No Happy Ending - Tumblr Posts

39 w/ TFP Soundwave (sorry for not adding a name the first time)

Thank you for the ask! Not gonna lie, I didn't know what to write at first, so I held back on answering this. Then, when I finally got an idea and was just about finished, my computer died and erased everything! :D

I remember most of what I wrote, though, so it didn't take too long to rewrite it!

STARVE

Stupid Autobot humans, putting him into this whole mess. His leader is dead (killed by a scout no less), the Decepticons are captured, and he's stuck in this "shadowzone" with no apparent way out. Everything he tries to touch phases through his digits, almost as if he's a ghost, forced to watch his world crash and burn without being able to do anything. Even worse, his visor can't connect to the Nemesis's terminals anymore, so he can't remotely summon a groundbridge anymore either.

At least Laserbeak is here. She's been flying around for the last half a joor trying to help him find an exit while also keeping his mind from spiraling into unnecessary thoughts. Her beeps and squawks serve as a soothing background, helping him focus on figuring out a way to escape...whatever they put him in.

How did the humans figure this out before him? They're an inferior species to cybertronians, especially him. He's the third in command of the Decepticons, for Primus's sake!

Before he can dwell anymore on them, however, he gets an alert from his visor stating his and Laserbeak's energon levels. His anxiety rises even higher when he sees a blaring 62 percent looking back at him, as if mocking him even further about his situation. While he's got two more cubes of energon on him, he knows they won't last forever. He hurriedly signals Laserbeak to return. With a quick double barrel turn, she flies towards her creator and docks into his chassis with eons of practice. When she finishes, he doesn't even move an inch.

With his creation back, he opens one of the cubes and they drink about half, topping off his and Laserbeak's energon levels. With a quick reseal, he stows away the cube and focuses on the task in servo: getting the frag out of here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many solar cycles pass by and Soundwave's anxiety and frustration over his predicament grow. Laserbeak is worried now, too. No matter what he tries to calm her down, her anxiety comes back stronger, and she can't help but beep and squawk worriedly. They're also on their last half a cube, and an insistent 42 percent blaring from his visor isn't helping.

Trying to ease some of their shared tensions, he makes the begrudging decision to finish off their energon. He quickly opens the cube and drinks about half of what's left, then offers the rest to Laserbeak to finish. She oddly shakes her helm in refusal, though. He tries offering the cube to her more insistently, but he's met with the same shaking of her helm, squawking her denial loudly. Frustration seeps through his end of the bond towards hers. He demands to know why she's refusing to refuel, especially in a situation like this. With her helm held high, she beeps her explanation to him.

Soundwave freezes.

He's frozen for a good half a breem before he can finally move, but all he does is sit down on the cold, grey floor. He can't believe what Laserbeak is trying to do. He tries to reason with her, telling her that they'll escape, she's just got to be more patient. Laserbeak's sullen rebuttal though grates his audials and shatters what's left of his spark after four million years of war. He refuses to let her carry through with her decision, but no matter what he does, she doesn't refuel.

Laserbeak's lowering energon levels make his optics sting. Despite her frame weakening, she holds her helm high, just like Soundwave taught her when she was first sparked. He desperately tries making her change her decision, but his pleas are met on deaf audials.

Laserbeak detaches from his chassis. She weakly flies into his arms and pushes her field full of devotion and love into his. Soundwave wraps his slender arms and data cables around her, squeezing her tight. Laserbeak beeps weakly towards him, wanting to let him know that she'll be waiting for him in the Allspark along with Buzzsaw, Ravage, Rumble, and Frenzy.

As her beeps and squawks quiet, Soundwave's frame trembles and he has to take off his visor to let the tears that started to pool behind it fall onto her small frame.

With a last little squawk filled with love for her creator, her visor darkens, and her frame turns grey and motionless.

Soundwave can't seem to breathe. It's like all of his systems have stopped, but he himself is still trying to go forward. This time, without Laserbeak.

WISH YOU WERE SOBER ; jjk

→ 𝖲𝖴𝖬𝖬𝖠𝖱𝖸 . jeon jungkook has always been your best friend, supporting you throughout everything, even boyfriends or love interests, but what if he is the reason why you're holding back in the first place?

→ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 . bestfriend!jungkook (male lead) × bestfriend!reader (female lead)

→ 𝖦𝖤𝖭𝖱𝖤 . best friend au, slight fwb?

→ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 . lowercase intended, angst, based on the song, best friends.

→ 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤 . birthday present from me ! yes i'm fishing for some birthday wishes :))

→ 𝖱𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖭𝖦 .  none unless you hate angst.

𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 𖤐 𓈒࣪  ᭡ ˖ 𝖳𝖠𝖦𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 𖤐 𓈒࣪  ᭡ ˖ 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 𖤐 𓈒࣪  ᭡ ˖ 𝖯𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳

“This party’s shit, wish we could dip

go anywhere but here”

“Are you sure it's fine though? You look extremely uncomfortable” He said while concern lacing off his words, “I’m good, don't worry, it's just that the music is too loud” I spoke while forcing a smile at him, I noticed all the stares he got, it made me uncomfortable but well, who was I to feel uncomfortable? his best friend. That's it, nothing more.

“Don’t take a hit, don't kiss my lips

and please don't drink more beer”

He held onto my neck while kissing me deeply, angling his face slightly to be more comfortable. My hand tugged at his fluffy locks softly while his other hand was resting on my waist, I could taste the cigarettes and alcohol off his lips and I bet he could too.

“I’ma crawl outta the window now

'Cause I don't like anyone around”

I uncomfortably shifted on the bar stool while looking around, way too nervous and anxious to speak to anyone, I swirled the glass cup of alcohol. These people annoyed me, well not these, but every human annoyed me, of course except him.

“Kinda hope you're following' me out

But this is definitely not my crowd”

I looked around for him over the whole club, he was nowhere, perhaps it was a bad idea to visit the club at this time with your best friend, especially if your best friend is an idiot who drowns his whole soul in the alcohol and most importantly, because you absolutely love him as well.

“Nineteen, but you act twenty-five now

Knees weak, but you talk pretty fly, wow”

My best friend, Jeon Jungkook, that softie who appeared to be an asshole, was my biggest support in life but at the same time, the one who always holds me back. Not that he intends to, but, let's just say, he's extremely mature for his own age because of which his ‘father instincts’ turn on.

“Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Take me where the music ain't too loud”

There he was, in his signature form, ripped jeans, leather jacket and a white tank top underneath. He was holding a plastic cup empty, perhaps the one he just downed. “The music is loud, isn’t there some quiet place h—”

“Trade drinks, but you don't even know her

Save me 'til the party is over”

There he goes once again, behind some girl and trading drinks with her, they did kissed, and of course I watched it with a hammering pain in my heart, no darling it's not a disease and you're not receiving any post twist of me having heart cancer, it's just the pain of heartbreak.

“Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet, but I wish you were sober”

He caressed my cheeks with a soft smile as he kissed me softly, with the same lips with which he kissed her. “You’re so pretty” He whispered while looking at me with sparkling eyes, with love? no. intoxication? yes. “So sweet but I wish you were sober” I smiled while patting his head which was now laying on my lap as he snored softly.

“Trip down the road, walking you home

You kiss me at your door”

I carried this heavy man while supporting his arms around my shoulder as I walked to his doorstep, stumbling on my steps many times. When we reached he held my wrist, pulled me close and kissed me, at his doorstep.

“Pullin' me close, beg me, "Stay over"

But I'm over this roller-coaster”

His grip tightened on my wrist, pulling me even closer, “Please..” he started, “stay over” he whispered but I was already over it, the night already went horrible, then seeing him kissing that girl and once again getting used to him, over and over again. I was done.

“I'ma crawl outta the window now

Getting good at saying, "Gotta bounce”

If it were a few months ago or so then I would have agreed almost immediately, not even caring about my pride but now? I don't think so. It had been many times to the point that I’ve finally learnt to say no, “Sorry, gotta bounce”

“Honestly, you always let me down

And I know we're not just hangin' out”

That night, like always, I walked back home with glossy eyes with intoxication? no. perhaps a bit, but sadness? oh hell yeah. I was tired of getting walked over again and again, to me, we’re not hanging out. It means a lot to me but I really don't know about him anymore, perhaps it really should end now before it fucks me up badly.

# ask jungkook

# ask y/n

This horror story is so good.  I loved reading it, and the ending is such a classic good horror movie ending.  

— THE SEANCE

↳ part of the ghouls just wanna have fun collab.

pairing; seokjin/reader ft. ot7 genre; ghost hunters au, demon au, horror words; 8,780 rating; mature

— synopsis;  you and your friends go exploring in an abandoned house in the middle of the woods surrounded by mystery and ghost stories; what you find there may not be what you were looking for.

contents; major character death, horror, demons/ghosts, graphic violence, gore, blood. pov switch in the middle. based on the movie “demonic.”

“You really wanna go there?” you asked, skin buzzing. Jungkook looked at you and smiled, nodding his head excitedly.

Hoseok picked at the sleeve of his sweater. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“Scared of some ghosts, Hobi?” you teased, snickering along with the other boys.

“Don’t be a scaredy cat, Hoseok,” Jungkook continued to tease.

Keep reading

Cut Deep | myg (m)

➳ PAIRING: hunter!yoongi x reader

➳ GENRE: smut, angst, Nevermore universe

➳ WORD COUNT: 3.8k

➳ WARNINGS: knife play, dirty talk, oral (f receiving, cum eating, first half is porn, second half is pain, blood, demonic possession, character death oops my hand slipped and I’m not sorry at all

➳ SUMMARY: Yoongi, a fearless hunter, swore an oath to protect others, but when you needed him the most, he was nowhere to be found.

➳ A/N: this also take place in the Nevermore universe! You’ll see Yoongi again in Nevermore :))

—

Yoongi is one of the best hunters in all the seven realms—one of the very few people who had hunted dragons before they became extinct.

He boasts about every scar across his body, letting you map out each one with your fingers as you laid in bed together at night. Every scar had a story of his brave adventures. You would hold your breath when he recalled how close he had been to death’s grasp or laugh at how he fought off dozens of angered fae while running through the forest. His passion for hunting is admirable, but it also terrifies you.

You always dread the next hunt where he would kiss you goodbye and never return. You want to keep him safe in your arms where no evil can touch. You will even plead on your knees with tears streaming down your face if it means he will stay out of harm’s reach.

He always jokes that hunting and you are what make him whole. You can’t take that away from him. It isn’t fair.

So for now—while you can—you hold him close.

Keep reading

— he will always just be my best friend

wc: 563, pairing: niki x gn!reader, genre: heartbreak, angst, warnings: none

PROMPT: 5 from list 1: “continuously denying others who think they are together”

AN — tysm for requesting, sorry it took so long to get published!!! felt kinda in a sad mood for today,,, hope you enjoy <33

1k event requesting masterlist

growing up with niki was definitely a huge part of your life time. you watched as he grew taller and his voice started getting deeper and how he got even better at dancing (which you didn’t think was possible). not to mention how your crush grew on him even more over time.

“yn! wait up!” niki said as he jogged towards you holding his dance bag. he had jus finished dance and you had jus finished your extra curricular activity. “yah! yn i said wait up!” niki said again as he continued to jog towards you as you continued walking like nothing was wrong. but there was something wrong.

earlier the day he kept denying how you two weren’t together and how he would never have feelings for you because you were his bestfriend. you weren’t supposed to be affected by it so much, but you were. who were you kidding, youve had a crush on him since you two were little.

“yn! are you listening” niki said as he pulled your arm and turned you around to face him. he gasped at the sight of your face, puffy and eyes red from all the crying. your tear stained cheeks and how you sniffled was what caught his attention. “yn are you okay?” he asked concerned, he was gonna pull you in for a hug but you stopped him. “no” you said as you slapped his hands away from you.

“yn let me ju-“ “no! riki dont you know what no means” you interrupted as he trued to hug you. his eyebrows furrowed and he started getting nervous. he didnt know what he did wrong and honestly he was scared he was gonna lose you. “i was jus-“ “jus stop please jus stop” you said as you started crying again at the end of what you said.

niki stood there worried. out of all the years he knew you, he had never seen you like this ever. “yn? is this about earlier?” niki asked after a while of silence. “yeah and what about it?” you snapped at him. “look im sorry, but i dont know wha-“ “of course you dont” you laughed slightly. “you never do, do you?” continued.

“what?” he asked in disbelief. “god are you that blind?! to see how much im in love with you? but you’re so focused on dance and how you should look good for people, when im standing right here, i knew i never had a chance with you but you didn’t have to publicly embarrass me like that really.” you said as tears rolled down your cheek. niki stared at you in shock. he never thought you would ever like him like how he likes you. truth be told, he always wanted to look good for people yes, but it was specifically for you.

“yn i-“ “i jus-“ you said before more tears fell out of your eyes. you grabbed the keychain niki gave you for your 10th birthday and took his hand and placed it in his hand. “i’ve had enough nishimura. im done.” you said before walking off and leaving him standing in the hallway alone.

he was still looking at his hand where you put the keychain as tears started collecting in his eyes. everything became blurry in his vision. his worse nightmare had come true. and it was you leaving him.

One Raised by One, The Other Raised By Another

Just a simple what-if fic.

What would happen if only one of the brothers was raised by Elder Kettle, and the other one was raised by the Devil?

