, but nothing could compare to hearing you break down in front of him. Nothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m sorry…please, I’m so sorry. I - don’t cry, darling. Please don’t. I’m so sorry I hurt you, I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

It wasn’t tears of heartbreak that leaked from your eyes. Instead, it was tears of relief. While your heart had wholly accepted his words as the truth, the logical part of you reminded yourself that the two of you had way more talking to do. This was far from over, but the relief of knowing that he loved you and he was yours…it was indescribable.

You finally lifted your head up and were shocked to find Jungkook’s cheeks glistening with moisture. Your only thought was to comfort him as you scrambled forward to do just that. Instead of feeling his smooth skin against the palm of your hand, you were blocked by what felt like a wall although nothing stood in your way. Frowning, you realized with a start that the boundary worked both ways. Jungkook let out a frustrated growl as he glared at the ashes that was stopping both of you from getting what you wanted. It was silent for a few moments until an idea popped into your head.

“Wait here,” you announced before jumping up and taking off for the house. Ignoring Jungkook’s distressed cry, you ran inside. You yanked your car keys off from their designated hook and quickly typed out a text to your parents to let them know where you were going before spinning around and sprinting back outside. Jungkook was where you left him, although he stumbled to his feet when he saw you reappear.

“I’m going to your house,” you announced, breathless. “No witch is stupid enough to go that far into werewolf territory. If you want to talk to me there, then follow me.”

Jungkook stared at you for a heartbeat until the words you spoke clicked. “Y-yeah. Yes. Okay. I’ll be there.”

With a curt nod, you ran to your car. For the first time in a week, a faint sprout of hope bloomed in your chest.

It was the longest and shortest ten minutes of your life. The drive to Jungkook’s seemed to last a lifetime but also was over within a blink of an eye. The tears had stopped flowing by the time you pulled your car into his driveway, but you felt the telltale prick in your eyes when you saw him burst from the trees. Your heart ached as his long legs ate up the distance between you two as you wrestled with your seatbelt and threw the car into park. By the time you freed yourself, he was at the hood of your car.

The two of you stared at each other for a few breathless moments. You weren’t sure who moved first, but it didn’t matter as you crashed into each other’s arms. The moment his searing warmth enveloped you, you dissolved into another puddle of sobs. The feeling of his thick arms banded across your back, his torso molded to yours, and his hair tickling your ear, felt so right. Another wave of crippling relief washed over you and you practically melted against Jungkook. But he held you up, just like he always had.

He leaned against the front bumper while his hands were everywhere. Cradling your head into his neck, smoothing over your hips, or running circles over your shoulders. He was crying, you could feel the tears dampening your hair. But you were soaking his shirt so no one was in any position to complain.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t,” Jungkook hissed fiercely as he squeezed you tighter. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, not in the slightest.”

“Kook,” you sighed and pulled your head back to get a good look at him. “It takes two to tango.”

“Not this time,” he argued. “You’ve put up with so much. You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more. It was my own fears that got in the way and created this mess. And I’m so sorry for that, darling. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shushed him gently, running your thumbs over his cheeks to swipe at the dried tears. “I know you’re sorry. I believe you.”

Jungkook dipped his head further into your touch with a pleased rumble vibrating through his chest. He kissed your palm gently, sniffing at your wrist. It made you giggle. “Missed that,” Jungkook mumbled as he stared at you with stars in his eyes. “Missed you. Missed you so much.”

A fresh wave of tears cascaded down your cheeks. You were positive that you looked like a mess, hair in a knotted bun, face red and puffy and you kept sniffling every two seconds. But Jungkook looked at you as if you held the world in your hands. “Missed you too,” you murmured in return. “Please, next time, just talk to me. I may not have the answers you’re looking for all the time, but I’ll always be here to listen.”

“I know,” Jungkook whispered. “There won’t be a next time, promise. If I happen to be stupid enough to put us in this position again, I give you full permission to punch me in the face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You lifted yourself onto your toes to brush your lips against his, dropping back down to your feet when his head chased after yours. “Or maybe I just won’t kiss you for a week.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened comically and he actually looked terrified. “I’d rather you just punched me in the face.” You tilted your head back and laughed. Jungkook tugged you closer and nosed your throat before peppering gentle kisses along the exposed skin. Sighing happily, you tilted your head to allow him better access and rested your cheek on his shoulder.

“I love you,” you said quietly. Jungkook froze for a split second before he sank against you. Squeaking in shock, you scrambled to brace yourself against the sudden weight pressing you towards the house.

“Say it again,” Jungkook pleaded. You couldn’t deny him. Dusting feather light kisses to the shell of his ear, you repeated those three words again, and again, and again. Each time you did, Jungkook held you a little tighter and cried a little harder.

Eventually, you’re murmured promises became softer and softer until the two of you just enjoyed each others presence. “C’mon,” you finally whispered as you started to lift yourself off of him. Jungkook growled and refused to let you move an inch farther. “Kook, come on. Let’s go inside. Your ass must be numb by now.”

“Don’t care,” he grumbled but he at least shuffled forward a bit more so that your combined weight wasn’t squashing his ass against your car.

“You might say that now, but you won’t be saying that later.”

