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saintshigaraki · 3 years

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ONE DAY WE’LL REVEAL THE TRUTH (THAT ONE WILL DIE BEFORE HE GETS THERE)

title: youth by daughter

pairing: dabi x f!reader

words: 1.7k

excerpt: But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?

a/n: dabi my beloved (derogatory). this fic is my love letter to parentheses.

tags: angst, toxic relationships, explicit s*xual content, light choking, dabi is a bastard but he is a needy bastard

in case you’d rather read it on ao3!

MDNI

He’s just outside the door. He hasn’t made a sound, but you know he’s there. You can feel it; in your blood, in your bones, in your marrow.

(You’ve always been able to feel him, monstrous and cruel beneath your skin. An itch. An awful taunting itch. You’ve wanted him out since he first stuck his claws in you and buried himself deep, but he’s near impossible to shake. He won’t leave until he’s hollowed you out, until your flesh is no longer your own, until all that’s left of you is him. Until all that’s there, is what he believes there should be.

He’s a self-important bastard like that.)

When he finally decides to open the door, he does so with a slam. It would’ve made you jump if you hadn’t been so focused on the skyline. Tracing the buildings, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see. They get swallowed up, this deep in the city. Drowned out by light.

(When you were a child, you didn’t quite understand how stars could vanish in the night. Weren’t they the brightest things in the universe? Burning and brilliant, even light years away?

You understand it better now. How mankind has this nasty habit of ruining, of polluting, of blotting out things of wonder and then desperately trying to remake it in our own image.

It’s never as beautiful as what was, but it’s far too late for us to admit defeat now.)

He’s mad, burning up with fury. You can feel the heat of it, cutting straight through the heavy chill of the night air. It’s stifling, your balcony so small that he’s practically breathing down your neck with how close he is. Accompanying his presence, always, is the faint smell of burnt flesh he can never quite mask, no matter the amount of cheap aftershave he tries to drown himself in.

He’d texted you, and you’d ignored him. For a week, you’ve ignored him and if there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s when he gets ignored.

He’s the one that ignores you, it should never be the other way around.

You know that, of course. You know all his little unwritten rules.

(Don’t ignore him is at the top of the list. Except, of course, during those nights when he thinks you’re asleep and he clings to you like a child, his tears burning where they touch your skin. Even his grief, you can’t help but think, is scorching.

On those nights, you’ve found it’s best to stay quiet. He wields his grief like rage and you’d rather not be caught in the crossfire.)

He’s waiting for you to talk, to stumble over your words, make some sort of vague attempt at an apology. It’s what you would usually do after you’ve broken one of his rules.

But you say nothing, content to sit in the too-heavy silence. You’re tired. Of him. Of whatever it is you two have been doing. It’s the same stupid story, the same vicious cycle. A snake cursed to eat its own tail.

He’s using you. He has been for a long while now. If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, he most likely has been since the beginning. And God, it’s exhausting work, being used.

Although, really, you’re not all that much better than he is. In the beginning, you were with him purely because he fascinated you. All his grief laid bare, and so vulnerable. So obvious and painful. Undeniable in its brutality.

(Rage, he’d say, it’s righteous rage, not grief.

But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?)

It didn’t take long for you to realize he’s chasing something. And it took you even less time to realize that whatever he’s after, is probably going to kill him one day.

(You wonder if he knows he’s chasing his own death. You wonder if he’d care at all.

He reminds you of Eve, eating the forbidden fruit. You think she’d take a bite of the apple, again and again and again if ever given the choice, even knowing the consequences. Even with intimate knowledge of the suffering to come. How could she not? How could any of us hold our fate in the palm of our hands and choose not to sink our teeth into it?)

He’s growing impatient beside you, burning up with it. If he touched you, you’re sure he’d melt your flesh straight to the hollow bone.

But you don’t break. Just once, you want him to fall apart first. Just once, you want him desperate.

(He’s always been so good at making you desperate, with a hand around your neck, just tight enough to leave you gasping for air, your back to his chest and his staples drawing blood, as he pounds into you so hard all you could do is dig your nails into his arm.

His lips are right by your ear, you’re mine, he says. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.

And God, with his cock hitting all the right spots in your cunt you’d believe it. You’d believe anything he’d said to you as long he just kept going.

Say it, he hisses, say you’re mine.

You don’t answer him right away, mostly because you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you. You can’t catch your breath enough to form a sound, you can’t get your bearings enough to collect a single thought that isn’t Dabi Dabi Dabi.

Annoyed at your lack of answer, he brings a searing thumb down to your overstimulated clit. You keen, arching, desperately trying to get away from the sensation that at this point is more pain than pleasure.

Say it, he says again, there’s a strange sort of edge to it. Looking back you think it might’ve been desperation. Say it.

When he presses down just a little harder, you finally crack.

Yours, you gasp. I’m yours. Yours. Yours. Yours.

He laughs, so deep in his chest that you feel it in your own.

It echoes in your head for weeks afterward.)

“What,” he grounds out, low and furious, “the fuck.”

It’s not a question.

You turn towards him, at last. Though you can hardly see him, surrounded by shadows. There are glints of his piercings in the polluted light, a gleaming flash as he runs his tongue along with his teeth. But it’s his eyes that you lock on. Bright and a brilliant blue. Glowing and monstrous in the dark.

(You’re reminded, once again, of the stars. Burning and burning and burning.)

With no preamble, you say, “I think I love you.”

The air around you quiets. Like the city itself is holding it’s breath.

It’s not a sweet confession under the moonlight. In the week since you came to the realization, it’s already started to fester, to rot straight through your bones.

It’s a curse more than anything. You love a man whose chasing his own death. You love a ghost. Or, you suppose, a ghost in the making.

Before you can say anything else (though really, what else is there to say) he cuts in sharply, meanly, “No, you don’t.”

You can’t help but tilt your head at that. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say anything. His lips are pulled back, teeth bared, he’s gleaming and sharp, pulled so taught with tension you wonder how he’s even breathing. He reminds you, vividly, of a cornered animal. A scared one. Though he’s trying to mask it with annoyance, with a type of anger that toes the line of fury.

He’s always doing that. Masking his fear with rage. Masking his grief with rage. Hiding any part of himself that might be perceived as weak, as soft, as vulnerable, under the guise of rage.

You can’t imagine that it’s anything less than exhausting.

Though you have to admit, you didn’t expect this response. You didn’t expect fear. You thought he’d be unbearably smug about it. Proud of himself for finally sinking his teeth into your heart. Ready to chew you up and spit you back out. You were ready for him to move on.

You didn’t expect him to deny it.

(He could be right, though you doubt he is.

You wonder what it means to love, you wonder how you’re supposed to love. You wonder if you can only love someone if you’ve seen the cruelest parts of them first.

You suppose if that’s the case, then he might be right.

You’ve never actually been able to force yourself to look up what exactly he’s wanted for. What exactly it is he’s done.

Mostly because you’re afraid that even if you knew every last gory detail, it wouldn’t be enough to make you walk away. And how would you be able to look at yourself in the mirror, after that? Knowing exactly who you let share your bed? who cried scorching hot tears into your shoulder?

Ignorance is bliss, they say. In your case, it could very well be your only hope for salvation.

But, you don’t really think there’s a set way a person is supposed to love. It’s what makes it so terrifying. It’s an unknown. And it’s so hard to not fear the unknown.)

“Dabi-” you start.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he spits out. Eyes flashing, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

You want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, of him trying to tell you what you do and do not feel, but you think he’d turn you to ashes for the slight. His pride has always been so easily shaken.

“Dabi-” you try again.

But he’s two steps ahead of you. He always is.

He’s already turned around, hiding his face from view, opening the door. And you don’t stop him. You don’t see why you should.

You can’t shake him from the path he’s on. You don’t think anyone can, really.

Grief is all he has, it’s all he’s let himself have. It’s fundamental to him now. It’s all he is. And you’re sure he believes whatever he’s chasing is going to fill the hollow void it’s made of him.

It won’t. You’re sure of that, at least, because even if he does succeed, what will he be left with then?

You don’t say any of that to him, because you’re not his fucking therapist. And because you’re not so sure he wouldn’t kill you for it.

It’s anticlimactic, watching him disappear into your darkened apartment.

But all you can think about when you hear the click of the front door closing behind him is how honest his fear was, almost childlike. Remnants of a poor, grief-stricken boy.

What a monster it’s made of him.

a/n part two:

thinking about adrianne kalfopoulou’s ‘grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there.’

i could not tell you why this took me over two weeks to write. i had a lot of fun with it though. dabi my beloved. go to therapy please. also i know dabi can’t cry but....let me have this.

#bnha x reader #dabi x reader #bnha smut #dabi smut #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabi imagine #bnha x you #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #bnha x y/n #bnha imagine #vicwrites #vicwritesbnha #vic.thirsts

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harry-writings · 4 years

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Hurt You Just Before You Go

- The one where Y/n picks a date for her divorce with Harry

Part 1

Masterlist

“You know what we should do?”

It was the third night of their honeymoon and they had just got done with a particularly passionate round of love making — leaving them bare and breathless upon the heart-shaped bed, illuminating in the moon’s wake, burning in their desire.

“Hmm... what, baby?” Harry hummed against the crook of Y/n’s neck — which still smelled like cherry vanilla despite his lips making a home out of it not just thirty minutes prior — pulling her body closer to his because he longed for her even when she was as close as could be.

“When your contract is over and it’s just you and me… we should go somewhere — somewhere far away from everything we’ve ever known, somewhere nobody else knows.”

Just the sound of it made Harry’s heart wither and clench, his bones shiver, his muscles ache with temptation because he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted more than Y/n to consume his life whole — leave behind the life he’d made for himself because none of it meant half as much as she did.

“We could be those people who just up and leave; raise a family, adopt a kitten or two, drink wine on a hammock while the kids are asleep.”

And he was convinced Y/n shared all the same visions he had — all the same hopes and all the same dreams. Because when he pictured his life after his fame faded to nothing but a distant memory, all he saw was her — there was nothing else or nobody else, just her.

But to know he couldn’t have that for another five years made his heart heavy in his chest.

“Don’t tempt me. Please, don’t tempt me.” He begged with his hungry lips — sprawling kisses along her body, anywhere they could touch. “Would do it right this second if I could. Would give everything up to just have you.”

Y/n would kill for it, would sacrifice anything and everything to spend the rest of her life exactly how she was spending it then — the world unturning as she lay helplessly in her husband’s arms.

But it couldn’t always stop for them no matter how badly they wanted it to. Life had to move on, they just hoped they could keep up with it.

“But you’ve got a whole lot of love from a whole lot of people. The world would crumble without you, Harry Styles.”

“Let it.” He asserted without hesitation, his lips against her inner thigh, spreading her open, all for him. “Mine would crumble without you.”

“Our anniversary?”

Y/n can hardly believe the sight in front of her.

She had seen Harry at all his darkest and most vulnerable moments — seen him through all his breakdowns, all his blackouts, all his downfalls — but nothing compares to the broken mess of a man standing at her front door trying desperately to hold himself together.

He’s falling apart at the seams, broken on his feet — his eyes bloodshot and swollen, hair abused, his skin pale and sunken and tearstained — and Y/n has this bloodcurdling feeling swelling in her veins that Harry has completely lost touch with himself.

“You decided to get divorced on our wedding anniversary?”

The words get caught in his throat and knot with each breath he takes, his stomach churning on its own bile because every single part of him is so incurably empty.

Never, in a million years, would he have expected his life to take this sharp of a turn and leave him hanging on the edge without Y/n’s hand to hold. How he’s been breathing and getting through each day is completely beyond himself because he would have never guessed he’d make it that far without her.

But this… this will end him.

Because their wedding anniversary isn’t just another day to make it through, or another plan to make in his already booked-up schedule... it’s the one day Harry looks forward to within his mess of a life — the one day Harry can be unconditionally and unapologetically himself, the one day he feels genuine happiness and fulfillment — because he spends every millisecond of it with Y/n, with nobody’s eyes on them, except for each other’s.

And to lose that would make every other day of his life an absolute living nightmare.

“Baby, please tell me this is some sick joke. You can’t be doing this to me.”

Y/n, now, almost wishes it was, because seeing Harry like this is horrendously unbearable. He is drowning, sinking, falling into the depths of his own hell and she knows she’s the only one that can save him from himself.

But she can’t. No matter how much her hands are shaking and aching to reach out for him, she knows he’s going to find a way to let go again, and she just can’t risk herself for him anymore.

“It’s going to be easier this way.” Y/n whispers beneath the trembling of her frowned lips, because even though she was once so convinced that this was the only way to save themselves from this loss, she’s now having a hard time believing herself.

How is any of this going to be easy?

“If we got divorced any other day, it would —” she chokes out a noise that Harry can only describe to be complete and utter agony, “Harry, it would ruin us. That’s two days, forty-eight full hours of thinking about everything we could have been and everything we’ve lost, and that’s not counting all the time we’ll spend in between thinking about how much we’re going to dread the next date before it even comes.

“We can’t handle that, Harry. Have you seen us? From the second we started dating, the more time we spent with one another — the more time we even thought of one another — made every second apart feel like the end of the world. Imagine feeling that way when we can’t even have each other… it’ll kill us both.”

And despite how badly he wants her to be wrong, deep down, he knows she’s right.

What they have — the feelings they share and the love that’s rooted between them — is unnatural. It runs so deep that it seems to defy all laws of time and space. They become convinced that the world revolves only around each other — that nothing else has a purpose, or a belonging, in their lives.

One look is all it takes for time to falter, for the universe to pause, only for them.

But as years passed by and times started changing, they also became convinced that every problem in their relationship wasn’t a matter of lost feelings or unfaithful love, it was a matter of loving each other too much. So much, that they couldn’t survive on their own.

It was too dangerous and too toxic, but in the most innocent of ways.

“It’ll only kill us if we don’t want it.” Harry croaks out, his tired eyes helpless and vulnerable as they stare into hers, which are just as sad and void as his. “And it is so clear to the both of us that we don’t want this. We can have each other again if you just — please, just let me fight for you.”

He takes a step closer to her, tentatively, because he wouldn’t know how to handle himself if she were to walk away from him again.

“I can’t lose you, baby. I can’t. The second we walk out of that courtroom we — I’ll never be able to see you again, or talk to you again, or touch you. The only thing I’ll have left of you is Topher and I swear to god, every time I look at him it’s going to take everything in me not to run to you, wherever you end up, and I can’t live like that. I can’t fathom the idea of being so fucking far away from you and not having a single clue where you are or what you’re doing — not knowing if you’re safe, if you’re crying, if you need a hand to hold, if you... if you need me… if you hate me.”

It didn’t hit him until now — the possibility of Y/n curing his name and wishing nothing but death upon him, feeling like she’s wasted so much of her life on someone she wished she had ever even met. And that tears him apart from the inside out, his insides twisting and throat pulsing just at the thought of it.

And how could he do anything when all he wants is her?

“All of this started because I couldn’t be your first, and all of this ended because I chose to put you last even though that’s the farthest place you’ll ever be to me. And the thought of you —”

He chokes on his words, his hand reaching up towards his chest to rest upon his hollowed heart, heaving back sobs that are on the verge of crashing over him. And Y/n can’t bear to watch it.

“The thought of not having you, Y/n. I can’t stomach it. It’s just not possible. I can’t.”

He’s not holding anything back, now. He’s falling apart and drowning in the pit of sadness he has yet to escape — his body so desperate for relief it can hardly keep itself up anymore. And the only thing that keeps him from collapsing on the concrete is Y/n’s shaking hand upon his shoulder.

He lets out yet another cry, hunched over, his own hand reaching up to grab ahold of hers. He’d know the feeling of her hand no matter what the circumstances — when she’d surprise him on tour and he’d know it was her hand that touched on his neck before he even heard her voice, or when they were being swarmed by fans and he knew when it was Y/n grabbing his arm and not some random stranger trying to get the best of him.

And how could he find any other pair that could ever come close to holding himself together the way hers does?

Y/n pulls him into her as he weeps his sorrows against her shoulder, hoping that just the hold of her arms are enough to keep him steady… at least for a little while.

But when he lifts his head from her soaked t-shirt to look into her eyes with pure desperation and despair, she knows that it’s not.

“Please baby, let me fix this. Let me be everything you need me to be.. I can do it, all for you. Just, please, let me make it right.”

His breath falters when his eyes make their way to her lips — god, what he’d do to those lips — and his mouth waters at the urge to pull her in and give her everything he has to offer.

She’s right there, so close he can feel her breath on his, and all he has to do is just pull her in until her lips fall right into his —

and they do.

They’re exactly how he remembers them to be — soft and warm, light and sweet — and he whimpers into her mouth, his hands cradling her cheeks as their tongues dance in harmony.

Y/n pulls him backwards and though he is so swooned and out of his damn mind in ecstasy, he follows her movements like a lost puppy because god forbid he pulls himself away from her ever again. He doesn’t even open his eyes because if this is a dream, it’s one he doesn’t want to wake up from.

And what was once so delicate and raw became hot and heavy — their mouths all over each other’s, hands wandering underneath clothes, moans of temptation dripping from their tongues as they make their way to her bedroom.

And they should stop. God, every bit of them should stop but they can’t because how they have shamelessly missed this, and how badly do they want it back.

So they don’t.

2 hours later.

“Where were you thinking?”

Y/n was half asleep as she nested herself against Harry’s naked body — her legs trembling from her previous finish, her red, swollen lips parted around tired breaths, eyes shut around a daydream. She looked beautiful — so beautiful, Harry almost didn’t have the heart to keep her awake any longer.

But he couldn’t help himself… he needed to know before the night took her away from him, because when she fell to her slumber and dreamt of their future together — swinging on a hammock with a bottle of wine, the world fading until all that was left was themselves, surrounded by kids and kittens — he wanted to dream it with her, too.

“Hm?”

Her eyes were still closed, body unmoving, refusing to wake from her slumbered state but also refusing to miss a single word Harry had to say.

“Earlier you said that when my contract is over, we can go somewhere only we know.”

She hummed again, this time, with a warm smile painted on her lips.

It was her favorite thought — really, her one and only thought — and it was the only dream of hers that she ever really, truly believed in. Everything else, to her, was uncertain, but her life Harry was unquestionable and undeniable. They were meant solely for each other.