A LOT of trauma, death, and horrible, heartbreaking angst; that's for sure.

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I do advise against reading this if you're attached to ANY of these characters or are very sensitive

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Fire.

That's what Mugman knew his whole life. Nothing but hellfire and screams. He was used to it now. 

This was what his whole life was filled with. Just the demonic energy as it swirled around him every day, and the wails and screams from sinners being tortured as he strolled down the isles of Inkwell Hell. Sometimes that strong, painful energy was used to reprimand him when he didn't do something right or when he failed in his duties, sometimes those screams were his, ignored by those who heard them, some being too busy in their agony to care about his, and others, imps, were used to the sickening sound.

Multiple scars and wounds covered his body covered by his clothes from his lessons. It didn't hurt him, not anymore. He was used to it, been used to it for a long time now. He understood why he was punished. He wasn't doing something right, he failed in his job, he spoke when he wasn't spoken to, he wasn't fast enough, wasn't good enough. He didn't see it as something bad, just something necessary.

He stopped fighting back.

He took his reprimands silently, acceptingly.

Unfortunately even that wasn't good enough for the boss, who lived off of suffering and agony. The tyrant subjected him to more mental punishments when he didn't scream or whimper from physical wounds.

He did much better after that adjustment. He couldn't hold his mental wounds, couldn't feel them because they weren't physical, couldn't rub them with ointment and cover them up with bandages.

They were permanent .

And he hated them.

Hated how they kept him up at night, making dark circles form under his eyes, showing off his fatigue for those who even cared enough to see. Hated how he'd stop breathing at some random point and panic for no reason at all. Hated how he feared his own emotions, so much that he separated himself from them as much as he could.

They were nothing but promises of more pain and agony.

His expressions and voice were now dull, monotone for those around him. For those who even bothered to give him their time, not for simple chatter, but to point and whisper, to tease and laugh and mock at. After all, how odd it was to be a place full of imps and demons, and then have only one out-of-place cup living and working among them.

He hated his co-workers. He didn't have any friends, but he felt he didn't have the time for any anyway.

There was one who was nice to him, a small plump imp called 'Henchman'. Their chats never lasted for long though. And when the Mug was horribly and brutally tortured, the imp never stepped in once but gave him bandages and ointment creams with a happy smile, devoid of any empathy. His kindness and the topic of sympathy were never the same.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway though.

Any bond the mug had with anyone never lasted long. If he bonded with the prisoners, his mind would be plagued with their glares of hatred and betrayal when their time came to be tortured, or when he would torture them himself. He never bonded with the imps, they all thought he was strange and ugly, with the handle on the back of his head, or the fact that he was made out of fragile glass.

He couldn't blame them, he thought he was odd and ugly too.

He never saw any reason not to think so. He was a one-of-a-kind. Not in personality but in what he was.

A mug.

A mug who was devoid of any hope or happiness. A mug who was simply a child in horribly wrong hands. A mug who yearned for any kind of warmth or kindness. A mug who wanted, who craved any kind of care or love. A mug who was so broken that no amount of therapy could help him recover from his mental scars, which run so deep.

He was a mug who was nothing more than a person who needed help and wanted it badly, never thought he deserved it, keeping his mouth shut.

He needed an emotion other than dullness, border, or heart-pounding terror. He couldn't remember any time he truly ever smiled.

He needed a break.

So when a certain man with a die for a head went down to fetch him, and rather rudely I may add, all he found was nothing more than an empty room, the mug long gone.

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

Warmth and joy.

Mugman learned those two things in a certain, but oh-so-special moment in his life. He met someone, someone energetic, someone brash, someone adventurous, but also kind and warm. 

He found his first-ever friend.

He was a cup creature like him, only having red on his nose and clothes and straw. His eyes were big and cocky, but also held a sense of friendliness in their gaze. His voice was loud and scratchy, spewing out whatever nonsense he felt like spilling.

His name was 'Cuphead', and Mugman found joy.

When they first met, he seemed odd to the other cup coming out of the bushes. But strangely, the child seemed to have taken a liking to him in a matter of seconds. He introduced himself and prompted Mugman to do the same. They shook hands, Mugman's handshake being tense and nervous, his hands ice cold to the touch, the cup's being confident and carefree, his hands warm.

Mugman felt warmth for the first time.

They went on adventures together, whenever Mugman would sneak out of Hell. The first time he got caught, he was reprimanded once more, but this didn't deter him.

He finally found someone who liked him, who didn't greet him with a glare or a look of disgust, but a joyful smile and a happy wave.

Mugman felt care.

When he visited Cuphead more and more, they became even closer. Almost like brothers. He eased up around the child and began to unwind. It felt more than nice. He wasn't reprimanded for having opinions, for showing what he felt.

He was called a lovely name: 'Mugsy'. Said with affection and care.

Mugman could almost sob with joy.

Then they met another, and Mugman was filled with euphoria at the implications of having two whole friends, who accepted him and truly liked him.

Mugman finally felt what it's like to be loved for the first time in his life.

He wished and prayed that it wasn't taken away from him. Prayed that the world was finally giving him mercy.

But nothing lasts forever.

He soon learned that the cup was very impulsive, an easy target for scammers or other people who could harm him. The other friend he had, Ms. Chalice, was a con artist, but he didn't have to worry about her harming them.

Mugman felt protectiveness. He wasn't going to let anything hurt his friend or his brother.

He wished he didn't let them see the horrible thing.

The dreadful casino.

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

How did this go so wrong?

How...?

Why, why, why, why...?

It all happened when the cup foolishly believed his boss's promise of riches. They were tricked, he was going to kill him. 

Until the fiend proposed a different idea. Collect all of his runaway debtors and he might spare them. Mugman saw through the lie immediately, but given that hope spot, the cup and chalice agreed desperately. Mugman didn't say anything. As they were rudely kicked out, Mugman practically felt his boss's stare on his back, a stare tainted with nothing but mischief and sadism.

He didn't know why his boss didn't share his secret with the very two he kept it from. Unease spreading throughout his body, he was dragged along by the other two.

It took two days to get the task done, having received potions from the cup's elderly caretaker.

When they defeated the foolish King Dice, they approached the devil without fear. When they refused to hand the contracts over, the devil, that bastard, did something Mugman would never forgive him for.

He revealed everything that Mugman kept hidden.

When they heard about this, shock and disbelief formed on the other children's faces. They at first vehemently denied it, refusing to believe Mugman would be capable of even considering joining the awful dark side. But Mugman confirmed it all.

It was silent.

Then they asked why, heartbreak and betrayal in their gazes, but the mug didn't have an answer. He simply looked down at his shoes.

But the next thing they did surprised him. They accepted the truth. They accepted everything that Mugman kept from them. Said that he was their friend. Said he was their brother.

Mugman felt the sting of tears.

The boss said nothing, frustration was written all over his face. But then something seemed to chime in the being's head because a malicious and devilish smile overtook his features. He simply pointed his trident at Mugman and fired before any of them could stop it.

All Mugman felt was unbearable pain, nothing but agony. He heard the other two call out his name in worry, felt gentle hands on his back, and heard the deity's horrible laughter.

The next thing he knew, he tore through clothes.

He tore through glass and skin.

He heard their pained cries, and felt their hands against his mouth, begging him to stop. To try and remember.

But there wasn't anything Mugman could do but sob, tears dripping down his face, sizzling out on the hot stone floor. He was nothing but a puppet under the Devil's control.

He begged and pleaded and prayed for any chance of gaining control. Of stopping this. But nothing.

The chalice was the first to go. Her face was disfigured along with the rest of her body. Her skull shattered.

Then was the cup, his last cry forever haunting the mug's mind:

"Mugsy no!"

His chest was torn open, his face was littered with cracks, the last of life draining away, and tears streamed down his face. Even in his dying state, the cup's eyes still bore into Mugman, this time being nothing more than hollow empty nothingness, the kindness and warmth forever gone from the world.

When he was done, Mugman could do nothing.

He couldn't even sob anymore. He ran out of tears for once.

All he did was stare in silent disbelief.

The Devil simply laughed and laughed and laughed . He mocked the mug, threatened him, and taunted him about all he had lost.

What the deity didn't expect was the mug suddenly snapping and rabidly tearing into him like a deranged animal. His pitchfork kicked away, and he was too shocked and powerless to do anything else.

This time, the only screams and pleas for mercy, were from the very person who lived off it.

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Mugman felt grief and despair.

The first people to show kindness and warmth to him were now gone. The only things that mattered to him were far away, all the way up there. In the place upstairs.

Where they belong.

They might have been reckless and greedy at times, but that wasn't their main defining trait. Wasn't his main defining trait. 

Brash, stubborn, clever, reckless, cheerful, adventurous, hopeful, relentlessly optimistic, friendly, warm: he wished he could witness those again. Wished he could roll his eyes or scold the cup when he did something stupid again, wish he could tap dance along with Ms. Chalice once more, wish he could feel their loving embrace in a group hug.

Wished he could hear that special, affectionate word once more.

But it was too late. They were gone. He had nobody to cry to. No arms to hold him in a warm embrace.

He was as alone as he began.

Mugman felt rage.

Towards the person, he had locked up tight. The person he went down to give his dose of sadism to. The sadism, he never truly felt satisfied with. He lost all his happiness, now he was simply drained.

Mugman felt hatred.

He blamed himself for it all. If he had done nothing if he had simply continued to watch the world from outside. If he had simply continued to not be a part of the world, things would have turned out so much differently. They would have been alive and happy.

So for their sake, he continued to live. For them. He did the things they wanted to do. Watch the new Dirk Dangerous movie at the theatre, go on as many rides as possible at several amusement parks, eat a stomach-aching pile of sweets, explored Inkwell Isles, and so much more. Such simple, mundane things.

Such special cherishes.

It was oh-so-achingly beautiful.

The Devil's minions feared and hated him, but he didn't care. Couldn't care less. This wasn't for their sake anyways. They weren't as obedient when he first ruled, but when he snuffed out a traitor, that stupid dice, in vile and awful ways, they started to conform to him.

He could practically smell their fear. And he both gagged and relished at the implications it brought.

He kept a distant and aloof demeanor toward his minions. Made sure not to falter or reveal his true feelings of nothingness and emotion-numbing pain.

So when they would hear him sobbing himself to sleep every night, every night, they did their best not to acknowledge or speak about it. It was best for their safety.

When they saw him hitting himself on the head out of frustration and anger, with enough force to form cracks and bruises, they minded their own business. When they heard him mourn over the two children's graves, they turned their gaze.

They didn't see a powerful and respectful leader, they merely saw a broken, emotionally unstable, psychologically exhausted, and mentally fragile child who looked ready to snap at any given time. They did their best not to push him to that point. But they lost sight of whether it was out of pity or fear.

But if they hated it, they couldn't do anything to help themselves, they were only minions after all.

So they did nothing and accepted the new Devil. The new ruler of all hell, broken and already defeated.

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

I am not sorry >:)

Muahahahahahahhaha!!!

NEVERLAND IN AUGUST

I often tell myself I will no longer partake in writing tae fics bc they always turn out excessively angsty and melodramatic, and yet, I find myself here, time and time again.

short version: kth and poor decisions. salty air. beach shore. never meant to be. exchanges that slipped away into moments in time. a secret well kept, and then fallen into oblivion. seashells. skinny dipping. august, except it's not. you, except you are not mine. us, except there is no such thing. you were never mine to keep, or to lose. 

tae's got a neverland complex. doesn't wanna grow up, bc it means leaving behind his freedom, but worst of all, you. or something like that.

proceed, if you are interested in the long version.

wc: 3.7 k

tracklist: 'August' by Taylor Swift

tense and POV: 2nd person and past

You are so easy to fall back into, as though we are molded to fit one another, a lock to its key, and it shouldn't be this easy to self-destruct.

Taehyung slipped away into the night when the crowd had settled and turned its eyes blind; when the topics of conversation had shuffled from his career and marital prospects to rather pettier, popular culture developments.

He averted curious gazes amidst the crowded streets as he meandered aimlessly. Like a compass with a damaged needle, he spun indefinitely, pressed tight between bodies. No sense of direction.

With a flighty gaze, he scoured the surrounding, illuminated buildings for an anchor, a sort of lighthouse, some sort of sign to pierce his attention, slap him hard across the cheek as the ground would if he would only stop falling. If the ground were to catch him and hold him, rather than cave beneath his feet.

Gloomy, dim eyes searched past the silhouettes of the skyscrapers, past the nomadic clouds, which veiled the moon's luminous halo, attempting to make out faint stars freckling the sky.

Not just any stars.

Polaris - a stable point, axis, around which the rest of the world's body falls and rises.

The star he'd chased with his siblings through the playgrounds long ago.

The clouds were too vast and dense, as were the crowds pressing in around him. Suddenly, he felt painfully sympathetic of Polaris's condition; the world seemed to start spinning around him, too; the ground at his feet warping with each unsteady step.

He didn't want to be central, polar. He wanted to be a fuzzy margin, ambiguous, never quite a start, never quite an end. The horizon.

He wanted to be too many things in life, and nothing at all, at once. It was dizzying, to say the least, to be tugged in every direction. To have so many quarreling voices beckoning your attention.

Sometimes he wished he could split himself into a million little versions. Split the burden between them.

He just wanted it to stop. The spinning. The encompassing chatter. The omnipresent stares. All of it.

