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ashenburst · 4 years

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Paint It, Black

Risotto x Reader, heavy angst, 10774 words. Remained unedited because I can’t afford crying any more.

tw: gore, but not too explicit; character death

Influenced by Rainbow’s Catch the Rainbow and the badass Paint It, Black by the Rolling Stones.

She was late – unusual.

Perhaps this fact was emphasized by Risotto's acute state. Not once has this man fallen in love this deeply, this hopelessly – this beautifully.

And the beauty of love was easy to spot, for Risotto. Much like grotesque, the ugly sides emphasized the pretty ones.

Waiting for her to come could count as one of the downsides, for through it, he would be caught up in childlike excitement; something he wasn't accustomed to, and something that caused him discomfort, should he think of it any more.

He was vulnerable, and he did not like it. At first, when he came to realize his feelings, he treated them with loathing. Undoubtedly, loathing, for he thought of them as a distraction, nothing more. But as time passed, he realized his heart simply could not listen. He could not prevent the joy she caused him.

So he gave in, opened his eyes to the many beauties of love. And it was worth it, every bit of it. He found himself walking in a brighter world, wherein he had the privilege to love and, to possibly, quite possibly –

Be loved. It was her who gave him the silly idea. That he deserved it, in fact, that he needed it. That he could care for someone, and in turn, be cared for. As if it was the most normal thing in this violent world.

Because it was. She only opened his eyes, wide, to acknowledge both sides of the spectrum. And the fair side of the spectrum, it wasn't unreachable, not at all. It was very real and very near, just a confession away. Which he decided to postpone until the moment was perfect, to some distant, ideal moment, far in the future.

As for now... Risotto was just a lost child.

It was only natural that his cherished one was looked for keenly – and was not found, sadly.

Perhaps it was odd, for (Y/N) would always arrive early, if not, then among the first few members. The schedule of their arrivals was something Risotto had long adopted in his mind. In that regard, (Y/N) was the same as all people in the Squadra; in any other regard concerning her arrival, she was unique. Stood out to Risotto for no other reason but her many virtues and beloved flaws. Whenever his eyes would be blessed with the sight of her, he would be reminded of all of those traits. She was radiantly overwhelming, her very appearance. That was all she needed to do – merely appear.

Usually, she would stroll inside, wearing quiet confidence like it was sewn for her. A deadly stand user, a ruthless assassin, and yet, a sweetheart.

She'd search for Risotto with her stern gaze, and upon spotting him, upon the brisk locking of their eyes, her façade would crumble, just for that one instant. She'd show it in numerous ways: she'd look away, she'd turn around, twirl her pretty hair between her fingers. She would be so adorable in her shyness, her unbelievable innocence, which he caused.

Risotto's crimsons would remain unfaltering, but his stone heart? Moved, certainly moved, with vivacity short and unfamiliar. There would be so much enforced in Risotto, in that fleeting moment he would always look forward to – and was missing now.

Why, the question was immediately asked. And he answered: perhaps she was stuck in traffic, or some other everyday occurrence befell her. He had no way of knowing, and he had no way of confirming. She was possibly too occupied to contact anyone, for nobody mentioned the reason behind her absence. It had to be that way – he understood. He simply wanted his little heart to calm down as well. Although it had no rational basis, he had a bad feeling.

His hand lingered before his mouth. He swatted away the worry with a twitch of it. So much senseless stress, and what for? Time and time again, he realized just how inutile his feelings could be. Made him lose his mind for a bit, in situations that were, luckily, as unimportant as these.

Everything was crystal clear in his mind indeed; but in order to bring out the clarity, he had allowed the present moment to fly by. The chatter in the headquarters had shifted to some other topic, and he didn't manage to catch the transition. A long sigh was heaved.

The talk turned out to be a rising argument. His gaze was redirected to the team members who were scattered around the room, some sitting, some standing. And the ongoing discussion was...

"If he ordered chocolate milk, then maybe people would think it's coffee," Formaggio suggested.

"Do you actually think they wouldn't be able to discern chocolate milk from coffee? Just think of the serving, a simple, minuscule espresso," Prosciutto explained, showing the oh so miniature size of the cup with his fingers, "and a massive mug of chocolate milk with whipped cream on top like it's meant for some sugar-crazed kid." His description of the chocolate milk was spoken with sincere discord. Formaggio grimaced.

"I thought this conversation was long over," Melone added. Pesci nodded fervently.

"Obviously not," Prosciutto snapped back. Before anything else could be said, the boss raised his tone.

"Then you should finish it now," Risotto voiced himself, "let's get this over with."

"Aren't we waiting for (Y/N)? Where is she, anyway?" Sorbet inquired. Gelato, by his side, raised the both of his brows.

"I presume nobody has heard of her," the boss proposed. As expected, nobody had.

Her absence was questioned, and the Squadra together reached the same conclusion as Risotto: that she was busy with something and simply... couldn't make it. It was likely. They all knew of her occupation to help out the local seniors. It was something Illuso ridiculed whenever he could. And, by all accords, she wasn't the type to obsess over money, unlike Sorbet, who couldn't emphasize with her. All in all, it couldn't be anything serious, though the fact remained that she never, ever skipped these sorts of meetings. But there's a first.

Risotto silenced whatever worry some of the men showed. Soon enough, nobody spoke of it. Business as usual would ensue – and the money was divided among the assassins.

In appalling carelessness, they left the headquarters. Their boss watched them walk away, one by one. Being the first and last one to come and go, he once again remained on his own.

He stood up. Shrouded in complimenting darkness, Risotto found himself wondering: was there something that he should've done? Or could've done, at least – to calm down for once. To make this disgusting feeling go away.

He hadn't heard of her for multiple days. Ever since that one meeting. Could it be...?

Without thinking, he flipped out his phone and stared at it. All he had to do was dial her number and inquire about her absence. Just one call.

Nervously, his finger tapped against the phone's side. He was being irrational. Had it been anyone else in the team, he wouldn't have reacted this way. The fact her worth was placed so high...

He disliked it – no, he was embarrassed about it. He knew feelings twisted his perception far and wide.

His phone was ignored with a scowl. Nothing would be done after all. He would remain blind, he chose, and retreated into the murk of his office.

Some paperwork laid scattered on the table. He neared it and cleaned it up, and voilà, the entirety of his office was in perfect order.

With that over, he sat on the chair, clueless as to what to do next. The butterflies in his stomach were obnoxious – and irritated him vastly. The dread was piling up for no reason at all. He told himself that, yes, she must've been busy, and that, no, she wasn't incompetent. If something bad had truly happened to her, her stand would be enough to defend her.

She was just another member of the hitman team. Just a colleague. Overall, they were doing tough work, but... they had little to no trouble concerning their job. Nobody had disturbed them, and nobody would – they were stand users, both powerful and elusive. Then...

(Y/N) must've been fine, he reckoned, pinching the bridge of his nose. But some instinct was telling him that things weren't as simple as his brain dictated. With this bothersome worry constantly on his mind, he couldn't calm down. That, and the fact...

The fact he might determine what happened. It went against his logic and his heart, and it went against what (Y/N) would've done, and yet... it was a horrifying possibility.

If calling her meant some solace, then so be it. He loathed this anxiety – shedding some knowledge in this situation would surely ease him.

So he called her. Gained nothing else but the reason behind his awry laugh. She wasn't answering.

He called her again. She couldn't have done that. She was too clever, and he warned her, and she listened, he knew she always listened –

Did she hear the phone ring? Had she turned off the ringtone?

And he called her again. If she had decided to do something, she would've told him, after all. She was sensible, mature. She wouldn't go around doing... whatever it was she intended to. Just what was on her mind?

The solitary sound that filled his office – the beeps on the other line – once again died down. Silence enveloped him, deafening whatever was left of his frantic thoughts.