Jungkook grunted at your logic but he at least raised his head and looked at you with the sweetest eyes. “Please tell me you’re staying.”

Giggling, you asked, “do you want me to?”

“Obviously,” he scoffed. “I want you here forever.” Jungkook tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, you should just move in with me.”

Christ, this boy was going to give you whiplash. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Jungkook, we just made up. The whole reason we were in this mess is because of poor communication. Don’t you think we should work on that first before anything else?”

“But…we could work on communication all the time if we’re together 24/7.” Despite his pout, you knew he wasn’t totally serious. Although you were sure it was going to come up again.

“Alright, you maniac,” you said fondly. “Take me to bed.” Jungkook’s chest rumbled happily as he lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his trim waist.

It wasn’t a long walk to his bedroom, but the exhaustion of the past week caught up to you and the gentle rocking of his steps lulled you into a serene state. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake either. You were aware when Jungkook placed you on his bed, practically engulfed in his scent. The last thing you remember before falling asleep was the words Jungkook pressed into your hair has he slid in behind you.

“Love you forever, my darling girl.”

©jcwritings Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

LINKS:

masterlist

ao3

TAGLIST:

yzkyzkuniverse

[1000night]

Treat You Better

Pairing: Bruce Banner/Short Female Chubby Reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, cheating on(NPC),  soft dark Bruce, murder(?)

A/N: Thanks for the request! I combine that with the challenge. And in this fic, everyone is alive, Steve didn’t back but retired with Bucky.

tag: @micheleamidalajedi, @caplanbuckybarnes​, @caplanreads​

English is not my first language.

It’s the countless nights he doesn’t come back, you bet he’s with his those "friends" again.

Sitting on the stairs and seeing those stars shining in the sky, you try to blink away those hot tears.

“I know he's just not right for you.” 

Looking back over your shoulder, your neighbor, Dr.Banner is standing against his door frame. He doesn’t look at you and he tap his fingers on his arm.

“And…and you can tell me if I'm off. But I see it on your face, always on your face.”

“What?”

“Unhappy and hurt.” He takes a deep breath and continues his sentence.

“Any girl like you deserves a gentleman.”

You don’t know how to respond, the silence between you is weird and comfortable.

“Good night.” He offers a weak smile and retreats to his room.

Now, you start to rethink your relationship with your boyfriend.

You’re tired, but you’re not sure if it is a good decision to leave him.

When you see one of his friends post a photo, about a hottie girl kissing the man who was supposed to be your boyfriend, your world crashed down.

Moving house always is exhausting, and it worsens when you pack your things while crying.

Your doorbell chirping, you know he has the key so he doesn’t need to ring the bell. 

‘Unless the bastard now is a coward that needs his new flings to face me.’ 

You scoff as you open the door, it’s Bruce.

“Um…I..I’m here to say sorry. I shouldn’t say that.” 

He looks at you, you can see those apologies and worries through his beautiful eyes.

“No, you’re right, Bruce. I’m wasting my time.” You sniffled, he stiffed and panic

“Are, are you packing? Do you need any help? Or should I call your boyfriend or anything I can do for you now?”

“Can I hug you, please?”

He pauses, then he nods confirmed

“Of course, you can… ooh!”

Arms around his slim waist, the smell of coffee and cologne soothing your tortured heart.

His hand around your waist, the other one stroking your hair to your back slowly.

“I’ve got you, honey. Just rest now.”

He could hear your sigh in peace and relief, and he smiled as he kissed your hair softly.

Your Ex-boyfriend tried to contact you after you moved to Westview Town with Bruce.

The town is built by Wanda Maximoff and those retired Avengers, the former Captain America, and Sergent Barnes also lived here. Natasha and Yelena would come here occasionally to see the newborn Maximoff brothers. 

They welcome you to join them, they throw a welcome party for you; a family dinner once a week; greeting every time. Evan Alpine, Bucky’s cat will lay on the stone walls, and let you pet her when you drop by the soldiers’ house.

Your ex asked where you were before the family dinner time, you didn’t know what to do.

It’s been almost three months, and you and Bruce become closer as the time flies.

He told you about Hulk, he showed you when a thief invaded your house. Both he and hulk are gentle to you, you knew you could trust them to never harm you.

You blacklist your ex’s number; you’re done with him.

But he called your home number, he demanded to bring you back.

After pacing around the house for half an hour, you choose to ask for those heroes’ help.

“How dare he!?”

“Do you want us to kick his ass, doll?”

“No, I just want him to leave me alone. I don’t want to interact with him anymore.”

Wanda stroked her jaw and showed a crept smile.

“I can assure you that he won’t have a chance to near this town, Cookie.”

“Yeah, Bucky and I will notice if someone broke those fences,” Steve said as he patted your back.

“Or you need to move in with Bruce? That’s easier and safer.” Natasha said as she smirked at Bruce.

Your eyes met His, he moved away quickly and slightly scolded Natasha

“Nat! Don’t tease us!”

“Hum, I just suggest a good plan.” She shrugged

When you leave Wanda’s house together, you asked him hesitantly

“If I moved in with you…, will it be too fast for us?”

“You sure you want to? Nat is joking, you don’t have to…”

“You’re safe to me, Bruce.” Your words froze him, you tilted your head and stepped toward him.