He dipped into a gas station with a neon sign for a header and pulled the cheapest bottle of red wine from its rack. Rolled it over the counter towards the register clerk along with his upturned ID, only his thumbpad mostly covered his picture and name.

It was a quick swivel, quick enough for the clerk to nod in recognition he was of age; not long enough for them to register the reputation behind the name, the face;

not long enough for a light to flicker in their distant gaze and their mouths to fall slack in awe.

With a lazy grip on the bottle's neck, he swayed and weaved through the saturated streets, often slamming shoulders, until he sank into a dim alley, save for an overhead flickering neon sign, similar to that of the gas station, only just one flicker short of giving out.

He padded his way out to a quieter, sleeping street, and found himself a vacant bench to collapse onto.

It was finally dark, and quiet, and the margins of the world had seemed to settle about him.

There, he conjured up an affair with the shadows until he grew to question whether he'd become one. Whether the star-freckled clouds had encompassed and carried him away, to some distant Neverland. A place that could offer him an eternity to figure out the calls and wants of his heart.

His parents had omitted a truth from him. They'd omitted many through his development, opting for sugar-coating existence, but of all the ones, this one was unforgivable. 

They had never mentioned how it is like the air in your lungs dissipates with each passing year. A blind habit forms: you start holding your breath just to get through a couple of gruesome hours, a shift, the day.

You wait for the afternoon to catch it again, but then the afternoons start growing burdensome in a way uniquely their own. It grows, the weight on your chest, drowns you and kills you slowly. 

In his brief recollection tonight, he supposes they'd been unconvincing in their pretensions. They'd never blatantly admitted this truth but had often insinuated it.  

He should have looked closer, not forsaken the fine details.

He would have noticed the drawn bags lining their eyes, the burst capillaries on the ivory margins.

He would have felt the exasperated sigh leaving their lips while bracing their weight against the counter, just trying to stand another day. 

He could feel that helpless sigh, now. Infact, it had grown to become his. 

A sigh which seeped into the quiet night. 

Quiet, safe for the whir of cars on the highway, a couple of miles back; safe for the chirp of crickets nestled amidst bushes, shrubs.

Quiet, safe for the sudden exclaim of a nearby branch, snapped under unannounced weight. 

Taehyung stiffened and used the bottle that had been resting on his thigh as leverage, in case he'd need to spring upward and dash -though, it would likely be less of a dash, more of a stumble and awkward trot away given his inebriation.

"Boo!" 

He didn't startle, much too inhibited to have reacted within the acceptable timeframe.

Or simply, too unbothered.

Instead, he turned his head with a lazy, drunken gaze and there you were -- his Neverland on Earth, stardust lining your eyes, a shard of magic and dream and impossible possibilities amidst a limiting world.

The stars surely envied you. 

You kicked the air, standing, waiting awkwardly, as if for an invitation from him to sit. You weren't sure if he'd appreciate you intruding on his hideout, even if it was a vacant restaurant patio, with rusted chairs and overgrown ivy.

"They are losing their minds looking for you, you know?" 

"They are?" A smug smile tugged on the corner of his glistening lips. "Let them." He proceeded to lick the gloss away, tasting the bitterness of residual liquor with subtle tones of sweet vanilla and tart cherry. "Are you gonna tattle on me?"

He swung down the leg he'd had outstretched on the bench, opening a space for you. Welcomed your presence. 

Your original reluctance dissipated, formerly pinched shoulders relaxing. 

"I already did," you flaunted, lied, made your way across the patio, crunching over shattered stone. 

As you lowered yourself onto the seat, he gestured the opaque bottle at you, whirling the contents around. 

"If I'm going down..." he started, holding back a hiccup behind puckered lips. For an instant, his face twisted, as if bile had crept up the column of his throat.

He swallowed hard, and quarreled with the nausea wringing his stomach. "I might as well not remember any of it."

You'd feel nauseated, too, leading his life.

Sure, it was glimmery and luxurious, alluring and comfortable by every physical means, with everything imaginable so carefully crafted and tailored. The perfect life.

It was all pretend, shallow. A gilded cage is only ever still a cage, a prison, confinement.

It wasn't him - not the him that you knew. He was a free bird, meant to take flight.

The him that you knew would be up for spontaneous drives to the shore. He'd get lost out of an insistence to avoid using navigation systems. He'd blast every genre of music through the speakers, and somehow recall every lyric, even the ones that were in a foreign tongue. 

The him you knew, would leave his shoes at every corner, flinging them off with irritability, complaining about how sore they made him, managing to turn it into a debacle on how suffocating it is to be trapped.

He'd walk on coarse gravel, all through the city. Come home with the filthiest soles, nothing short of charcoal. He'd defy every norm with the lightest of smiles, come spewing to you about the sights he saw on his adventures, the people he'd met, how he'd played soccer with a couple of kids from the neighborhood, how their mother had served him some jiggae and how it reminded him so much of home.

Then he'd guffaw, shake his head and tell you that it was weird how he could recognize the familiarity of home when he'd never really met it. 

But you were, of course, biased in your belief that the only version of him that existed was the one he showed you. You didn't really - or simply didn't want to - accept that this version could be the manifestation of a persona, a theatrical mask meant to distract something deeper, more fragile, genuine, and lost.

Your accepting company allowed him to be a different version of himself, but it wasn't entirely the truest one.

"Get up." You slapped his thigh and turned the bottle he'd handed over, letting its maroon content pour onto the cement, stain it beyond repair. "I want you to remember tonight." 

He groaned, collapsing his head onto his hands and ruffling his hair into a nest. "I had been enjoying that!" 

"That..." You shifted your gaze to the ground and then back up at him, brows pinched in question. You couldn't possibly be referring to the same thing. "No one could possibly enjoy that. Abominable." You shuddered.

"It was cheap," he justified. 

"You act as if you have no money."

"I don't! It's their money." He thrust both arms into the open air, gesturing to his puppet masters, to the strings sewn into his elbows and wrists.

At all times, he was being watched fall apart at the seams, and was scrutinized. The same life which had been breathed into his infantile lungs, never felt his. Instead, it reminded him of a plotted strategy on a chess board game drawn out for added torture. It wasn't a single, one-time commitment; it was a lifetime of sustaining choices that would remove him further from himself.

"Enough self-pity for one night. Come on." You rose, knees creaking a little. "Let's go." 

"Where to?" He beckoned, still planted on the bench. 

"Somewhere. Anywhere. Nowhere." The offer hung in the air, open to endless possibilities. Potential twinkled in your starry eyes; a million wishes and dreams birthed in a second. 

You smiled, and stardust gathered on your tear line, rained down and dusted his sullen limbs until he was floating, made weightless, trailing after you.

"Neverland."

"What?"

"Let's go to Neverland."

You snickered and it was as if bells chimed, rang, jingled.

"What are you - Have you gone mad?"  Taehyung hissed, dancing his weary gaze across his immediate surroundings. He'd rapidly grown weary, careful of an audience bearing witness to the spectacle you were putting on, in your lacy underwear. Locks of hair danced around your figure in response to a cool oceanic breeze gathering to greet you.

"I am pretty sure this is illegal. Illegal, T."

T, as in Tinker Bell, his personal version of a rose-tinged fairy, with a volatile temper, particularly when things don't follow your script.

Incredulously, Taehyung continued to mumble beneath his breath. The cyclical breath of the sea drowned his protests.

Your bra collapsed onto a mound of sand, forcing his lips mute. Like a fish hauled out of the water, his lips smacked open, shut, then open again, failing to close around the ghost of words he'd thought to say but suddenly drew blank on.

Cheeks burning flushed in that so fae way, you dipped your chin behind the curtain of your hair. 

You shut your eyes for what you were about to do. Mustered the courage to follow through, to not feel vulnerable under his gaze. 

Taehyung's unwavering gaze followed your hands down, before trailing up so fast he saw stars spinning around his field of vision. He felt he'd been thrown into Van Gogh's Starry Night.

Slowly, apprehensively, he let his eyes cascade over your silhouette, which grew smaller in the distance as you raced to the sea, desperate to hide in its embrace. 

Growing envious of it, Taehyung ripped his top off his torso, and stumbled the length of the shore, quarreling with his trousers. 

In his boxers, he stopped close enough for the edge of the tide to graze the tip of his toes. Retracted at the sudden bite of cold. "You are mad, woman." It's no longer a question.

"Look who's talking?" You twirled around, the water caressing your sides, sculpting you with as much love and delicate intent as a historic artist did his marble block. "Isn't this illegal?" 

And something in you fizzled, like the air bubbles frothing against your lips on the crystalline surface. It filled you with confusing pleasure to leave a mark on him. To corrupt him.

You hoped your touch on him - your influence - was permanent enough to outlive all that would proceed. Permanent and deep like etchings on tree barks, or indentations on freshly cemented sidewalks.

The panic in his gaze had long dissipated. It blended into a palette of emotions. All unnamable, indistinguishable, but utterly mesmerizing, nonetheless, much like the colorful horizon behind you. 

Delight. Amusement. Fascination. A twinge of flippant anger. 

You drive me mad, woman.

Orange sherbet. Strawberry pink. Lavender lilacs. 

Mad enough to rouge his own cheeks.

You'd like to stare long enough to acquaint yourself with each and every one of them. To name them all, and find where one starts, and the other ones trails off. 

But the thought of staring, steadily into his gaze makes you restless, short of breath. As if there isn't enough air in the entire atmosphere to satiate your lungs.

You can't name the way he looks at you; it's foreign, but not frightening in its oddity. Still, you can recognize its danger, in that it's not a known way to look at friends.

You reclined your head onto the surface of the water, much as you would against your pillow after a long day. "Oh, it's heavenly, Tae." With your arms outstretched like the limbs of starfishes on the ocean floor, you floated. The salty medium carried the voice of the sea directly into your ears. The sound of your breathing and the beating of your heart amplified.

A bizarre reminder that you were indeed alive.

Splashing and thrashing echoed across the sea, and you instinctively curled in on yourself to find Taehyung visibly grimacing at the cold state of the water.

"Why did I ever think following you was a good idea?"

You beamed, droplets of the salty sea clinging to your lashes, where they refracted the setting sun, and it's like stardust in broad daylight all over again.

"You have to do it all at once. Don't think. Just do," you encouraged, watching as the delicate, thinly defined muscles of his torso flexed and twitched over the surface of the water. 

His gaze was devoid, save for deeply creased brows caught in contemplation. A war with the limits of sensation. He held his arms linked over his chest to preserve heat, or perhaps hide his vulnerability.

Water pooled in the cup of your hand, which you splashed in his direction, aimed right at his handsome frown.

Victory ignited like an ember amidst your eyes. 

He grew to shudder a few arms' length from you. Broad and strong shoulders quivered helplessly.  

"You!" Then, those burnt-honey eyes pierced yours. Glaring. Fixed. 

The cupid-bow lining his upper lip momentously twitched as he repeated himself "You-" His words stumbled over unstable, shallow breaths.

You withdrew into the water's embrace and watched attentively, as the waterline climbed up his finely detailed torso. Outstretched arms grew nearer. Burnt-honey eyes widened in a vengeful craze. Ivory teeth became bared underneath strawberry-red lips. 

A frightened giggle of yours bubbled the water's surface rimming your chin. 

Finally, with an inhale of courage, Taehyung lunged forward, took the blow of the cold front on, and wrapped you in his arms. His weight sunk you beneath the surface. You were a pair of tangled anchors.

Not having stored a breath in your lungs, you squirmed and kicked in his old. His groans were muted by the harrowing echoes of the abyss beneath the sea. 

Strong arms tightened around you and hauled you out. You broke the surface with a desperate gasp, choking for breath between giggles. 

Laughter echoed in his chest, and reverberated through you. It reminded you of the waves and siren songs you grew up believing resided within conch shells as a pig-tailed kid. 

Since having shed your milk teeth and tolerated the gnaw of growing pains that accompanied such loss, you'd given up on childish fables of that kind.

On trips to the shore, there weren't hidden siren songs in the colorful conch shells you held up to your ear. There was only your younger sister cackling beside you, calling you a fool - but only after having tried it for herself first. 

But much as you had convinced yourself siren songs didn't exist inside the shells, you'd also convinced yourself you'd never hear that laugh again. Somber. Baritone. A tad boyish, in the way it would crack unpredictably. So wholly yours. It was a tune you'd looped in your memory from the very first instance you'd heard it.

In that split-second, with his hands fanned over your hip bones, and half-moon eyes tenderly fixed on yours, the fables did not seem so farfetched. New possibilities were solidifying at the tip of your fingers. Your fingers grazed the apples of his cheek. 

The possibilities were whispers in the crest of your ear. 

You'd only needed to get far enough from the bustling commotion of the city to hear them, to realize they'd always been there. 

An abstract somethingness would always exist between you two, just barely palpable.

The champagne had a mildly scorched aroma undermining its light fizz. You grimaced as it burned its way down your throat.

On any given night, you would much prefer a cup of tea to pair with the sacred act of slipping into bed; green, chamomile, on occasion, even aromatic Tulsi. 

But tonight, you weren't trying to sleep, to ease a mild case of insomnia. Sleep would rob you of time both of you knew you didn't have.

After a couple of swigs from the dark bottle, your skin began to buzz. A denseness subtly amounted over you, as though honey were dripped over your body, every move lubricated, viscous.