That's it. He set the phone down onto the table. Slowly, he lifted his hand to his mouth, and his eyes remained fixated on the still device. The heartbeat that latched onto his throat would not let go – and he stayed put, stuck in the unnerving moment.

What was he even doing? He'd lost his mind – this was becoming an obsession. He was deeply, thoroughly ashamed of it. His brows were brought together in scorn.

There were so many ways to justify her silence. Facts spoke in favor of her safety, whereas his intuition screamed bloody murder –

He hated it. He hated the fact his psyche was torn. He yearned for integrity, stability, and all of it was ravaged – due to, what, his emotions? His love? He wouldn't let those have their way, no.

Maybe he was just looking for a way to kill his rushing heart. A precaution, just in case the worst would come true.

So, to distract himself from the distraction, he chose to finally get his work done. He looked through the few reports, checked their credibility, if there were any mistakes, and somehow, he was finished in no time. The fact surprised him. Subsequently, he could go home.

He exited the headquarters, and was astounded by the dark that awaited outside. The nearest street lamp wasn't working, he noticed. Allowing a small frown on his face, he thought it would be absolutely ideal if a dog had decided to shit somewhere along the shadowed road. That, or... his breathing halted.

Wasn't it ridiculous that he hoped for (Y/N) to appear, even for a millisecond? Wasn't it simply ridiculous of him to actually possess that yearning? It truly was. He nodded to the mute inquiry, and headed home. Therein, he would be met with a displeasing surprise. His phone rang, and the news dropped.

Unbeknownst to Risotto, some other men of the Squadra had decided to contact (Y/N). They reached out to her, only to find nothing. No response at all. It was clear at that point:

(Y/N) had vanished.

Some of them informed Risotto the very same evening. Risotto was awake and conscious to read all of the messages and receive all the calls. With every sound his phone made, he foolishly believed it was (Y/N) who was contacting him next – and disappointment washed over him every time. At that point, he could barely control it.

But he beat the worry with his thoughts. Bashed it mercilessly, scolding himself for being such a worrywart. As the wee hours neared, so diminished the reasons for him to cling to the phone. Everyone was slowly going to sleep. He should too.

It was in nightly silence that he found some solace. These taps on his nerves were goddamn awful. He knew something horrible must've happened, but he did not know what exactly. The ignorance was eating him from the inside out, as well as the fact that he could've helped her. The fact he could still be of some help – but how? The more time passed, the fewer chances he had to come to her aid.

And yet... he knew he was exaggerating. It took him so much to convince himself.

All this strain took a toll. Although not tired physically, his mind was exhausted beyond measure. Whatever news the tomorrow held, he would skip to them through some much-needed sleep.

He prepared, whatever had to be done in the bathroom, and reached his cold bed. Not much was left to think about, and as incoherent whispers overtook his mind, he found himself falling asleep. And then, in what seemed like a blink later, he woke up – well-rested.

In the bliss of hazy consciousness, he forgot his worries, he forgot fear and life, and he found a reason to smile.

But things couldn't work that way. His brain soon turned on, like a buzzing machine, and overwhelmed him with the worries, fear and life. Pushed all the information, all the memories underneath his closed eyes. It wasn't that he didn't want to see them – he did not want them to happen in the first place.

He dug his face into the pillow. A faint groan escaped him, involuntarily. The very next moment, he jumped to his feet, ready to tackle the haunting possibilities.

He acknowledged the time of the day. Dawn had escaped him by mere minutes. Light was abundant – it crawled inside of his room, crept up the carpet, bits of it reaching his bed and its messy sheets.

He did not oversleep, as expected. With that on his mind, he checked his phone for anything new – and revealed nothing. Perhaps some men of the Squadra were chatting on the laptop, which he did not check. If anything important had occurred, he would be informed over the phone. That was his mindset.

Therefore, if nothing had happened so far, he was obligated to take action. At last, it was justified.

However, not many people were awake at this time, and he had no way of waking his team. He ought to wait if he wanted to gather the Squadra.

He had to kill time, then. Sadly, sleep was no longer an option. With so much free time, he could check the correspondence on the laptop. He turned it on, and while the system was starting up, he went to grab his toothbrush.

Once back from the bathroom, he threw himself on the chair. The poor thing creaked, the sound much like an agonizing scrape on his eardrums. He clenched his teeth, threw away the setback, and opened the chatroom. Oddly enough, there were no new messages after Melone's old rant about... Risotto didn't want to reread it.

And oddly enough, Ghiaccio was online. As soon as Risotto noticed that, his teammate began typing.

Good morning, boss.

Risotto parked the toothbrush in his mouth and typed back, Good morning.

Ghiaccio: Any news concerning (Y/N)?

Risotto: Nothing.

Ghiaccio: She hasn't contacted anyone?

Risotto: No.

Ghiaccio: That doesn't make any sense though?!

Risotto: I know.

Ghiaccio: She's always doing something with her phone and now out of all times she can't answer it?!

Risotto narrowed his eyes at the statement. What do you mean?

Ghiaccio: Whenever we go on a mission, she's glued to it. Staring at it like she's expecting the messiah. All the time. Now, somehow, she can't reach it. The fuck happened? Did she lose it?

This was confusing. Risotto had never seen (Y/N) linger on her phone as much as Ghiaccio highlighted it. When with Risotto, why would she not be on the phone? The reason why... the possible reason made his heart contort.

Even so, she would've arrived to collect her pay yesterday. It's abnormal of her to be unavailable for such a long period, Risotto reasoned.

It took Ghiaccio some time before he'd start typing again. OK. Basically, she disappeared.

Risotto: Most likely. I've intended to have you gathered in the headquarters as soon the team is awake.

Ghiaccio: OK.

On both sides, a pause arrived. Risotto knew the cause of his – a numb knot spawned in his chest. He took the moment to acknowledge it, merely sigh, and greet it so. In that solemn situation, he tested out the limits this invisible cord wrapped him in, and revealed that, by all means, he ached. One deep breath was enough to release a string of pain through his heart.

All of a sudden, a new message garnered his attention. He made sure to steady his lungs.

I have no idea what happened. I haven't spoken to her in a while, and it's probably the same with everyone else. I'm sure that the others would've told you in case they knew anything relevant. That being said, I hope (Y/N) is alive.

How blunt. As if Risotto hadn't been aware of that already. He replied with a short, Me too.

But there was some warmth in Ghiaccio's statement. It defied the usual chill of his personality. Risotto did not miss it, and yet... could not reciprocate it.

I should get going, he added, for he had to, in all sincerity. The toothpaste in his mouth was starting to bite on his tongue, and the sensation wasn't pleasant in the least.

However, standing up proved to be an unpleasant act as well. The tinge in his heart rose, as the knot tightened. He was obligated to carry it, to the bathroom, where he spat the paste and finished brushing his teeth, then to the window, where he stumbled to refresh his head.

No matter the cold air, he poked his head outside, arms resting on the window's frame. He was met with scarce life scattered in the grey.

And what happened there? What would be the commotion that sparked Risotto's interest? Some people crossed the street – a car hadn't stopped early enough, so the woman on the zebra jumped and latched onto her companion's arm. It was comical, to an extent, and he was reminded of a similar event.

Per se, going on missions with (Y/N) was something Risotto broadly avoided. Reasons were numerous. The last time they had gone to one, their particular set of abilities was necessitated for the kill – so he had no choice but to do it with her. Their target was a dangerous stand user, but as expected, that presented no problem for the duo. That's not to say they had no struggles. The fight left some wounds, but it was nothing too bad. Victory was achieved and that mattered.

Relaxed as he was in that moment, Risotto lifted his hands in a triumphal pose. Meters in front of him, the bloodied corpse laid as a sure trophy to their success. Apparently, the success was so great that (Y/N) had to hug him – and... well, he froze. In every sense.