“With you, I feel safe and comfortable. I feel like I’m loved, and I want to move in.”

Reaching out your right hand, you beamed at him.

“I want to treat you better if you give me the chance.” 

“Yes!” He almost screamed. Both his hands covered your right hand and kissed it.

“I just wanna give you the loving that you were missed, I want to be the gentleman, your gentleman.”

You shared your sweet kiss under the streetlight, the starry stars, and the moon.

After the night, you didn’t see your ex, until you see the news about a man who was drowned in the Upper Bay, and he was your ex.

It’s a complex emotional, you feel bad for him, yet you feel relief that you know you don’t need to worry about him anymore.

“It’s a normal reaction, honey. I’m just glad he won’t be your nightmare from now on.”

Bruce comforts you, you sleep soundly in his arms.

He kissed your forehead, an anonymous text sent on his phone

“Target down.”

THE END

[graniairish]

Walking on eggshells

So this is my first own story here. I hope it is written in an understandable way. (Please ignore any grammatical errors. English is not my mother tongue.)

Title: Walking on eggshells

Words: 6761

Warnings: language (some explicit words), harassment and insults, heartbreak

Summary:

Daryl and reader have been close friends since the early days in Atlanta. They are deeply in love with each other but have no clue about it.

At some point new people join the community, including a young woman who is immediately after Daryl.

Reader is not exactly thin, no size zero, but also not fat, rather curvy, feminine. Even in this apocalyptic time. (you are just the way you are.)

Daryl has withdrawn more and more from reader, avoids contact. Reader believes he does that because he now has a perfect woman by his side.

However, Daryl avoids reader because he does not know how to deal with his feelings.

One day reader goes on a run that goes wrong. To save their group, the reader does a suicide stunt, that can cost her life.

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

"Ya even know what ya're doin’?"

Those were the first words Daryl Dixon had ever said to you.

It was still at camp in Atlanta. Daryl stood over you, the sun behind him, as he looked down at you as you made a stew from a basket full of leaves and mushrooms.

“Believe it or not, I know what I'm doing here. My mother taught me as a child which mushrooms and plants are edible, and which can be used as medicine."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

"If ya say so."

With that he dropped something in front of you.

"Maybe the whole thin’ tastes like somethin’ with that," he said before he turned around and made his way back to his brother.

Your eyes followed him - confused. Only then did you notice that he had thrown about a dozen freshly hunted squirrels in front of you.

Maybe the grumpy redneck was not that bad after all, you thought to yourself with a smile as you started to skin and gut the dead animals.

It was not long before a friendship developed between you. You were the only one he really let near him after the disappearance of his brother and Sophia's death. And after the farm was overrun by Walkers, he was by your side to comfort you.

He was always there for you, just as you were for him. You cared for each other.

But you only noticed how deep the feelings really were on your side when Daryl - after the incident with Woodbury - had turned his back on you and everyone else and disappeared into the woods. Just to be with his brother.

The realization that you were infinitely in love with the withdrawn redneck hit you hard. And just seeing him walk away hurt you so much that you could not breathe.

Without knowing it, Daryl had broken your heart into a million pieces.

It felt like he took a part of you with him.

More and more you withdrew from the others. From time to time, you even slept in the old management office of the Prison, far away from the cell block, from everyone else, from your family. You just wanted to be left alone in your grief and heartbreak.

In the first time you had gone through hell emotionally and a psychological breakdown would not have been long in coming. And if it had not been for Maggie, you probably would not have found your way back.

She had been your solid rock and, without you really noticing, had become your best friend - your sister.

And after a while it got better. It did not hurt that much anymore. Although it was not quite true. It still hurt - hurt infinitely - but the distances that those waves of grief hit you grew larger.

And then suddenly Daryl was back.

It was a shock to you.

And the moment he moved back into his cell in the cell block, you moved out. There was no trace of you or your belongings in the whole building anymore.

Quietly, and without anyone noticing, you moved into the management's office - permanently. The thought of being so close to him - physically - without actually being able to be close to him was just unbearable for you.

And so you had retreated.

Daryl did not seem to mind. It almost seemed as if he had not even really noticed it.

You hardly had any contact with each other. He rarely talked to you, and if he did, then only what was necessary and as monosyllabic as possible. He even seemed to be avoiding you.

But that's how life works - hard and unfair.

And you cannot choose who to fall in love with.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return. But it only worked like that in movies and love songs, right? It did not work that way in real life, at least not for you.

As time goes by you had devoted all your concentration to your small farm. Your mother taught you how to handle plants as a child. In your previous life - before the apocalypse - you also had a vegetable garden with which you mostly tended yourself. So you knew the job and it was easy for you.

You lived in your own little world where you worked side by side with Rick and spent your meager free time with Maggie. Sometimes Carol would join you, but you had already noticed that she somehow always dropped a few comments about Daryl.

You did not want to talk about the redneck, let alone think about him. So, you ignored her as best you could - or at least her suggestions.

But it was not that easy. Your whole prison family knew how deep your feelings were for Daryl. No matter how hard you try to hide it, hide yourself from it.

Then Woodbury fell. New people came to the Prison and with them a young woman - Michelle. Probably only in her mid-twenties, model type, blonde, pretty. A typical homecoming queen.