Your legs were warm, draped over his in a languid, but intimate manner - almost grounding in nature, as if you were his anchor. You tethered him to the present pleasures, kept his mind off the anxious tomorrows. 

His lips were sweet on yours and at times a hint bitter, like something you shouldn't have taken pleasure in tasting. A poison, that grows tolerable the more you ingest, but not any less deadly.

The tolerance being an illusion, an influence of the poison over you, foreshadowing its impending triumph, as you relinquish your willpower. 

That's it. You were dwindling under its influence. Your mind grew heavy, like your limbs, with intoxication. 

It was no longer bitter.

Rather, it became cloying, and you were innately and undeniably insatiable. 

Taehyung hoisted your hips to reposition them over his, desiring your proximity. Possibly as equally intoxicated. The question hung over your heads in the shape of a watchful moon.

Who was the poison? 

The hold on you was rough, but harmless. It was the gentlest rough-grip you have ever been subjected to. You allowed it. 

"I shouldn't do this." Your shallow breath ghosted his swollen lips in torment. 

He nuzzled the distance in desperation, and you obliged, tasting him apprehensively.

Just one peck. 

Then, another. 

And, what if, perhaps you held his lips in place with adoration and reverence. Held them in a warm hug, as if to shield them from the cool breeze blowing in from the sea. 

Would that have been such a crime?

The set of trespassers that tore through your blouse certainly were (criminal). They robbed you of any and every modicum of self-restraint.

You were no longer holding his lips. You had long since graduated to a sculptor, molding them to your will with each measured graze. Simultaneously, you started to circle your hips over his, back and forth, round around. 

"We should stop." Taehyung breathed raggedly into your neck. "Tell me to stop," and it came across as half-plea, half-demand.

You defied him, pulled him close, your breasts flushed against his sturdy chest.

You were definitely the poison.

You were a corrupt, filthy little thing. Loved it when he called you out on it. 

Tonight, he held you like you were something, someone sacred, like you were ceramic at risk of shattering in his hands.

You wrestled his gentle touch, wanting him to defile as he'd done enough times before for it to not be mistaken with error, overwhelming tempation.

You were temptation embodied, but he never once feigned sanctity.

Equally so, if not more, you deeply desired to defile him, to permeate every inch of him until the crime became undeniable. 

Fast, is how it unfolded.

But is there any better way to go?

Live fast, die young, right? Shine so bright you burn out. A phenomenal supernova. Watchers gathered to experience a historic event. 

There certainly wasn't an absolute right or wrong way to go.  But, if there had been, Taehyung was certain that way was fast. To burn like the dozens of stars in the sky, framing the quaint balcony. One moment there, the next gone. 

He knew that his departure approached just as quickly as dawn brightened the horizon. He knew you weren't oblivious to this fact.

Something in him winced at the thought of putting you through it again.

"Tell me to stop."

"Don't stop."

"Tell me to go," he almost begged, groaning as you kissed down the column of his neck. 

"Stay."

He wished he could. 

A ringtone blared across the room, funneling out through the creak between the balcony door and the frame. It said what neither could bring themselves to utter.

Taehyung marched out of the room, half-dressed, delirious but with a direction in mind.

And just like that, the bitter taste returned to overpower your senses.

The whispers in your ears, grew deceiving.

Deceitful little lies. Impossible possibilities.

The possibilities that had grazed your fingertips crumbled into mounds of sand. 

Sand, after all, is only ever withered shells.

so sad yet so beautiful i cried but don’t know whyyyyy

lost in amaranthine. | jjk

+ pairing: jungkook x reader + word count: 9k + genre: vampire-slayer!jk, vampire!reader, lovers to enemies, heavy angst ❝jungkook had been chasing you for centuries, looking for answers and struggling to fulfil the one duty he has as a member of the slayer’s guild - and that is to kill you. but every time he is faced with you and what you’ve become, he’s torn between his duty to mankind, and his duty to his heart…❞

+ warnings: time skips & flashbacks !! probably the angstiest thing i’ve written lmao… featuring blood, death, depression, suicide. loosely inspired by romeo + juliet, and van helsing :) + note: please pay attention to the warnings!! not the fic i originally planned to grace u with this halloween season, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! happy halloween!!

December, 1867

Jungkook watched the city below him, hazy through a cloud of smog and sleet as the snow tried and failed to settle upon the cobbled streets. Eyes sharp, senses sharper, Jungkook maintained a close watch on the citizens of the town in which he had been born, and where he had grown up. A lot had changed throughout the centuries, and he had been privy to it all, observing as the world around him morphed before his very eyes - a gift many a man would dream of. 

The laughter of a small child caught Jungkook’s attention as his eyes snapped towards where the sound had come from, low in the slums in the east of the city where a family walked together hand in hand. The two little girls, dresses damp around the hem as they dragged along the wet, dirty stone, giggled as their father took their hands, rushing towards the row of houses by the workhouses. Something painful twitched inside Jungkook’s chest, and he turned away, glowing amber eyes locked upon the ground below him, waiting patiently, heart galloping steadily in his chest. 

Keep reading

Ghost in the Sheets

❤︎ portgas d ace x reader ❤︎

warning! : this story contains spoilers for episode 483 of one piece! read at your own risk.

warning (two) ! : this is sad. (poetic, but sad. i was going thru it.)

cw: established romantic relationship, kissing, cuddling, angst, loss, grief.

word count: ~700

tagging: @bby-deerling @maddddstuff

Ghost in the Sheets

You find yourself wrapped in Ace's arms, nestled comfortably in bed together. The soft glow of moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle illumination on the room. You feel his warmth beside you, his steady breaths lulling you into a state of contentment.

In the quiet intimacy of the night, you share whispered conversations and tender touches, lost in the simple pleasure of each other's company.

"You know, I could stay like this forever," Ace murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

You smile, snuggling closer to him. "Me too. Just you and me, forever."

As the night deepens, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in your own little sanctuary. You find yourselves tangled in the sheets, playful kisses exchanged between whispered words and soft laughter.

Ace's touch sends shivers down your spine, his fingers tracing patterns along your skin as you revel in the warmth of his embrace. Each moment feels like a stolen treasure, precious and fleeting, as you lose yourselves in the rhythm of each other's hearts.

Giggles and sighs fill the room as you playfully wrestle for dominance of the blankets, the moonlight casting playful shadows across the walls. You feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that in this moment, you are exactly where you belong.

As you both finally settle back into the warmth of the covers, a serene silence envelops the room. With a gentle sigh, Ace caresses your cheek, his eyes filled with an unspoken tenderness that speaks volumes.

"I love you," he whispers.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words wash over you like a warm embrace. "I love you too."

In that moment, time seems to stand still, the world outside fading into insignificance as you bask in the glow of each other's presence. It's a simple declaration, but one that holds the power to move mountains.

With a contented sigh, you nestle closer to Ace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing your own. You know that you are exactly where you belong – in the arms of the person who completes you in ways you never thought possible.

——

As the night wears on, you hold onto the fleeting moments with Ace, cherishing every laugh, every touch, every whispered confession of love. But as the first light of dawn begins to filter through the curtains, a sense of impending loss washes over you.

You feel the dream slipping away, like sand through your fingers, as the warmth of Ace's embrace fades into the cold light of day. Panic grips your heart as you cling desperately to the remnants of the dream, knowing that once the sun fully rises, he'll be gone from your grasp.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you watch the room slowly brighten, the shadows of the night retreating before the relentless march of morning.

As light begins to fill the room, you feel a sense of reluctance stirring within you. Reality beckons, its call growing louder by the second; piercing, unavoidable. It pulls you away from this perfect moment and back to where the harsh world awaits, just beyond the confines of your room.

“Ace,” you murmur anxiously, “The sun’s coming up.”

“Ace?”

——

With a sharp gasp, you bolt upright in bed, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic courses through your veins as you frantically search the empty space beside you, desperate for any sign of Ace.

But the bed remains empty, the sheets cool to the touch, and the room silent except for the sound of your own ragged breaths.

Tears well in your eyes as you cling to the fading remnants, longing for just a few more moments in his embrace. But the harsh reality of his absence refuses to be ignored, leaving you with nothing but a hollow ache in your chest.

Why’d you have to wake up?

author's note: imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry

YOU’RE THE GOOD AND I’M THE BAD

part two

SUM: you always had a tough relationship with your family, favoritism was a big thing and we all know you were the last pick in the cherry field. Katsuki though…you were his favorite thing. Katsuki then has a moment of weakness crack through his strong exterior.

WARNINGS: family issues, thoughts of self doubt, cute katsuki, then shifts to depressed katsuki QUICCCKKK!

femreader! with she/her pronouns!

author’s note at the end of this :3

series masterlist

"I DONT THINK I've ever seen anything like this before.

Keeping her eyes still on the cereal box, Y/N ignored the way her parents were gawking at the flowers that stood all dried up and old in a water bottle near the windows of the kitchen.

"They seem pretty dead to me." She chewed her food throughly, swallowing down slowly as her parents ignored her, keeping their attention on her sister.

"How is it possible for a dead flower to create a new one in a plastic bottle...last night when I brought it out I didn't see anything strange with it but as soon as I was going to throw it out, I noticed the new stems."

Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of annoyance when her sister spoke.

Her sister annoyed her to the core no matter what she did. Maybe it was because she grew up with her older sister getting everything handed to her or maybe just the way she spoke sort of ticked her off. Like an annoying bug you can’t get rid of because you can’t find it so it’s endless buzzing continues in your space, almost in a mocking way.

"It's like new beginnings can happen anywhere, you know? This little rose was so close to dying, but this little new flower will continue its legacy."

"Oh my gosh, how much more cliche can you get? It's a fucking flower, it's natural for it to grow. Stop getting into your little dramatic theories all the time with stuff like this."

Y/N spat, placing her spoon down as she watched the way her sister bit back her remark, because deep down she knew exactly how her parents would react.

Her mother gasped, obviously shocked that her quiet child would speak like that to her poor sweet daughter who said something so beautiful.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

The younger girl held back the urge to roll her eyes as she got up and walked back upstairs to her room.

Y/N was a smart and gentle girl, but the people she lived with made it impossible for her to be truly happy.

She was used to it at this point. She would get lectured over every little thing wether it be wrong or right. Hiding away in her room was what made her feel less insane but they still had something to say about that.

"You never talk with us anymore. You're shutting us out so much, do you not love us anymore? Am I a bad mother to you?"

Every time her mother said that, it resulted in her getting yelled at by her drunk father to stop being such a burden and a bitch to her mother while her sister was busy else where.

When can I finally be happy?

Flopping onto her bed, she snuggled deeper into her sheets as a few tears went down her plump cheeks.

This poor 17 year old girl was truly going through it. Her father was rarely home but when he was, he would always remind her how miserable their lives became ever since she was born.

They were always low on money and could barely afford some things, but while her sister was busy buying things for her own benefit, Y/N was busy trying to meet ends meet, yet she was still the burden of the family.

It wasn't fair how easily her sister gotten their love. They sacrificed so much money just for her sister to throw away the things they've gotten her the next day.

She just wanted to feel like she was appreciated or cared for. Wasn't it her parents' job to support her? Her father's job to protect her from any harm but here he is, hurting her the most before any man ever did.

Didn't her mother have to give her advice on her future and given compassion that she will make it far in life instead of being shamed for being a bit (bigger/smaller) than everyone else around her and that no man would ever love her?

And her sister, wasn't her sister supposed to be her best friend who would be there no matter what? But here she is, getting backstabbed by her own flesh and blood.

Y/N was getting so exhausted. Her life was barely starting, and she was already considering leaving so soon.

Am I too...much of a burden to be loved, even by my own family?

Y/N flinched from a rough knock on her window, making her sit up and fix herself up as she saw who it was.

"Katsuki what the hell are you doing here? If my parents find out you're here..."

"Babe, shut up and let me kiss you."

❁ ❁ ❁

Katsuki groaned as he felt something slam into his stomach which resulted in him staggering back.

"Oh my! I'm so sorry, Mr! Oh wait, mama look!!! It's Mr. Dynamight!"

Katsuki looked down and sighed a bit as he saw a young girl in her tweens looking up at him in awe.

"Can I get your autograph,sir?"

"Kassie what did I say about being disrespectful. I'm so sorry, Dynamight."

He shook his head at the mother and signed the girl's journal.

He felt his heart stop as he saw it was one of (Y/N)’s books, her signature being right next to where the girl wanted katsuki to write.

Katsuki blocked out the people’s voices completely as he felt his chest rise up and down, a single tear leaving his eye which he quickly wiped away.

"Here kid." He passed the beautiful book that he had millions of, hidden away in his office, back to the little girl and quickly fled the scene.

As he walked back to his agency, he continued to feel the heavy ache in his heart.

No matter how much time had passed and the years flew by since the incident, he still heavily mourned for his first love every single time someone mentioned her.

It was stupid he thought. She was famous, he was famous, people asking him about her was bound to happen, or situations like this where he catches a glimpse of her book that wasn’t one that he owned, having to relive that she was taken so soon. She had so much to live for, her story just began.

He found it unfair how she could finish so many incredible stories yet never could finish her own.

He felt so selfish right now. He still couldn't move forward even if he had someone important in his life now and even a child of his own.