It was a misunderstanding, she explained later, because of the way his hands were positioned, the situation, the relief she felt, and whatnot. But Risotto was left with an unplanned memory of an embrace, although it was very short and very awkward.

And this unplanned memory now resurfaced completely out of the blue. What once gave him a sincere smile, now locked his lips into a rigid line. Not much could be felt. He continued observing the streets.

Lazy cars passed underneath him, and lazy eyes watched them. Pigeons hopped about the pavement, hastier than many of the few people outside in this monotone morning. Someone found it adequate to yell at a reckless driver, and the driver yelled back. All in all, a very peaceful, monotone morning. Nothing that would unsettle Risotto, far from that.

He lived through the calm, through the storm, and now settled with their aftermath. The morning was largely as quiet as his tired mind, and he relished in this mutual peace. He prepared himself, with deep breaths, to face whatever this nauseating day had to offer.

But things needn't be as dark. He didn't have to look down at the dirty road. He could've stared at the clear rooftops, the bleached skies. There, the white was burning. The Sun had its rays sprawled equally over the clouds, and they were quite painful for Risotto to watch. The heavens were simply that bright – overwhelmingly so, for even a peculiar thought crossed his mind: could they be hiding her?

His eyes widened and he quickly looked away, scoffing at his stray assumption. What an enigma – why was he so certain in that delusional idea? On a subconscious level, where his intuition too hollered, but logic scolded. Interesting. He abandoned the window and its view, and smiled in bitter intrigue.

Not much time was killed, he knew. So he made himself breakfast, a sandwich with whatever he had in the fridge. There wasn't much else he could do afterwards except idle, and think, all over again, of everything and nothing. He was consuming time with prospects and reflections.

Little by little, the minutes accumulated into hours. Noises of the day rose, and so did Risotto. He informed the Squadra that action must be taken. It did not take much for them to reassemble at the headquarters, and Risotto, once again, arrived first, and luckily, he did not wait much.

With everyone gathered, tension was high. Risotto walked around, unusually nervous himself, with a hand on his chin. And he assured, beginning as he had planned over and over again back home, "There is a high probability that (Y/N)'s disappearance is a false alarm, for she has a bustling private life. Therefore, I advise you not to panic, even in case we do uncover something bad. We need to stay calm." By that, he mostly meant Pesci.

"However, the fact remains nothing like this has ever happened. (Y/N) has no record of such odd behavior, making her disappearance even more concerning. We should backtrace her possible intentions and from there, start investigating."

Risotto took a deep breath. He knew her intentions, but he wanted to hear someone deny them.

"Let's start from the last time we collectively saw her, the meeting –"

"Which meeting?" Pesci seemed confused, which made Prosciutto grumble.

"When we discussed the boss," his older brother explained curtly. Pesci let out an "oh".

With that over, Risotto continued. "So, has anyone seen her afterwards, or spoken to her?"

Only a few heads were shaken. The remainder resorted to silence. Risotto's eyes narrowed at the sight. Judging by the situation, he was the one who had last seen her.

The situation was a short one, nothing special. She stayed behind after the said meeting. Sat for a couple of moments, a blank stare ahead, missing Risotto by a couple of inches. He sat in front of her, on the sofa adjacent to hers, thereby near. He easily caught the newfound fire stirring up in her eyes.

"This is insane," was all she said.

Tilting his head in confusion, Risotto couldn't quite understand the meaning behind her statement. (Y/N) didn't really voice her opinion throughout the meeting, but she seemed to have agreed with their final decision: to go after the boss. "We've already established that the idea is insane," he said, his connotation slightly inquisitive.

"No, no, I'm not talking about us going after the boss. I'm talking about him, exactly him," she explained while flailing her hands a little. This amused Risotto.

"We've already established that he's horrible as well," he continued.

"Not in the sense we all talked about! This isn't about money, I couldn't care less about that. I don't care if I'm paid a couple of thousand lira less. I live in the lap of luxury anyway, we all do, more or less. But, boss, he is degrading us. Humiliating us!"

This was something Ghiaccio had mentioned, but Risotto didn't interrupt her. He was fazed by her ferocity.

"And I won't let our superior treat us like scum. Because that's clearly what we are to him: scum. While other sections of the Famiglia thrive, we're left with what? A broken TV," she pointed at the said object, "and absolutely humiliating treatment. Despite us being oh so important to him and oh so cherished in the Famiglia. I won't let him do that. We can't let him have his way. For all I know, we can easily kill him. Right? There is a reason why he's so elusive, he must be a weakling. If not a weakling, then a pathetic loner. Doesn't matter. But once we find him, he won't stand a chance! He'll die. We will kill him. We have to."

She caught a breather, and Risotto used that to speak up. There was so much he wanted to say after this rant.

"First of all, breathe a little, (Y/N)," he told her, making her let out an airy laugh.

"I've hardly ever seen you this riled up. I assume there's a personal motivation that fuels the animosity."

"That's true," she confirmed.

"In that case, take care. You cannot allow emotions to control you."

She nodded, and Risotto continued. "Second of all, you are correct. Everything you've said is true. This is why we will go after him once we gather the necessary information. As you said, he won't stand a chance. I wouldn't agree with the team's intentions if it were impossible."

(Y/N) probably tried not to show it, but she was relieved, and Risotto noticed it. Her shoulders relaxed, as well as her once stern expression.

"Third of all, why?"

"Why what?" There, even her tone softened.

"Why did you say all of this? We've already discussed that in the meeting."

She hesitated on what to say. Indeed, even as she spoke, she carefully picked her upcoming words, her eyes bolting to the ceiling as she figured. "You've already guessed that there is a... personal motivation, as you called it, present. But... I wanted to make sure you'd.... well, do it."

Risotto's brows furrowed a bit. "Agree with the plan? I've already done so."

"Don't misunderstand me," she began, quick to defend herself, "you just didn't seem too... eager about it. I wanted to make sure you were convinced... and convince you, too."

Bold words coming from (Y/N), she hadn't said anything during the meeting. But Risotto was unpleasantly surprised to find out that (Y/N) thought he was hesitant to comply. He would do anything for his team, he truly would. He cared vastly about them, and even if the idea to kill the boss was immaturely impossible, he would consider it. He would, no doubt about it. It would be right to say her assumption struck the wrong chord.

He decided not to justify himself, although he wanted to, in order to be seen as a better person in her eyes, to brag about his willingness to help the team – it truly was tempting. But he swallowed his pride and told her, "A plan like that ought to be approached with caution, and as it concerns all of us, it is something that we all should carefully review, give our opinion about, and collectively agree on. And as you've seen by some people's behavior earlier, they're excessively enthusiastic about it. Some sense had to be delivered."

(Y/N) nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry if I offended you."

Did he show it? He shouldn't have. "You haven't, not in the least. Would that be all?"

She nodded again. Good, then. Risotto found it inappropriate to ask her about her troubles, although she seemed to have been somewhat... disturbed. If she needed his support, advice, or anything, she would've asked, he believed. So he let her be, more out of shame than out of intrusiveness.

She stood up and without saying anything at all, headed towards the exit. This astounded Risotto, as well as the odd sight – she clenched her fists.

"Don't."

She turned around, perplexed by his demand. He was perplexed too, without a doubt. He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes.

"Don't do anything on your own. It's too dangerous," he warned.

"Sure," she dismissed him with a quick reply and continued walking away. No, no, she wouldn'td do that –

"(Y/N)," he called out, and she turned around, once again. They both heard fear in Risotto's voice.

"I mean it. Don't do anything stupid."

(Y/N) was clearly shocked. Wide eyes almost went shut, as a loving face took over. "Oh, don't worry. Have I ever?"

She hadn't, of course. Risotto forced a smile as well. Lingering on the doorstep, she seemed as if she wanted to say something – at least that's what Risotto's memory told. Then she left, no goodbyes whatsoever.

Her bright smile was engraved in his reminiscence. The more he thought of it, the more his own expression darkened in the present.