“Where are we, when you think that?”

She craned her neck against his chest so her lips could peck at his skin, softly, and only once before she rested her head right back to where it laid before.

“Alaska.”

“Alaska?”

Harry pulled slightly away from Y/n with furrowed eyebrows and confused eyes, looking down at her as if to assure himself that he heard her correctly.

He was in disbelief. Not because it was unlike her to think of such peculiar things, but because it really was so far away from everything they had ever known, and one of the only places Harry has yet to see.

How she even thought of it, he’d never understand. But he could never question her dreams or make her feel as though he didn’t want them the same way she did. He only wanted what she wanted.

And as he looked down at her, with her eyes still closed and face still soft, her lips turning upwards, he knew how much it meant to her.

“We don’t have to.” Y/n slurred sheepishly. “Just a thought.”

“No, baby. No, of course I want it, it’s just —” he tucked her in closer to his chest again, afraid he just ruined everything she had been looking forward to. “I’d freeze my balls off, love. We wouldn’t be able to make any babies.”

She giggled, shaking her head softly.

“It’s not cold all the time, y’know. And I don’t know… I just fell in love with the idea of us living without any neighbors or any distractions. We could be by the water, have a view of the mountains, have enough land for our kids to wander off and play. And even if it’s not what we imagined it to be… we don’t need anything outside of us. It’ll still be the happiest we’ve ever been because it’ll be you and me. Just you and me.”

And as she spoke the thoughts that have been floating in her pretty little head, Harry closed his eyes and saw it, too — clear as day, as if his mind had met halfway with hers and went to a universe that was only made for them.

It was then, he knew, that that’s where they belonged.

It shouldn’t feel this way — this ghostly and empty, like being trapped in a room haunted by everything that once was.

Y/n shouldn’t be looking at Harry beside her, naked, with a clench of regret straining in her heart, but that’s the only thing she feels.

Why? She curses herself. Why does he have to make me so weak? Why does he keep doing this to me?

She shouldn’t be loving him like this — like she’d cut herself open just to please him, like she’d ruin herself just to make him feel better — but she is, just as hard and selflessly as before. And the sad part is… she’s never stopped loving him this way, she wouldn’t even know how to.

“You should go home, Harry.” Y/n speaks through the words she feels so heartbroken to say, because she shouldn’t even be saying them at all. “I don’t want to keep you from your day.”

And Harry feels it all again.

The twist in his stomach, the pulsing of his throat, the hallowing of his heart — all surfacing once again even though he thought it was safe to bury away.

“You’re kicking me out?”

He whispers it with a crack in his voice and Y/n wants to take back everything she’s done — letting him beg for her love back, letting him cry on her, letting him love on her. Because now look at where they’ve ended up — naked and broken on a bed that didn’t belong to them, wishing reality could let them stay, hoping this wasn’t goodbye.

But it is. It is goodbye and the last time they could ever be this close again.

“Yeah, Harry. I’m kicking you out.”

She doesn’t want to sound so heartless and cruel but she’s been left with no other choice, she has to walk away from this on her own without finding her way back to him. And she’s learned by now that she’s too damn weak when it comes to his pain — she’d give into him if she were to break.

“This wasn’t my way of coming back to you.”

But, oh, how Harry thought it was.

Sex was never just sex to Y/n — it wasn’t just sex to either of them — especially when it happened with each other. Sure, it got messy, and sloppy, and rough on most nights, but neither of them would have enjoyed it nearly as much if they weren’t so in love.

So why would this time be any different? Why is it that now, so suddenly, it was her way of seeking revenge?

A fresh new wave of tears flood to his eyes, scrunching his face because he refuses to do this again — let her witness another cry, have her bring him to his knees, allow her to watch him break his own bones. The more he does it, the more power he gives her to treat him like this — like a one-night stand unworthy of her days, like a fuck she can only give when it’s convenient for her.

These past two hours have been a whirlwind of emotions for him, yet somehow, they were all too hopeful — thoughts of spending the night together, making love past dawn, playing hide and seek beneath the covers.

And here she is, throwing words around that crush all the rest of his hopes and dreams.

He hits his hand against the mattress, betrayal and deceit coursing so ruthlessly through his veins he feels his skin burn with each beat of his heart — leaving him damned in their nakedness.

“So, what?! You decided to screw me just to even the score?! Get me all over you just to push me away?!”

Y/n flinches from where she lays, her eyes still empty and sunken as she watches Harry hurl himself from her bed and as far away from her as possible. He had hardly ever raised his voice at her, even when she was most deserving of it, and it leaves her gutted and bruised in her wake.

“It’s not like that.” She whispers, though she knows it doesn’t really matter if she says it at all — he’s never going to let this go. “You were so hurt and I couldn’t —” she flutters her eyes shut, “I can’t control myself around you.”

He shakes his head and spits out a laugh so dark it sends a shiver down her spine, his eyes looking anywhere but at her, stepping into the leg of his pants like he couldn’t have been covered fast enough.

He’s angry, so angry and so hurt his hands and legs are numb and the backs of his eyes are stained red, and he’s at a loss of what to do. He’s done everything to deserve feeling this way yet something inside of him is bursting at the seams, desperate to extinguish it.

“So you decide to hurt me more?”

His chest aches and shivers, eyes shut and weep, now wondering if this dream is now a nightmare he’s going to be stuck in for the rest of his life.

And Y/n’s eyes fall to his empty side of the bed, wondering how she’s going to sleep here at night — wondering how she’s going to possibly live through this — after she had just done what she did.

“It wasn’t right, I know that, but I swear it —”

“No, it wasn’t right!” Harry fights back, though it’ll only risk losing her more. “I’m not perfect in this marriage but never once have I used you just to give you a taste of your own medicine! I don’t get you all weak and vulnerable just to spit it in your face later!”

He’s right, he hasn’t, but what an unfair statement to throw at the mess he’s already made of her.

He’s done worse — so much worse — such unspeakable and disloyal things that have left her alone to rot, decompose right in his own two hands until she perished in his ruin, and never once had he gone back on his mistakes. He just left her there, hopeless and afraid.

And she wants to scream it at him — wants to give it all right back to him, make him feel so small for what he’s done, break him down over, and over, and over again just to make him see that her moment of weakness was nothing compared to his moments of truth.

But she’s so much better than that.

“You think you don’t use me?” She breathes out in disbelief, sitting up upon the mattress now, holding the blanket up to her bare chest. “You use me every day. You’ve been using me as an option for the past year because you can’t handle doing your shit on your own!”

He’s still now, letting her words soak and seep into him as she picks and pries at his biggest weaknesses. And he is left defenseless.

“You don’t want this divorce because the second we sign our names on that contract, you’ll be alone just like you were before we met! And you’re going to be terrified looking for somebody else to replace this because nobody has been able to convince you that they love you for you and not for your money, except for me.”

God, why does she have to know him so well? Because even though that wasn’t even close to being the reason as to why Harry refused to pick a date, it was one of his greatest fears.

“So you just keep finding your way back to me because I’m the only love you’ve ever known, and if you lose it, you’re not going to know where to find it again.”

He can’t find it again and he won’t find it again, he knows it’s true. Everything in his life had led him to her, which is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

His world begins and ends with her, rises and falls next to her and there isn’t anybody else that could offer him that much. He doesn’t have to go looking to know that.

“I can only find it in you, you know that.” Harry whimpers out, fingers shaking as he places his hand on the corner of the bed, still reaching for her even in their worst moments. “But you’ve proven to me time and time again that you can throw it all away so easily, like it's meant nothing to you.”

His fingers fist at the duvet, praying for something to save him now.

“So open to dating other guys and make me watch you as you do it, so ready to fuck me just to kick me out at my lowest. And I am so low, Y/n, the lowest I have ever been, but you’ve stooped even lower.”

And he really can’t believe he’s doing this — walking away when he just gave her all the love he could give, saying goodbye when they were just saying how much they loved and missed each other not just two hours ago — but this is what she wants. This is the version of himself she’s created.

And he should really curse her for it, scream and cry and kick and yell, dig her six feet under for messing with him like this. But he’s too betrayed and in too much pain to do anything but run away and find a place for himself to be torn limb from limb until he’s a pile of waste that can no longer be found.

He lets one last sob rip out of him before he looks at her one last time, knowing this is it.

“I’ll see you in fifteen days.”

They should be by the ocean, watching the sunrise from their hotel balcony with a morning drink strong enough to take them both under while they cheers to the three years they’ve lived so happily together as husband and wife.

Topher should be asleep in his grandparents’ bed, getting lost in lullabies, dreaming of his parents’ return. And they should be dancing after breakfast in bed, laughing at the memories that haven’t let them go, singing the songs he wrote just for her.

They shouldn’t be here — sitting in a courtroom drowning in tears they are so worthless at holding back, listening to strangers discuss all the logistics and terms of a broken marriage they know nothing about.

How they have ended up somewhere so dark and deadly is beyond them. This is so unlike them — to willingly sign their names to be free of one another, to allow themselves to move onto other people who weren’t meant for them, to leave behind the life they’ve made for themselves — but this isn’t a matter of whether they want to anymore.

There has been so much damage done to the both of them that staying in this marriage, at this point, would just be cruel and spiteful and selfish. No matter how many sleepless nights they spend craving each other’s hold, wanting to climb out of their own beds and into the one they once shared so nobly, they have to let it all go.

And neither of them can breathe or bear to listen to these lawyers go on and on about what happens now — what will happen when they walk out of the courtroom, how their lives are going to be split, how they’re going to have to take turns spending time with the son they should be raising together as a family.

They don’t care about their lives after this moment in time because it will no longer be lived alongside one another, and that ensured a lifetime of misery for the both of them.

And they can’t even find the heart to look at each other. One look and who knows what decisions they’d make in their fragility. Who knows how far their love could take them to do such nonsense, such childish things.

One look and it’s over for the both of them.

“Mrs. Styles,” Y/n flinches at the name he so pathetically decided to refer to her as. “Your husband has left you with everything. This would mean that custody of Topher, the money, your home in both London and Alaska would be fully held in your possession.”

And suddenly, the room that was once so still and so lifeless begins to spin before her very eyes. The world is spiraling out of her control and her body is in so much shock, the only thing she can manage to do is grip at the edge of the table so tight, her fingers and knuckles turn white.

“Can you repeat that?”

Her eyes are wet, wide, and unblinking as she looks back up at Harry’s lawyer she hasn’t even bothered remembering the name to.

“That last bit. I need you to repeat it for me.”

He coughs awkwardly, his eyes drifting between Harry and Y/n before they finally settle back down to his paper. “Yes, ma’am. Uh, in your possession would be full custody of Topher, the seventeen million euros under Mr. Styles’ name, and your home in both London and Alaska.”

Alaska.

The word strikes her so deep and so unexpectedly, her breath halts in her chest and every muscle in her body buckles against each other.

And how could one word have so much power over her? How could one word make her feel a million different things all at once — leaving her so confused yet so hopeful, so heartbroken yet so fulfilled?

“Our home in Alaska?”

Her eyes are no longer trained on the man who just spoke that very word to her — no, they are now looking directly at the man who seems even more beaten and broken than the last time she saw him, the same man who shared all her wildest dreams.

And though she barely had any composure as it was, the parts of herself that were patched together with needle and thread are rupturing and bleeding out. And Harry has to so helplessly watch as the love of his life starts to crack and shatter at his feet.

“You didn’t, Harry! No you fucking didn’t!”

She punches at the table before holding her head in her hands, sobbing and choking and wailing in her palms. She can’t even imagine how pathetic she looks to lawyers around her but she doesn’t find it in herself to care.

They’ll never understand what that house in Alaska truly means to her, what it’s gotten her through and how much it’s kept her fighting through it all. They don’t know that living in that house with Harry — spending her days and her nights there, by his side until her dying day there — was her one and only dream.

And she had no idea it could have been her reality, until now.

“Of course I did, Y/n.” Harry whispers, his wrists wiping harshly at his red and swollen eyes. “I bought it that night.”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Y/n pleads under her hysterics.

“Twenty acres, right by the water, across from the mountains, just like you talked about.”

Her cries only get stronger as she thinks about it all over again. And normally when she thought of it, it warmed her heart and filled her bones up with so much anticipation and impatience she could hardly contain herself.

But now, when she thinks of it, it leaves her cold and empty because it was right there — it was theirs and it was going to happen and they could be there right now and it’s all too much for her to handle.

She’s practically screaming between her hiccups and mewls now, really trying to breathe through the clenching in her chest and the quivering in her lungs but she can’t. And she is so lightheaded she swears she’s going to pass out right then and there, especially now that she’s sobbing so hard her throat pulses around a cry she can’t breathe it out.

And she’s going to die, she’s absolutely sure of it. Her entire body is flushed and shaking and her face is nearly blue — her lungs are collapsing and her heart is failing and she’s crashing out without warning.

And the sight alone brings Harry to his knees, hunched over the floor as he nearly hurls up the bile rumbling in his stomach.

He did this to her — did this to them. He is the only one to blame and that’s what devours him the most.

They could be at that Alaskan house right now, on that stupid fucking hammock drinking wine and making out like two lovestruck teenagers still learning how to be the best versions of themselves for each other. And they could be so drunk they fall to grass below them, dazed in their fits of laughter, falling in love all over again.

But instead they have fallen to the ground in a courtroom so willing to burn them out, wrecked and broken in each other’s arms, trying to remember what it feels like to have a heartbeat.

And all that remains are the two piles of divorce papers that they still have yet to sign.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles preference #harry styles preferences

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inkformyblood · 3 years

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we should have a land of joy

Day 02: AU (Modern Setting & Farm/Ranch)

Obi-Wan arrives at his grandfather's old farm, half-lost in grief and with his two new wards, unsure of what he is going to do. Luckily, his strangely familiar neighbour has a plan and offers to help, which Obi-Wan accepts.

Pairing: Codywan, Obi-Wan & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Cody Fett & Boba Fett

@codywanweek

Obi-Wan hefted the cardboard box up further in his slipping grip, wincing at the ominous rattle from inside. The edge pressed into his stomach for a moment before he shifted it to rest against the jut of his hip. His arms ached, muscles he had forgotten about since his university days protesting at the sudden exertion, but he ignored them, staggering forward the last few steps to set it down amongst the others.

Pressing his hand against the small of his back, Obi-Wan leant backwards with a groan, hearing the bones shift and pop. His gaze landed on a spiderweb strung high in the corner of the room, illuminated by the weak sunlight that managed to break through the thin film of grime on the windows.

This wasn’t the house he remembered from his childhood, the memories worn and fragmented, but it was his now. His heart shuddered as the now-familiar wave of grief crashed over him, tears biting at the corners of his eyes and a scream bubbling up his throat. It was all he could do to let the feeling wash over him, turning to look around the room through the film of tears rather than let himself drown.

The farmhouse was in better condition than he had expected, given how long it had been since any had lived there. Echoes of his grandfather’s presence were clear from the dusty row of wine bottles tucked into one of the kitchen cupboards to the well-preserved furniture, all made from the same stained wood and protected from the dust by large sheets. All of the sheets contained the same motif — a long thin arrow with a barbed tail picked out in a vibrant orange — and something about it scratched at the edge of Obi-Wan’s memory.

Whenever he tried to remember more, the only thing that rose to the surface was the sensation of walking through a cornfield, a hand clasped in his as a boy walked in time with him and he knew that he never wanted to let go.

Footsteps echoed from the floor above, snatches of laughter and Obi-Wan tipped his head back to track their progress. Anakin and Ahsoka had disappeared up the folded down stairs nearly twenty minutes ago, just enough time for their curiosity about the house to be satiated and their attention to turn to the overgrown field in front and the buildings that lay beyond.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s steps were deliberate, a pause between each one as he waited for Ahsoka to step down. They made a strange picture with Anakin towering over the vibrantly dressed Ahsoka as they climbed backwards down the ladder. “Can we go outside?”

“Outside!” Ahsoka echoed, pausing in her climb to clap. She wavered on the final step and Obi-Wan managed to take half a step towards her, panic sparking through his chest, but she steadied herself, hands pressed against the pale wood of the ladder as she took the final step down. “We’re gonna find sheep!”

Obi-Wan bit his tongue from the reflexive denial that bubbled up, trying to keep the toddler’s hopes from being crushed. While Anakin had had the luxury of headphones, he had participated in countless renditions of Old McDonald on the drive down until the melody felt like it was boring a hole in his skull.

“Make sure you stay together.”

Ahsoka clapped her hands together once more and wrapped her arms around Anakin’s waist before she untangled herself to throw herself at Obi-Wan. She was warm and slightly sticky, the clean floral scent of her favourite perfume clinging to her braids as if she had dipped them in it. “Love you, Obi! Gonna find the sheep for you.”

Obi-Wan forced a smile, lightly bumping her nose with his before he set back on her feet. Anakin waved to him, rocking on his feet and Obi-Wan’s smile shifted into something genuine at the boy’s attempt to seem so grownup.

“Be good,” he warned before forcing his voice to be softer, lighter as he caught the flicker of hurt on Anakin’s face, his bottom lip beginning to jut out. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Anakin muttered, scuffing his shoe along the pale wood and Obi-Wan’s grin widened, recollection burning through him of standing in the same spot, the world too large around him and yet confident of his place in it.

He turned away, bowing his head to pick at the peeling tape at the edge of the cardboard box. It came away slowly, the rasp setting his teeth on edge as it clung to his hands. As he pried it open, he stepped back, surprise passing through him like a lightning bolt.

Qui-Gon’s face, his mouth curled into the same serene smile Obi-Wan could remember so clearly, stared back at him. He had forgotten the way his shoulders had stooped, every edge rounded, yet it didn’t distract from the spark of mischief in his eye. The remembered scent of honeysuckle filled his lungs, warm and spiced like the tea they had been drinking. It had been taken shortly before Obi-Wan had signed the paperwork to be named as Anakin and Ahsoka’s emergency guardian by a student photographer, and he ran his finger along the frame, removing the scraps of paper that had clung to it during the move.

Turning, he glanced around the room, finally settling on the engraved mantlepiece above the blackened fireplace and placed the photo there, adjusting it slightly so the sun wouldn’t reflect across the glass and age it.