He will and always will be hers.

author’s note: well well well…hi. LOL. Sorry I haven’t updated this series in almost a year!! Holy fuck. I’m really sorry you guys, I lost inspo and just felt so lazy to edit this, but she’s here! I swear on my skittles I will get my shit together and update this series. I never realized so many ppl remembered it from my wattpad days?? That’s insane?? Thank you my pookies,I’ll try to update every week but really it just depends on how I’m feeling :3 anyways, enjoy amor mío!

No second chances

Content: Angst, NO HAPPY ENDING

Gist: You were engaged to Spencer Reid until he called it off when he met Maeve, 7 years later your on a serial killers hit list. When the past revisits you and the BAU is standing on your front door, they are shocked to see the life you have constructed for yourself.

It was another regular morning, the same routine you had accustomed yourself to three years ago.

Getting out of your shared bed with your husband who was already at work, you walked over to your son’s room. Your precious Owen was lying in his bed waiting for you to come get him like you did every morning for the past three years.

“My precious!” You exclaim picking Owen up and holding him in your arms as he giggled and hugged your neck.

You got yourself and Owen ready for the day, you had breakfast and now you were getting your tote bag and keys so you could head out the house to pick up some groceries you ordered when there was a loud knock on the front door, causing you to flinch. Turning your head to see Owen sitting on the sofa with his toy car you walk over to the door and open it.

You felt your body run cold, all the warmth your body held had disappeared in a matter of seconds. You had unconsciously stiffened at the sight in-front of you. There on your front porch stood JJ and Spencer. Spencer the man you had loved so dearly for years, the man who had caused you so much happiness yet destroyed your being in the end. Your ex fiancé.

He stared back… his features betraying him, his mouth slightly agape, his eyebrows raised and his eyes… they were sad. It felt like hours standing there, the noise around you muted as you both stood there facing each other 7 years later.

JJ’s voice broke through the heavy silence. “Y/N?” She says voice light and surprised. “JJ, Hi.” You can barely manage to breathe out. “Can we come in Y/N there’s something important we need to speak about.” JJ says softly as she steals a glance at Spencer’s frozen figure. Before you can answer you feel small hands wrap around your calves, looking down to see Owen pressed and wrapped against your legs as he peers up at JJ and Spencer.

If you weren’t looking at Owen you would have seen the way Spencer sucked in air and tensed at the sight of a toddler wrapped around you. “Yes, come in.” You finally say looking back up and opening the door up further so they could walk in. As you turn to walk back inside you pick up Owen placing him on your hip and lead JJ and Spencer to your living room. “So this is little Owen…” JJ says smiling widely at the little boy in your arms who was too afraid to be out of your embrace. You laugh softly, remembering that when Spencer broke up with you JJ was the only one who kept in touch with you almost everyday after and until now. “Owen?” Spencer said in a low confused tone.

You looked up at him seeing his pained eyes. “My son.” You said scanning his face for a reaction. Spencer’s face seemed to be drained of any color, he looked pale and sick. It made your stomach hurt.

JJ seemed to want to punch herself as the next question exited her mouth. “Is your husband home?” She said not daring to look at Spencer.

“No he’s at work, is everything alright?” You ask concerned. “No Y/N… your family is being targeted.” Spencer speaks up before JJ can. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Excuse me what!?” You exclaim.

“Y/N… your husband is a lawyer and in his last case he locked away a convicted serial killer right?” JJ asserts in a questioning way. You nod your head confirming. “Well this serial killer has an unknown apprentice who’s been hurting people in order to find your family’s location. We believe he is planning to murder your family tonight once your husband gets home based off his profile.” JJ says reaching for your hand to give you some sort of comfort.

You felt helpless, confused, and angry.

“W-What are you guys going to do then.” You say looking down and Owen and holding him closer to yourself. “We are going to take you to the base and keep you there until we have found him, we will have decoys here in the house to act and look like your family so the killer can come in thinking it is you and your family at home.” JJ says confidently, believing their plan will work.

“Okay… okay, let me get some stuff.” You say getting up frantically and going into your bedroom to pack your necessities.

“You knew she had a whole family?!” Spencer asks JJ in a low tone, brows furrowed, confused and slightly angry. “Of course I did, we stayed in touch after you…” JJ trailed off looking at Spencer pityingly.

“You didn’t think of telling me?” Spencer says agitated. JJ furrows her brows in confusion “of course not, what business is it of yours Spence, you ended things. You have no right to know if her life is going good or not.” JJ says a little disappointed in Spencer’s self absorption.

You walk back into the room before Spencer can answer back. “I’m ready, but will James meet us at the base?” You ask concerned for your husband’s safety. “I’ve notified Rossi to pick him up, they should be at the base by the time we get there.” JJ assures you and leads you and Owen out into the black SUV.

Once the elevator doors open and you walk through the glass doors you see James talking to Morgan and tapping his foot on the ground like he does when he’s worried. “Daddy!” Owen exclaims loudly catching James attention and his face washes over with relief. “Baby.” James says bringing you into a hug and kisses your temple as he grabs Owen from your arms. Spencer feels like he had gotten stabbed in his gut at the scene before him, seeing you wrapped up in another man’s arms, seeing the product of your love for another man sitting in your husbands hands made him physically sick. He felt nauseous and angry, angry at himself…Angry because the realization that he could have… should’ve been in James position right now next to you and yet he isn’t, and it’s his own fault.

“Thank you for bringing them so quickly.” James says with a sigh of relief as he shakes JJ’s hand and reaches out for Spencer’s however Spencer rejects his hand shake causing James to awkwardly put his hand back and then put it on your waist. Making Spencer wish he had shaken James hand so it wouldn’t be sitting on your waist as it was right now.

Spencer can feel Morgan’s disapproving gaze on him.

“Anything for a friend.” Morgan says as he ruffles Owen’s hair and then Y/N’s which causes you to laugh, and is yet another stab in the gut to Spencer.

“Friend?” James asks looking between you and the FBI agents. You clearly your throat and look at Morgan and JJ for help. “Oh uh we used to hang out at a bar and we all became very close after we met Y/N.” JJ says rushed and trying to find a cover up for the real reason they knew you.

Covering up that you dated Spencer since you both were 22 after you met at a chess table in a park, how’d you got engaged at 25 but Spencer ended your engagement after he began talking to Maeve. He casted you aside and worshiped the floor Maeve walked on until she herself upped up and left him to go back to her ex and left Spencer alone and unhappy, realizing he had lost you for nothing.

This was supposed to be a short story but I just kept yapping, so I’ll probably make a part 2. If this is crappy I’m so sorry this is my first post ever and my first writing ever. Hopefully it isn’t such a disappointment.

Such a beautiful but sad story 😢

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #11.5 SPECIAL

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: Heavy angst and character death. Dead Dove do not eat.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [TBC]

Let’s start from the beginning one last time. 

My name is Miguel O’Hara, and in an experiment gone wrong, my genetic code was partially rewritten with Spider DNA, giving me superpowers.

My home is Earth 928-C where I was the one and only Spiderman... of my home dimension at least.

I invented and built a dimensional travel device that allowed me to jump between universes with the goal of exploring the limits of the multiverse. 

And then I met a woman in this other world who nearly died from a crazy freak accident.

I saved her of course.

Then I saved her again.

And again, and again.

... And again.

We fell in love, and I decided to stay with her in her world.

You know the rest. We got married. We had a life together.

I was happy. Really happy. 

For a while.

[Earth 383-D]

3 YEARS AGO

"Goddamn idiot bird," Miguel mutters under his breath.

Vulture is on the loose again, wreaking havoc on the city. The maniac is flying high above the city grounds, leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake. 

Miguel's been in pursuit for the better half of two hours. In that time, the bird has derailed the High Line, literally hit a traffic light and managed to knock over the spire on the Statue of Liberty as if he was flying under the influence.

Then somehow flew across town through Tribeca, along Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village and now reached all the way to Midtown Manhattan. 

Dumbass ugly stupid bird. 

Miguel digs his claws into the exterior of the limestone and granite of the Empire State Building to steady himself, using the momentum to leap forward.

The Vulture crashes into a skyscraper 50 feet ahead of Miguel, and in the mad dash, he can see a man tumble out of the building head first to the ground from the 30th floor. 

Swinging forward, Miguel slings out a web from his palm, catching the screaming and sobbing office worker in midair and lands briefly against the windowpane. He ensures the man is secured to the building in a cocoon of webbing until the fire department can get him to safer grounds.

Miguel doesn't even get a second to catch his breath. From afar, he can pick up the sound of another window being crashed into by the unwieldy metal bird. 

Crap. 

It's impossible for Miguel to both chase the Vulture and keep everyone else in his path of destruction safe. One superhero can't be in two places at once (none that he has encountered).

Gritting his teeth, Miguel leaps off the building swinging freely into the air to make up on the lost ground between him and the metallic cuckoo bird.

He needs backup, and the backup is unfortunately running late.

Where is he? Why is he always late?

Does that man not understand that when someone calls for backup because of an emergency, the emergency part indicates that there's some urgency to it?

Flying through the air 100 feet above the ground, from the corner of his eyes, Miguel catches the familiar garish red flowing cape that billows from the cowl of the grand cloak and suit. 

Miguel would know that weird wizard get-up anywhere. 

"Strange!" Miguel calls out, and he can feel irritation rattle in his chest. "You're late! Where the shock were you?"

"The word you're looking for is 'fuck.' Where the fuck was I," the man responds with a sarcastic drawl.

Strange levitates through the air, effortlessly without expending any energy at all as he catches up with Miguel. "You gave me no notice. Be happy I showed up at all."

From a distance he sees the dumb bird soar high up into the sky and towards the all too familiar crowned roof of the Chrysler building. 

No. nononono. 

Why is he there? What is he doing there? Anywhere but there. 

His back flashes cold then burning hot as the Vulture makes a straight beeline for the familiar building.

It’s fine. Maybe he’s not going to fly in there. Maybe he’s just going to fly past it.

Miguel watches as the metallic bird soars up and up and up, past the midpoint of the building, past the 40th floor of your office and up to the 50th floor. The tight squeeze in his chest eases.

Then the vulture stops, mid-flight and looks down below, as if he changed his mind, before he descends again. 

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

He dives into one of the windows between the 40th and 50th floor. The sound of broken glass and shrill screams can be heard even from where Miguel is. 

Blood freezes in his veins and nausea overtakes him. Calm down. Breathe.. Maybe you’re not in. After all, Lyla’s security protocols would’ve been activated by now if you were. He would’ve been alerted. 

Soaring through the skies, Miguel reaches over to his wrist to punch in the dial for Lyla to check in and reassure himself you're safe. But his tracker blinks back in an alarming red, and he darts down his head towards the display.  

Error. 

His heart stops. 

The flying silhouette reappears through the shattered windows and the metallic harness strapped onto the vulture gleams bright against the sun.

It’s only then it hits him. Lyla's been deactivated by the madman's stupid Electro-Magnetic Harness. 

Why hadn't he foreseen that as a technical flaw?

Against the reflective glass panes, Miguel sees you, caught in the Vulture talons like a mouse captured by a large predatory bird. Every hair on his neck stands on end. His vision bleeds into red, blood roaring at the sight of it.

Kill him.

Miguel's gonna murder that freak for touching you. Crush his windpipe so he can't ever squawk again, then rip his throat out with his claws and feed it to the street pigeons for good measure.

Launching himself through the air, Miguel tears up the side of the building. The tempered glass beneath his claws and feet, shatters into sharp jagged pieces as he closes the distance. 

He is almost within reach. Only some 30 feet that still separates you from him. Leaping the final distance he slams hard into the side of the Vulture until metal crunches beneath his feet. 

Miguel roars until his throat burns with it. Palms gripping at the man’s jaw and prying it back to get at his bare throat. His fangs are ready to sink into the jugular. He can see the dark pupil of Vulture's eyes dilate with fear. 

Good. Miguel's anger will be the last thing this freak sees.

"Miguel calm down," Strange shouts at him from behind. "You're gonna knock her off."

Miguel freezes at the warning, forcing himself to hold still as he looks down to where you are dangling precariously from the Vulture's claws.

"Be ready," Strange shouts, and Miguel looks to him, not understanding what the hell he means. 

Strange rests his hand over the shiny blue gem hanging around a chain from his neck.

What does he mean by be ready? What is Strange going to do?

"What'd you mea–"

Miguel doesn't have a chance to finish the rest of his sentence. An unnatural force vibrates through him. A pulsating wave that pervades his senses, punching through his lungs and knocks him back. 

In an instance, you're propelled away from Strange and the Vulture, and you are freefalling towards the ground below.

Miguel leaps mid-air, arms outstretched to catch you as you plummet towards the ground below. His fingers clasps around your wrists, your warm skin against his fingertips.

He's got you!

Taking hold of you by the arm, Miguel pulls you into his chest as he wraps one arm securely around your waist.

Immediate relief fills him from the inside out as the adrenaline and the searing anger is already starting to fade now that he knows you're safe.

"You okay, nena?" he asks.

You nod, arms finding purchase around the back of his neck, and squeeze down tight. He swings you both to the safety of a nearby rooftop.

There's barely time for him to touch the surface, he hears the nearby explosion and sees Vulture crash into the concrete wall of the nearest building. 