"If that's so, then I'm certain (Y/N) went after the boss," he finally stated to his team.

"She what? No way," Illuso was quick to disagree.

"After the meeting, she approached me and hinted that she would go after him on her own. I warned her against it, and she seemed to have obeyed."

Melone... had an addition to the conversation. "She didn't listen, huh... oh, (Y/N), (Y/N)..."

"Quit interrupting him!" Ghiaccio yelled.

"Too much time has passed for us to blame this on a mishap. We must find her before it's too late," Risotto proclaimed, and the hitman team agreed.

Nobody knew where she lived, except for Risotto. If the situation were any different, he was sure he'd get ridiculed for that. Or at least, indirectly teased, in whispers and chuckles. He just so happened to have once walked her home – and although she had a stand of her own and could easily defend herself, she accepted his company. Something Risotto was now (and back then) extremely grateful for.

The search began with him having a head start. He went to her home, as he had intended. The others went to local cafes, inspected the area, some resorted to finding clues on the web. To conclude, the collective worked hard on finding her.

It didn't matter who hit the jackpot, Risotto thought. She needed to be found.

Formaggio and Illuso came with him, and the two chatted all the way. (Y/N) lived in the most ordinary building on the streets; the same stoic, gray type that framed all alleys. As they walked down those dull roads, they encountered a repetitive scenery. But Risotto remembered which building was hers – he would recognize it for sure. The door was...

"Boss?"

Risotto's line of thoughts was broken with Illuso's inquiry. "Yes?"

"I'm unsure if this is inappropriate of me to ask, but I wanted to know 'cuz it seemed real fishy. Is there something going on between you and (Y/N)?"

Luckily, Risotto's ironic smile was not seen.

"What?! That's very inappropriate, and you know that! Where's your heart, man? The fuck," Formaggio immediately stood in Risotto's defense.

"No, Formaggio, it's alright," Risotto sincerely spoke, and responded, looking back to the two men with a cold glare, "and Illuso, to answer your question, no."

"Mhm. I see, sorry," Illuso replied to that. Formaggio's grumble was heard as well.

Their boss moved on in silence. He had more important business to attend to. Because just around the corner was (Y/N)'s residence. That is, if he remembered correctly.

They turned, and Risotto recognized the deep crimson entrance of her building. His heart leaped. They were on the right path after all. He walked on, approached the door, and checked the tiny nameplates on the wall. Among them, he searched for (L/N)... and found her almost at the very bottom, meaning she lived on the top floor.

Naturally, he pressed the button next to her name, just in case. He didn't know what he was expecting, for he got no response from the intercom.

Since they had no other way of entering, Risotto used Metallica to mess with the lock. Thus the door was opened and they entered the chilly interior. And to go up, they used the stairs.

He skipped two, even three steps at a time. Illuso and Formaggio followed close behind, hasty as well. Risotto's heartbeat rose as they all spiraled upwards, to her residence. That horrible feeling from yesterday was caving in, once again did his intuition scream bloody murder. All that he had in mind were the worst scenarios.

He had never been optimistic; hope, itself, was something he never resorted to. Similarly, he was never roughly disappointed. But now, what fueled him was utter despair, pushing him closer to the terrifying possibility, driving it into reality –

With a surprisingly sickening atmosphere. A faint stench alienated the air. What a sorry introduction to (Y/N)'s floor.

He really didn't have to hurry at that point, but he kept the frantic pace. Why, he had no idea, but he kept searching for her nameplate on one of the doors, although he knew what would expect him. He was absolutely sure, for such a long period, wasn't he? But all of the dread he tried to hide, now cumulated, and it was too much for him to bear. He was shaking, oh, he sure was, as he looked around, his feet lighter than ever.

Illuso spotted it first. Her pretty name was engraved on the plate. Risotto glanced at it, then towards the lock – Metallica was undoing the mechanism already. A click later, and he could enter doom –

But he did not want to. He froze, his hand floated in the air, and he realized, as his heartbeat ticked the time in his ears: he could not do it. He couldn't make himself cross to the other side.

"Boss?"

The callout brought him back to his senses. He was their leader, through the good and the bad, through the best and the worst. He had to do this, he had no other choice.

His hand landed on the doorknob and he swung it open. Another wave of reek greeted them, thus Risotto's breaths turned painstakingly shallow. As if the smell clawed at his wet eyes, he found himself squinting them, to make out the thick whiff and what else it obscured.

He was moments away from it. The last time he would see (Y/N) in the entirety of his life. He looked around, darted his eyes here and there, and he saw, in between.

All he needed was a single glance, to be reminded he loved. One glance, to see her signaling a hollow heart to him – inked with her guts, spilled and embedded onto the wall with black nails. Intestines that morphed into a crimson profession of undying love. Underneath them laid their deceased owner, a ghastly figure with a gaping void to fill out her stomach – and on her face, eyes bulging at Risotto, pleading for help long impossible, long expired. He wasn't there to save her.

But she? (Y/N) was finally there to warrant her death.

He closed his eyes as if to deny it. Clenched his teeth, as if to grip onto the remainder of his sanity. And as if to distance himself from his men's gags and screams, he walked backwards, blurry gaze shoved into the floor. Never again to see her.

Agony crippled him. His hand landed onto the nearby wall, to prevent himself from falling further into this void – the void that was in her open mouth, her dugout belly, her once beautiful mind. All now black, morose black, that painted his vision, that hid him from his own tears. The mildest consequence of his colossal failure.

And what to reply to that proclamation? To that monstrous statement? A chokehold prevented Risotto from sobbing, let alone screaming back. All that left his trembling lips were ragged breaths, and all that came inside was sickly air, barely enough to fuel his shuddering heart. Salt, too, prickled his tongue, while it arched and got pulled by the rising nausea.

There was so much he could've done to prevent this. This had been preventable, but now he was powerless. Utterly and wholly insignificant in the face of fate.

There was nothing left to do. This was all they were left with. A tragedy and a massive disrespect to (Y/N) – and the dreadful wonderment, just how much she had suffered before succumbing. He could not begin to imagine it, but he knew that his aches, they were nothing. Nothing when compared to what she'd been through in her final moments.

Only one person could be held accountable.

"Boss, there's... a note," Formaggio's thin voice was heard. Risotto could not respond, he barely even heard Formaggio – his head was absent in perturbation. His hand rose, fingertips strumming over the gentle lines of tears. He became aware of his outburst, how vastly it devastated him – and to hold himself together, slowly, his hand hid his mouth. He could not allow himself to fall apart.

Avoidant of the bloodbath, his gaze drifted to Illuso – a man so caught up in terror that he had to sit down and stuff his eyes with the sight so as to convince himself in the cruelty of the present. Then, Risotto's gaze hovered over to Formaggio, to find someone who, much like his boss, had no courage to face it. Ghastly pale was his visage, trapped in bewilderment.

In those two, Risotto saw himself, the devastation was mirrored. And he saw people who needed him, who needed his help. He had to stay strong not only for them, but for his own sake as well. He could not allow this tragedy to tear him apart right at the start, no. He had to calm down. He had to gather himself.

Clarity graced his vision. His hand lowered. (Y/N) would want it that way.

He hardened his heart, as much as the tender muscle allowed. With a wipe or two, his tears were gone, and no new ones would escape. Risotto trod on with sure steps, to find the note Formaggio had gestured to.

Indeed, on the table laid a paper tainted by droplets of her blood. Risotto couldn't bear to touch it, but he leaned in to read.

With no heart to sustain it, the idea is killed, it said, in a mockingly fancy handwriting. It only caused worse spite.

"What... does it say?" Illuso asked, quietly.

Risotto made a rocky sigh before reading it out loud, and he turned around upon hearing Illuso's whisper. "Whoever did this is a monster."

And before he could spit his words of vengeance, Formaggio exclaimed them himself. "We'll find the boss and obliterate him."