To you, she made it seem like she had never worked hard in her entire life. She was the type of person who always muddled through, for her own benefit.

And just a few days after moving in, she was permanently on Daryl's heels. She asked questions, talked to him, spent most of the days near him.

But worst of all, she was openly flirting with the man you loved, and he did not seem to mind. Your stomach cramped painfully at the sight, and you had not been able to eat for two days.

Your heart, painstakingly patched together, broke one more time. After that you had avoided Daryl and his blond girl for almost a week, avoided them like the devil had shunned holy water.

But it could not go on like that. And at a certain point you realized: as long as Daryl was happy, nothing else mattered. At least for you.

To make matters worse, there was that cruel little voice in your head that kept whispering to you why Daryl was interested in Michelle and not you. It kept talking to you, all the time.

And then the little wheels in your head started spinning until you were caught in a vortex of thoughts.

She was thin and delicate; you were rather well built.

Her shoulders were narrow; yours were broad.

Her stomach was flat; but you had unmistakable love handles.

She had a firm, shaped ass; you childbearing hips - as your mother used to call it.

Her golden blonde hair always fell in gentle waves down her back. You always had your y/h/c ones in a messy bun. And after hours of hard work in the gardens, you always looked like a half-plucked chicken.

You would never have any chance of comparing yourself with this beautiful, gorgeous woman. Michelle was perfect.

You were just you.

But the worst part of this whole thing was that this woman could not leave you alone. She had won, the man was hers. What else did she want from you?!

Every now and then she dropped small comments, out of the earshot of others. But so that you could hear them very well.

"Hard to believe how one can be so well fed.”

“Are you secretly eating your way through our supplies?"

"Given your size, a whole bunch of Walkers could get fed up with you for a week."

It hurt, hurt infinitely. But you were willing to endure everything. You did not want to make a scene. Did not want to get upset, maybe to draw more unwanted attention to yourself.

In the depths of your heart, you only wanted one thing. You just wanted Daryl to be happy. Everything else does not matter to you.

But what you failed to notice in all your self-doubt and self-sacrifice was: Daryl was not happy.

You were both blind to each other's intentions, had no idea why the other acted the way he was doing.

But the inner circle of your family, especially Maggie and Carol, knew what was going on. And having to watch the two of you - while you did not notice it yourself - slowly but surely drove everyone to despair.

The whole thing was like a fucking soap opera!

You and Daryl had barely spent time together and avoided each other as best you could, so you had not noticed all the little signs that spoke volumes to all the others.

How his ears turn red when you have been near him.

How he sometimes looked at you a little longer than others.

How he changed his shifts in the guard tower just so he could take care of you when you were near the fences during your work.

The moment Daryl faced you for the first time since his return, the floor was torn from under his feet. When he saw your y/e/c eyes looking at him, he felt his heart swell. Warmth spread in his chest and he had thousands of butterflies in his stomach. The redneck had never felt anything like that before and it terrified him.

It was something he could not handle.

He knew he screwed up when he left you because of his brother. The way you behaved towards him was unmistakable. Daryl did not want to endanger the little friendship that was still between you. He could not risk losing you for good.

So he gave you your freedom and just adored from a distance - without you noticing.

But from a certain point in time all his thinking was focused only on you. Or rather, to hide what he really felt about you - how much he loved you.

Daryl was so busy hiding the love he felt for you that he did not even notice how much this young woman from Woodbury was constantly flirting with him. Of course, it had not escaped him that she ran after him like a lost puppy; and yes that annoyed him.

But weren't all of these newcomers a pain in the ass?

He was not interested in this blonde woman, not a little bit. Daryl does not care about her; he does not even listen to her most of the time.

If he was honest, he did not even know her name.

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

In the last few weeks, it had become routine for the redneck to be on guard duty in the early hours of the morning. Not just because he was an early riser- and finally got some peace up here from the intrusive people from Woodbury - but because you went to work in the vegetable gardens shortly after sunrise every day.

And from high up there he had the opportunity to watch and admire you unnoticed.

You have always been used to working hard, and everyone who saw you knew that you had no problem with it and that you could lend a hand. Rick once joked that you could overshadow any Amish when it came to your work ethic. You just shrugged your shoulders and replied that you had no problem with that as long as you didn't have to pray for hours.

So you and Daryl spent the mornings together - without your having a clue about it. You, lovingly watching over the plants in the vegetable patches, he on the guard tower, lovingly watching over you.

As the sun rose higher and higher on its way across the sky, it made the sweat shimmer on your skin as you patiently devoted yourself to each of your tasks without taking a break. The black tank top you wore on that hot summer day stuck to your body and framed it perfectly. Your figure was like an hourglass, and each of your curves came out sensually.

At least as far as Daryl could tell. For him you were perfect, just like you were. He could watch you for hours without getting tired of it, could watch you for the rest of his life.

Only when the crotch of his jeans became uncomfortably tight did the redneck look away from you. His thoughts had taken a suggestive course, and the images that emerged in his head were by far no longer suitable for minors. Daryl would surely spend this evening in his fist again - dreaming of how you would feel lying under him, how you would smell, how you would taste, and what sweet noises would come over your lips if he would touch you where you needed it most.