“We’re back here again,” Obi-Wan murmured. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly and forcing his heart rate to settle. The future lay before him, uncertain and fragile, and he had never been so terrified in his life. “I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me that everything would be okay in that infuriatingly cryptic way.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until muted shapes burst like lightning and the rising tide of grief subsided. “I’d just like a sign I haven’t thrown everything away.”

A crash and screams from outside answered his call, and Obi-Wan was running, fear spiking through him. A distant part of him knew if they both screaming, they were both still alive, still breathing, but the noise only reminded him of the shriek of the hospital monitor—

“What is going on here?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him, and three children exploded into incoherent yells, their hands waving in the air. Anakin and Ahsoka stood along one side of the small storage shed, and a young boy who looked to be a similar age to Anakin stood along the other, a small toolbox clutched in one white-knuckled hand.

“Anakin, Ahsoka, enough.”

Anakin’s jaw snapped closed, but his face transformed into a murderous scowl, his brow furrowed and his arms folded across his chest.

Obi-Wan turned to the boy, taking in the defiant jut of his chin and the way his gaze wandered back to Ahsoka, the girl half-hidden behind Anakin’s leg. He couldn’t say why, but he had a feeling that the boy was the youngest in his family.

“What’s your name?”

“Boba,” the boy started before a clear whistle cut through the air, his head snapping up and peering into the field just visible behind Obi-Wan. “And that’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and Boba took the opening, darting past Obi-Wan with ease, his toolbox skimming past the taller man’s knees.

“Obi-Wan! Why did you let him go?” Anakin’s voice rose and cracked, and Obi-Wan blindly reached out for the boy as he watched Boba disappear into the weeds. He could feel the heat radiating from Anakin’s flushed cheeks, carding his hand through his dark hair and tugging apart a knot he found there.

“I believe—“ Obi-Wan tipped his head back, frowning against the glare of the sun as he watched someone push their way through the weeds. “I believe we’re about to meet our neighbours.”

The man who stepped into view was nothing short of beautiful. His face was mostly cast in shadow due to the leather cowboy he wore, but Obi-Wan could make out the edge of a smile, aiming for reproachful but fighting against amusement. He moved with ease, a relaxed confidence in his step, and Obi-Wan found himself moving closer like a moth drawn to a flame. His clothes were worn-in — a dark blue checkered shirt and grey jeans — and clung to the broad curve of his shoulders and bared the hollow of his throat.

“I’d wanted to welcome you to the village properly.” The man paused to laugh, a rumbling chuckle that sounded as sweet as honey. He tipped his head back to look at Obi-Wan properly revealing dark brown eyes and the pale curved scar on his left temple. He was studying Obi-Wan just as intently as he was, his gaze passing over the frayed edges of his jumper, the mud splattered on his neatly pressed trousers and Obi-Wan shifted beneath the pressure of it.

It wasn’t the same as the sterile meetings he was used to — cold impersonal nods from across a room, a growing sense of recognition at a stranger’s face — this was something new and terrifying and exhilarating.

“I’m Cody Fett. I believe you’ve met Boba.”

He held out his hand, and Obi-Wan took it, feeling the roughness of his calluses and the calm strength behind it. This close, he could see flecks of gold in Cody’s eyes, like scattered straw.

“Obi-Wan.” Cody’s eyes widened a fraction, new understanding dawning on his face. “And that is—“ Obi-Wan turned, waving his hand towards Anakin and Ahsoka, still huddled in the doorway, their eyes wide, “Anakin and Ahsoka.”

He turned back to see that Cody’s gaze had never strayed from his face, an unreadable emotion flickering past before it was tucked behind warm friendliness.

“Dooku would have been your grandfather?” Cody waited for Obi-Wan to nod before he continued. “He had an agreement with my father about us looking after the place while he wasn’t here. Just so you there’s no wires getting crossed with us being here.” His grin widened, but there was steel in his words and Boba pressed into his legs, one hand stretched up to tug on the edge of his shirt.

Without looking, Cody smoothed his free hand over Boba’s head in a motion so familiar it sent a pang through Obi-Wan’s chest and he was still holding Cody’s hand.

He let go, missing the contact the moment their hands parted, a fresh furious blush burning through his cheeks. “An agreement? Oh.”

Cold certainty settled over him and he felt the spike of pain behind his eyes resurface. In the grey-tinged confusion following Qui-Gon’s death, he had worked on auto-pilot to get the man’s affairs in order, including cancelling outgoing payments, one of which was simply labelled as ‘Fett’.

“I’m sorry. I’ll work out how much you’re owed and sort it out. You have my word.”

“It’s no trouble—“ Cody began, but Obi-Wan cut him off with ease.

“You’ve done good work here, and you should be compensated for it. I am glad to see that my grandfather’s farm didn’t fall into ruin while it’s been unoccupied.”

“I’m sensing that finance might be your battleground of choice.” There was no cruelty in Cody’s words, presenting the insight as if it was obvious. “Why turn to farming?”

His gaze locked onto Obi-Wan’s and he couldn’t guess what the other man read on his face, only that he understood.

“Boba?” Cody pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, speaking around the leather as he worked a golden ring off of his thumb. “Fancy showing our new neighbours around the village proper? Get yourselves something nice at the bakery.”

Cody paused, hooking his hand into the back of Boba’s collar as the boy began to step forward. “Buirkanir par ad'ika.”

Boba nodded, holding out his hands for Cody to drop the ring into and looked up at Obi-Wan expectantly. Cody mirrored him, tipping his head to one side and tucking his glove into his pocket. “My treat. A better welcome to the village.”

Obi-Wan bit his lower lip as he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the pair. Ahsoka’s demeanor had changed in an instant, leaning forward and using Anakin’s arm to stop her from falling, and Anakin wrinkled his nose but nodded at Obi-Wan’s questioning glance. He would complain later but, hopefully, the prospect of new places to explore would mollify him.

“I’d appreciate that. I’ll just grab my wallet and—”

“My treat.” Cody tapped Boba on the shoulder and the boy was off, dropping the toolbox and making his way past Obi-Wan to the doorway expectantly. Obi-Wan watched him tuck the ring onto his thumb — the metal oversized and starting to slip before he curled his hand into a fist — and waved a cautious hand at them, before turning and starting to walk towards the small track that led back towards the village. Ahsoka followed him, tugging Anakin along in her wake.

“The ring?” Obi-Wan turned back towards Cody just in time to see him tug off his other glove, the action rough but captivating, his gaze dropping towards every inch of skin that was revealed.

“Boba can add whatever they get onto my tab and I’ll pay it when I’m next in town. You’ve not had the pleasure—” Cody’s grin widened and his gaze darted off to one side before returning to Obi-Wan. “—of meeting my family yet but we’re quite large. This makes things easier for everyone.”

“I appreciate it, more than I could ever say. It’s been— It’s been a confusing couple of months.”

“I can only imagine.” Cody stepped forward, placing a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm and he leant into the touch, his heart stuttering in his chest. He hadn’t realised it before, but now? Now with the touch of Cody’s hand still burning on his palm and his closeness, the scent of warm honey and sandalwood blanketing them both, Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to stay next to him for as long as he was able.

“Even this…” Obi-Wan waved as if that one gesture could encompass the overgrown fields and the vacant buildings. “I don’t know what I intended coming down here, or even if I’m going to stay in the end.”

“Obi-Wan. You’re allowed to give yourself time. Time to grieve, to plan, to work things out. Give it… a year. I’ll help. It’ll do me some good to have a proper project again, so you’d really be doing me a favour.”

Obi-Wan had had his suspicions upon meeting the man that they would be well-matched. He couldn’t say why, but whether it was destiny or some cruel whim of fate, Cody Fett had been placed in front of him, and Obi-Wan couldn’t find any urge to say no. Every argument he could think of paled in the face of his earnest, serious expression.

“A year?”

Cody nodded, stepping closer and tipping his head back to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. “One year. Want to shake on it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are a very dangerous man, Cody Fett, but agreed.”

Cody’s grin was blinding, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but join in, feeling the tension release from his shoulders in the flood that was no longer going to drown him but carry him onwards.

“First job of the day is to fix the fence.” Cody turned, using his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand to twine their fingers together, stooping the same movement to pick up the toolbox. “Given that my usual helper is occupied, can I convince you to step in for me?”

“I’d be delighted.”

One year to see what would happen, and one year to make a choice.

Obi-Wan squeezed Cody’s hand, the other man squeezing back, his thumb rubbing along the curve of Obi-Wan’s knuckles, and they walked together through the field, both feeling an odd sense of familiarity but neither speaking it aloud.

#codywan #Star Wars #codywanweek2021 #codywan week 2021 #commander Cody #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #boba fett #my writing #fanfic

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eldrai · 3 years

Text

Like Father, Like Son

Whumptober 2021 - day 2 - prompt: garrotte

Character: Hotch

Warnings: implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, strangulation

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Vincent Perrotta is violent. He is dedicated. He is brutal and efficient. His potential pool of victims includes a handful of asphyxiation deaths.

He has nothing to lose.

ao3 link / masterpost

In cases of domestic violence, strangulation is one of the strongest predictors for homicide: a nonfatal strangulation incident makes the victim seven times more likely to be killed by that partner.

Of everything he’s learnt on the job, this stays with him.

Strangulation requires the physical strength to do so, as well as the intent. It’s much more personal than something like poisoning or even shooting and therefore more difficult to carry out. The same principle stands for any homicide. It indicates a deeply violent, deeply dedicated unsub.

(Is it inaccurate to say he learnt on the job? The exact statistics were new to him but he’d known how violent hands around a neck are. How it was never limited to just that.

He’d had a lot of ‘sore throats’ as a kid.)

Vincent Perrotta is violent. He is dedicated. He is brutal and efficient. His potential pool of victims includes a handful of asphyxiation deaths.

He has nothing to lose.

The junkyard is cluttered and their line of sight fragmented by the heaps of trash jutting out every which way; the impaired visibility has them spread out to cover the most ground. With backup waiting on their signal, everything is in place for Perrotta’s arrival.

It is a concentrated quiet: there isn’t much to do other than keep an eye out for their unsub or wait for the comms to crackle to life as someone else finds him. Aaron steps into place behind the rusted shell of a car; enough cover it isn’t immediately obvious he is there, but he’s got a good shot if Perrotta turns up.

His bet is on the man hopping the fence on the west, too clever to waltz through the front gate but arrogant enough to assume he’d outwit them. Morgan is positioned over there ready to intercept, and Reid and Greenaway take the small building at the opposite end of the yard.

“Anyone got anything?” Morgan’s voice comes through strong.

“Nothing on our end.” That’s Greenaway.

“He’ll be here,” Aaron says.

He settles back into position, both hands on his gun, carefully still. Wrappers rustle as the wind agitates them, whips dirt around on the chipped concrete. The chain-link fence rattles.

No movement.

He waits. Time slips by interminably slowly, as it tends to do on sting operations, with no distraction but nothing to be distracted from.

A rattling, tinny sort of noise to his left stops just as suddenly as it had started. Gun drawn, he picks his way through the junk. The silence settles in once again. Likely something blown loose in the breeze, a can rolling down the pile, any number of mundane things which shouldn’t register at all.

It’s a rat. In the corner of his eye, a blur of brownish-grey fur streaks past and he catches a glimpse of the tail before it vanishes under (into?) a different heap.

Jesus. He must really be bored if something so commonplace has him actually investigating it.

Gravel crunches and Aaron glances over his shoulder. Gideon must’ve heard it too. His main interest is his birds but he doesn’t doubt the man probably has a soft spot for other small creatures. They say rats are fairly intelligent – or is it mice? – after all.

His head jerks backwards.

Stumbling to maintain his balance, it is a dizzying moment before the pain sets in: a sharp pressure curving around his throat.

It throws him for a loop. He’s used to hands.

Aaron crashes into someone behind him and they stagger sideways. The impact knocks the air out of him. The pressure pulls taut.

He can’t breathe.

Shoes scuff against the ground. The sour smell of sweat. Heavy breathing.

(is this gonna be the time it goes too far is it feels like it)

The wire is thin and twice as effective as human hands. Instead of whittling away his ability to breathe, pressing in more and more and more, it disappears in an instant.

Hands are breakable. They are skin and muscle and bone. Push a finger back until the muscles twitch; jam a thumb into the wrist’s bony hollows; a thumb at the base of the neck hurts like hell.

Easy to read intent in someone who stands right in front of him. Someone whose eyes spark with malice right before he clamps down harder. The telltale twitch in their cheek in the moment they step forwards. To guess whether they’re going to let up or not.

Behind, Aaron has no idea. His best guess might be entirely wrong.

(go for the eyes that works he won’t let go but he’ll get weaker)

Gasping for oxygen and drowning in carbon dioxide, his chest burns even as he strains to breathe. His eyes water. Aaron breathes in and in and in. Nothing happens. He’s just making rasping, croaky sounds at the back of his throat.

He almost loses his footing, his knees going weak and his ears ringing, a high-pitched shrill scream. Aaron can’t. He can’t leverage his weight on that. He’d never breathe again. Never get back up.

Perrotta grunts. Must not have expected this resistance.

(what if he never wakes up this time what if what if what if)

His gun clatters to the ground as his hands go to his throat. For something so painful, the wire is remarkably small, his fingers sliding over it. Perrotta draws the ends together. It cuts into the sides of his neck, bearing down on the arteries.

Aaron turns his head sharply and the momentary slack in the wire is enough to get his fingers hooked around it. Perrotta kicks out at his knee and he stumbles, resists the instinct to let go.

It’s not enough.

Having his hands between the wire and his skin does nothing if he can’t move them, if he can’t buy himself some space to breathe. Instead of the wire, his own hands press down on his throat. He pulls with all the strength he can muster. It cuts into his fingertips. Every muscle from his shoulders to his hands burns.

It’s not enough.

Dark spots blot his vision. He’s running out of time.

(if he dies they better notice adult-sized handprints better ask questions)

Aaron jerks his head back. Perrotta’s teeth clash and he lets out a muffled grunt.

The wire loosens.

Half a breath and Perrotta regains his composure. Cuts off his air before it reaches his lungs.

Tugging at the wire burns oxygen he can’t afford to waste. Doing nothing just guarantees he’ll pass out. His hearing fades out as the sensation in his hands and feet turns into vicious pins and needles.

Fear and adrenaline keep him standing, keep him fighting when oxygen deprivation turns his joints weak and head sluggish. Aaron hasn’t got much chance of wrestling it out of Perrotta’s hands.

He kicks everything he can reach. Metal jolts against metal; precariously balanced junk crashes down; his shoes drag in the gravel. Sound. Sound is what got him into this and if he’s loud enough, it’s going to draw their attention. With Perrotta outnumbered, he’ll run.

It’s hard to think.

The black spots compose most of his vision and he misses half of what he’s trying to hit. His pulse beats sickly against the wire. Having the chance at breathing stolen like that has strained something vital in his chest. Burning is too mild a word for the tearing pain.

(why doesn’t she stop it he’d let go if she said to)

Half-formed thoughts flit through his mind, too fast to catch, too fragmented to use. Aaron can’t see. Can’t breathe. He almost lets go of the wire, his hands aching and weak. The last vestiges of his strength go to keeping himself upright.

His knees hit the ground and sharp stones jab his legs. Something in his throat itches and spasms and he’s coughing and taking in great long breaths between and he’s breathing.

When the coughing fit passes, his heart slows its assault against his ribs and his vision clears up. Aaron steadies himself and waits for the dizziness to come to an end. He blinks once, twice, until his eyes aren’t watering.

His hearing kicks in all at once when the ringing ceases, and he twists around just as Gideon manages to wrestle Perrotta into handcuffs. Someone shouts in the distance. Back-up, or the rest of the team.

And Gideon’s in front of him, crouching down, telling him to take off his tie for once. Aaron nods, loosens it before he does, because the idea of hands near his throat – even his own – is dicey at best right now. He feels around the small indentation in his skin, feels the flat tenderness, and that’s going to bruise quite deeply.

“I’m—” Aaron swallows and a sharp pain lances across his throat. The motion aches, as if it’s been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Nonetheless his voice is much less raspy the second try. “I’m fine.”

Gideon hums a token agreement but doesn’t have time to press him on it as Morgan materialises behind them, and Greenaway and Reid a few moments later.

Perrotta snarls, his eyes wild with animalistic hatred.

(It is this, Aaron will realise, which reminds him so much of his father.)

#whumptober 2021 #no2 #garrotte #criminal minds #fanfic #eldrai does whumptober #cm fanfic #hotch #aaron hotchner #whump #angst

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aching-tummies · 3 years

Note

I'm not as good with words/scenario/description as your first RP-esque submission...but here goes. I want to finger your navel during that 24+hours of no food followed by feeding. Hungry, stuffed--don't care, just wanna force my finger(s) into your navel and enjoy the moans and groans both from your tum tum from you.

No worries! You don't have to be good at descriptive writing or anything to message me. Coherent/understandable English is preferred though.

Before responding to this in an RP-way I wanna say that I was actually doing what you described while writing the first RP-response. I was actually hungry when I wrote the first one and I actually pressed my thumb deep into my navel and felt the bumps of my intestines and whatnot within. I felt them vibrating with the rumbles. It was great ^^

I groan as I’m torn from the peaceful embrace of sleep by some sharp, rumbling ache. The first thing that registers is the weird texture on my teeth. I’m biting my pillow…but that only happens when I’m—a deep grumble cuts off that thought and I release the fabric from between my teeth.

“Ugh…just what do you think you’re doing?” My tone is sharp and it cuts through the silence of our bedroom like a knife. I’m not pleased at being woken up by induced hunger pangs. That’s what you’ve done…like how hospitals sometimes induce labor—you’ve induced the hollow cramps and snarling rumbles from my bowels.