Obliterate? But would they? When uttered from another mouth, the idea seemed ridiculous to Risotto. Vengeance was impossible, at least in their current position: zero information and a high possibility of new casualties. This was a mere warning, a mere showcase of the boss' power.

He was flaunting with the lives and deaths of Risotto's teammates. As infuriating as it was, Risotto was powerless against it. He could feel his nerves boil.

"We can't," he spoke, his voice steady as ever. He could almost feel the terrified looks of his teammates as they landed on him. And he would not look back. He kept his focus on the note, stubbornly rereading it.

"The message is clear. With (Y/N), the idea of betrayal should die as well," Risotto elaborated.

Illuso jumped back to his feet, his fists clenched in newfound fervor. "As if we'd let that happen!"

Risotto's eyelids drooped. They had to let it happen.

"Right! (Y/N) didn't die in vain!" His teammate agreed, striking Risotto's nasty spot.

"No. You both know that we're in no position to search after the boss. We know nothing and there's nothing we can do."

Formaggio immediately retorted, "But (Y/N) was clearly on to something! Why do you think she was murdered?! Because she knew something!"

"For a fact I know she didn't, and she was murdered for trying to dig into the boss' identity," Risotto tried to reason.

"So what?! She was alone, we can do it together! We can avenge her!" Formaggio once again attacked, enforcing even more anger into Risotto.

"We can't," he barely spoke through his growing rage.

"But –"

Risotto snapped, "Silence! Do you want others to get slaughtered like her?!"

Formaggio couldn't muster a response. His boss calmed down, luckily, and continued, "I understand your need for justice. We simply cannot afford it right now."

Out of all people, Risotto could wait. The very fact vengeance would arrive someday was enough for him, and he hoped his men understood this.

"Can't believe you're arguing while she's there," Illuso mumbled. He hadn't spoken at all during the conflict, but what he uttered now eternally silenced whatever counterargument was brewing. Risotto, however... he merely hung his head low.

"The way this fucker disrespected her..." Formaggio afforded a peek at the corpse.

But Risotto did not. He swore they would restore her dignity.

The very next day, they attempted to. At her quiet, humble funeral. Overlapping silence crushed all above the sullen coffin. All the tears were long cried, and mutual hatred had long dropped its weights; all that remained was beat-up anguish.

The amount of belittlement before fate was astonishing, for these assassins. To think that death they dealt with so commonly would hurt them all so profoundly.

In the center of it all, stood their leader. Risotto's breakdown upon spotting (Y/N) was the only time his emotions were shown – ever, in fact. As it turned out, they were not seen. Formaggio and Illuso were too occupied with the corpse to even look at Risotto. Afterwards, he returned to his usual, aloof self, as if nothing had happened. Nothing!

Even during the funeral, he had little to say. His teammates' behavior spoke volumes about (Y/N).

Pesci, who was relentlessly crying at its beginning, wailed so much to his brother. Prosciutto didn't try to scold him, or silence him. Risotto listened just as carefully as Prosciutto did, while Pesci explained, "She was so sweet! She always praised me, she... she always... she was always there for me... why do the best people have to go?! Why her?! Why, big bro?!"

Pesci threw himself onto his sibling, his hands gripped and messed with Prosciutto's suit, but he didn't know how to answer. Risotto, listening from a lonesome distance, concluded that there was no reason. Fate rolled the dice and they landed poorly. There was no higher meaning, there was no... nothing.

Destiny was a hollow principle. Questioning it was useless. And so, Risotto came to terms with the tragedy with inhuman ease. Not apathy for sure, rather, a numbness that lulled him into a dream-like state. This funeral, the events leading up to it? They did not feel real. Risotto was just a dissociated bystander thrown into it all.

He observed, waiting for his role to become... potent. To matter in this entire mess. But there was so little he could do! He sat on the cold bench, once again, powerless, just mingling as one of the remnants of the tragedy. They all faded away, slowly – grieving was not their forte. With the first assassins who rose to their feet, Risotto felt an alarming pound in his chest. They couldn't leave without a proper statement coming from him. He was obligated to say something.

"From this moment onward, (Y/N) (L/N) has never existed," his voice boomed in formidable echoes, resonating through his men as they departed. It was the best that way. Sever the severed, he had decided, and cut off the mutilated heartstrings. What was done cannot be undone, he was aware, and although he ached...

Would (Y/N) like to see them in such a state? Grieving, despairing? Certainly not. Then why bother wailing?

He needed to move on. He had no other choice. Everything else would lead to complications. He could not allow emotions to sway his life – or his job.

But he had to deal with them. Eliminating them was impossible, bottling them up was impossible. If he were to cut them, he had to tap in their essence. He needed to end his relationship with (Y/N).

Risotto knew the importance of goodbyes. In psychodrama, for example, he knew the protagonist sometimes had to deal with unresolved relationships from the past, and to resolve it, a farewell would be played out. In the form of dialogue, between the two characters, where the protagonist ought to say what was left unsaid, thus sealing the past.

Risotto had no choice but to reenact this method. Nothing else would effectively, healthily, set him free, as far as he knew.

He was almost excited to walk down the stairs and reach her, and have some time alone with her. He thought of the many things he could've told her, all so vividly different. He could've, yes, he could've told her of the cat he gave milk to – she would've loved hearing about it – or he could've slammed a singular, harsh goodbye, but none of it would serve the purpose. He needed to say the right thing, the perfect thing to mark the farewell.

As his steps slowed, so slowed the pace of his thoughts. He had to stop and ponder, for he attained the grave realization that this was his last moment with her. At least, in some figurative sense, in his mindscape, but she was with him.

And just like always, Risotto would change. His heart was moved, crooked in a stray direction, but certainly moved. He found a flower by her casket, and caressed it with the gentleness she had once taught him.

She had taught him so much – she did not have to. Risotto did not want to learn how to love. But, he did not blame her, not in the least. He was grateful for her very existence in this goddamned world, however short-lasted it proved to be. Where she trod, even her shadow was boldly bright in comparison to the mafia's dark. He didn't know how, but she did not cease to illuminate. Not once, since the day he met her.

What a remarkable person she was. His eyelids fluttered, and he let them fall shut, black enveloping his whole world.

"Sorry," he murmured, although he knew it made no sense. Her body had evidently been in her apartment for a long time, far before her disappearance was noted. The decomposing confirmed it. But he felt the need to tell her that, to apologize, for some reason. Of all things, it was by far the most adequate.

And alongside the apology, a weight was lifted, and Risotto opened his eyes to see bleak existence. Swiftly, he averted his gaze away from the coffin. It was over.

The firm knot in his chest lessened its grip. He knew he was not forgiven. He would never be, and he could live with that, so long vengeance was possible, he established firmly.

Risotto Nero walked into the funeral a free man, and exited it a convict. His confinement – solitary. Walls of hardened sorrow caged him. Stone-cold they were, and stone-cold was him. Had anything truly changed? A free man and a convict, where was the difference, except in the title? For he could live life as if nothing happened, and the very reality was his jail.

Such a solid punishment. To be forced to live obediently. To just walk the streets like yet another passerby, as unimportant as any of them in his own life. In the grand city of Napoli, despite the mafia and his clearly valued position in it, Risotto had never felt smaller. It was no wonder, then, that he slouched his back and paced with a pace of a drunkard.

Everything seemed... saturated. The songs blasting in the cafes, the children playing on the empty roads, the pigeons fluttering their wings loudly once Risotto interrupted their cooing. Those were all ordinary things, but they all stuck to his mind, due to this... dim wonderment.

He couldn't wait to get over with these melancholic sensations. He simply wanted to get home, then get a mission, then go kill. He wanted to be thrown back into the cycle.