Strange is levitating nearby, hands making wild gestures, presumably to perform some hocus pocus ritual. There’s a magical glow as strobes of light manifest out of thin air surrounding the Vulture from all sides and wrapping around him in a restraining bind.

Miguel sets you down. You're a little bit wobbly on your feet, and seeing you stumble the way you do has that protective streak spark anew in his chest.

Stupid Strange. He can't just do shit like that. 

What if Miguel hadn't reacted in time? What if you had fallen? 

This is why Miguel hates working with the guy, even if they’re friends. Always on his moral high horse about Miguel being reckless, then he pulls shit like this.

"Everyone alright?" Strange asks as he levitates through the sky to set feet close to you both on the rooftop.

Miguel grits his teeth with annoyance at the man’s casual demeanor when he nearly threw you out of the sky.

"Shock you, Strange," he spits out.

"Miggy..." you sigh in a reprimanding tone next to him. 

Stephen shakes his head at him. "I told you. It's fuck"

"Fuck you, Strange."

Sanctum Sanctorum is closer than home and Strange has, comfortable sofas in his ridiculously big mansion. Big enough sofas that Miguel can actually lounge in them comfortably without it feeling cramped. It's why, given the choice, he always prefer to regroup there, over your tiny apartment.

Besides, while the man's control over his magical powers can be suspect at times, he used to be a doctor. Supposedly one of the leading brain surgeons in the world, and Miguel is a lot more comfortable at the prospect of Strange giving you a checkover to make sure you don't need further medical attention than trying your luck at one of the local ERs.

"Follow my finger," Strange says as he shines a little flashlight into your eyes and moves his index from side to side. 

Your eyes follow him dutifully, and Strange proceeds with the rest of his medical check, asking you the boring standard questions. "Any symptoms of dizziness, lightheadedness, or a sense of vertigo?"

He fires them out in rapid succession, and a bit too perfunctory for Miguel's liking.

"Noticed any changes in your vision, blurriness or double vision, etcetera etcetera?"

Miguel's jaw tic in irritation at how Strange is putting in minimal effort and just going through the motions.

"Yeah, you're fine." Strange pats your knees, then whisks the flashlight away into nothingness with his cape.

That medical check wasn't anything close to thorough. Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Her feet were wobbly before, I wanted to make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

"A little bit overprotective as always aren't we?" Strange says.

Miguel shoots the man a glare and Stephen sighs, "Her reflexes are fine, I don't think anything's sprained."

"Check again, you seemed sloppy," Miguel accuses.

"You know, I'm doing this as a favor because you’re a friend. Do you have any idea how much a medical examination by one of the leading neurological surgeons in the world would cost you normally?"

"I'll have Lyla transfer the money."

“No, it’s not actually about money just–" Stephen shakes his head, then sighs. "Nevermind.”

He gestures for you to drape your leg across his lap, then he reaches over to gently assess your ankle as requested.

"What is this necklace?" You ask. You lean closer to Strange, inspecting the blue gem where it rests against his chest.

Strange swats at your hand, the way an adult scolds a child with sticky chocolate smeared hands trying to touch the fine china.

"It's a protection amulet. When activated it forms a protective barrier that forcibly repels everything within ten feet of you."

"Huh," you reach back for the amulet undaunted by the earlier reprimand, fascinated and clearly enamored by it. "I'll give you fifty bucks for it."

Strange looks offended. "It's not for sale, and if it was it would certainly be worth a lot more than fifty dollars. It's a genuine magical artifact, not fake costume jewelry from the theater department."

You purse your lips, considering the amulet.

"Forty," you offer.

Miguel has to choke back a snorting laughter in his throat at the way Stephen's eyes goes wide in confused outrage.

"Wait, why is the price going down?"

“We’re in the middle of an economic crisis, Stephen,” you counter.  

Strange's head darts over to where Miguel sits, presumably for backup, but he's knocked on the wrong door. The man must be mad if he thinks that there is ever a world where Miguel would side against you.

"Strange, we both know it’s easier if you just give her the amulet." Miguel says. 

The man sighs, shaking his head in defeat.

"Be careful with it," he says as he drags the chain over his head to place it in your awaiting palms. "And don't lose it like the invisibility amulet with Mysterio. Had to spend a whole month clearing up your mess when that creep used it to get into the women's locker rooms at every local gym in Greenwich!"

"That wasn’t my mess! Miggy lost that one during an aerial fight. You can't blame that on me."

"You married him, so you're responsible for him. I consider you two jointly to blame."

"Now you're just lashing out," you shoot back.

Miguel watches the two of you in patient boredom, his head propped up by an elbow on the arm of the sofa. He expended way too much energy during the fight, and now he needs to refuel. 

If Miguel leaves you two to it, you'll spend an eternity bantering, the way you do. His stomach growls. He wants food. Wants wantons and beef ho fun and a dozen custard salted egg buns for dessert. And the longer you two are at it, the longer it's going to take for him to get it.

"Nena," he calls out, "I'm hungry. Are you two done? I want to go for dinner."

You shoot Miguel a quick smile, pulling out your wallet and take out a wad of green bills then fold it into Strange's hand with a happy grin.

Strange looks down at the crumpled up money in his hand. "Wait, you're only giving me thirty? I thought we said forty."

"You still owe me like ten bucks from mini golf last week."

Strange pockets the money with a grumble. "Unbelievable." 

“C’mon,” Miguel says as he stands up and gestures to the both of you with a curt nod of his head towards the door. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for dinner this time,” Miguel says, and that seems to abate Strange’s outrage somewhat as the man grabs your coat from the sofa cushions and offers it to you.

Life on Earth 383-D is strange.

Life here is borderline primitive. The technology is something out of the stone ages.

Social media is a wasteland. Reality TV is a dystopian concept. And he doesn't understand who Kardashian is or why everyone is obsessed with her and her family. 

He does like fax machines though. They are basically teleportation machines and it boggles him that the people of your dimension do not seem to understand its potential.

The one thing he will give this version of earth credit for is that the food here is nice. Everyone in his home dimension is too health conscious, and fried food has long been banned by the government for the long term damage it does to the cardiovascular system. 

He also likes the life that the two of you have built together here. You have a home in that tiny shoebox apartment. You have friends. Strange friends. Like the Doctor who flies around with the help of a magic cape and now practices the mystic arts after a gap year in Asia. A young girl whose main superpower is the ability to communicate with squirrels. Then there’s that ugly red-masked wise-cracking, katana-wielding maniac who never dies.

Sadly, your friends are not the only thing that is strange about your surroundings.

Miguel perches himself on top of the Chrysler building sitting hunched over on the ledge of the roof. He’s drained and bone-tired, chasing down a helicopter that had gone haywire and was hurtling towards your office building. 

Luckily Strange was able to assist and sent it through a magic portal to crash into the Atlantic without putting any lives at stake. 

"Just had to do some cleaning up," Strange says as he sets his boots back down on the ground. 

Miguel doesn't answer him, staring out at the city view and the setting sun as he takes a well earned breather for a moment or two. New York is a bit of a shit hole, but it does look pretty from a high viewpoint, especially when the sun is setting, Miguel has to give this city that.

It's silent between the two of them. Or at least it is until Strange decides to break it with a harkle of his throat. When Miguel doesn't react the man does it again, coughing discreetly in a clear attempt to get his attention.

Miguel doesn't say anything about the man's sore throat. He ran out of the lemon drops you bought him as snacks hours ago, but he does tilt his head up at the man.

"She's been getting into a lot of these incidents lately. More than usual, more than any normal human for it to be a coincidence" Strange says.

The whole of Miguel's back stiffens.

"Have you noticed the abnormal uptick in strange unexplainable supernatural occurrences lately? Indoor tornadoes. The rain of poisonous frogs outside of whole foods. A sinkhole appearing right next to the cafe your wife frequents."

Miguel doesn't love the insinuations. Even with his lips pressed tightly together, Miguel can feel the small muscle in his jaw flex like a nervous tic at the mention of it. Because yeah, he's noticed, kind of hard to miss when your wife's life is in constant peril at all hours of the day.

Ice storms in July that hit right outside your workplace. An inexplicable solar flare causing a blackout that had every single vehicle within a 5 miles radius go haywire in the dark near your apartment. A swarm of mutated mosquitoes with a venomous bite that chased you down Central Park. 

The incidents are occurring more frequently. They are also getting increasingly bizarre and dangerous.

No one can say it’s just bad luck when the daily occurrences around you are defying the very laws of nature itself. Something isn't right with the universe, and he's not sure what else there is to do except pretend that everything is still ok.

"What are you implying?" Miguel asks through gritted teeth. 

But for the first time in the years that Miguel has known him, Strange's talkativeness is nowhere to be found. He doesn't answer Miguel. He's smart that way, the clever bastard. Knows that if he says one wrong word, Miguel is going to unhinge his jaws like a feral alligator and snap at him. 

Strange has said what he needed for Miguel to know exactly what he's getting at. The man just meets his eyes with an intentional stare, not shying away from Miguel's glare.

It's not like the thought hasn't crossed Miguel's mind. Not like it hasn't been keeping him up at night, every night.

Even though you've always been accident prone and suffered from bad luck, at this point it's a mathematical impossibility that anyone would run into as many near death incidents as you have.

This isn't by chance. It's by design. Miguel's suspected as much for a while now. He just doesn't know whose design and why.

"It's not her fault," Miguel spits out.

"I never said it was."

"Even if what you are saying is true..." Miguel stops, and stares down at his fisted palms with a sinking feeling in his guts. "There's nothing she can do about it to stop it. You can't put that on her."

"Whether she knows about it or not, if it's true, none of this is going to go away.

Strange walks over to where Miguel is, sitting down next to him.

"It’s been escalating in severity," he continues. "There are strange universal energies attached to her. There’s warping of the universal order and space around her. We don't know how bad this can get, if we don’t do anything about this, it could unravel the fabric of reality itself."

Despite the calamity of what Strange is implying, his voice is even and calm as he says it as if he might as well be discussing the weather. That trait has always annoyed the shit out of Miguel.

"What are you planning to do if this continues?" Strange asks.

It's such a silly question. Strange says it as if this is a multiple choice question. But for Miguel there's only one correct answer. 

"Protect her. I have to. She's everything to me."

Miguel is staring into the sunset bu all he sees before him is your face even though you aren’t here. The happy smile that he wants to preserve forever. He tries to fight the ache that's building in him at the thought that it would go away.

"Strange, don't tell her. Please. She doesn't need that burden."

He fists his palms into his side.

Miguel never liked asking for help, but even he knows that if what Strange is saying is true. That if the universe for some unfathomable reason wants you dead, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

If Strange has figured it out. Then it's only a matter of time before others do as well.

Soon enough, you won't just have the universe coming after you but every superhero and villain combined in a united front to take out the common threat that you pose to this entire universe.

Even Miguel knows he can't do this alone and as much as that helplessness tastes like failure and bile in his throat, he can swallow his pride if it helps keep you safe.

"Stephen, you have to help me save her."

From behind, Strange rests one hand on the corner of his shoulder. The weight of it feels like a promise being made. For the first time in a long time, Miguel feels like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

"I will do what I can, my friend."

Weeks go by. There are more incidents. Runaway vehicles that go haywire. Electrical storm fires. Rain of poisonous locusts. 

Somehow he manages to protect you from it all. 

It just means that he has to be more vigilant, that's all. The universe doesn't rest and neither does Miguel now. Lyla has been set on constant alert to wake him up whenever he's napping at any small signs of abnormal occurrences happening near you, with an electric shock to make sure he wakes. Something the A.I. is taking a worryingly amount of glee in (which probably means he needs to retune her programming when he has time).

And today, today Miguel was meant to have a Sunday lie in. Universe be willing, his goal was to sleep all the way into the late afternoon and then you had promised to take him to IHOP and get him all the pancakes he could eat for late breakfast.

But right now he's not asleep. He's trying to. But there are hushed words and whispered murmurs, buzzing in his ear that keeps trying to drag him away from sleep.

It's you and Strange.

Judging from the distance of the noises, you're both standing outside in the hall. The fact that you two are trying to be quiet makes it worse. If you'd spoken in normal volume he could tune it out as white noise, but the conspiratorial quietness of it all makes the hair on the back of his neck tingle with alertness.

Fuck's sake. He swears to god if you two are gossiping and making fun of Hercules’ costume (or the lack of it) again.

It's too early for this crap. Don't you two know that people are trying to sleep? He was up all night chasing crazy Kraven worshippers releasing animals from the Brooklyn zoo. Miguel had to gather wild zebras and crocodiles all the way down East Village til 4am.

With a groan, he drags himself halfway up along the mattress, about to go and growl at you both to be quiet, when the cluttered noises register as words and the fuzziness of sleep clears momentarily.

"He'd destroy this world for you."

Huh? What are you two talking about?

Miguel's too groggy to make sense of the context of what's being said. Even with his super hearing he has to focus to make out the words.

"You can't let him."

Irritated, he gets out of bed and walks to the front door to swing it open. The first thing he sees is you standing with Strange in the hallway. You jump at the suddenness and look up at him with wide eyes.

You have the worst poker face of anyone he's ever seen in his life.

"What are you two jabbering on about this damn early?" he asks.

He'd expected the two of you to act coy, maybe a clever 'wouldn't you like to know' retort back from the Mystic. Instead, Strange's face is entirely inscrutable, tone serious as he responds.