Your hand lingers on my stomach, your fingers worming their way into my navel. Two of your fingers manage to wedge themselves in there and begin to pull apart, stretching the tight ring of flesh and triggering another painful rumble from my guts. I slap at your hands but that only succeeds in pushing your fingers deeper and I gasp as your thumb jabs into a sensitive area. It’s gotta be some nerve or a very sensitive part of my intestines based on the intense sensation. It’s sort of like the feeling of hitting your funny bone…there’s that cramping, almost unbearable sensation like something very raw got scraped. I feel the pain of the jab reverberating throughout my entire gut, the epicenter feeling like a throbbing wound. The ‘reverb’ triggers a cacophony of growls throughout my digestive tract. A deep, hollow, guttural snarl is squeezed from the area I am sure contains my actual stomach organ. My body attempts to curl in on itself again but the action crushes your hand deeper into my poor belly. Your thumb is pressed deep into my navel—so deep that you can feel my organs pulsating beneath your thumb. You wiggle your thumb around as much as you can, finding that it sort of ‘pops’ between either side of a rounded nub you can feel. Again, that’s either got to be some sort of nerve or a sensitive part of my intestines because the pressure of your thumb bumping against it and pressing hard into it sends my whole system cramping and twitching.

“Oww…ouch! Babe—stop it!” I slap at your hands again, pushing at them, trying to pry them away from my sensitive stomach and very tender navel. We had just done some navel stuff before retiring to bed and it’s still sore from our earlier bout of fun. Sharp objects were used, among other things, and the puckered skin at the base of my navel is still very raw from our earlier activities.

Your hands refuse to budge. You’ve managed to worm two fingers into my navel again. You feel around inside until you manage to pinch something between your fingers. I feel something akin to a bolt of lightening lancing through my stomach—starting at my navel and traveling lower. As the sensations die down I’m left with a less than pleasant pulling sensation in my navel. It feels like my intestines are being tugged on. It’s not a nice feeling and it causes me to grit my teeth and groan again.

“Ah…ow…ouch…ugh…b-babe…t-that really hurts. S…stop p-ul—aaah—lling…please? Ergh…ow…ouch!”

“I’m not pulling, love,” You rasp into my ear. The dull pain in my guts intensifies, causing me to cry out and tears to prickle my eyes. “I’m pinching.”

My empty tummy snarls and growls. It sounds like angry dogs snapping at an intruder—in this case, your probing fingers.

We didn’t just do navel stuff earlier. We decided to indulge in some hunger-kink tonight. A series of mishaps at work caused me to be called in early (skipped breakfast), have nobody to cover my lunch break (skipped lunch), and after I whined to you about how my day was craptacular and how hungry I was you had taken charge of the rest of the night. You picked me up from work, going out of your way to ensure that I would not stop somewhere to fill my ravenous stomach. You brought me straight home where you spent almost two hours experimenting with my navel, poking and prodding at it with different utensils. Surprisingly, we found that sharp, probing objects (like straightened out paper clips) were the most effective in drawing growls and grumbles from my stomach. You had such high hopes for the wax-play…but no dice. My best guess is that the heat quelled some of the clenching and tensing enough to dampen the growling. You allowed me to fill up on liquids…mostly water and tea. You poked and prodded and sloshed my neglected tummy and did a bunch of stuff that left my navel sore and aching for a long while. At some point, we found ourselves in bed and I drifted off while there was still enough liquid in my belly to trick my body into thinking it wasn’t ravenous.

“Ugh…whatever you’re doing, it’s annoying. Stop it.” None of my protests mean anything right now. We have agreed-upon safe-words and I haven’t used any of them. To be fair, my protests have a kernel of truth to them. My navel’s been used and abused all night and is very sore right now. If I were awake enough to use one of our safe-words I’d probably do so.

“Your tummy was loud. That was annoying. It woke me up.”

“And whose fault is that?” I snap. I can feel you grinning as you spoon me.

“Sienna, was it? The one that skipped out on their shift today. Caused you to miss two meals, didn’t she? I only caused you to miss one.” Your fingers continue to probe at my navel, stirring up my guts and awakening the hunger pangs that could have left me to slumber peacefully for another couple of hours.

A deep, segmented rumble drowns out my voice as I cry out sharply from the cramp that it brings. Just as well, I have no response to your terrible logic.

I roll onto my front and grit my teeth. You swapped fingers just as I rolled so now my tummy is basically impaled on your middle finger. You can feel my guts around your finger like fleshy cushioning while I feel a very solid and very painful intrusion jabbing into my intestines and causing the area to give a few aborted cramps—like some dying creature twitching out the last of its life.

I try to crawl away, pinning your arm beneath me as I hope to move away from it and leave it behind. Just as I get to the last knuckle, you crook your finger and basically hook it into my navel. I let out another exclamation of pain as I feel like a fish caught on a hook. You drag be back along the covers until I’m face-down, my belly in your lap. You stroke my back as my stomach rumbles deeply, vibrating against your thighs.

“Aww…is my little kitten hungry?”

I hiss at you and bite at your hand as it nears my head, settling on my hair and smoothing it down. You stroke at my back and sides and card your fingers through my hair with your other hand. I slowly untense and relax, reaching over to snag my pillow and bring it under my face. My stomach is still grumbling, but less intensely than it was earlier.

Just as I feel like everything has calmed to a point where I might be able to go back to sleep, you bounce your legs, the movements jostling my tummy. I groan as the nauseating hunger builds in intensity again. It’s going to be a long night.

#AT Asks #Tummy kink #hunger kink #stomach rumbles

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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

⬅ Previous || 27 || Next ➡

“How is he?”

Aizawa’s voice, normally gruff and sleep-heavy, sounds sharp and worried. His eyebrows are pinched tight on his forehead, and his hands are folded across his chest with an iron grip, as if barely keeping himself together.

Ken looks at Aizawa and sighs. “He talks and he talks and he talks, but he’s not really saying anything.”

Aizawa purses his lips.

“I don’t think speaking to me will be the breaking point.” Ken laces his fingers together and stares at them as he continues, “But he will, indeed, break. As you did, as I did, as we all did. And when that happens, perhaps, being in the dorms will offer some semblance of comfort.”

Ken looks up and waits till Aizawa catches his eye. “I will be here when he needs me. Until then, I shall continue our sessions, even if he just keeps talking without saying anything.”

Aizawa nods curtly, mumbles out a goodbye and walks back to his accommodation.

---

A hero never forgets their first.

The work is dangerous. Most days are easy and mundane, and then there are days where the hits keep coming. People get hurt, heroes get hurt, and villains get away. You even lose people, in the crossfire or because you were too late, and those wounds never fully heal, the scars faded and jagged, moving with your every move, a constant reminder.

And then there are the days when you feel the Earth beneath you crumble as you watch a child die. When you lose someone young, innocent, with baby fat on their cheeks and wide toothless smiles. Kids with scrapped knees, stars in their eyes, and the softest hair. Kids like Eri.

A hero never forgets their first child.

Aizawa watches Kaminari speaking animatedly with his classmates, eyes bright and body language lax, and feels his fists clench.

He sucks in a deep breath, pushes away any thoughts of blue hair and big, loud smiles and continues his lesson.

---

It’s Bakugou that stays behind in class one day, two and a half weeks after the incident.

“Something’s fucking wrong with Sparky.”

“Language,” Aizawa says automatically, before lowering his books and looking at the blonde. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, something is just. Since that day, he- Fuck, I don’t know.”

Aizawa lets this one go. “He’s been coming to class. He’s attended every therapy session with Cementoss. Lunch Rush tells me he’s eating well, and he seems-“

“His eyes-” Bakugou interrupts, nose scrunched in deep thought. “- his eyes are too bright. That’s not his usual, happy-go-lucky-idiot shine. They’re too bright.”

He stands up and pulls his bag over his shoulder. “His eyes feel artificial. He moves his body too much, every movement exaggerated, like he’s constantly compensating. Like he’s fucking pushing something down as hard as he can. And then, there are these moments-“ Bakugou stops just shy of the door. He looks over his shoulder but his eyes don’t seek Aizawa, instead glaring at the tiles near his feet.

“There are these moments when his eyes are vacant, like he’s not even in the same room as us.”

With that, Bakugou walks away and Aizawa finds himself thinking back to the past, the well-acquainted pain in his chest rising from slumber, squeezing till his heart feels like it’s about to break, shatter apart the way it did that day.

Because Aizawa and Hizashi grew up.

That day though, they lost Loud Cloud, who was nothing more than a kid. A young child, gone before he could ever learn just how terrible the world really is.

---

Kaminari attends class. He eats lunch with his friends, jokes around with them, trains every day, and sleeps in on the weekends. He never finishes his homework on time, calls his parents at least twice a week, and continues to go stupid when he overuses his quirk.

He also goes quiet more often, enough for Kirishima to pick up on it too. Bakugou watches Kaminari carefully, watches his eyes go vacant in the middle of movie night, watches him flinch when metal protests under the force of Midoriya’s quirk during training and watches his smiles get wider and more rigid, eyes so bright the fluorescent bulb in the common room dims in comparison.

There is nothing to do but wait.

---

It took Aizawa three months to break after Shirakumo.

Long after the cremation and the memorial and after the chatter picks back up in the hallways. He goes home one day, puts his bag on his desk and takes a seat, intent on finishing his homework. His pen is nowhere to be found so he yanks his desk drawer open-

Only to find a blue and white pen with the name Oboro etched into the body.

Aizawa thinks he hears a crack as his heart splinters and the tears begin, flowing freely. He bites into his forearm to keep from wailing, and he can’t see or breathe or feel anything past the wave of pain that drowns him.

With shaking hands and a complete lack of coherent thought, it takes him 14 minutes to type out a message to Hizashi. It takes the blonde another 8 minutes to get to his room, scoop him up and cry with him, and that wound never quite closes, always exposed, ever-present.

---

It finally happens on an average Wednesday, a month after the incident.

Aizawa’s just finished up with homeroom announcements, and as he straightens up the stack of papers on his desk, he hears Jirou.

“Kaminari, check out this mem- whoa, you ok, man?”

He looks at the blonde and startles when he sees the tears streaming down his face as he stares vacantly at his own hands.

Aizawa moves fast, because that’s what pros do- they calculate, they assess, they make split second decisions that spell life or death and everything in between.

He instinctually activates his quirk just as he whips his capture weapon out, pulling everyone around Kaminari away from him. Because he smells the static in the air, feels the prickles on his skin and he knows the boy is this close to losing complete and absolute control of his quirk.

Kaminari doesn’t acknowledge the chaos around him as people yell out in surprise and try to understand the situation. Aizawa keeps his eyes on Kaminari, and watches as Bakugou turns to Yaoyarozu and yells, “Make me some fucking insulated gloves now.”

Surprisingly though, it’s Shinsou that snatches the first pair and jumps across the desks to get to Kaminari, ducking down to his eye level, staying out of Aizawa’s line-of-sight.

“Hey, do you know where you are?”

Kaminari jerks at that, his eyes snapping over to Shinsou. They’re still vacant and hollow, lifeless. Shinsou keeps one glove on but leaves his other hand free.

“Kaminari, do you know where you are right now?”

Slowly, like he’s underwater, Kaminari swallows and shakes his head.

“Ok, that’s ok, take your time. I just want you to know you’re safe. Do you need anything right now?”

Kaminari looks around slowly, as if trying to understand what’s going on. He looks back at Shinsou and swallows thickly.

“There’s so much blood,” Kaminari says, and his voice sounds haunted. He bites his lip as a fresh pool of tears gather in his eyes.

“Get Cementoss,” Aizawa says to Shoji, his eyes still trained on Kaminari. They’re starting to feel a little dry and irritated, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Bakugou is also by Kaminari now, hovering behind him protectively, keeping the others away.

“I don’t understand,” Kaminari suddenly says, voice clear and colored with genuine confusion. “How does a kid just die?”

He laughs, a slightly hysterical sound, before his eyes, wide and far too bright, whip over to Aizawa.

“Sensei, there’s no way that kid died, yanno? She was so tiny, barely up to my hip. And so cute, with a lisp. There’s no way she’s dead. Obviously.” He knocks his own head, a hard hit that makes Kirishima flinch, and Bakugou gently holds his arms, to keep him from hurting himself. Kaminari barely notices.

“Kids don’t die,” Kaminari says, his eyes boring into Aizawa’s. “Right, Sensei? They don’t. How can they? They’re too tiny. Someone that small can’t die.”

Aizawa’s eyes sting, and he can say it’s his quirk but he feels it in his heart, a bone-deep ache that’s just second nature to him.

“Kaminari, nobody can live forever.” He clears his throat, slowly walking around the table as he approaches the boy, holding his gaze. “Nothing is forever, not even the- not even the children.”

Kaminari’s eyes go vacant again. “That can’t be true, you know? Cause that means she’s gone.” He looks at Shinsou. “Her hands fit in my palm Toshi. Her entire hand. I don’t. There was so much blood, I can’t- how?” He reduces to nothing but a blubbering mess, and finally, he slumps sideways, right into Bakugou’s abdomen before he wails, the sound of a deeply wounded animal permeating into the very walls of the room.

Shinsou keeps a grounding grip on his knee while Bakugou pushes a hand into his hair, holding him close to his stomach. His own face is scrunched up, eyes red and daring anyone to say anything, to him or Kaminari.

Bakugou goes with him when Cementoss comes. They take Kaminari to the therapy room and Bakugou stays the entire time.

Aizawa turns to face his class again, once the chairs are moved back in place and the shock of it all simmers down, leaving behind an empty cavity in the very middle of the room.

“You never forget your first,” Aizawa tells them, speaking from his soul. “You will never forget your first, and I want you all to promise me that when it happens, you find me. You find somebody. You seek help. And you keep pushing forward. So that someday- “

He clears his throat and pushes through, “So that someday, there won’t be a first anymore.”

He watches his students nod before they turn to each other, looking up ways to help someone in Kaminari’s condition, using their time together as a reference for what will help the most. And Aizawa feels hope and pride gently coat his heart, a band-aid atop a deep, bleeding gash, but it’s something.

He thinks about bright blue hair, a smile that put the sun to shame and the warmth of a gentle soul.

You never forget your first.

#bnha #aizawa shota #bnha oboro #my hero academia kaminari #boku no hero academia #bnha headcanons #bnha: thicker than blood #WARNING: THIS TACKLES THE SUBJECT OF DEATH AND LOSS #ive had this idea for a while #and then the latest episode happened and it had to come out #this is probably the most serious piece for this series yet #shinsou hitoshi #bakugou katsuki #cementoss is a certified therapist #i feel like his calm disposition would make him a great therapist #mentions of death #also his breakdown is a version of my own grief #which i know from experience is not a uniform thing for all people #it manifests so differently

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

Text

COSMIC - S3:E3; Chapter Three, The Case Of The Missing Lifeguard - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘌𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘋&𝘋. 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦.

📝: guys.... he's finally here 🧙🏻🔮 you'll never believe me but when typing out the "day free of girls" line i literally typed "a day full of girls" on accident and I lost it.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Holy shit, I can't believe we're really doing this."

Max caps the magic marker pen and flips the last name card around, the three friends grinning down at their work before them. Together, Y/n, El, and Max had gathered enough scraps to make a roulette wheel of sorts made up of a piece of cardboard, drawing paper, and an old Coke bottle. In other words, the decider of El's next trip to the void.

Max tosses the pen back on the bed and Y/n manages to fix the glass bottle before it rolled off the cardboard. Her back dug into the wall where she sat next to El but all she could feel was excitement. That and the terrible sinking feeling she had been ignoring all night.

"Ready?" Max asks.

"Ready."

"Remember, you don't have to do this, okay?"

El cocks her head to the side and smiles at Y/n.

"Y/n. I'm okay."

That feeling grew worse with the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. But the look in El's eyes was gentle enough to quell the fears. It was stupid to be worrying. Wasn't it?

"I know, I just mean we're not gonna make you do anything you don't want to do," she looks at Max and she nods.

"Totally," she agrees.

El can't contain the warm smile stretching across her cheeks, and any previous feelings towards the void and going in solidified. She knew before this moment she could trust her friends as she went back in. But it was reassuring to know they were still looking out for her, making sure she felt safe.

"It's okay. I want to,"

Y/n's smile returns and she nods, signaling El to spin the bottle. It twirls with a muted clatter before landing on its first name.

"Mr. Wheeler," the three of them read aloud.

Y/n makes another face at the card and Max scoffs.

"Blech, boring,"

"Yeah," El chuckles, looking to Max. "Boring,"

"Spin again," she encourages.

El reaches for the bottle, a small frown forming as she looks between them.

"Against the rules?"

"We make our own rules," Y/n says simply.

El's cheeks were beginning to hurt from all this smiling.

Nevertheless, she reaches for the bottle, winding it back before spinning it full force. Their eyes are trained patiently on the glass, watching as the glass nozzle slows over,

-"Billy,"

Y/n feels another stone sink to the pit of her stomach like a skipped rock. Unsure, she sends a look to Max who is looking less than thrilled. The redhead scoffs as Y/n rises from the bed to retrieve the radio. After nearly a year of friendship with Max, Y/n had learned more or less what to expect with her best friend's stepbrother, but she also knew not to rule out any surprises. Part of her, a small part she apparently shared with Max, was scared they were sending El into a sure moment of trauma.

She just didn't realize what kind in that moment.

"Okay, look," Max warned, as Y/n made her way back to the bed and began fiddling with the radio. "I should just warn you if he's with a girl or doing something gross just get out of there right away before you're scarred for life,"

"Max," El warned playfully, taking the headband Max had nearby.

"I'm just saying, he's really gross,"

"Max!" El laughed.

"Okay," She chuckled, readjusting herself on the bed. "Shutting up now,"

Y/n manages to find the correct station just as El hooks the headband over her eyes again.

A silence falls over the room. Any muffled voices from the TV Hopper was watching in the other room were drowned out in the static seeping into the air. Y/n and Max watched carefully as the girl's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

When El arrived, she immediately felt cold.

She had developed a sense of time in this place long ago, and she knew her getting here — finding Billy — didn't take long, but it wasn't as fast as it had been when she looked for the boys.

When El arrived... everything felt wrong.

First of all, Billy wasn't anywhere in sight. Not right away.

All that was waiting for her was a car, just feet to her right. The headlights were on, bright yellow beams shining over her legs, staring at her like eyes as it sat watching her in the dark.

El tries to ignore the beating of her heart in her ears as she inches closer to investigate. She tries to ignore the growing urge to turn tail and run. To ignore her instincts completely, leave the void and tell Y/n and Max she was sorry.

But she didn't. She crept closer and closer to the only clue she was given and found her unease growing.

Festering.