And after an eventless day and a dreamless night, he finally got it. He was with the rest of the Squadra, getting accustomed to this faulty cycle they were coming back to. Only (Y/N) was missing. The fact wasn't mentioned, and wouldn't be mentioned, as it appeared. Days tumbled over each other, and there was a development Risotto was glad to perceive.

The head of the Famiglia had a powerful message to send out to Risotto's team – that their heart, the vital organ, was ripped out. By all means, that was false.

Risotto grew to understand that, through the tragedy, the team had changed. It was a subtle difference, probably noticeable only to an eye as keen as his, but it was there. He looked into the men's actions and saw a silent sort of kindness. (Y/N) united them with her absence.

But when delving into the introspective, Risotto, strangely, found no change. It was as if the shocking moment was the worst, everything else... he could get used to. He didn't allow himself to miss her, and he easily distracted himself from her departure. If he'd spot the empty seat on the sofa that once belonged to her, well, he'd simply look away. A tinge of pain would impale his heart, but he got used to that too.

And he knew, time would heal it as well. Time would bring revenge, the sweet justice. But time passed, and what happened? The world revolved, the spring's beginnings unfolded, and the assassins killed all but the one most important target – the boss.

Much like the kindness (Y/N)'s absence enforced, the topic of the boss remained silent. It seemed as if everyone were waiting, just like Risotto, for his mystery to be faintly revealed, mentioned, caught in their everyday occurrences.

But it did not. Risotto's hands were still soaked with the wrong blood. He was itching to scratch the dried gore off of his skin, to scrape this vicious cycle. It was becoming one, wasn't it? What a paradox. The numbness he swore to wear had gotten all tight and unpleasant, his teammates were tired and fed up. Risotto knew he loved to imagine it were the boss he was killing in his few assassinations, and this was where he broke his pledge. For this was when he felt, and when the numbness became bestial wrath.

And he... he disliked that, but he couldn't help it. He could allow these few emotions in those few moments to overwhelm him, at most. At most! Everywhere else he was the same as ever.

However, one day, there was some sort of odd gravity in the team's behavior. Risotto had always been sensitive to social cues and their finesses, so he watched as this regal behavior spread among the Squadra. He could see Pesci's shy gasp, Prosciutto's squint of sapphires, Ghiaccio's involuntary grit and Sorbet's frown. All cascading from each other, as a secret was passed on, never directly spoken, never heard by Risotto.

The avoidance present in their interactions was a native mechanism for Risotto. What would redirect his gaze from that one spot on the sofa, what would always remain silenced, indirectly, barely mentioned? (Y/N). So he put that topic, her, in the current context, the...

The month after her death. One month had already passed. The unsaid secret reached him too.

His eyes scanned the polished floor beneath him, and his thoughts – they were blown out by the intense realization.

He picked on the patterns in the light that was reflected. Some straight, some looped. He tilted his head slightly, and the light moved where he watched, and remained where his gaze stopped. His brain was kindled so.

Now, Risotto was no sentimentalist. First, his job excluded that trait, and second, his character could not sustain it. So he didn't do anything. He had to pretend she hadn't existed, and just like the rest of the Squadra, silently accept it all over again.

It was a minor change to the cycle, not the best, but it happened. A little fact thrown into the seas of existence, rippled the waves with its drop, and it spread, not without consequences.

Although to Risotto it seemed like just another pale day, it would end with a note very vibrant. In his sleep, he was encountered by some scene of nature, where light trespassed the treetops in white streaks. Underneath them snaked a tame road of dirt. And although he visually had no way to locate this spot, he fundamentally knew where he was – Sicily.

Once the realization settled, he turned around, compelled by the gentle breeze. It was the sea that the breeze originated from, the beautiful, wide azure, a remedy to his soul. And before him, all the way to the water, sand like ivory, never too coarse and never too rough.

And the wind, the scent it carried... mewls of nostalgia got to him, and he was melting. He was brought back to his childhood, to the innocent and loving times, and... and that warmth, that came with all that was good, and with... love, indeed, love.

(Y/N). He knew she was the wind, for she gave him all of it. In return...

He could feel her in his grasp. (H/C) locks beneath his chin, her loving smile that he swore to protect; her, simply with him, possible and true. The warmth of her embrace that he felt only once in his damned life, that slipped away, like the breeze all around. He was enveloped in the wind, but the wind did not stay. It sighed along, then left him alone. And just like that, Risotto was stripped of any feeling.

There was unfamiliar heat in his face, and he tried to chase it away. He even closed his eyes, ready for the accursed tears to pool, to drain him of the warmth – but they didn't. He remained frozen as seconds flew past, expecting his heart to split in half. But it didn't.

Why? He had to go after the wind, he thought, so he took a step forward, only one. It was enough for him to realize that he had no feeling in his foot. It was almost as if he was standing on air. The sensation unsettled him.

He waved his hand towards the brush by his side, and did not sense the leaves underneath his fingertips. He retracted it, then, frustrated, shoved it into the bush. Nothing, again. He pulled it out and saw cuts and early blood seeping from them. He did not feel any pain, nor the delicate trickling of that fluid, nor the stinging that should've arrived as his flesh was exposed. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

He stepped backwards by reflex – no, he staggered backwards, then fell. And he would've hit his head quite painfully if it weren't for the fact he couldn't sense it. Such an annoyance, all of this. He rolled on the ground and somehow got back on his feet.

Risotto was static, but did not get to question these circumstances he found himself in. No, as soon as he got back to his feet, he looked and saw that what once was an angelic azure, now grew into a wild indigo. Grew, yes, he saw that right. An atrocious wave rose from Sicily's fine coastline and like a crumbling wall approached Risotto with the sole purpose of killing him.

Run for cover, he thought, and bashed his legs senselessly against the ground. It was futile, naturally – and the waters swallowed him, crushing him that very instance, but allowing him to feel at long last: death.

Risotto woke up, chest pressed against the bed, his heart pounding so violently it actually hurt. He opened his eyes immediately to spite these fantasies, and indeed, he was back in his room, in his bed. He groaned and smacked his face with the both of his hands. What a fucking gross dream.

His next day wasn't half bad. No, well, he almost forgot about the dream since something far more important happened. Donatella Una was dead, and Donatella Una was the boss's alleged lover. Risotto would have to admit he was pleasantly surprised.

But this only triggered a chain of events down which the Squadra descended. One by one, the path was abandoned by the men, as they erred fatally. Risotto was left the last one standing, barely standing.

He had no team to be strong for. All of his sufferings were ignored for one, simple goal: to find and kill the boss, and he was persistent in his cause. Only after could his life continue, and until then – until then, he would do everything and anything in his power to end that one wretched life. Luckily, he was on the right path to do so.

He was led to Sardinia, he was led to a cliff, and he was led to observe an unusual line of events which he chose to interfere in – rightfully so.

The pink-haired man he chose to bother was of the usual sort. Terrified and frail like any other civilian. Risotto would've let go of him if it weren't for one important factor.

His intuition screamed. This time, he would listen. And just like that, indeed, facts came to support it. He spotted the movement of the foot this guy had made, a very specific and deliberate one, to hide the envelope.

"Stand up, move your left leg, and show me," he ordered, lifting a finger to point at him. But he was suspiciously ignored. Risotto didn't have time for this idiocy.

"I told you to stand up! Stand up!"

His furious demand was listened to, and the stranger jumped up with a cowardly screech. He stood on one leg, arms propelled in a defensive manner. But that did not interest Risotto – the envelope was, as it appeared, empty.

Risotto caught a buzzing sound in the distance. The stranger, too, reacted to it. The guy had to be a stand user, for he reacted to... to Aerosmith. Buccellati's team arrived, and this man, a stand user, couldn't be there without the boss' interference. He had to be a person greatly trusted by the boss.

With Buccellati's presence on his mind, Risotto felt inclined to battle him. However, however...

"But there is true fear in your heart," he exclaimed, "you're a walking contradiction!"