"Everything's okay," he heard a familiar voice next to him.

Damn it, did the time really go that fast? Was his shift already over?

"Are you okay? You seem a little distracted to me."

Carol had come to relieve him. But Daryl, in his fascination for you, had not even noticed her.

"’m okay."

"Yes, of course, and your thoughts were on the task in front of you the whole time."

There was unmistakable amusement in Carol's voice. With a knowing smile, the woman leaned on the railing and watched you work for a while.

"Can you please finally tell Y/N that you love her. So that we can finally all get on with our lives? It's really not nice to see you two walking around each other on eggshells."

Daryl was embarrassed. He was caught with his hand in the cookie jar by Carol. Still, he tried to stay as cool as possible.

"I have no idea what ya're talkin’ about."

But the woman was not easily fooled. She knew very well what was going on in the man in front of her. Just as she knew how you felt about him.

"I hear what you say, but your ears say something else.”

Daryl flinched. Sometimes he hated the way his body betrayed him.

“What the hell,” Carol had to keep from laughing “I didn't even know that they could get so red."

"Stop it woman."

Again and again, Carol tried to get her friend to finally confess his love to you. Because in her eyes you were both wasting valuable time. And being able to spend time with loved ones was the most important thing now.

You had not noticed any of this. You were too busy tying up the tomato plants and removing the leaves so that they brought the greatest possible yield. After all, many mouths had to be fed, and you all needed supplies for the coming winter.

And it was precisely these necessary supplies that prompted Rick to ask you to go on a run the next day with others. Of course, you immediately agreed, after all, everyone went on these runs at some point. It wouldn't be your first time, and certainly not your last time, that you would take part in something like this.

But who could say that in these uncertain times?

What you did not know at the time was, that Michelle would be there too. Maybe then you would have refused. But now you sat in the back seat of the pickup truck in silence, staring stubbornly out the window.

Michelle just a few inches away from you.

It had been clear to Maggie from the start that this constellation would not bring any good. However, even the young woman would not have expected what dimensions the whole thing would take. And in what a heartbreaking catastrophe it would end.

During the entire journey Glenn and Maggie tried to break the mood. The four of you sat in the truck and drove a few hours until you finally arrived at your destination.

It should be a simple thing - in and out, quietly, quickly, unseen.

But what no one had expected was the behavior that Michelle had displayed when it came to doing her part. She had absolutely no desire to be actually a part in this job.

And Michelle let the three of you feel that very clearly.

She neither wanted to help find the necessary supplies nor carry them; even found it outrageous that she had been asked by Rick to join in and risk her life. She had never had to do this before, why now?

It took you so much strength to stay calm and not yell your opinion on Michelle's face - or beat her across the street.

You did not like this woman, not a bit. For you, she was a narrow-minded, self-centered, selfish slut who cared about only herself. And what Daryl saw in her was incomprehensible to you.

But when Michelle began to risk all of your lives because of her loud behavior, even Maggie's patience ran out. The eternal insults in your direction were just the cherry on top. Maggie would have liked nothing more than to give this snotty brat a huge slap in the face.

But to make a shitty day even more shitty, that was unfortunately your smallest problem.

Michelle's loud complaints drew the attention of more and more walkers, and at some point, you had difficulties getting back to your car.

You had just successfully cleared a pharmacy when you saw the horde slowly approaching on the street.

That was by far the worst scenario, and your greatest fear.

It was all happening so quickly, and the only thing you thought was that Michelle had to make it back to the Prison alive. You could not risk Daryl losing someone he loved again. No matter what a fucking bitch she was. You knew it would destroy him.

The way back to the pickup was long and the Walkers unfortunately closer than wanted. The heavy backpacks did not make it any easier to escape them quickly. So you stayed back when Maggie, Glenn, and Michelle started running back towards the truck. You knew your partners needed a distraction to make it through.

And what could be a better distraction than you.

"Come to me you damn motherfuckers! Here I am! Come and catch me you bloody bastards! You ugly fuckers!" you screamed on top of your lungs, tried to make as much noise as possible.

The walkers slowly turned to you and came to hunt you down - to kill you. You would be their lunch. Scared to death your heart was beating so hard in your chest that you thought it was about to pop out.

From that point on, you could not remember anything. Your brain just shut down, went into survival mode. You only ran on instinct, no more active thinking.

In a way, like the Walkers you tried to escape from.

Maggie turned when she heard your voice, and the blood froze in her veins. She thought you were right behind her, but you were still near the entrance to the pharmacy and the horde of walkers was on the way to you.

"Y/N!" her voice was desperate.

She was about to turn back to you – to help you - but Glenn could not and would not let that happen.

"Come on Maggie, we have to get the car. We'll come back for her; I promise."

Glenn took his girlfriend's hand and pulled her forcefully with him.

Michelle had not noticed anything of that, she was the first to take a seat in the pickup and firmly locked the passenger door behind her.

When Glenn finally started the engine and Maggie - now in the back seat - turned her eyes back to the pharmacy entrance, you were gone.

Your best friend was in a panic.

"Where is she? Oh my god, where is she?"

Only then did she see you on the canopy of the building - the backpack with the bandages still firmly strapped around you.