The glass of the windshield was hopelessly cracked, dented in like something had hit it. Hard. And when she crept even closer, it was confirmed to her the car was empty. Even more curious, the trunk was open.

El grew closer to the trunk, but before she could investigate further the sounds of fearful whimpers finally reached her ears. It deepened her frown and pulled her eyes deeper into the void. That's when she saw it.

She could barely make him out, he was so far away but it was him.

Billy.

"I found him,"

"What's he doing?" Max asks, sounding as unsure as Y/n felt.

Neither of them liked the look forming on El's face under the headband. She looked worried, and when she finally spoke she sounded it too.

She sounded scared.

"I don't know,"

Everything had become harder to make out. Every step she took to close the distance between her and Billy made the connection worse.

Like something was blocking her.

Whatever it is, it isn't strong enough to block out Billy's coarse and hollow voice.

"Don't be afraid."

"He's... on the floor,"

His back is to El, knelt over the floor. His dark gray tank and jeans nearly working to blend him into the darkness he's hiding in. He was nowhere near even a scrap of light, undoubtedly the reason it took her this long to spot him.

His voice is as chilling as whatever atmosphere she had just stepped into. She was in the comfort of her own home, surrounded by those she trusted to pull her out but it was not enough.

Against Billy's words to this stranger, she felt afraid. Nor did she believe the next words to leave his mouth.

"It'll be over soon."

"talking to someone."

The whimpers grew louder and more frequent. Whoever this girl was, she was crying.

Nothing about this trip made her want to get closer, but El continued on. She was determined now, despite the suffocating fear. She was worried for this girl.

El could barely see her. She too was cloaked in darkness. And she was also obscured from behind Billy's figure.

"Just stay very still,"

El's lungs felt like they were flooding. Her legs turned to led, slowly bringing her to a stop just a few steps behind Billy. Tears had crept into her eyes by the time he rose to his feet, his broad shoulders meeting her eye level.

Her instincts were screaming inside her like an alarm; bright, violent flashes of fear growing more rapid by the second until—

You.

El flinched as he whipped around to face her, sunken, darkened eyes widening as they piercing her own. He had not uttered a word to her but she still heard it. A force so strong and revolted — so concentrated — she could feel the thought in her bones.

You.

He could see her.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

She's too shocked to do anything. Too afraid. But she wasn't prepared to let that stop her. Heather was going to do something, she had to. She would.

But that all died when Billy suddenly stood up, looking almost disinterested in her as an eery, unnatural sound reverberates throughout the darkness before her. Slowly, her head turns to face the dark abyss when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

His face is as hard as stone though his eyes hold a flicker of struggle and pain when it all unfolds. Heather may be the only one in binding, but she is not the only one who is trapped. There is nothing at all Billy can do but watch as the large and bloodied mass of flesh stomps forward from the shadows, ready to feast.

Neither is there anything to do to stop the sudden plunge of a million icy daggers into his system as his head is jerked around. His senses had suddenly been dialed up to twenty in the blink of an eye, the skin over the back of his neck tightening when it senses her.

Heather's bloodcurdling screams swallow the silence as his stomach plummets two more stories.

It was the girl.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The headband is torn suddenly from El's tremoring body, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gulps down shaky breaths of air.

"What is it?"

"El, what's wrong?"

El feels a warm hand gently graze her own, and while it does wonders in putting the icy chill to bed it's not enough to banish the fear flooding her lungs.

It takes great effort for her to meet her friend's watery eyes, but when she does, it's impossible to ignore the grave look El casts over Y/n.

"El?"

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"You sure you don't mind me leaving?" I ask as I stand to collect my papers.

Y/n smiles at me from where I left her on my couch, surrounded by notebooks and dice.

"Of course not," She says, sitting up to help gather our things. "You know if El called me up, you wouldn't let me miss out either. Besides, I've been meaning to see Max."

How was she so understanding?

"Thanks," I grin. "We're still on for tonight though, right?"

She grabbed my face again and pulled me in for a kiss. I nearly forgot to breathe until she broke away, smiling warmly at me.

"Wouldn't miss it,"

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

I stare down at the gameboard, my eyes trailing over my notes. They were littered with Y/n's annotations and doodles in red ink, giving me the encouragement I need.

She should be here.

She worked just as hard as I did to make this happen, she should be here to see it.

"If Mike says he wants to hang out, just the guys, I say run," she told me. "Someone should get to see this campaign. I'm okay with missing out if that's what it takes."

I gave her a look, testing her own words. But she seemed sure. I could tell with just one look, she wasn't giving up.

"It sounds like Mike needs you, anyway," Y/n broke out in a grin and handed me my papers. "And who better to solve any problem than Will the Wise?"

I thumb her notes and I can feel the indents of the pen made on the paper by her handwriting. Down in the corner of the page, I notice something I hadn't before. It was a hasty doodle of Y/C/N looking up at me next to the words, 'Safe Travels to Kuzaton, Sir Will!' And then a smaller, cruder doodle of Y/C/N holding a fireball in her hand as she winked. 'PS. Inform me if your companions are in need of a little persuasion'

I laughed, remembering her promise in Castle Byers. Carefully, I tear the page out and fold it into my pocket for safekeeping before looking up at my friends.

They were still passed out; Lucas was on the floor, Mike on the couch, with a can of Coke still in his hand.

I sigh, trying my best to hold onto the encouragement Y/n had given me. But I couldn't go off of it forever. Of course she was going to support me, she always has.

Just like they used to.

And now everything was a mess. I try to let go of the anger but it's sticking to me like sap; I can't just brush it off. They had been ignoring me all summer. And before that, I wasn't myself because of what happened the year before. It's the first time I realize the last time we were all like this was before the Upside Down. Now that everything had settled down, and El and Max have been around, Dustin's isn't even here and everyone else is too caught up in each other.

Y/n was the only one to notice me. And now, even she's not here.

I actually begin to consider her offer but I shake the thought away. I can't run to her, even if she could kick their asses. This was between them and me.

They just forgot what they're missing.

I rise from my seat and feeling rather brave, I turn the volume up on the boom box before pressing play.

The tavern music blasts throughout the basement and Mike and Lucas jump awake.

"What are you doing?" Lucas says, peering up at me as he squints against the lights.

"Yeah, Will, can you turn down the music?" Mike cries.

"Please address me by my full name," I declare.

I refuse to go meet their eye, showing them I wasn't going to let them walk all over me anymore.

"What?"

I slam the staff into the ground, glaring at Mike. "My full name!"

"Oh, god, okay," Mike sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Will the Wise, can you please turn down the music?"

"That is not music. That is the sound of destiny! I have seen into the future and I have seen that today is a new day. A day... free of girls!"

"What is happening right now?" Lucas asks, his eyes still stuck shut.

"Will, come on," Mike groans.

Ignoring him, I dip down to the board, admiring the work that had taken so long.

"A tribe of villagers are under threat from an evil force from the swamps of Kuzaton,"

"Will, it's so early,"

I glare at him, slowly rising.

"Is it?" I ask. "Is it early, Michael? Tell that to the villagers crying for your help. Children so frightened they cannot sleep. Are you truly going to let them perish? Or are you going to come to their rescue and become the heroes you were always meant to be?"

Lucas, who had been blinking through sleep my entire speech, peers up at me as he raises his hand.

"Can I at least take a shower first?"

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

The clouds above our heads were growling with thunder, threatening a heavy storm as the three of us made our way to Max's house to investigate Billy.

"It's gonna start pouring soon," Max says, voicing my thoughts. "We should be at the mall, or watching a movie or something,"

Poor El. It had taken so long to calm her down last night. And it took promising her we'd go check out it later today. So here were are. Traveling up Cherry through the hot, muggy air, and a bad feeling still in my gut.

"You guys don't believe me?" El asks, growing sad.

I shared a worried look with Max before both of us nod our heads quickly.

"Of course we do!"

"And we're sure you saw some super weird stuff, totally," Max continues. "We're just a little confused. I mean, did you really contact Y/n through there once?"

El didn't seem as receptive as she had been, and I jumped in, nodding. "Yeah, last year when everything was going on with Will and Dart. Granted, I thought had I had been dreaming at first but I put the pieces together. Plus, El, didn't you say Mike has sensed you before?

El, who had been thoughtfully watching her feet as she walked, gears turning in her brain, suddenly looked up at me with a strange look in her eye.

"How did you?"

"How did I what?"

"Put your pieces together?"

I thought the question was strange, as I still don't understand what this has to do with Billy but I answered anyway.

"I don't know, I," I shook my head, feeling a thoughtful frown forming on my face. "Well, I realized I wasn't even fully asleep when it happened, I was wading in and out. I remember trying to stay awake cause I thought you were in my room, but you weren't. It felt really weird, actually, like I was dreaming with my eyes open. But I remembered what you said and I decided to take a chance." I shrug, hands in my pockets. "And I was right. It was you,"

But it still doesn't make sense.

"That was supposed to happen though, right? You said you had a way, I figured you knew I'd see you."

El slowly looked back up at me, looking almost concerned.

"I didn't," she admits.

She didn't know? But that day I found her... She said she could reach me. And if it's true, how come I'm the only one who can see her?

"I'm still worried," El admitted.

I brought my head to look at her, and I realized I was beginning to fall behind. I scurried a few steps across the pavement and back to their pace when Max tried again.

"Well, we'll check it out. But I'm sure it's going to be fine. A misunderstanding, I mean,"

Judging by the look on El's face, she wasn't letting up. Not that I can blame her. I'm not exactly feeling too great about this either.

"How do you know that?" El asks. She shakes her head like she's trying to forget what she heard. "What about the screams?"

"I know, but," Max sighs up at the sky, growing uncomfortable as she turns back to El. "here's the thing. When Billy is alone with a girl, they make like, really crazy noises,"

I grimace.

"They scream?"

Now I'm trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, but, like," Max darts her eyes past El, flashing me a panicked look. I shrug, looking back down at the ground as I try not to chuckle. "happy screams,"

El only seems more confused.

"Happy screams? What is happy screams?"

Max looked at me again, silently pleading. I shrug, not about to give El the talk. And judging by Max's expression, she wasn't about to either.

She just sighs.

"I'm just gonna lend you my mom's Cosmo,"

The chuckle finally breaks loose just as we reach the front of Max's house. "Yeah," I snort. "Hop won't freak out at all,"

Max rolls her eyes at me and they rest on the empty lot.

"His car's not here," Max says, all thoughts on the previous conversation forgotten. "You really want to do this?"

Finally looking back at El, I watch her expression carefully and the knot in my stomach burrows itself deeper. I haven't seen her this worried in a long time.

Since last year. And the year before.

I'm beginning to understand the bad feeling in my stomach now. The same one I had for the past two years.

I just hope it's wrong.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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malkumtend · 3 years

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I Like Your Laugh - A SquirrelCrow AU - Chapter 21.

Squirrelpaw tried not to look at her surroundings as she followed her father.

It was strange. She could remember the first time she had attended a gathering. The freedom of leaving Thunderclan for the first time, following her clan beyond their borders, it gave her such a sense of pride.

She remembered seeing flowers and trees she couldn’t identify, the mist of new scents hitting her like a colourful zephyr. It was like Silverpelt itself had been struck by a unique current that would change her life forever. The forest had expanded beyond her own understanding, pulsing her with the exhilaration and excitement of growing up.

Now. The change of the forest was not so freeing. Looking at it now felt more like drowning.

Without the shelter of the trees, exposing them to the bite of the moonhigh night, everything felt so cold. Nowhere looked safe to the molly. This wasn’t travelling to fourtrees, this wasn’t clan life. This wasn’t normal. The bitter air clogged in her throat, and without looking down she could feel the deadness of the earth below. Life had been sucked out of the forest as if it was prey losing blood. With it, everything Squirrelpaw recognised in her heart had been extinguished. Nothing looked like home.

The trees, the ground, the cold, it was all so suffocating. Frightening.

This wasn’t the forest she’d grown up in. Not anymore.

That would become even more clear once she saw fourtrees, she had no doubt. At least… what remained of fourtrees.

Webfoot had said the clans had watched as monsters ripped them from their roots. Generations of history stripped away just like that. It was inconceivable to the young cat. But it had happened. She had heard it from her friends too.

“It was horrible.” Whitepaw had said. “None of us could believe it. The monsters tore them apart.” The horror on her face told Squirrelpaw how grotesque the images were.

Beside them, Shrewpaw had nodded. “It didn’t make any sense.” The softness the usually snappy tom conveyed made another chill strike through the medicine den. “They didn’t even react to them. They just… ripped through them like they were nothing. By the time we looked back, they’d all fallen.” He’d stifled an angry grunt, “Then by the next day, they’d carried away the trunks. How strong are those things?”

Strong enough to tear apart the forest, Squirrelpaw knew.

“Are you sure you want to go back there?” Whitepaw mewed worriedly, “What if they come back?” Her whiskers trembled with fear.

“Don’t worry.” Squirrelpaw strutted forward to press her muzzle against her friend’s cheek. “I’ll be fine. Firestar and Brambleclaw will be there with me, as well as the other Clan leaders. Besides, I don’t think they’ll go back now.”

“How do you know that?”

Truthfully, Squirrelpaw didn’t, but the cats were going to meet there regardless. She couldn’t worry about that now.

Luckily, Shrewpaw came to her aid. “Don’t be a worry worm, Whitepaw.” The tom jabbed her with a forepaw. “If they were that close again, we would have heard them. Besides, remember what Greystripe said, they seem to be more focused on Windclan’s territory right now.”

Whitepaw seemed to relax a little, albeit begrudgingly, at that information.

Squirrelpaw only felt her stomach twist with panic.

She felt her sister’s tail on her pelt, Leafpaw could always tell when something was off. A different panic convulsed along Squirrelpaw’s tail. “Don’t worry, Squirrelpaw. From what I’ve heard, Windclan have been able to find new territory. There’s no cats where the monsters are now.”

“Yeah!” Shrewpaw agreed readily, perhaps sensing his words weren’t as comforting as he’d hoped. “Windclan cats are quick right, they’ll have gotten away fine.” Whitepaw rolled her eyes at his weak conclusion, but she didn’t say anything.

It was a small comfort, but Squirrelpaw couldn’t afford to choose. She flattened the fur on her tail, licking her chest to quell the nervous shakes that still rattled in her stomach. She let a forced smile come to her lips. “Yeah, I guess.”

Leafpaw purred beside her, “You’ll see. Once you’re at fourtrees tonight, you’ll be able to hear how the other clans are. Firestar will convince them that we have to leave, you’ll see.” As soothing as her sister’s voice usually was, Squirrelpaw wasn’t so assured this time. She’d seen how hostile the Windclan cats had been when they’d all returned, even to their own clanmate. Even in the middle of all this, clan divisions still ran rife. Would they really listen to a prophecy fortold by a few Warriors and a badger?

Could a truce really be found? It wasn’t even going to be a full moon tonight.

Squirrelpaw let her tail lay flat. She had to believe her friends could convince their leaders. Her and Brambleclaw had been able to convince Firestar after all.

She had to have hope.

“Exactly!” Shrewpaw mewed with a grin, he seemed to brighten as every pair of eyes fell on him. His tail wiggled behind him with a confident movement that seemed warm in the cold den. “If anyone can lead the clans out of this mess, it’s Firestar! Mark my words, by the next moon we’ll all be nice and snug at our new home!”

His voice was high and kittish, but by the stars was his optimism missed. Thinking back, Squirrelpaw remembered how even behind their slitted eyes, both Leafpaw and Whitepaw were smiling. Even if Shrewpaw was a mouse-brain most of the time, it was undeniable that what he believed was what they all wanted. If he saw a future brighter than the one they all expected, it was only natural they’d follow him there.

Even if he sounded naïve, he had a faith that Squirrelpaw knew the cats would need.

That’s what she tried to tell herself again and again, with every step through this destroyed terrain. That was why she kept her eyes away from it all. Looking at it just made Shewpaw’s voice grow fainter and fainter as if it was disappearing into a dark cave.

And it wasn’t just her. Just ahead, Brambleclaw padded behind her father and Cinderpelt. The tom occasionally looked back to check on her, and Squirrelpaw could see how meaningless his smile was. She knew how Brambleclaw really showed himself. The sag in his whiskers, the alarmed prickles over his back, the roll of his jaw, back and forth without control.

He kept a brave face, but he was frightened.

They were all frightened.

She realised, when she noticed his face shift as he looked ahead, that he was only smiling at her in order to comfort her worries.

A nice thought, but pointless all the same.

All she could do was give him the same worthless smile.

She was home, back with her clanmates and father, and yet she felt so… alone. She could still picture the harsh glares sent her way. As if she was a traitor for trying to help her clan. But maybe it wasn’t so surprising. The thought of her mentor, the cat she thought of as the strongest in all Thunderclan, broken and shrivelled by the loss of his kit. Everyone was suffering. That was why this had to go well. Starclan had to give them a chance, a glimpse of hope after all of this.

It had to come.

It had to.

A gasp of horror broke her from her misery. “Oh Starclan, no!” Brambleclaw choked.

Squirrelpaw looked up and regretted it immediately.

Fourtrees, the heart of the forest itself, was gone. The ancient columns of wood that once stood tall and triumphant, as if breaking through the clouds, were now nothing more but hollow circles of wood, barely reaching a leader’s height. The places where cats would gather, pacified by the truce, were scorched and blackened by the trail of the twolegs destruction. The ground was now a sickening black, littered by sharp stones and torn shreds of wood. Even the brilliant glow of the moon paled away behind a murk of ashy clouds holding its light from the cats below.

Squirrelpaw stared ahead, her jaw slack in horror. It hit her just then why the clans had been so hostile to their return. If they had seen this so long ago… It was as if a piece of the clans itself had been killed.

But what was even worse was the sight of the Great rock.

If it could even be called that anymore.

Instead of the stone that had seen proud leaders pass moon by moon, all Squirrelpaw saw was a scatter of cats sunken in a thick ooze of mud that shrouded the base of the Great rock. It had been clawed out of its place; Squirrelpaw could still see the deep rivets the monsters had marked the stone with at its base. Now, the noble stone lay on its side, discarded like the forgotten bones of a mouse. The seasons it had stood withered in the past, and its future now lurked inside an empty, lost void.