His opponent twitched and resorted to uncanny anger. "Shut your trap!" He pointed at Risotto, and Risotto saw that he was even foaming, like a rabid dog. "You're the one who's about to be shaking in your boots!"

He ran towards the assassin – a bad move. Risotto immediately deduced the range of his stand, thus the way to land the kill. He proceeded to have his own stand procreate razors, then needles in his opponent's trap. This didn't faze him one bit, and he ran towards Risotto, trying to land a hit of his own. But all his punches were amiss, and as Risotto avoided them, he reached the edge of the cliff – ideal, he threw himself off the rocks and vanished from his enemy's sight.

The battle began. Dulled rage was a sharp weapon, and he was itching to strike.

And struck he did. Right from the start, he tiptoed at the doorstep of victory. The train of his thoughts was conducted with elegance; he predicted and he predicted right, and the enemy would soon succumb. What occurred in his mind, reflected on reality; his movements were equally as airy and light while he swayed around. He circled around, stopped here and there, took a blow – but dealt far worse ones.

His foot was severed, but he took the best of it. And as expected, his opponent was tricked, and what did that mean? What could that possibly mean? Oh, Risotto knew exactly what it meant, and his heart trembled with delight.

And then? He explained his trick, and watched as his opponent quite literally changed before him, and so did Risotto's opinion on him. The realization snapped in his mind as soon as he saw confidence twisting the man before him. Coupled with his erratic behavior, Risotto rightfully concluded that there were two of them. The first one, just a loyal henchman, but the other one...

"I had just thought you were the boss' most trusted man," he murmured, then pointed at the screaming man. "But you... to think that you..."

Pure glee forced a grin to his face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt wholly happy, to the point he was shivering like a careless boy.

"I can't wait to see what your face will look like once you die," he shouted in elation like no other, he relished in the bloodshed that took place and the agonizing wails of the boss, of that disgusting scum. Risotto would do anything to make this torture last an infinity or more, but he had to restrain himself. He had to do the right thing, finally, he could do it.

"There's nothing else you can do. I've won. I'm going to chop off your head," he exclaimed. "This is the end! Take this!"

At long last, triumph! His hands trembled as he lifted them up and up, and as he took a deep breath, his chest full of life and joy, he sentenced the boss to eternal death, "Metallica!"

And then, all of a sudden, horrifying pains reverberated throughout his body. It was only afterwards that he got aware of the gunshots.

He couldn't even move his hand to feel his wounds. He couldn't even process it. He was dying.

"I was winning..." He whispered in disbelief, denial, dread – for he was outsmarted, and he was beginning to realize how and why, despite the collapsing of his mind. "I would've won... but you had thrown the scalpels at them... boss..."

He fell, and all of his spirits did too. His blurry vision, tiring eyes, were subjected to the Sun's scorching light. He had no strength left to move them.

"I finally... figured it out..." And he wouldn't let it slip away, no. He would end the boss. He was determined now more than ever before, his mind was a mess, but he knew he would do it –

He swung a brisk glance towards this shadowed man who now stood by him, holding up Risotto's foot. He only recognized his arrival due to the absence of the Sun – the silhouette now hid it from Risotto. "I know your identity." Gore dripped from the boss' head as he tilted it slightly. Risotto's time was short, he was painfully aware, and he shortly pleaded,

"Before I die, show me... show me your face."

"I will not allow you to continue this conversation any longer, Risotto Nero," the boss told him, and proceeded to dialogue with a silent partner about his immediate death, his pride, his success, rubbing it in in Risotto's already devastated state. The boss offered an honorable death in exchange for iron in his blood, acting all high and mighty, all abominable in his greatness.

But Risotto would have a say in this noxious dialogue. With the remnants of his mind, he tugged at his vocal cords, the muscles of his punctured throat, to produce a hoarse, barely audible reply. The boss, naturally, did not hear, and he leaned in too close, demanding for a repetition, and hastily, the iron.

"I'm saying... that I won't die alone," he warned.

And somehow, Risotto gathered enough strength to grab the boss' shoulder, and he pulled that monster right against his chest, glaring at him with all the love that got corrupted into hatred.

Risotto announced, "Die!" And death came.

All that he knew, all that he felt, was a brisk fade of consciousness as it paled into light. What came next was inevitable in death: acceptance. He was forgiven at last.

Did it even matter? In reality, Risotto and all he loved, lost.

#risotto x reader #risotto nero #risotto #risotto nero x reader #risotto headcanon #la squadra #risotto reader insert #jojo x reader #jjba x reader #vento aureo x reader #risotto nero headcanon #angst #heavy angst #la squadra x reader #haha #vento aureo #canon compliant #<3

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kalimagik · 4 years

Text

How You Get The Girl

Based off of the song “How You get the Girl” by Taylor Swift

Tom Holland x Reader

<4K

Warning: Some cursing...but a lot of floooof - I just love happy endings, so be ready!

A/N: Here is the second part that follows my last fic “The Moment I Knew.” I wrote these ones a while ago an wasn’t sure if I wanted to share them or let anyone else read anything until my friend convinced me to start putting them on Tumblr, so I hope you like it! It you do, like, comment, reblog, or follow. Happy reading <3

*Not My GIF! Credits to Owner

It had been about 6 months since Y/N left her flat in London to spend some time back at her childhood home with her family. She had hoped that being around everything familiar would help her to forget the past year and a half and life she had built in London. She had gotten drunk with her friends, but that didn’t help. She would wake up startled in the middle of the night by dreams about how things used to be. They seemed so real to her. Once the holidays ended, Y/N knew she needed to go back to London before the New Year. As much as she wanted to avoid the holiday by staying at home, she needed to get back to her post in London.

Once leaving the airport, Y/N found a car to take her to her flat.

“Could you take the bridge?” Y/N asked the driver.

“Are you sure? That adds 20 minutes,” the driver responded.

“Yes please. I’m in earlier than expected and am not due back for a while.”

The driver nodded his head and put the car in drive. Y/N looked out the window and with each corner the car drove by, the memories came flooding back. There was the coffee shop where she had met Tom. There was the market where they did their weekly shopping together. There was the arcade where Tom had won her a large plastic ring. There were just too many memories. Y/N snapped her head forward to look at the road ahead of her. The red light in front of her cab lasted forever, but that was fine with Y/N.

“Is it going to be alright?” Y/N thought to herself.

The glaring red gave her a feeling of the unknown. She didn’t know.

“Common, Y/N! Don’t do this!”

“TOM! I told you! I can’t just wait for the time where I will fit into your life. I need someone who makes themself as available for me as I do for them. I need someone who is committed to this relationship. Jacob and Zendaya made it for my party and they’ve been just as busy as you. I cannot take the excuses anymore,” Y/N yelled through the tears.

Tom had been in her flat for nearly two hours trying to plead his case, but it didn’t do anything to change Y/N’s mind. She pulled out the largest suitcase she had and started packing.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked.

“I’m going home, Tom. I need some time away from here. Can you please just give me that?”

“When will you come back?”

“I don’t know. I bought a one way ticket. I need to be near my family,” Y/N blurted as she threw sweaters into her bag.

“Sweaters? It’s summer time! Are you really going to run away from this?”

“I’m not running away! I’m finally choosing me! Can’t you understand that?” Y/N turned around to face him for the first time in nearly an hour.

“Can I at least call you? Or come and see you?” he asked hopefully.

I would really prefer if you didn’t. I need this time,” Y/N responded as calmly as she could.

“Will you call me when you come back?” Tom tried again.

“I don’t know. Good luck, Tom. Maybe I’ll see you again,” Y/N said with so much pain.

Y/N wiped the few stray tears from her eyes as the cab pulled up in front of her building. Seeing it for the first time in all those months just reminded her of why she had left. Nevertheless, she pulled herself together, picked up her bags, and climbed the steps to the place that had once felt like home.