"On the roof, Glenn, she's on the roof! We have to get her!" the young woman screamed in desperation.

She could not and did not want to lose her friend. Not now and not like this.

“and preferably before these things figure out how to climb”, was Glenn's addition when he turned the truck and drove towards the pharmacy.

"Are you crazy," squeaked Michelle, "do you want to die just to maybe save her life?"

Maggie's eyes darkened, and Glenn realized immediately that she had now reached the limit. Another word from Michelle and his girlfriend would feed this woman to the Walkers with no trace of guilt.

"You shut up now, bitch! You're to blame for all this shit. If you’d shut your damn mouth and done what we've all done hundreds of times before, none of this would have happened! These fucking things would never have noticed us."

Michelle gasped to give Maggie a neat answer, but Maggie was faster.

"If I hear one more word from you, if you just beep, I'll feed you to these Walkers!"

Michelle's reply was interrupted by the gruesome sound of breaking bones as Glenn brutally drove through the horde of walkers who were now confused and trying to understand what was going on around them.

You were still standing on the roof. Your gaze was focused on the scene before you but not fearful, as if your self was not there at that moment.

"You have to jump," Glenn called to you when he brought the pickup to a stop right under the roof.

And with that you jumped onto the back of the truck. The fall was higher than expected, and there was a thump as you hit the flatbed. Immediately Glenn had accelerated the car again and drove away as fast as he could in the direction of Prison.

Desperate, Maggie kept calling your name, but you just did not answer. Maybe you were in shock. After all, it was not common practice to voluntarily sacrifice oneself as a meal for these monsters.

A few miles out of town, Glenn finally stopped the car, and Maggie was by your side in an instant. But she was not prepared for what she saw. You were passed out and a small pool of blood had formed under your head. The thud she had heard - when you landed - had been your head when it hit the loading wall.

"Oh my God."

Immediately Maggie was at your side, looking for your pulse with trembling hands. And there it was - weak - but she felt it.

"Please open your eyes Y/N/N", the young woman pleaded as she lovingly brushed the hair off your face.

"Maggie?" Glenn's voice was timid, almost frightened, as he stood next to the pickup and stared at your broken body.

"We have to get her to my father as soon as possible!"

Maggie's harsh words seemed to loosen Glenn from his stupor.

"Okay, no problem, I can do that."

And with that Glenn was back behind the wheel and gave full throttle. Maggie stayed with you on the flatbed, took off your backpack and trying to stop the bleeding on your head.

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

Rick and Daryl were in the courtyard of the prison, discussing the next runs when the pickup truck drove through the gates with screeching tires. It was immediately clear to both of them that something bad must have happened.

Without wasting time, the two men ran towards the car.

"What happened", Rick called out.

But Daryl could not hear Glenn’s answer. Everything around him fell silent and vanished when he saw you - bleeding, passed out - in Maggie's arms.

Without thinking further, he jumped on the flatbed and leaned over you. He caressed your pale cheek with trembling fingertips before desperately looking for a pulse on your neck.

Frightened, he held his breath until he felt it, your heartbeat.

Even but so weak.

"We have to take her to my father."

Maggie had not even finished the sentence when Daryl had already taken you in his arms - bridal style - and was on the way to the infirmary with you.

With a lover's desperation, he clung to you as he ran all the way.

“Don't do this to me. I beg ya, please don't die to me."

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

Daryl never left your side for a moment. He sat like a statue and held your hand. He did not say a word, did not move. Neither when Hershel examined you, nor when he sewed your laceration.

He listened quietly to the vet's diagnosis and what he thought might happen in the next few hours or days.

Only when Maggie came with a bowl of water and a cloth to wash off the dirt and blood did he break free.

"Let me …" Daryls voice cracked, and the knot in his throat made it difficult for him to say anything else.

He took everything from Maggie's hand and put it on the little table next to your bed.

The redneck looked broken. The young woman could clearly see how much he loved you. And she knew that if you died, Daryl would vanish. He would just cease to exist.

“I'm so sorry,” Maggie said quietly, and a tear rolled down her cheek, “I thought she was right behind me. But … but she wasn't."

"It's not ya’ fault." Daryl's voice was barely perceptible.

Slowly he dipped the cloth into the warm water and began to carefully wash the blood off your face.

"Daryl I’m ... I’m"

"I know."

“Y/N is strong, she is tough. She will be okay."

Daryl just nodded absently while he concentrated fully on washing the blood off your temple.

And so Maggie left the redneck alone with you in the infirmary.

With trembling hands, he began to clean your neck. Little by little he washed your whole body- took care of you quietly and lovingly- making dirt, blood and sweat disappear, made you as clean as he saw you before you went on that fucking run.

Then he sat there, hour after hour, just looking at you, holding your hand. You looked so fragile. You lay there injured and pale, almost like a corpse. Only your quiet, even breathing told Daryl that you were still with him.

Inside Daryl, everything contracted painfully at the thought that you might not wake up again. Slowly he leaned towards your face. He looked at every birthmark, every wrinkle, every freckle, as if he wanted to burn them into his memory.

“I don't know if ya can hear me,” he finally began with a trembling voice.