A harsh growl Squirrelpaw recognised as belonging to Blackstar confirmed sullenly what every cat realised. There would be no more gatherings. That part of their lives had been taken from them all.

Squirrelpaw wondered if that meant the truce was over as well.

She was given a slight hope when she saw Brambleclaw rush forward with an overjoyed cry. “Tawnypelt!”

Squirrelpaw couldn’t help but smile, properly this time, when she saw the siblings collide, both purring in relief. Anything that could remind her of the journey was a welcome sight. She bounded over as well, and saw Stormfur beside the Shadowclan molly. Squirrelpaw was about to burst with his name until she saw the wounded look in his eyes.

And then she remembered Feathertail, and her smile faded away.

She padded, a little more slowly, towards her friends. There was a low growl in the air and Squirrelpaw was shocked when she saw who it came from. Firestar was watching Brambleclaw, still buried in his sisters’ neck, with narrowed eyes. Eyes that were judging his loyalty.

Squirrelpaw watched her father until he swiped his head away, grunting. Squirrelpaw glared at him as he stormed away. Was he still angry at Brambleclaw because he had let her come? Or was this something else? The molly shook her head. How could any cat judge their loyalty after all they had been through? Tawnypelt was Brambleclaw’s sister for crying out loud, did their clans really have to mean that changed so much?

She wandered through the heavy silence, following the cats until she was at Stormfur’s side. “Hey.” She said softly, pressing her nose against his shoulder.

The grey cat turned to her gently, his eyes were glazed and distant. “Hey.” He paused. The silence was terrifying. They had spoken so easily before. He breathed haggardly. “How are things in Thunderclan?”

“Not great.” Squirrelpaw admitted. Even that was an understatement. She tried not to sound downhearted. “We need to leave soon. What about Riverclan?”

“It looks like the Twolegs haven’t reached our territory yet.”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes lit up. “That’s…” She was about to say ‘great’ until she saw the weariness in her friends’ eyes.

Stormfur sighed, he looked small. “It’s coming, I know it. But because Riverclan hasn’t suffered yet, I can’t convince Leopardstar of anything.”

Squirrelpaw’s mouth opened as she realised the gravity of that knowledge. She knew about Leopardstar. Truthfully, the young molly had never had a pleasant thought when it came to the leader. She knew the stories that surrounded her, the whispers of what had once occurred during the time of Tigerstar. The story of Bone Hill was a well-known horror story among the apprentices.

Only this story was more than just fantasy.

Squirrelpaw had never understood it. How any leader could betray their clan to another and just live on without any consequences? She remembered asking her father about it when she was a kit. What justifiable reason could any leader have for doing something like that?

“It’s a complicated story, Squirrelkit.” He had said. “Sometimes leader’s think they’re doing the right thing for their clan when in fact they’re doing the wrong thing. But that doesn’t mean that they are bad cats at heart. A leader will do anything to make sure their clan survives. The important thing is to move on from those mistakes and learn to forgive.”

That might have meant something, if Squirrelpaw hadn’t remembered the story of how Leopardstar had just sat and watched while, the then, Blackfoot had killed her deputy. How exactly was that protecting your clan?

Squirrelpaw remembered then how it had been Feathertail and Stormfur that Stonefur had been protecting.

She wondered how they did it. How they could trust a leader that had agreed to their deaths?

And now, after all of that trust, Feathertail was dead and Stormfur was telling her that Leopardstar wouldn’t lead her clan to safety?!

Her heart swelled with horror. “Is there no cat who you could convince? What about Mistyfoot?”

“Mistyfoot’s gone.” Stormfur said simply.

“Gone?” Squirrelpaw had to fight to keep her voice low. Terror widened in her eyes, “You don’t mean-”

“We don’t know” Stormfur clarified, but his mew was rough with fear.

A thought came to Squirrelpaw. “What if she was captured by Twolegs?”

Stormfur turned to her blinking. “What? What do you mean?”

“I heard that some cats had been taken by them!”

“What for?”

Squirrelpaw could only give him a frightened silence. Stormfur turned back, his face creased by the moonhigh shadows. His head dipped with a pained whine. “Starclan help us.”

“But… But Riverclan wouldn’t leave without their deputy, right?” Every leader needed their deputy. Surely Leopardstar realised that! She wouldn’t just abandon one of her most trusted Warriors.

Now, a glistening anger came into Stormfur’s face. “We have a new deputy.” He hissed, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

Squirrelpaw paused, her jaw was stiff. Leopardstar really would do that. “W-Who?”

The grey tom jutted his head forward, reluctant hate in his eyes. “Hawkfrost.”

Squirrelpaw didn’t recognise the name until she was looking ahead. She could just about remember the bulky rogue that had been accepted by Riverclan. He strode ahead, far away from them, beside Leopardstar and another huge creamy molly that she remembered as being his sister. Mothwing? That was the name that Leafpaw had told her at least. From what she had heard, her sister only had good things to say about the molly. She hadn’t mentioned her brother that much. But he was a deputy now? Squirrelpaw tried to understand how that could have happened.

“Leopardstar made him deputy? Why?”

Stormfur opened his mouth, but he soon shut it as they made their way to the other side of the stone.

Squirrelpaw’s paws prickled in frustration. “Stormfur, I-”

She fell silent as she saw the cats waiting by the low dip of the uprooted stone.

It was Tallstar… wasn’t it? Squirrelpaw tried to think of the leader of Windclan, the one who had seen leaders come and go all through his reign, the one who had already led Windclan for moons while her father was still an apprentice. Even in the last time she’d seen him, despite Windclan’s dismal water situation, he had looked strong and noble as he stood high on the Great rock. Squirrelpaw respected him immensely. There had always been something about Tallstar, about how naturally and respectfully stood among the other leaders, how he put his clan before his pride. That much had been clear when he’d begged Riverclan to share their water supply without hesitation.

He was prideful without being arrogant, respectful without being weak, and strong without being cruel.

But what Squirrelpaw saw now. This was not the Tallstar she remembered.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen a cat look so skinny, so hungry! His eyes sank into the hollow shape of his head, blinking listlessly in the cold darkness. He looked to be missing several small patches of his short fur along his belly, the fur that remained was dirty and uncared for. Squirrelpaw could picture when she had gone through the two-leg place on the journey, she had seen a dead mouse resting on the stone outside a two-leg den. It had clearly been killed a while ago. It looked like a shrivelled root, its precious moisture and juices squeezed out by the hot sun above them. She’d asked why the cat that had killed it hadn’t eaten it. What was the point of killing it if it wasn’t going to be used?

“Some kittypet’s just like the sport of it.” Tawnypelt muttered in disgust. “They don’t need it for food with all the feed they get from the two-legs. Hunting’s just a game for them.”

That had made Squirrelpaw angry. Not only because it showed just how dishonourable and easy a kittypet’s life was, but because of how little they regarded their prey. Prey meant survival in the forest, cats died because of hunger, and these two-leg playthings just killed because it was nothing but fun, exercise, for their sluggish lives.

They had killed a creature, and had left it to rot and decay like it was nothing.

Tallstar reminded Squirrelpaw of that mouse. Of something unwanted and forgotten, left to waste away in its own time. He looked as if his own guts were shrinking, leaving him to become nothing but a thin slather of skin and fur on a wasted pile of bones.

He could barely even stand. He tried to look strong in the face of the other leaders, but it was clear the only reason he was standing up was because he was balanced by the small tom beside him.

Even in the darkness, Squirrelpaw recognised the tom. It might have been the way he stubbornly kept his small frame tall, as if nothing in the forest could touch him. It might have been the glow of his eyes.

Squirrelpaw took a deep breath. The last time she’d seen those eyes, they had kept hollow as he gently pushed her away, like nothing had ever happened. She tried to not remember how much it made her heart break. Instead she tried to take comfort in how despite everything he looked healthy. Maybe even dignified as he held his leader close beside him, never shivering away. She watched as he turned, watching the other clans approach them.

Even from this far back, she offered him a loving smile.

Whether he noticed her or not, his eyes narrowed and he stiffened up, his tail prickling, as if warning them. Then after a mutter from Tallstar, he slackened and turned his head away.

A real sense of fear began to rumble in Squirrelpaw’s chest. It thundered beside the pain.

Crowpaw only kept his eyes on his leader until the rest of the clans had made it to where they stood. Squirrelpaw saw Stormfur’s coat shiver when he passed by the Windclan tom. Crowpaw had a similar reaction, but his face was contorted in a scowl. Stormfur cleared his throat, as if ridding himself of a sickness, and said nothing as he sat beside Tawnypelt, a tail-length away from the dark apprentice.

Squirrelpaw held back a horrified breath. She understood how Feathertail still loomed over their thoughts. She would never forget her as long as she lived. But when she thought about how it had hardly been a moon since she had seen Crowpaw and Stormfur side by side, talking with a growing friendliness, the sight of such stiffness now was confusing to the molly.

Come to think of it, as the leaders pulled themselves up onto the shifted slab that had been the great rock, her heart aching with pity as she saw how Tallstar needed her father’s help to struggle onto the platform, she began to feel something tight in her chest at how her friends shifted uncomfortably as they sat together.

Like they had never even met.

She gulped and shook her head. It didn’t have to be like this. She still had that power surely. She eased herself to the side of Crowpaw, whispering to him as the leaders began to talk. “Hey.” She mewed. She was smiling. It still felt right next to him.

He gave her a sideways glance. It was barren. Squirrelpaw pushed away the memory of their last meeting. She had to move forward.

“Hello.” He said, then he looked back to the leaders.

Squirrelpaw hoped the disappointment didn’t show on her face. But her heart began to pound with a creeping panic. She took a quick breath and followed his stare. “How are things in Windclan?” She asked, trying not to cringe as she saw Tallstar shake off the worried mews of her father.

To her surprise, she found the other chosen cats had heard her, and they all turned to Crowpaw hopefully.

Crowpaw didn’t meet any cats’ eyes. His tail swung hotly as if he was trying to thaw a coat of ice. “Awful. Windclan can’t stay there anymore.” He said with dreadful assurance. It made Squirrelpaw scared. He looked so defeated.

“What about your clanmates?” Brambleclaw asked hazily.

“You can’t call it Windclan anymore.” Crowpaw said icily, ignoring Brambleclaw. “There’s nothing left of our territory.”

There were no implications. His voice was slow and stony with the plain truth.

“But that means that Tallstar wants to leave, right?” Brambleclaw spoke up again.

“Yes.” Crowpaw said. “He knows there’s nothing left for us here.”

Squirrelpaw felt her whiskers curl with a bizarre relief. If Tallstar would allow Windclan to go, that made things so much easier for this meeting! Now it wouldn’t just be her father arguing for them all! “That’s great news! Firestar’s just waiting for the other clans to decide before he says anything.”

Crowpaw scoffed bitterly. “We can’t afford to wait.”

Squirrelpaw’s paws began to quiver again. She began to notice the lack of warmth as she stood by Crowpaw’s side.

She breathed again. Time. She reminded herself. He needs time. She had to picture how much he was going through. She couldn’t just pull a cat out of their grief. She wasn’t over it, she couldn’t just expect him to be with all his clan was going through.

“Blackstar’s ready to leave as well.” Tawnypelt said quietly.

“He is?” Brambleclaw mewed. Squirrelpaw saw the rising hope in his face.

Tawnypelt just looked bleak. “I think he made his mind up before I even came back.”

A silence followed. “But… did he believe you when you mentioned the prophecy?” Stormfur asked hesitantly.

Tawnypelt said nothing.

That was enough for their hope to fade.

It only got worse as Stormfur confirmed what most had expected. Leopardstar didn’t want to leave the clans. Squirrelpaw wasn’t so surprised by this when he mentioned how Riverclan’s territory hadn’t been affected by the Twolegs.

‘Yet’. She thought regrettably.

She tried to force understanding into her heart. If their land was safe and their prey was running well, then it only made sense for Leopardstar to want to remain. Why would she leave when she saw no threat to her clan?

But Squirrelpaw wondered if the leader had actually opened her eyes?

Had she not seen what was going on around them? Had she not paid attention to the loss of four-trees? She was standing on the ruined remains of the Great stone, wasn’t she? Did she really not think that this was going to find her clan sooner or later?

“Leopardstar’s convinced the Two-legs will never reach our territory.” Stormfur admitted, there was a thick clog of fright and dismay in his voice. He looked beyond drained and Squirrelpaw shivered at what Stormfur must have been subjected to when he was trying to convince his leader.

Tawnypelt looked like she was about to rub her shoulder against the grey Warrior’s, but she stopped at the last moment. Nervously, she kept in place. “Can’t she be convinced?”

“If Mistystar was here, maybe?” Stormfur flinched as if he’d been burnt. “But Hawkfrost isn’t convinced we’re in any danger either.” The grey warrior coughed to burn away the growl in his throat. “He… He told me I was a traitor for even going on the journey in the first place when I wasn’t even chosen.”

Squirrelpaw jerked where she sat, her mouth dry with disbelief. She turned, glaring at the so-called Riverclan Deputy. He sat looking up at the leaders, his mouth rested in a smooth frown. His icy blue eyes seemed to peer through the night like the predatory glare of a fox. He didn’t appear to notice the angry molly as he kept still apart from the cool sway of his tail.

A growl dripped over Squirrelpaw’s fangs. Stormfur had been a clan cat long before this mongrel had showed up, and he had the gall to call him a traitor?! “What does he know?” She hissed in a tight whisper. “Why would Leopardstar even let some rogue become Deputy anyway?”

She soon wished she’d never asked.

Crowpaw was staring at the Deputy, as well, with such a burning flame of hatred that Squirrelpaw found her own anger cool in her shock. Stormfur had begun to shiver in his own spot, a pounding shame on his muzzle.

“Was that his reward after he lied to Leopardstar?” Crowpaw hissed, twisting to face Stormfur. The tom’s teeth were bare in a creased snarl.

Stormfur couldn’t meet his eyes, “I-I don’t…” He trailed off and that seemed to make Crowpaw angrier.

“Don’t what?” He hissed. “Don’t understand what your clan’s done?!”

Brambleclaw stepped ahead, blocking Stormfur from Crowpaw’s view. His amber eyes looked down on the apprentice warningly. “Crowpaw, calm down. What’s going on?”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Crowpaw was barely keeping his voice low enough to not alert the leaders. His eyes blazed in the dark. “That fox-hearted rogue told Leopardstar that Windclan was stealing prey from Riverclan. Now she’s forbidden us from using the lake!”

“What?” Squirrelpaw squeaked.

“You heard me.” Crowpaw didn’t look back. His back arched, fur shaking with fury. “How are we supposed to survive without water?”

Squirrelpaw began to understand Crowpaw’s anger a little easier. The memory of Tallstar begging for Windclan came back, the reality of desperation in his actions, and now Leopardstar had made it all for nothing. She thought back to Webfoot and that skinny apprentice she’d seen when she’d come back, and apprehension surged in her legs. They hadn’t even been able to drink for who knew how long. No wonder Tallstar was ready to leave the forest.

Brambleclaw seemed to settle at the realisation of this information. He sighed deeply, already sounding softer.

“I’m sorry, Crowpaw. But there’s nothing I can do.” Stormfur said, “Leopardstar believes his story.” There was a quiver at the end of his voice.

Crowpaw caught it, his tail thumped against the ground. “And do you?”

Stromfur flinched, “I never said that.”

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

“Crowpaw, please!” Brambleclaw pressed stepping forward again. Despite the pity in his eyes, he still kept his voice firm. Crowpaw eased back a little but his mood didn’t waver. “I get how you feel, but Stormfur can’t change Leopardstar’s decision.”

“So Windclan cats should just die of thirst then because of some lies?” Crowpaw muttered indignantly. Then he began to stare at Brambleclaw a little more. “Or do you believe that rogue as well?”

Brambleclaw sighed, “Crowpaw-”

“We. Didn’t. Steal.” Crowpaw snarled out, “And if we did it’s because we didn’t have a choice! My clan shouldn’t be left for dead because of that. You never saw them.”

Squirrelpaw suddenly remembered the first time she saw Crowpaw. How he had lunged at Brambleclaw after they’d found his patrol… stealing.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Stealing prey didn’t mean a whole clan had to go without food or water. If Thunderclan was in such a position could she honestly say she wouldn’t do the same thing. Every clan had elders and mothers to feed. And this wasn’t a usual time for any clan, they couldn’t let any cat grow weak now. She couldn’t help but understand Crowpaw’s anger.

After all, it wasn’t that surprising to her.

The pure anger and quick blame in his tone; it was a Crowpaw she knew but still didn’t recognise.

“Your clan is not the only one that’s suffering, Crowpaw.” Tawnypelt cut in, casting a narrowed glance at the apprentice.

Crowpaw stood there for a moment, then he only hissed and turned away, staring at his paws. “No. But they may be the only one’s who can’t make it.” He didn’t need to lookback at his leader to prove his point.

Every cat fell silent again.

No cat may have noticed the flicker behind his anger, the trembling in his tail, but Squirrelpaw knew what she saw.

He was hurting. So much.

She couldn’t stop herself. She stepped towards him, hoping to swell her fur with warmth, and pressed her side against his. A small comfort, but one she wanted to give him nonetheless. It wasn’t because she… Well, nevermind. No. Windclan was on the verge of ruin and Crowpaw looked like he was trying to balance it all on his shoulders. Her pelt gingerly rubbed his and she swallowed down the stuttering in her chest. “I’m so sorry, Crowpaw. If there’s anything Thunderclan can do, I’m sure Firestar will-”

Her pelt went cold as Crowpaw stepped away with a low growl. He wouldn’t face her as he spat towards the ground. “I don’t need your pity. I’ll make sure that Windclan survives this, with or without the other clans.”

Squirrelpaw stared.

She stared and stared and stared.

The cat beside her didn’t look back once. Squirrelpaw blinked to check if she was seeing things correctly. This cat had the dark fur, the sleek frame and the blue eyes of Crowpaw, but this couldn’t be him surely. She knew he was moody, she knew he was in pain, and she knew how they weren’t beside each other by the sun-drown place anymore.

But this… even after the cold goodbye and the distance he had drawn…

No. He sounded genuinely angry this time.

At her.

That wasn’t Crowpaw. That hadn’t been her… After everything…

What was going on?