"We were just catching up. Nothing important. I need to head back," Strange says, then he turns to you with a meaningful tilt to his head. "Think about what I said."

"What was that about?" Miguel asks you as he watches Strange step through a portal and disappear.

You don't say anything. There's a worried frown etched between your eyebrows as you bite down on your lip.

Something crawls under Miguel's skin at the whole interaction.

You're oddly quiet the whole afternoon. Deep in thought and walking around as if in a daze, which unsettles him.

It's not difficult for him to guess what's wrong. He might have been half asleep when you and Strange were whispering in the corridors, but Miguel can put one and one together. Having two PHDs and a lifetime's experience of working in theoretical physics gives you that leg up.

In a last ditch effort to get you out of the uncharacteristic blues, he orders a dozen of your favorite cupcakes from that tiny shop in New Jersey. It costs an arm and a leg to have it couriered, but it'll be worth it if it makes you smile. 

Then he sits down next to you on the bed and places the pink pastry box down on the mattress. It's your favorite place to eat cakes and it’s why you two always end up with crumbs and frosting all over the sheets.

You happily cram half a cupcake into your mouth in one bite as you eat, and he watches you contently. If there was any fairness in the world, this quiet idyllic moment could last forever. In a good world, Miguel wouldn’t have to burst this perfect bubble. 

Sadly, this world is neither fair nor good sometimes. 

"Strange said something to you right?" Miguel asks. 

You still next to him, clearly torn between whether or not to share what was said to you, probably in secret with the very intention of being kept away from him. 

“Nena,” Miguel tries again, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath, caving into his prodding. 

"Strange thinks that my incidents might be correlated with the strange natural occurrences lately."

That fucking asshole. He knew it. Irritation pings across his jaw, and Miguel bites it down. He tries to reel it, forcing back the rant that wants to surface. Instead he tries to focus on you instead of his own anger. 

"We don't know that. It could just be a series of coincidences," Miguel tells you. 

You nod, but Miguel's not an idiot and neither are you. He can see the worry creasing your eyes as you look down to your lap. 

Putting down the cupcake, he reaches over and links his right hand with yours. 

"Nena, don't worry.” He cups his free hand over your cheek to drag you up to meet his eyes.

“I'll fight the whole universe to keep you safe if I have to. Nothing's ever going to harm you so long as I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You're the most important thing to me."

You smile at him at the words, but there's a wistfulness to it that embeds a dull ache in his chest that he wants to physically rub away to make it stop.

You lean into his touch, until your forehead presses up against his and the physical touch blunts the ache in him for a moment, putting it on pause. 

"You’re the most important to me too," you say.

The sky itself cracks open not long after. 

It doesn’t take the combined forces and intellect of the entire world too long to hone in on you being the root cause. Soon enough every superhero, mutant, villain and alien starts coming after you. Because hero or villain alike, no one truly wants their world to end, not if it’s not on their terms. 

Mysterio tries to kidnap you by the elevator in your apartment building. The Human Torch even tries to burn the whole building down. The Punisher tries to murder you point blank outside your office.

Miguel can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s running on fumes. Day after day, he feels like he’s getting by on borrowed time. 

The friends and allies you have thin out fast as the threats to the world increase in severity. Miguel never imagined having Deadpool standing outside his door stating that the life of one single person cannot outweigh the universe itself. 

It’s all so stupid. None of them know what they’re talking about. A lynching mob with their torches and pitchforks. Never stopping to think whether harming you could trigger something much worse.

If Strange is right and you are the knot at the center of the fabric of reality that is coming apart, then ripping that out leaves a hole. Miguel gave up on explaining that fairly quickly because he realized that theoretical consequences doesn’t matter to an angry mob scared of facing the reality of extinction. 

It all becomes a blur. 

Exhaustion eats into his bones, until he can no longer tell the days apart. No matter how many times he saves you, disaster is always waiting just around the corner. 

And now he’s chasing down the Green Goblin to the top of the Chrysler building from the 61st floor, where the green freak has cornered you to the edge of the rooftop.

Miguel is already out of breath, running away from the coalition of superheroes and villains that are hot on his heels, trying to stop him from saving you. 

Adrenaline beats fast in his veins as he keeps running. Miguel is only able to make out those in pursuit in brief glimpses. The bright blue spandex suit of Reed Richards as his freakishly long elastic limbs stretch towards him. The blocks of metal hurtling towards Miguel, missing by inches and crashes into the side of a building as Magneto’s form hovers nearby. 

He ignores them all, not sparing a glance behind him. He just has to keep moving. It doesn't matter that his muscles scream and burn in exhaustion. Doesn't matter that his head dulls with a heavy ache from lack of sleep. He has to keep going for you. Has to save you.

He's so close, he's almost there.

From the corner of his eyes, he makes out the familiar garish red flowing cape fluttering against the blue sky.

Strange.

Miguel marginally relaxes, at the sight of the sole ally he has left in this universe. He leaps across the rooftop, into the temporary safety of the observatory deck.

His feet doesn't even reach the ground. Something restrains him from behind. Bright lights materialize out of thin air. It wraps around Miguel's limb with the strength of unbreakable manacles, hugging him so tight it restricts the flow of blood to his fingers. Then he’s brought down to his knees. 

Miguel whips his head back and Strange stands there, hands formed in a holding gesture.

“What are you–”

"I'm sorry," Strange says.

Miguel snarls at his restraints, wrenching and twisting in every direction he is able to even with the limited range of motion, but it's to no avail. The harder he struggles the more forceful the restraints seem to close in on him, mirroring his strength.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. I really hoped there was another way but every life in the whole of the universe is at stake, Miguel."

Hot burning anger spears through him, and if he could he would raze it all to the ground with it. This place, this world and this fucking traitor standing there can all fucking burn. Miguel is gonna kill him. He's gonna kill this fucking bastard. He can't believe he trusted him.

“Strange, fucking let me… Stephen!”

He hears your pained shout and snaps his head towards the sound.

Miguel is only ten feet away from you. Ten measly feet from where the Green Goblin is holding you by the ledge of the rooftop. He can still reach you, if he can get free he can still save you. 

Tearing through the magical binds, there’s a bone-cracking sound in his shoulder. Searing pain spreads through his arm. For all his struggles, he doesn't know if he’s even an inch closer towards you. 

He watches you drop from the ledge. 

It's a pin drop moment where everything stops. His heart is no longer beating. 

No. This can't be how it ends.

He's moving forward, even as the sharp restraints digs into his limbs and flesh and burrows in with an excruciating ache. But the pain doesn't matter. All that matters is you.

It claws into him, and digs and tears, until he is sure that his entire limbs are going to be torn off, but he doesn't stop, keeps pulling against the resisting strength that surrounds him, rips against the hindrance embracing every ounce of the pain until finally, the pressure gives.

There's a cacophony of sound that's left behind him as he leaps through the air. He slingshots downwards, cutting through air as he tries to reach you.

Miguel catches your hand and relief fills his chest.

"I got you. I got you," he murmurs. He's not sure if those words are to calm you or himself.

Pulling you up in defiance of the pull of gravity, he tries to haul you up towards him. Your hand squirms in his, and if you keep going you're going to slip out of his grasp.

"Nena, don't move," he shouts in alarm, but you don't stop, twisting in all directions, making it harder for him to get a better grip.

What're you– You're resisting against his strength, why would you...

It hits him with a sickening realization.

You don' want him to save you.

"Stop!" he shouts. “Stop!”

You shake your head, tears filling the corner of your eyes that flow upwards and everything is upside down to him. 

"We’re out of time. You have to let me go,” you say. 

His fingers squeeze down even harder at your words, refusing to hear it. 

“There's still time. There are still other options. I can still save you!” 

Your hand reaches for the amulet pressed against your collarbone. Dread floods every nerve in his body as he sees your fingers squeeze around it.

"No!" He shouts. Screams it so loud it burns in his lungs. But deep down he knows it's not going to make any difference. "Nena, don't!"

The wind whips too loudly against his face. The sound of your heart pounding so painfully hard in his ear that it's deafening and he knows that sound will haunt him forever. 

You're scared.

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying.

But he's heard these words so many times before from your lips that he knows them by heart. 

''I love you.''

An invisible force blasts away at him, it shatters through him through his limbs and torso into the very soft tissue of his stomach and makes his teeth shake. He's propelled upwards, unable to control his movements or defy the gravity that he's learned to navigate after all these years mid-air.

He holds on as hard as he can to your hand, but it doesn't matter. His fingers slip, his grip is lost.

You're falling through the sky.

Miguel doesn't remember much after that.

Somehow he makes it back onto the ground.

Somehow he finds you amongst the cracked dirty concrete. 

Somehow, despite falling from over a 100 feet your body is still intact where it lies lifeless on the ground.

Your bones are broken though. Body limp and soft in his arms in a way that has never felt more wrong to him. His only consolation is that you're still warm in his arms, and he thinks that maybe if he just doesn't let go, if he holds you tightly pressed to him the way he is doing now, it'll remain that way forever.

The sky has cleared above. There are no cracks in the azure blue canvas.

This world is saved. 

His world has ended. 

Dedication & Credits: To @thirstworldproblemss who has been with me on this journey since chapter one without her enthusiasm and her companionship and friendship and listening to my wild ramblings about this story, I would never have set out to write this thing. She gave me so much joy in the process, she also gave me her time and her skills and brainy talent to help me process and brainstorm this into a shape that I was excited to share with you all! You also have her to thank for that devastating last line.

@guruan who has been a constant well of inspiration with her amazing art, her bright sense of humor and her sharing of theories of what's going to happen! You've made writing this story so much fun!

Author's note: Here we go guys, we've officially entered the final arc now. With only three chapters to go! I am so excited to share the remaining puzzle pieces with you all!

Evander after becoming a saint thanks to the death of his brother:

harlow will die and Evander ascend to divinity, good for them 👏

When the zombie apocalypse started, you felt only a sense of sour humor. Like on those nights when you wished you could sleep and never wake up, some cosmic entity heard you, and was taking a kind of sick vengeance.

Your friends laughed and stole liquor out of locked cabinets and took shots in the name of doom.

You went home and turned the tv all the way up and locked every single door twice. It wasn’t enough.

Don’t approach someone if they appear sick, they said. Avoid them and dial 911.

After a week they disabled emergency service lines.

Stay indoors. Only go out when necessary. Keep your distance from one another, they said.

Online, people called it a hoax.

But that footage they showed on the news, people emptied out and filled with some creature that knew only hunger, that snarled and lunged for those around them without hesitation…something in you knew without doubt that it wasn’t fake.

The government gave blinding smiles and sent every army they had. They promised everything would be fine.

Nothing would ever be fine again.

Bullets did nothing. No matter how wounded, those humans that were empty and vicious dragged themself with bloody nails after anything that pumped blood. Those soldiers died and came back, killing their friends and family and comrades.

The government stopped going on tv.

With all your precautions, with every warning you gave your friends who didn’t give a shit anymore, who took this as a sign to give up, with every tip you got from the news, it didn’t save you in the end.

Thousands, millions were dying every day and you…

One week after the start zombie apocalypse, you saw a dog. A pitiful, sick dog that whined at you and gave you mournful eyes, and you froze.

And you stopped.

And you knelt down next to it because you with your fear and your kind heart wanted to be a vet.

Because you, with all of your precaution and all of those warnings forgot everything.

A week and a day after the zombie apocalypse started, you lost control of your own body. You were filled with something so hungry every bone in your body ached.

That’s fine, you thought. I’ll die soon anyways. The people on the news said the host always died. That there wasn’t anything left inside.

Two weeks after the zombie apocalypse starts you realize that the people on the news were wrong.

You start screaming. No one bothers to try and save you.

The creature inside of you has been dragging you across this wretched planet for a month, and you crave death with the same fervor that it craves flesh. The news people, your neighbors, your family, they flee from you.

They cannot hear you begging for them to burn every scrap of you alive.

You wish they would.

Two months after the start of the zombie apocalypse the creature inside of you has run out of things to eat. You are starving. Everything hurts. Your heart is giving out.

At some point, the creature inside you starts to consume your body.

You should be dead by now

It won’t let you die

It eats your vocal cords. Rips them apart with your fingers, tears out your tongue. Peels off your flesh.

The pain consumes every thought until your nerves fry.

You count it as a blessing.

You lose your eyes, your fingers, every piece of you soon after.

You cannot bring yourself to care.

A year after the zombie apocalypse starts, your body gives out. You lie on something that feels like asphalt. The remains of your muscles and tendons and joints and bones twitch as the creature pulls once, twice, again, but you do not move.

You feel it then, as it leaves you lying there. The utter cruelty of it as it leaves you lying on the ground, when it has been the only thing keeping you alive for eleven months.

You have been dying for over a year. You have been dead in your mind for far longer.

You regret every thought you ever had about the zombie apocalypse, about the notion of quick death and reanimation.

You regret the things you didn’t do. The things you did. You can feel your heart, finally, give out.

You wish you could see the sky one more time as you slip into the dark.

But you haven’t had your eyes for a long, long while.

And with one last breath, you die alone on an empty street, with only the uncaring creature that stripped you for parts and murdered you slowly to watch you go.

“We absolutely should not be doing this,” the hero whispered, but there wasn’t any heat to it. The other end of the line rustled as the villain laughed.

“There are a lot of things we shouldn’t be doing. Namely, I shouldn’t commit felonies, you shouldn’t talk to a felon…” their friend trailed off.