“But I ... I ... I “, he had to laugh bitterly.

“’m a bloody coward. Why can' I jus’ say it?"

Daryl took a deep breath, he had to get his fear under control somehow. He had to tell you. He would never forgive himself if he did not do it now.

What if you died.

"I love ya Y/N. 've been in love with ya since ... I actually have no idea how long. But I love ya. I should have told ya much earlier. I don' know why I didn't. But I love ya."

Daryl fought back tears but lost.

"Oh God please, I beg ya, please come back to me. Give me a chance to show ya how much I love ya. Just one chance to prove myself to ya." and with that Daryl collapsed on top of you, crying and sobbing.

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

It took you two days to open your eyes again. Two days in which Daryl had not left your side. Two days of going through hell and back again. In which even he had sent a quick prayer or two towards heaven.

It was as if you had been awakened from a deep sleep far too abruptly. And it took a while before you knew where you were. You felt dizzy and tired. Your head hurt like hell. And you were confused.

First, why you were in the infirmary, and second, why Daryl was sitting next to your bed looking like he had not slept in days – your hand in his.

"Hey," he whispered, "how are ya feelin’?"

"Tired", your voice was scratchy from not using it for a long time, "my head hurts."

“You hit ya head bad. Hershel had to patch ya up."

"What happened?"

"Can't ya remember."

"No ... Yes …. but not ... not really ... only up to a certain point."

You were nervous, were not used to Daryl being so close to you. You did not want to make a fuss about yourself, and yet you liked the attention this man was giving you.

“I can still remember the horde of Walkers who came up to me, but then … nothing ... I can't remember what happened then."

You had not noticed that tears had started to run down your temples until Daryl lovingly wiped them away with his thumb.

"Hey ... shh ... take it easy. Everythin’ is okay. Everyone’s fine. Please don't get upset, ya have a concussion. Hershel says ya need a lot of rest now."

And suddenly you were silent. Never before had Daryl spoken to you with such a loving tone in his voice or had touched you in this way. You did not understand what was happening here.

But he said you had a concussion. Perhaps it was to blame for this filter through which you noticed this whole interaction.

“I'll let Hershel know that ya woke up. I'll be right back; promise."

Confused, you looked after the redneck. Something had happened that you had no idea about. But you did not want to worry about it now. Your head hurt too much, and you just wanted to sleep.

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

When you opened your eyes again, Hershel was sitting in the chair on which you had previously seen Daryl.

"It's nice to see you again with your eyes open Y/N," said the older man with a friendly smile, "you worried us very much."

"‘m sorry. "

"It's okay. How do you feel?"

"Okay. Tired, head hurts."

"Something else?"

"No, except that I feel like I'm wrapped in cotton wool."

Hershel sat and listened to you before nodding.

"Daryl said you can't remember what happened."

"Not really."

"Don't worry, that's nothing unusual with this type of head injury."

He patted your shoulder encouragingly.

"Will I be able to remember one day?"

"You know kid, sometimes it is really good not to be able to remember some things."

"Probably."

“But now you should rest first. I know you have questions, but answers will come later. After all, you have to regain your strength."

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

You knew you had slept, but not for how long. Because the next time you opened your eyes, Carol was sitting on that same chair. But there was something else. Could it be that it smelled of her venison ragout?

"How are you, Y/N/N?"

"Still tired, but the headache is almost gone."

"Good to hear. You gave us all a real scare."

"I'm sorry."

"Especially Daryl. I've never seen him so frightened."

You looked questioningly at the older woman next to you. You were used to it that she kept dropping allusions about Daryl - at least when she talked to you. But you just did not understand that statement at all.

Daryl was never afraid of anything. Why would he ...

"Well. Are you hungry?" Carol had a friendly smile on her face when it broke your train of thought.

At that moment, your stomach made a loud rumbling noise.

“I'll take that as a yes,” smirked the gray-haired woman, “Daryl went hunting so that I could cook this. He knows it’s your favorite."

Unsure you looked at Carol before you took the bowl from her hand and slowly began to eat. It was true, that was your favorite food - if there was such a thing at all in times like this.

"You know that he loves you," she suddenly began out of nowhere

"Of course, we are family," did you try to belittle the matter.

“Okay, let's reformulate the whole thing again. Daryl is in love with you, absolutely and one hundred percent madly in love with you. A 'you're the only one for me' love. Without any misunderstanding."

When she said that, you choked on the stew right away and now you sat in front of her, coughing and snorting.

“And I know you love him too. So don't try to deny it at all. Everyone here knows that. Or how blind do you think we are? Although ... apart from Daryl. He has no idea. He probably wouldn't even understand if it bites his ass.”

At this picture you had to laugh.

“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith in order to reach their goal. You two really have to start talking clearly to each other. You two belong together like pepper and salt Do you actually notice how much you waste your precious time? Neither of us knows how much of it is left. You should know that now, because honey it was damn close."

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

Sleeping was your main occupation right now. A concussion took time and a lot of rest to heal. So it wasn't uncommon for your life to consist of short scenes at the moment.

With a sound - like a purring cat - you stretched in the hospital bed before opening your eyes. You no longer had any sense of time, and only the sunlight falling through the barred windows told you that it was probably afternoon.