“Don’t be like that!” Tawnypelt snapped through her teeth. Crowpaw growled at her. “I’m sorry Crowpaw, but you’re being foolish if you think any clan will survive without the rest of us! Did you learn nothing from the journey?”

“Tawnypelt!” Her brother pleaded, “Please! We’re here for a sign! If we fight now, we can’t show Starclan that the clans will work together!” His amber eyes burst with pain at his words.

Tawnypelt sighed, her expression was sullen, “It isn’t us that will decide that, Brambleclaw. Who knows if the sign will come?”

“Maybe it’s too late for that.” Stormfur mewed weakly.

“Stormfur, you can’t say that.” Brambleclaw insisted, his voice broken with shock. “Think about… Would Feathertail want you to give up now?” He sounded desperate to keep the groups hopes alive. It was clear belief was slipping out of all of them.

The sound of her name was like the chill of invisible rain.

Stormfur looked up slowly, his eyes were dull. “I wish we’d never stayed in the mountains.” He said softly, his eyes travelled through the group before sliding back to the dark mud.

No one could say anything.

It didn’t matter much as the leaders’ voices took over the clearing.

There was no agreement between them. They were arguing, divided, split as they had always been.

Like Stormfur had said, Leopardstar refused to leave her territory when they still had food and water to thrive from. She didn’t offer any share to the clans.

Blackstar wanted to leave the forest, he said there wouldn’t be anything left soon anyway, but he didn’t want to lead his warriors on the words of some badger. He would decide where they went. He made that clear with a flash of his eyes, as if he anticipated the other clans to argue. Tawnypelt’s jaw dropped when he announced he’d be leading Shadowclan to the Twolegplace, but her voice was gone. It offered no match to her leader’s.

Beside her, Brambleclaw had grown stiff with inconceivable panic. He looked at his sister, frozen with aghast fear, trembling at the thought of leaving her forever.

But no words of comfort came out of him.

No comfort came from any of them.

Squirrelpaw was finding it hard to breathe. Every minute they waited for a sign just made the poison in the air thicker. Her sight had gone from glassy to clouded in a matter of minutes, but she found that no tears dampened her cheeks. Perhaps she was too stunned to cry.

She just didn’t know what had gone wrong? She wasn’t an idiot, she had known, and expected, that things would be different once they came home. But when she looked at the cats she had spent moons eating, sleeping and travelling with, the cats she considered her friends, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

Even if they were back at the clans, did that really mean they had to act like strangers?

She remembered nights where they had sat together telling stories, unafraid to laugh or moan at the jokes they shared. They had been warm in the growing trust they had established. But here, under the shadows of their leaders, they all looked stiff and cold, scared to even look at each other. Their words were as blunt as winter bark, wrapped in thorns that pierced through them all.

They had been through so much. Squirrelpaw knew that. She’d been there. She remembered it all.

So why did it look like they couldn’t?

Where was the sign? That was all they needed, right? If that came, it would have to make the leaders know they were telling the truth! So why wouldn’t it come? Squirrelpaw could only watch as the impatient leader of Shadowclan stormed off the Great rock, denouncing their prophecy as foolish. She also saw her father try to stop him, meeting the bared fangs of Blackstar as he did so.

Squirrelpaw’s stomach turned. Midnight had told them that the leaders would have to listen. But they were still snarling like enemies.

They couldn’t come together.

Maybe that was why Starclan refused to respond. Why waste time on cats who couldn’t believe what they had already foretold?

Squirrelpaw breathed in to stop herself from shaking. No… No! They had to survive this! If they couldn’t carry on then why had they even gone in the first place? Why had Feathertail…

It didn’t matter what interjections the chosen warriors made. The leaders of Riverclan and Windclan had made up their minds.

In fact, Squirrelpaw only saw Leopardstar’s attention drift once.

When she saw her hulking brown Deputy pound onto the Great Rock and sneer at the leaders himself. “If the other clans want to leave,” Hawkfrost said carefully, his fox like eyes glinting, “I think they should. Don’t let us stop you when you can’t stop us from staying here.” His mouth curved into a thin smile that appeared to taunt the angry eyes of Firestar and Tallstar.

Squirrelpaw couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her tail flared. How could this tom address the leaders like that? He seemed to flicker in the shimmers of moonlight, expanding like some dark dream into the clouds. He seemed to burn with an arrogance that made Squirrelpaw sick.

But what truly caught her was how Leopardstar said nothing to this disrespect. If anything, her eyes shone with agreement.

She believed this tom, this cat who had sauntered into her clan just over a moon ago, over the word of her own Warrior.

Over the sacrifice of her dead Warrior.

Squirrelpaw’s surprise began to bubble into rage. It wasn’t isolated as Brambleclaw twisted up to face the tom with a furious snarl. “You just want our territory!” He accused, his face contorted savagely.

Hawkfrost narrowed his eyes, but he simply cocked his head to the side as if addressing a kit. “What would you need it for?” He said smoothly. He wouldn’t even deny it. “If you wish to abandon your territory, it can’t surprise you that other cats would take it. That’s just nature.”

“What would you know of our nature?” Brambleclaw shouted, “You’re not even clan born!”

Hawkfrost only stared, unwavered.

“Brambleclaw!” Firestar hissed. “Show some respect!”

Squirrelpaw turned to her father in cold horror. Was he really defending this fox-heart over his own Warrior? She knew it was important to not start a fight, but she hardly could see how he could snap at Brambleclaw when Leopardstar had only watched Hawkfrost admit how he wanted to steal their own territory!

As Brambleclaw gazed at his paws in shame, Squirrelpaw could only watch, teeth clenched, as Hawkfrost looked down at them with cold satisfaction.

She looked at her clanmate in deep sympathy. This wasn’t fair! Brambleclaw was the one who had been given a message from Starclan, Brambleclaw was the one who had risked his life to follow their instructions, and Hawkfrost was the one who was standing next to his leader in triumph. How was this just? She wanted to scream at the mongrel herself, but she didn’t have the chance as the air was filled by her father’s pleas as Blackstar stormed away with his clan.

She couldn’t say anything, she could only sit there, fighting for breath as Tawnypelt, looking defeated, was forced to follow her leader, unable to even give a goodbye to her gasping brother.

Stormfur was soon forced to leave as well. He offered Squirrelpaw a sad goodbye and a promise that he would try to talk with them again soon, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.

Even when Tallstar scrambled from the Great rock, shouting in a withered voice that they needed to make a truce, Leopardstar didn’t bat an eye. She strode off, eyes cold, followed by the proud, smirking Hawkfrost. Stormfur could only follow, head dipped. He was the only one who looked back when Tallstar fell from the Great rock in his panic, his fall only lessened by the quick pounce of Crowpaw. Then he slid into the shadows.

Squirrelpaw could feel the failure on her tongue.

It swarmed around the Great rock like a cloud of locusts. There would be no sign tonight. And there would be no agreement either, only conflict.

She heard her father’s sad voice above them. A leader’s tone, soft with defeat. “I couldn’t convince them.”

No one could.

Squirrelpaw gazed into the shadows where her friends had disappeared. Beyond her sight, they had returned to the ruins of their own clans. And yet, their leaders couldn’t believe them. They had denied the meaning of their journey and relied on their own decisions, no matter the cost of the other clans.

The only hope she could find came from how Tallstar was on her father’s side. But even that was thin as the Windclan leader was desperate to leave soon, while her father begged him for more time to reassure the other clans. It wasn’t a surprise to the molly. She only needed to look at Tallstar to understand his frenzy. But like her father, she knew they couldn’t just leave the others so easily.

“Why didn’t the sign come?” Squirrelpaw said breathlessly. Why hadn’t Starclan come to them? She turned to her remaining friends and was heartbroken by the hopeless look on Brambleclaw’s face. His shoulders had sunken and his head was low. He looked as if he couldn’t find the strength to lift a paw. Crowpaw hadn’t seemed to hear her as he kept close to his leader who sat, shaking, talking with Firestar.

“I don’t know.” Brambleclaw said hollowly.

Squirrelpaw blinked rapidly, “What are we going to do now? We can’t just leave the other clans?” She couldn’t imagine the thought of doing that. If they kept apart who knew what that would mean for the clans. Squirrelpaw was certain that no clan would survive if they didn’t stay together. She couldn’t just let Tawnypelt and Stormfur go that easily!

Brambleclaw let out a mew of pain. “It’s like Tawnypelt said.” His voice cracked, “It isn’t up to us anymore.”

“No… We-We have to do something!”

“What can we do?” Brambleclaw looked up and Squirrelpaw shivered at how dark his eyes looked. “We can’t change the minds of the other leaders. Not even their own Warriors could do that.”

Squirrelpaw shook her head. The logic of her clanmates words was something she refused to accept. “No! Starclan gave you that message because they wanted us all to save the clans! That’s what we have to do!”

“I want to believe you, Squirrelpaw.” Brambleclaw looked up to the expanding darkness. He seemed to be pleading internally for a light he didn’t think would come. “But what if we can’t.”

“We have to!” Squirrelpaw squeaked. She would not allow herself to believe this was all for nothing! They had to save the clans! They had to!

It was what Feathertail had died for.

Squirrelpaw fixed her brow into a determined frown, she forced herself to keep straight. “Things will work out, Brambleclaw!” She meowed. When Brambleclaw just silently looked down at his paws again, Squirrelpaw didn’t waste a moment. She fixed herself beside him and wrapped her tail around him. “You’ll see. We’re all going to be okay.”

They would be, she told herself. We’re going to be okay.

We’re going to be okay.

She repeated it in her mind until her vision was clear.

There was a silent appreciation in Brambleclaw’s eyes, but he didn’t smile. His tail patted Squirrelpaw’s back thankfully, before lying still again. Squirrelpaw sighed, disappointed, but she backed off. The tom clearly wanted a little space to think. All she needed to do was remind him when he was too much in doubt.

Her head turned towards her father and Tallstar again, they were stood beside their medicine cats discussing the failure of this night.

“You’re too proud, Firestar.” Tallstar rasped, his eyes were narrowed. “If you wait around for the other clans to agree, both of our clans will die. You know that.”

“Tallstar.” Firestar said softly, fighting to keep straight. “I understand what you’re saying, but I can’t… I can’t just let my clan leave the others in this chaos.”

“And what about when the chaos consumes us both?!” Tallstar demanded.

Squirrelpaw’s ears fixed back, her heart suddenly stabbing with pity for her father. How could any leader be asked to lead in a situation like this? She saw Crowpaw watching a tail-length away. His fur was flat on his back as he watched his leader warily, like he expected a sudden attack from Firestar.

Squirrelpaw tried to swallow down her anger. But that was difficult. When she looked at Crowpaw, a terrible feeling rattled in her chest. The bitter sting of his words, the lack of trust, the assurance of his own isolation, it consumed Squirrelpaw’s heart like a hungry adder.

She cringed and forced herself to look back at him again. But when she did, she was so stung by what she saw. This wasn’t the Crowpaw she knew. This bitter shell wasn’t her friend, it couldn’t be. He was in pain, just like her. Despite what he said and how he acted, Squirrelpaw knew, she just knew, that there was a part of him that needed her.

Just like a part of her needed him.

This wasn’t about how she truly felt.

More than anything in the world, Crowpaw was her friend and if he needed her, she would be there.

Besides, a voice in her head had reminded her of something she needed to do.

Biting her lip, waiting a moment, then taking another deep breath, she stepped towards him. Crowpaw’s ear flicked and he turned back, upon seeing her his angry expression softened somewhat but it was by no means recognisable yet.

Squirrelpaw gulped, shaking away the hurt of feeling how awkward it had become to just talk with him. “Crowpaw?”

“What is it?” His voice was sharp.

Squirrelpaw’s tail sank a little, but she kept her face straight and gentle. “I just…” She looked at him deeply, hoping to catch the part of him that remembered the journey. The good parts. “I’m happy that our clans will be travelling together.”

Crowpaw bristled, “We should be leaving soon. My clan can’t afford to wait.”

“I know.” Squirrelpaw said gently, “Mine can’t either, but we just need more time to-”

“We don’t have time!” Crowpaw snapped, his voice was a quiet lash. He stepped closer so his leader wouldn’t hear him. “We tried to convince the others, but they wouldn’t listen! That’s their fault!”

Squirrelpaw gasped, “Crowpaw, we can’t just leave without them! What about Stormfur and Tawnypelt?”

“What about my clanmates? What about yours? Do you really want to let them suffer because Leopardstar and Blackstar can’t see sense?”

Squirrelpaw’s brow furrowed, she couldn’t stop herself. “What about their clans? Their clanmates shouldn’t be allowed to suffer instead! We need to try and convince them.”

Crowpaw scoffed, “I’m sure hunger will convince them soon enough!”

Squirrelpaw shivered. She didn’t like the bitterness in Crowpaw’s voice. She forced herself to ignore the voice that screamed that was what Crowpaw wanted to happen to them. He wasn’t the kind of cat who’d want that for anycat… she was sure…

“I don’t want to argue with you, Crowpaw.”

“Then what do you want then?” He looked back at his leader carefully.

Squirrelpaw’s jaw rolled back and forth, there was a biting sensation in her chest. “Greystripe told me to tell you something.”

Crowpaw paused.

He knew who Greystripe was. He knew who his family were.

Squirrelpaw saw a slight trembling in Crowpaw’s tail. She blinked when she felt her eyes start to become glassy again. “He wanted me to thank you. For… being Feathertail’s friend.”

Crowpaw’s ears flattened hard against his skull. Instantly he turned to Squirrelpaw, his face numb with bewilderment. It felt so new that Squirrelpaw was caught off guard.

Then she allowed the hope to fill her again.

Feathertail.

That was who they were bonded by, she was the cat that would always be in their memory. She was the reason for the hope that Squirrelpaw kept so close to her heart.

She felt, she just felt, that Crowpaw had to share that too.

But then Crowpaw killed that hope with three words.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever response Squirrelpaw had expected, it wasn’t that. She hadn’t mentally fortified herself for the bleak audacity in his voice.

The air suddenly felt like it was stinging.

“What did you just say?” Squirrelpaw whispered, her voice was sharp as her pupils shrank into tiny pricks that blurred the darkness of the night. Through her trembling sight, she found she could barely distinguish Crowpaw from the dark anymore.

And what she did see, the sunken cavern of his face, looked like a complete stranger.

“I said it doesn’t matter.” The darkness let out a soft growl that rumbled and buzzed in the night. “What good did being her friend do when she isn’t even here?”

The night began to shrink. Squirrelpaw began to shake.

It didn’t matter?

Those three words began to glow red in Squirrelpaw’s mind.

“She was our friend.” Squirrelpaw said, her voice tight. “Of course it matters.”

“How?” The hollow voice responded, “Did it stop her from dying?”

“That’s not the point.”

“There’s no point to it at all!”

Squirrelpaw’s heart began to burn, “You don’t mean that. You don’t.” She said it again to give him a chance. “How can you say that? She would have done anything for you! For any of us! You know that!”

“Yeah I do!” The voice hissed, “That’s why she’s dead.” There was a long, glaring silence. “If that’s why she’s dead then it would have been better if we hadn’t been friends to begin with!”

In the draw of her scattered breath, Squirrelpaw’s cold denial transformed into a storm of fury! She twisted her head up to the cat, her breath racing in a fierce rage. He didn’t even look stirred. He just sat there, glaring at his paws as if he had said enough.

It didn’t matter. That was what he’d said.

Their whole friendship.

Feathertail’s laugh.

Feathertail’s kindness.

Feathertail’s smile.

None of that mattered?

By all accounts, Squirrelpaw realised with a simmering blaze, the implication of those three words was that Feathertail had died for nothing. Whether it was his intention or not, Squirrelpaw did not care. Feathertail had died for him, because she loved him, because she loved her clan.

Did her sacrifice mean nothing then?

“How dare you?” Squirrelpaw said, her voice was rough and scratchy. “You can’t be serious!”

Crowpaw looked up at her silently, then with a sharp grind of his teeth he turned away again. “Why don’t you think about it? She died for all of us! She would have been better off if she’d just looked after herself!”

“She sacrificed herself because she wanted us to survive!”

“And now she isn’t here!” Crowpaw spat out, he shook his head with a hiss.

“I can’t believe you! Have you forgotten what she wanted? She wanted the clans to work together! She wanted us to be friends!”

“And look where we are now.” He wouldn’t even look at her. He couldn’t do that much! “Look around you, Squirrelpaw! The clans aren’t going to change just because a Warrior wants them to!”

Squirrelpaw stared at him icily, her paws tensed and her claws scraped into the mud. “That isn’t what she believed! And how can you say that? You said…” Squirrelpaw fumbled for her breath like she was reaching for air above a roaring river. “You said you wanted us all to continue meeting.”

She wanted Crowpaw to acknowledge that. It was something. It was a memory. It was hope.

Crowpaw didn’t even bat an eye. “Yeah? Well… that was my mistake.”

Mistake…

“Are you kidding?” Squirrelpaw said gently. She had lost the effort to find her voice straining.

Crowpaw didn’t respond, he just looked back at his leader.

Mistake.

Was that how he saw everything?

Squirrelpaw sat there not listening as Tallstar and Firestar began to end their discussion.

She felt like she was waiting as her eyes kept fixed on Crowpaw. He still had his back turned to her. Maybe she was waiting for the slightest break that showed he was lying. That he didn’t regret everything he said. That everything important to Squirrelpaw still meant something. That she still had a reason to hold on to the memories of the friends she had made.

Crowpaw didn’t move.

Squirrelpaw felt something hopeless inside her.

She breathed in and out.

Fine.

“Fine.” She said to the dark back. “You know what? If she could see you now, she wouldn’t even want to see you again.”

There was no reaction.

She could sense that Windclan were about to leave. She wouldn’t let him have the power of ending this conversation. Of ending their friendship. She rose to her paws and let her heart speak before her mind.

“In fact,” She said in a voice she couldn’t believe was hers. “She’d be ashamed of you.”

She didn’t wait to see any reaction, inside of her was a putrid pool of satisfaction and regret that was too heavy to let go of.

She didn’t wait for her clanmates, she just began to stalk her way back. She’d tell her father and Brambleclaw that there was nothing else to hear. Sliding through mud and sap and destruction was too easy for the molly now. That terrified her.