This time, the hero was the one who laughed. Outside, a bird began to chirp with the sunrise, and the villain sighed.

“Time distance.”

“Time distance,” the hero agreed, and by god if the miles weren’t a wound in itself.

“You should sleep,” the villain murmured. The hero hummed.

“Probably, yeah.”

Neither of them hung up.

“If I promise to call tomorrow, will you go to bed, please? For me?”

The hero sniffed, eyes heavy as the sun peeked through their blinds.

“Promise?”

“Pinkie.”

The hero slumped backwards. “I won’t hang up though.”

The villain laughed, softly, with an affection the hero didn’t want to think about.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting, once again,” but the hero knew they smiled as they said. The line clicked off.

—————————

“Hey, Sunshine. Committing nefarious acts of kindness and good deeds, I take it?”

“Hey,” the hero was breathless, hand pressed against their side. It came back bloody.

Any humor dropped from the villain’s voice in an instant.

“You’re hurt.”

The hero managed a pathetic laugh, flinching.

“Just a little.”

“It doesn’t sound like a little.”

The hero eyed their wound, swallowing.

“Absolutely just a little.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the kid of a hero, because love, you absolutely suck at lying.”

The hero tried to pretend something didn’t warm in their stomach at the endearment.

“I have…bandages. And antiseptic. And some good old natural dirt to rub into it if all else fails.”

The villain sighed on the other end of the line, and the hero knew they were rubbing their brow. For some reason, despite the pain, it made the hero grin.

“I’m fine,” they promised, and when the villain stayed silent, they said it again. “I’m fine.”

“If you die I’ll be mad at you.”

“Fairly certain that is the wrong sentiment for a villain to have towards a hero—“

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

The hero slapped some tape around the edge of the gauze, blood still dried around the edges.

“Yes.”

The relief was palpable.

“Good. Go to bed.”

“You’ll call again?”

“Promise.”

The hero smiled.

“Pinkie.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

“You wouldn’t happen to have a flamethrower I could borrow, do you?”

The hero blinked, holding the phone away from their face for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be, I just need one,” the villain snorted, and a loud crash sounded in the background.

“What on earth are you doing?” Concern rolled in the hero’s gut. The villain laughed.

“You’re going to want plausible deniability sunshine.”

“Right,” they paused. “But why a flamethrower?”

“It has flames, it throws them, what else could I ask for in an object?”

“I can throw flames.” Even though the villain couldn’t see it, the hero let a spark flicker on their finger tips.

“And again,” the villain’s voice lowered. “What more could I ask for?”

The hero didn’t have a response to that, but the villain somehow, like they always did, knew that.

“Any bruises I should know about?”

“And what would you do about them? You live on the other side of the country,” the hero teased.

“I can steal a fighter jet in less than half an hour.”

The hero blinked at the seriousness in the villain’s tone. They laughed, nervously.

“Please don’t do that.”

The villain sighed. “You ruin my fun.”

“I haven’t arrested you, so I think that should get me brownie points.”

“You live on the other side of the country,” the villain parroted.

“I could get there faster than a fighter jet,” the hero said. The villain snorted again.

“Will you—“

“Call again? Pinkie.”

The hero smiled. “Promise.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

The hero picked up the phone on the third ring, smiling.

“Hey trouble maker, what’s—”

All they got in response was a pained wheeze.

“Villain,” the hero said, gut plummeting. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the villain bit out, breath short. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

The villain gave something that was either a laugh or a sob.

“Mhm.”

“What’s going on,” their voice broke, and the villain fell silent.

“It’s going to be okay,” they murmured. And the hero knew.

Innately, in a painful, wretched way, they knew.

“My dad is there.”

Their dad, the superhero. Their dad, who had forbidden them from ever speaking.

Their dad, who wanted the villain, their villain, dead.

The villain made a quiet noise of ascent.

“I’m coming—”

“You won’t make it.”

The hero stilled.

“How bad is it?” Their hands were shaking. They couldn’t find their suit, why couldn’t they find their suit—

“Too fast for a fighter jet,” the villain tried, voice too light and wet with tears.

The hero slammed a drawer closer, throwing open the door to the basement, searching for something, anything.

“I can be faster,” they grit out, breathless. Their chest hurt.

“Not that fast.”

“Please,” the hero sobbed, and on the other end of the line, the villain did too.

“Don’t do this to me.”

“I don’t want to,” the villain swore. They coughed, and it was a deathly thing.

Something slammed in the background on the end of the line, and the hero’s fingers clenched around the phone.

“What was that?”

The villain let out a pained whine, phone crackling as they shifted away, before their voice came over the speaker again.

“I’ll call again tomorrow.”

The hero’s face was wet.

“Promise?”

The villain let out a small sob, but they still sounded like they were smiling, soft with affection.

“Pinkie.”

The hero didn’t mean to say what came next.

“I love you.”

The villain didn’t even pause, breath hitching. “I love you too.”

The line crackled.

“Sunshine, I need you to do something for me now,” the villain rasped, voice choked with pain and tears and love and fear. “I need you to hang up.”

The hero forgot how to breathe.

“No—”

“Please,” the villain took a sharp breath through their nose, and it sounded painful. “Just this once. I can’t do it this time.”

“Villain,” the hero began, but the villain cut them off as something crashed in the background once more.

It sounded like a building falling.

It sounded like the hero breaking, too.

“Sunshine,” the villain pleaded. “Just once. I’ll-I’ll call you back. I swear.”

They could both taste the lie.

The hero sniffed.

The villain sobbed.

And for the first time, the hero hung up.

The villain never called them back.

WHEN PUSH COMES TO SHOVE

Mat Barzal

I love writing angst and I haven’t done it in so long

“You pick her every time” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air from my frustrations, “it will never be me! Will it? It won’t!”

“Would you just listen?” He asks, reaching for my hand and I pull away again, “fucking listen to me!” He shouts, “it is you, but you act so jealous all the god damn time”

“Me? Jealous? Well of fucking corse!” I groan, pacing around the living room, “you’re surrounded by these women who are obviously better than me and Sarah” her name comes out as a whisper against my breath. Like a word that can’t be spoken. A name that shouldn’t be said.

“Sarah? This is all about Sarah?” He doesn’t treat her name with the same weight I do.

“Yes! You didn’t come home until morning because you were busy with her! Not me. Her! You text her good morning not me! On Roadies and shit I feel like is her you talk to not me” I cry out, thick hot tears fall down my face. He reaches for me and I pull away again.

“What the hell does that even mean?” He asks, “you think I should just date her? Instead of you?”

“The way you act right now Mat? Yeah I think you should” I choke out, I don’t wait for his response

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He asks, he doesn’t block my path but he tries to

“Im going to Nico’s” I respond dryly as I grab my overnight bag and stuff some clothes in quickly.

“You accuse me of cheating and then you go to Nico’s?” He retorts; scoffing a little

“Don’t start with this right now!” I shout out, “at least I haven’t been caught with him this fucking close to my face like we’re kissing!”

He sighs and I drop my ring by the key bowl, “I need to get out”

New Jersey isn’t much of a drive but I end up there in morning. “What’s wrong?” Nico asks as he lets me inside

“Mat. He I think he’s cheating on me and I asked him about it and he kept denying it and then he accused me of cheating on him with you” I hiccup out

“I told you he was an ass” Nico says as I flop onto his couch, “but I don’t know.. why would he go through the trouble of proposing then cheating on you?” He reasons

“I just…” I lay down, “why am I so insecure? Why does it always feel that he picks her?” I ask

“Because he does”

I sigh, and roll onto my back, “I want to keep loving him. I want to always love him. But each time I keep getting hurt”

“Maybe you’re not meant to be”

Another tear sheds, “don’t say that Nico”

“Ok” he sighs softly

I spend the weekend there and the door rings and I really don’t want to answer it, “mat” I whisper

“I’m sorry, don’t let this be the end of us. I fucked up and I’m sorry I cheated”

The words barely register in my brain, “so you did cheat”

“I did”

“Leave”

“Y/n”

“Wait-“

“Get the fuck out right now”

“She told you to leave mat”

“Stay out of this Hischier!”

“Get out of my house Barzal”

Listening to Jessica Law sing aggressively with an accent that she does not have while Jonny Sims aggressively rolls his r’s in the background is therapeutic.

(I’m listening to No Happy Ending by The Mechanisms)

When all of pjo comes out I NEED someone to edit Luke to making the bed by Olivia Rodrigo

PLEASE I NEED TO TO HAPPEN

NOT EVEN JUST THOSE LYRICS

"I'm playing the victim so we'll in my head"

LIKE I GET HIM, HE IS THE VICTIM BUT THAT LYRIC CAN WORK FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S PERSPECTIVE OF HIM

Red

Hey guys this is my first post and its angsty ig, this can be either Harry Potter x Ravenclaw! Reader or James Potter x Ravenclaw! Reader, whoever you’re here for!

Warnings - Angst, Jealousy, Reader has any hair color except red (i’m so sorry if u have red hair it just made the story flow better), and comparing yourself that's all I think if there is anything else please tell me

Pairings - Harry Potter x Ravenclaw! Reader or James Potter x Ravenclaw!  Reader

Key- 

(h/c) = hair color

Red, Red was his favorite color, so you didn’t know why it was a surprise that he picked her over you. She had red hair that cascaded down her shoulders elegantly, she wore her red and gold house colors with pride. In contrast, you had (h/c) hair and wore your blue and black house colors with similar pride. Everyone liked her better, there wasn’t a single person who didn’t want to be friends with her, but you didn’t have the same luck, you made a few enemies in your time in Hogwarts. In the end, he will always love her like you love him.

Standing in the yard, dressed like a kid. The house is white and the lawn is dead. The lawn is dead, the lawn is dead.

Synopsis : timeskip!Kita could only wish things turned out differently, so you and him could sit by the porch, watching the wheat grows together. Although, sometimes, things doesn't last long.

wc : 584

-> timeskip!Kita x reader

-> a loss of reader due to terminal illness, reader in the hospital. kita grieving over reader's death. angst w no happy ending.

A/N : i honestly do not remember who made the divider, but credit to them! Also thanks c.ai, for giving me ideas!!

Gentle hugs and hand-holding while cackling together is something Kita Shinsuke values very much, especially when it comes to you, his lover. Whenever you would get out from the door to the porch just to give him a helping hand, he refuses most of the time. But knowing how stubborn you are, he will let you do your thing, under his instructions, of course.

Besides, Kita Shinsuke loves the smiles and the giggles that you both share while helping him out on his farm, a quiet and peaceful life that he wouldn't trade for anything.

You are his world, forever.

But sometimes things do not go our way, including Kita.

...

Is it your soul laying by his side, or just your body? Long awaiting for you to wake up, to escape from this nightmare. Yet, eventually, you'll wave him goodbye. Either it be a short goodbye or none, but it's better than nothing.

The sounds of your unstable breathing, the coldness of the hospital—or is it just him feeling numb and the way your body doesn't radiate warmth anymore?

If only, maybe once again, you would squeeze his hand when he keeps your cold hand in his. Within the warmth Kita used to give, as you initiated too, was replaced by an emptiness, loneliness, and numbness that he dislikes, hates. At least, give him some pity, would you? On his knees, praying to God to give you some time so he could just see the smile he craved for before replacing it with a lifeless expression of yours.

Kita had known your lifespan was short since the doctor had informed him about it. But can't God put mercy on you? Can't he hear your voice once again? To see your grin, to savor the sweetness of you giving all of your affection towards him.

In addition, it wasn't getting any better, and Kita is aware of that. By your side, he had sat on the chair, leaning against the side of your body—while you kept laying on the hospital bed. The railing of the bed was cold, an unwelcoming coldness, merely to remind Kita that you won't be with him. In the end, you'll be buried, and he could only sit by your grave, hoping things turned out differently.

The pleading, begging, holding you close to him so you will hear him. So you wouldn't leave him, so you would just tease him that you will stay by his side. Yet, your soul wasn't there anymore. It was long gone.

As he quietened down his cries, knowing that it'd be pointless. Because at last, he couldn't do anything expect to accept the grief.

A reminder for him to stop trying, to let you go.

...

Rummaging, or more like cleaning your things out. If you were there, he'd probably tell you to put your things in order, and you'd give him an "I'll do it later, Shin!" expression. Although this time, it's him doing it for you, like always.

Yet, there are no more sounds of whining and telling him not to throw away the old belongings of yours that you find oddly valuable; he never gets why. But he supposes he'll keep it safe and sound, just for you.

Putting your things in a few boxes. Since it would be safer, he wouldn't want to damage them. Hanging a picture of Kita and you together on the table, decorating it with your pictures and his. Dedicated to you, Shinsuke's lover.

Maybe in another universe, Kita wishes to hear your "I love you, Shin!" or perhaps that you'll stick by his side forever, mentally and physically.

And when the rice finally blooms. Usually, you and Kita makes rice cakes together; playful banter and all. But now, Kita supposedly he'll make it alone, in the kitchen that filled with silence.in somewhat way, he wishes you'll come behind his back and maybe cheer him up, like you always do.

Yet, it'll stay as a bittersweet memories.

Making rice cakes alone wasn't fun, especially when the tears shedding from Kita's eyes, as he sobs quietly.

mumbling 'I miss you.' between his sobs.