"Hey."

Only now did you notice that Daryl was with you again.

"Ya feel better?"

"Yes."

Daryl seemed kind of nervous. But that wasn't possible, why should he?

"I've been here before, but ya slept and I don't want to wake ya", his words just gushed out of him.

Could it be? Was he nervous?

"Okay ... yes ... uhm ..."

You were easily overwhelmed with this situation, and somehow your head just seemed to have been swept clean. You could not find any words.

"We take turns. Hershel thinks there should always be someone with ya. Because of the concussion. Rick has already been here, and Maggie of course."

"And Carol."

"Yea."

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For the food. Carol said you went hunting especially for it."

"No problem."

“I still appreciate it. And for ... that you are here ... with me."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

And then there was silence. The conversation with Carol kept going through your head. What she said. Could it really be true?

You knew that Daryl has always been more of a man of action than a man of words. And it was clear to you that if you did not take the first step now, you two would probably never get anywhere.

"Carol spoke to me", you started when you sat up

The man across from you was obviously nervous now. You could tell all too clearly by the fact that he was starting to chew the inside of his cheek.

"With me too."

"Apparently something like an intervention is going on here, could that be", you smiled, trying to loosen up the mood a bit.

"Seems so."

Daryl looked at you for a few moments. You could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I'm a coward, Y/N," he finally began.

You had expected a lot, but not a statement like that.

"No, you’re not. How did you come up with such an idea?"

"I was a complete idiot and too cowardly."

"What are you talking about Daryl."

In your opinion, this was going completely wrong right now. You actually wanted to tell him you loved him, and now it seemed to end in a vortex of self-doubt.

"I love ya, Y/N.”

And with that your thoughts became silent.

“I am terribly in love with ya. And out of fear I didn't say anything. But then I saw ya lying on the flatbed of that fucking truck, covered in blood and passed out. At that moment, my heart stopped. And I swore to myself that when ya're okay again, when ya've got throu’ this, that I'll finally tell ya what I feel for ya. Y/N I love ya. "

During Daryl's monologue you forgot how to breathe and just listened intently while thousands of butterflies fluttered around in your stomach like they're having a bloody party there.

It took you some time to realize that Daryl was waiting for a reaction from you as he gnawed his thumb in fear.

"I love you too," it gushed out of you before you even realized you had said something.

And then there was silence again. You and Daryl just looked at each other. Unsure what to do now. After all, you were both in uncharted waters.

"And ... and now," you asked uncertainly.

"Don't know," Daryl just shrugged.

"I mean ... um ... are ... are we ... together now?"

You carefully ventured out of cover.

"Um, yea ... if ya ... if ya want that."

"Oh my god, yes please", you replied in one breath.

Suddenly the tension between you had dissolved and you both had to laugh. It was so surreal. Two adults acted like teenagers in love who had no idea what to do.

But then Daryl slowly leaned in towards you. Your heart was pounding when you could finally feel his breath on your face. But before your lips touched, he stopped. He wanted to give you the opportunity to evade him if you did not want this.

But you wanted it, wanted it more than anything else in your life. And when you had overcome the last few inches, you finally felt his lips on yours.

The feeling was amazing. As if at that moment an electric shock had run through your whole body, and at the same time it was like coming home.

Everything around you no longer existed, was no longer important. Here and now, it was just you and Daryl. The way his lips moved with yours, how his fingers slowly ran up your arms until they were in your hair.

Everything was so intense. And when you finally parted to take a much-needed breath, Daryl leaned his forehead against yours.

"Ya have no idea how long I've been dreamin’ about this."

"Probably as long as me."

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

When Rick was about to visit Y/N in the early evening hours, he saw Carol and Maggie standing in the door to the infirmary.

"Everything's okay," he wanted to know.

The two women turned around with their index fingers over their lips.

"Shhhh."

Both did at the same time.

"Be quiet and come here," Carol whispered, "you really have to see that."

Rick approached the two women curiously. What could be so interesting that Carol and Maggie were half-hidden behind the door, staring into the infirmary?

He was confused, but when he saw what fascinated them so much, his heart swell. A satisfied smile played on his lips, as he was seeing what was going on less than five paces away.

Daryl was lying - half sitting - on the bed. His back supported on the wall behind him. Y/N was snuggled close to him, head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him. Absently, the fingers of his right hand traced patterns on her upper arm as he read to her from an old paperback.

Everyone could see the love that bound these two people. And thank God the two finally understood that.

"Seems like we finally have a happy ending," said the former deputy with a broad smile.

"Thank God", Maggie exhaled, "nobody wanted to watch this puppy love shit anymore."

“Yes,” laughed Rick, “but you have to admit there was something exciting about the whole thing. As if it had been our very own little soap opera."

"You're right, but I prefer my best friend happy."

"And what do we do now. I mean this seemingly endless heartbreak theater has come obviously to an end."

"Gossip- Rick is afraid he'll get bored?"

Maggie's voice was teasing.

"No, that's not how it was meant."

"Don't worry, Rick," said Carol with a smile, "I think the whole thing has a sequel anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, has someone told Michelle yet?"

All three looked at each other with big eyes before they having to resist laughing convulsively.

This story could get really interesting after all, they agreed.

part two