But she would wait until she got back to the gully where her clanmates were sleeping before she let everything truly take place in her heart.

The hopeless situation.

The loss of her friends.

The belief she struggled to hold.

She wouldn’t cry. She told herself.

She wouldn’t cry.

She cried. Nestled in the dark gully between her sister and Shrewpaw, in this place that screamed the truth that her home was gone, she cried silently. Her face buried into two paws, sucking in her sobs like she was hiding from predators, she let her eyes water until they were sore and she was too exhausted to do anything else.

But even as she fell asleep, she couldn’t ignore the shadows over the faces of her friends.

And she couldn’t stop the pain of feeling so alone once more.

She wanted to dream of hope.

But her thoughts were black when she finally fell into the haze.

…

When Squirrelpaw opened her eyes, she was shocked when she didn’t smell the sharp rot of the gully. Instead the air smelt ripe and sweet, like they were glistening somehow over her fur. She looked around and saw a vast field, seeming to go on forever. It reminded her of the sea from the sun-drown place, so open and free.

All around her were glittering strands of grass, as well as patches of flowers whose colours seemed to stream into the sky itself. Squirrelpaw could only look up in astonishment as she saw the sky was a bright shadow of dark blue, like how the night began to glisten before a sunrise. Beams of light seemed to hand in the air itself around her. Were they stars? If they were, Squirrelpaw had never seen stars like them. She’d never seen anything so beautiful.

She looked around in awe. Where was she?

What kind of dream was this? It wasn’t like those that passed between a blink, she felt alive here, in control.

And entirely at peace.

She felt like she didn’t want to wake up.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Squirrelpaw froze.

Not out of fright.

But out of something strange and blissful.

She couldn’t give herself this kind of hope surely. It wasn’t… It wasn’t possible.

The sweet laugh echoed over the dream like a soft cloud.

Despite the painful truth of her reality, Squirrelpaw couldn’t bring herself to ignore the voice that she knew. It was warm. It was bright. It made her chest gleam in a way she hadn’t felt for so long.

Squirrelpaw held her breath as she turned.

A tree-length away from her, a molly stood there. She was glittering under the lights around her, like she was part of them herself. They sparkled over her silver fur like stars that could never go out.

Squirrelpaw had to be dreaming.

This hope couldn’t be true.

She breathed slowly as she met the eyes she knew so well. The ocean blue eyes glowed as they connected with hers.

“Hello Squirrelpaw.” The soft voice cooed. “I missed you.”

Everything in Squirrelpaw told her to keep back and safe from this certain trick.

But Feathertail, real or not, was there. And she gave Squirrelpaw the one thing she missed so much.

A friend’s smile.

It was that that made Squirrelpaw run. And when she found herself buried in the soft fur of her friend, she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore if this was real or just a dream.

But then she caught Feathertail’s scent. Familiar and striking.

And it all became real.

Squirrelpaw cried. But nothing could stop her from smiling.

…

#squirrelflight #crowfeather #brambleclaw #tawnypelt #Stormfur #Feathertail #the new prophecy #Warrior Cats #Warriors #fanfiction #squirrelcrow #crowsquirrel #i like your laugh

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saijspellhart · 3 years

Note

Would I be able to request #41 with Bakushipping? Even though they'd have trouble fitting under one umbrella.. "^^

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. (Don’t worry, I made them fit. *winks*)

They were fighting again. Bickering and snarling like two old cats.

The rain was coming down hard, pelting Ryou’s skull. The wind stung his reddened cheeks and nose, and his clothes were soaked through.

Ahead of him Akeifa* and Bakura were tearing at each other. Fighting over a tattered umbrella that had gotten turned out amidst their fighting. It was currently serving no purpose to any of them. And yet the two of them continued to fight over it.

Ryou dragged his sopping scarf tighter around his neck, a feeble attempt to grasp warmth. It only managed to wring more water down his chilled neck. He watched Bakura shove Akeifa into the sidewalk and start biting his brown fingers in an attempt to force the Thief King to release the umbrella’s handle.

Akeifa took a fistful of his hair and began yanking. Trying to dislodge Bakura’s teeth from his hand.

The little group had pretty much stopped moving, and there was still more than a mile to go before they made it home.

Ryou glanced around for someplace to take refuge until the storm passed. But it was late, and most of the shops had closed for the evening.

The two thieves rolled across the pavement before him, slamming into a sodden bench, and dislodging even more water. Not that they even noticed amidst the downpour they were already in.

Ryou considered leaving them, and walking home on his own. But Akeifa didn’t know the city very well, could barely read Japanese, and he couldn’t trust Bakura not to abandon his ancient Egyptian counterpart.

He’d done it before. They were practically the same person, but they got along as well as a snooty old cat and... well, another strange cat.

Ryou spotted an awning over the door of a closed coffee shop. He spared his boyfriends a withering look, seeing that Akeifa had gotten the upper hand and was now shoving Bakura’s face into an overflowing gutter.

He heaved a sigh and retreated under the awning. The wind continued to whip, the rain continued to sting, and the sky turned ever darker with the setting of the sun. Not that you could even see the sun beyond the thick angry storm clouds.

The sounds of swearing, screeching, and snarling were getting drowned out in the deafening drum of the rain.

Ryou hugged himself and wished so badly for a hot shower and a steaming cup of tea. He crouched into a ball, scooting as far under the awning as he could manage, willing his teeth to stop chattering in an exercise of futility.

He was so cold his bones ached. His shoes had squelched with every step, and clothes clung to him uncomfortably.

He probably would have called for a taxi, or a ride from a friend if his cell phone had still been working. He was going to have to stuff it in a jar of rice when he got home to dry out the circuitry.

His eyes were shut tightly, ignoring the fighting men, shutting out the storm around him. Violent shivers wracked his frame.

If he just waited. The rain would let up. Soon he would be home.

The sudden lessening of pelting rain was what caught his attention first. This was soon followed by something blocking out the wind.

Ryou jerked his head up from his arms, and stared into guilty heather and ashamed chocolate brown eyes.

Akeifa stood over Ryou, using his wider frame to shield him from the rain. Bakura was next to him, clutching the bent and abused umbrella in one hand, and using the other to stretch his black leather jacket out to block the wind from hitting their light.

Neither man said a word.

Bakura grimaced, and turned his gaze to the ground. But Akeifa held Ryou’s stare, a silent whisper of apology in his black-flecked heather colored eyes.

Ryou spared him a feeble watery smile.

“Bakura, fix the umbrella,” Akeifa ordered his modern counterpart.

Bakura looked about to snip back, opening his mouth to spit some sort of snide remark, but he shut it again. Akeifa had bent down and scooped Ryou into his muscled arms. Bakura, with his slight build would have struggled to carry Ryou for very long.

The Egyptian straightened up, clutching Ryou to his chest in what was typically called “bridal style.” Not that the ancient thief was familiar with the modern colloquialism.

Bakura righted the umbrella, popping the spokes back into place. He shook out some of the water, not that it really mattered in this storm. Then held it up, leaving enough room for another person beneath.

Akeifa stepped under it easily enough since Bakura was taller than him. He nodded to the paler male, and the former Yami began leading the way home.

Ryou marveled at their sudden change in behavior. A solemn understanding seeming to pass between them, and they were finally working together, finally sharing.

The wind was still biting, and the rain was still torrential, but there was something peaceful about the group now. He curled into Akeifa’s chest, trying to find a warmth that was barely there. The Egyptian thief was just as frigid as he was and Ryou must have felt like a soggy popsicle. And yet, Akeifa held him tighter.

Chilled pale lips placed a kiss against exposed collarbone. Akeifa’s collarbones were always exposed. The man practically refused to button up his shirts, and preferred wearing things that exposed as much of his chest as socially acceptable.

Not that the other two complained. Well, Bakura complained; but then he complained about everything whether he actually liked it or not.

Strong brown arms shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. Ryou dragged his lips to the hollow of Akeifa’s throat, nuzzling, and a breathy groan may have been lost to the storm.

“Ya Amar*, please don’t. You’re making me weak.”

Ryou blinked up at the man holding him tightly. “S-sorry,” he mumbled out, and this time the flush in his cheeks was not from the bitter cold.

“Well, I’m not weak,” bit Bakura. He leaned in and kissed their light right on the mouth. Quick, chaste, but deliberate. When he straightened back up there was a sneer painted over his features. “A mere kiss doesn’t wreck me.”

Akeifa pulled back a lip and actually snarled. An honest to god snarl.

“C’mon you guys, let’s not fight agai-“

But Ryou was cut off when slightly chapped lips claimed his own. Akeifa adjusted his grip to better the angle, and kissed him like a drowning man sought air.

Or like a spiteful bandit king that sought to one-up his future self. Which was just as passionate and starving.

Either way Ryou felt himself melting into the kiss despite the storm raging around them.

“Get off him you tosser!”

Akeifa broke the kiss with a hunger simmering in his half-lidded eyes. Though he never broke eye contact with the slender male in his arms. “Make me, you airy-fairy.”

Bakura made an ugly noise. “Airy-fairy? When the hell did you pick up that?” An accusing stare leveled on Ryou, who shrank back into Akeifa’s embrace. The effect of the glare wasn’t as successful as Bakura hoped, since he looked like a drowned cat. But Ryou played along regardless, for the sake of his pride.

“I-I swear it w-wasn’t me.” And the stutter was more from the chill than actually being intimidated.

“Who else would he have picked it up from?”

“Don’t yell at him,” Akeifa butted in, cradling Ryou protectively. “I could just as easily call you things in our own tongue.”

“Piss off.”

“Guys, please,” Ryou tried.

“If that’s how you feel, Ryou and I will shower without you once we get home,” sneered the thief.

“Like hell you are!”

Both men picked up their pace, as if racing to get home first.

Ryou just shrank back against Akeifa’s chest and closed his eyes. The argument was asinine. The apartment shower barely had enough room for one.

But he had the distinct feeling that tonight it would be fitting three, whether he liked it or not.

~0000~

I hope that was satisfying. I loved writing these three. I love Bakushipping. Especially the horribly domestic Bakushipping. Thanks so much for the ask and kiss prompt.

*Akeifa: the name I use for Thief King Bakura. I am fandom old, and I was around when this name was used prevelently for TKB. (Since the name Bakura is Japanese, not Egyptian, and it belongs to Ryou, and Yami Bakura already stole it.) I like the fanon name a lot. And if you don’t then no one is asking you to tell me about it. Pronounced: AH-KAY-FAH.

*Ya Amar: My Moon (which means my most beautiful) Pronounced: YA KAMAR. An Arabic term of endearment.

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lady-of-glass-and-bone · 3 years

Text

Songs & Characters Pedro Pascal

Lungs / Florence + The Machine

This is part 2 of whatever this is that I’m doing. Part 1 is here if you want to check it out. But basically I’m listening to whole albums and putting what Pedro character it reminds me of, with specific lyrics. Enjoy? Request some artist, albums, and characters if you want.

Lyrics and their characters below the cut!

Dog Days Are Over / Marcus Pike, Javier Peña, Pero Tovar

Marcus Pike / And I never wanted anything from you Except everything you had And what was left after that too, oh.

Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back Struck from a great height By someone who should know better than that

Javier Peña / Happiness, hit her like a train on a track Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back She hid around corners and she hid under beds She killed it with kisses and from it she fled With every bubble she sank with a drink And washed it away down the kitchen sink

Pero Tovar / Run fast for your mother and fast for your father Run for your children for your sisters and brothers Leave all your love and your loving behind you Can't carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over The dog days are done Can you hear the horses 'Cause here they come

Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) / Ezra and Din Djarin

Ezra / The looking glass, so shiny and new How quickly the glamour fades I start spinning, slipping out of time Was that the wrong pill to take? (Raise it up)

You made a deal, and now it seems you have to offer up But will it ever be enough? (Raise it up, raise it up) It's not enough (Raise it up, raise it up)

Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl Frozen in the headlights It seems I've made the final sacrifice

Din Djarin / This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight

I look around, but I can't find you (raise it up) If only I could see your face (raise it up) Instead of rushing towards the skyline (raise it up) I wish that I could just be brave

I must become a lion hearted girl Ready for a fight Before I make the final sacrifice

I’m Not Calling You A Liar / Dave York and Max Phillips

Dave York / There's a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep Wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks Then it walks, then it walks with my legs To fall, to fall, to fall at your feet

There but for the grace of God go I And when you kiss me, I am happy enough to die

Max Phillips / I'm not calling you a liar Just don't lie to me I'm not calling you a thief Just don't steal from me I'm not calling you a ghost Just stop haunting me And I love you so much I'm gonna let you kill me

Kiss With A Fist / Dave York and Din Djarin

Dave York / My black eye casts no shadow Your red eye sees nothing Your slap don't stick Your kicks don't hit So we remain the same Love sticks Sweat drips Break the lock if it don't fit

A kick to the teeth is good for some A kiss with a fist is better then none

Din Djarin / I broke your jaw once before I spilled your blood upon the floor You broke my leg in return So sit back and watch the bed burn Love sticks Sweat drips Break the lock if it don't fit

You hit me once I hit you back You gave a kick I gave a slap You smashed a plate over my head Then I set fire to our bed

Howl / Javier Peña and Max Phillips

Javier Peña / Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress Until I wrap myself inside your arms, I cannot rest The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground And howl

Max Phillips / If you could only see the beast you've made of me I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to

Howl, howl Howl, howl

Girl With One Eye / Dave York

Dave York / I took a knife and cut out her eye I took it home and watched it wither and die Well, she's lucky that I didn't slip her a smile That's why she sleeps with one eye open But that's the price she'll pay

I said, hey, girl with one eye Get your filthy fingers out of my pie I said, hey, girl with one eye I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry

I slipped my hand under her skirt I said don't worry, it's not gonna hurt Oh, my reputation's kinda clouded with dirt That's why you sleep with one eye open But that's the price you pay

Drumming Song / Oberyn Martell and Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels

Oberyn Martell / As I move my feet Towards your body I can hear this beat It fills my head up And gets louder and louder

It fills my head up And gets louder and louder

I go into the river And I dive straight in I pray that the water Will drown out the din

But as the water fills my mouth It couldn't wash the echoes out But as the water fills my mouth It couldn't wash the echoes out

It swallows the sound and swallows me whole Until there's nothing left inside my soul I'm empty as that beating drum But the sound has just begun

Whiskey / Louder than sirens Louder than bells Sweeter than heaven And hotter than hell

I ran to the tower When the church bells chime I hope that they Would clear my mind

They left a ringing In my ear That drum's still beating Loud and clear

There's a drumming noise inside my head it starts when you're around I swear that you could hear it it makes such an almighty sound

There's a drumming noise inside my head that throws me to the ground I swear that you should hear it it makes such an almighty sound

Between Two Lungs / Marcus Moreno, Frankie Morales, Din Djarin

Marcus Moreno / Between two lungs it was released The breath that carried me The sigh that blew me forward

'Cause it was trapped Trapped between two lungs It was trapped between two lungs It was trapped between two lungs

And my running feet could fly Each breath screaming "We are all too young to die"

Frankie Morales / Between two lungs it was released The breath that passed from you to me That flew between us as we slept That slipped from your mouth into mine It crept between two lungs It was released The breath that passed from you to me That flew between us as we slept That slipped from your mouth into mine It crept

Din Djarin / Now all the days of begging The days of theft No more gasping for a breath The air has filled me head-to-toe And I can see the ground far below I have this breath And I hold it tight And I keep it in my chest With all my might I pray to God this breath will last As it pushes past my lips As I gasp

Cosmic Love / Ezra, Javier Peña, Dave York

Ezra / And a falling star fell from your heart And landed in my eyes I screamed aloud, as it tore through them And now it's left me blind

Javier Peña / The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out You left me in the dark No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight In the shadow of your heart

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat I tried to find the sound But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness So darkness I became

Dave York / I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you

My Boy Builds Coffins / Frankie Morales and Javier Peña

Frankie Morales / My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails He doesn't make tables, dressers or chairs He can't carve a whistle 'cause he just doesn't care

My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor Kings and queens, they've all knocked on his door Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please

Javier Peña / My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day But it's not just for work and it isn't for play He's made one for himself, one for me too One of these days he'll make one for you For you, for you, for you

My boy builds coffins for better or worse Some say it's a blessing, some say it's a curse He fits them together in sunshine or rain Each one is unique, no two are the same

My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame That, when each one's been made, he can't see it again He crafts every one with love and with care Then it's thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair

Blinding / Pero Tovar, Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike

Pero Tovar / And I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack And all around the world was waking, I never could go back 'Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open And finally it seemed that the spell was broken

And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open

Frankie Morales / Seems that I have been held in some dreaming state A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber Until I realize that it was you who held me under

Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids Shaking through my skull, through my spine And down through my ribs

Marcus Pike / No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love No more dreaming like a girl, so in love with the wrong world

Snow White is stitching up your circuit boards Synapse slipping through the hidden doors Snow White's stitching up the circuit board

Hurricane Drunk / Maxwell Lord, Javier Peña, Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels

Maxwell Lord / I'm going out, I'm going to drink myself to death And in the crowd, I see you with someone else I brace myself, because I know it's going to hurt But I like to think at least things can't get any worse

I hope that you see me, because I'm staring at you But when you look over, you look right through Then you lean and kiss her on the head And I never felt so alive, and so dead

Javier Peña / No walls, can keep me protected No sleep, nothing in between me and the rain And you can't save me now I'm in the grip of a hurricane I'm going to blow myself away

I'm going out, I'm going to drink myself to death And in the crowd, I see you with someone else I brace myself, because I know it's going to hurt But I like to think at least things can't get any worse

Whiskey / No home, I don't want shelter No calm, nothing to keep me from the storm And you can't hold me down Because I belong to the hurricane It's going to blow us all away

You’ve Got The Love / Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels, Ezra, Marcus Moreno

Ezra / Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air I know I can count on you Sometimes I feel like saying "Lord I just don't care" But you've got the love I need to see me through

Whiskey / Time after time I think "Oh, Lord, what's the use?" Time after time I think it's just no good 'Cause sooner or later in life, the things you love you lose But you've got the love I need to see me through

You've got the love You've got the love

Marcus Moreno / Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough And things go wrong no matter what I do Now and then it seems that life is just too much But you've got the love I need to see me through

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