Walking inside, she turned on the old lights, the electricity flickering after having not been used for so long.

“Hello house,” Y/N whispered as she took her place all in.

Not a thing had moved. Zendaya asked to stop by just to bring her mail in and the pile was all that showed that someone had still lived there. Sitting down her bags in the kitchen, Y/N went through her six months of mail to see if anything caught her eye.

“bill, bill, magazine, bill, six bank statements, magazine, invitation…” Y/N stopped as she looked at an envelope addressed to her.

There wasn’t a return address, but Y/N easily recognized the handwriting that spelled out her name. She flipped it over, trying to decide if she wanted to open it, when she read on the back flap ‘I’m really sorry. Please just read this…’

She couldn’t do it though. She threw the envelope back on the table and stared at it.

*RING RING RING*

Y/N jumped as her phone went off in her purse. Finally peeling her eyes off of the letter, she went to fetch it.

‘CALL FROM Momma’ her phone screen read.

“Hi Mom!” Y/N answered, putting on a smile even though her mom couldn’t see it, “I just got back to my apartment, haven’t quite settled in though.”

“That’s great to hear! I just wanted to check in and make sure you got back alright,” Y/N’s mom said excitedly through the phone.

“I did, thank you. I’ll tell you all about my trip tomorrow though, I’m feeling drained from it and just need to get myself settled.”

“I understand, honey. I’ll let you go! I loved having you home! Love you, Y/N/N.”

“Love you too, mom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye!” Y/N ended the call and let out a deep breath as she looked around again.

Before heading up to her bedroom, she sent Daya a quick text telling her that she was back in London and grabbed her bags to lug them up the steps.

*BZZZZ*

“Give me a minute!” Zendaya laughed as she walked away from her group at the pub to check her phone, “Oh my gosh…” Her face went straight.

“What is it?” Harry asked her as he took a sip of his beer.

“Y/N’s back in London,” Zendaya said just as surprised as everyone else at the table.

Upon hearing the news, almost every pair of eyes went to look at Tom.

“Did you know she was coming back?” someone asked him.

“No. I haven’t heard from her in six months. I was starting to think she wouldn’t be coming back,” Tom answered slowly, “Did you know she was coming back, Zendaya?”

“She had told me a few months ago that she was going to eventually, but never said when. I’m just as surprised as you to be hearing from her,” the actress answered honestly.

“Should we go see her?” Harrison asked almost timidly.

“She said she is turning in early tonight. It was a long day of traveling,” Zendaya said as she read the message a little further.

“Tom, you okay?” Tuwaine asked as Tom sat there silently.

“What do I do guys? I obviously still love her…” Tom finally said as he thought back on the last six months.

He could barely think about going on dates with anyone else, so he didn’t, despite his friends urging him to. He checked her social media almost regularly and asked Zendaya constantly if she had heard from Y/N. His work was just something he went to and did every day, but he didn’t care about it. It wasn’t the same without her there. He was a complete mess until 2 months into her being gone, his mom convinced him to write a letter with everything he was feeling in it.

He wrote down everything he wanted Y/N to know. He knew that she had asked him not to contact her, so he sent it to her flat hoping that she would read it when she was back in London. It didn’t make him feel much better because she wasn’t there, but it allowed him to continue on with everyday life even if he was still hurting. Hoping that maybe she would read it was really what kept him afloat.

“Do you think she read my letter?” he asked no one in particular.

“She didn’t say anything about it…” Zendaya answered, “but maybe she hasn’t gone through her mail yet. There was six months’ worth!”

Tom could just nod his head.

“What do I do?” he said hopelessly, “Do I wait until she calls me? Do I go and see her?”

“Let me try and talk to her and see where she is first, Tom. Don’t do anything too irrational,” Zendaya tried to talk him down.

“Fine. But I need to hear something about her soon…”

Y/N tossed and turned the first night back in her bed. It wasn’t that it was uncomfortable. In fact, it was like a cloud that had been puffed just for her, but the letter sitting on her kitchen table seemed as though it was screaming. Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it and wondering what Tom had to say to her. Maybe that he had found someone else and moved on. Maybe that he didn’t love her anymore. Maybe to say that she had been wrong about the whole thing and he could never agree with her. Every possibility went across her mind and none of them were good.

Flipping over one more time, Y/N checked her phone. 2:30 AM. She should be sound asleep right now! Lightning flashed light through her curtains and her ears were filled with the sound of rain drops hitting her windows and the ground outside.

Letting out a loud sigh for no one but herself, Y/N threw off the blankets and got out of bed. She quickly went down the steps, flipped on the kitchen lights, and held the letter in her hands for a second time. She looked at it for what felt like an eternity contemplating whether or not she should open it.

Not bringing herself to do it, she carried it back up the stairs, sat it on her night table, and scrolled through social media to distract herself. She favorited some tweets and then switched to Instagram. That’s when she stumbled across a picture that Sam had posted around the time she got back. She could see the smiling faces of all the people she had met through Tom. In the middle of them was the smiling face of Tom himself. Y/N hadn’t really let herself explore the feelings she might still have for Tom. She had felt the pain for so long that she just wanted to be numb to the whole thing. This picture though, seeing him in a natural setting for the first time in months, opened the floodgates.

Of course she still loved him. How could she not? She had spent the last six months avoiding all thoughts of him, but apparently the simplest picture brought back all of her feelings. How could she know if he had still felt the same way? It had been six months.

That’s when, without thinking, Y/N grabbed the letter from her bedside table and used her fingers to open it up. She examined the few sheets of paper and the handwriting that was so clearly his.

‘My Dearest Y/N it started. Reading the words brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. She wouldn’t let herself sob though. She read Tom’s sorry’s and tales of how he was such a mess without her. Y/N’s heart opened for him, but the letter dated 2 months after she had left…A lot could have changed for him in the four months that followed. But he signed it ‘With all of the love I could possibly possess, The boy whose heart is always yours’ How could anything change that much?

*BZZZZ*

Y/N sat the letter down to look at her phone screen. It was Zendaya.

‘I see you’re active on social media at 2:30 AM. Go unlock your door. I’m coming over to see one of my best friends for the first time in MONTHS!’ the text read.

Y/N laughed as she could hear Daya’s voice through the text.

She quickly slid the letter back into the envelope and put it into her bedside table drawer. She pulled a sweatshirt over her head and went down the steps to unlock her door. She slid into the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove and make some tea.

“Knock! Knock! KNOCK!” Zendaya called walking through the door.

“In here, Daya!” Y/N called as she pulled out her assortment of tea.

“You are looking absolutely radiant!” She smiled as she popped into the kitchen.

“I look disgusting. I didn’t even shower the plane off of me,” Y/N laughed.

“I don’t think that matters. I haven’t seen you in six months! You look beautiful in my eyes,” she said as she wrapped Y/N in a hug, “How have you been? I’ve barely heard from you at all?”

“I’m really sorry for that. I was living in the moment at home, ya know?” Y/N tried to explain.

“I get it. Are you doing better? Are you here to stay?” Zendaya pried.

“I think so. I missed London. I missed my life here. I couldn’t stay away.”

“That makes me happy to hear! London missed you too! Plus, I am so sick of being around boys all the time! The group needs you!”

“Daya…” Y/N slowly said, pouring the water, “I don’t think I’m going to be hanging out with the group. I’m sure they don’t even want to see me…”

“What are you talking about? I was with them when you texted me and Harrison asked if we should come see you right then!”

“Wait…You were with them when I got back? So they know I’m here? All of them?” Y/N tested, not wanted to come right out and ask about Tom.

“Girl! You do not have to do that with me! Just ASK ME ABOUT TOM!”

“How is he?” Y/N asked timidly, blushing at Zendaya’s directness.

“He hasn’t been himself. You have to know this is killing him. He misses you. For fucks sake, he was asking me about you every day!”

Y/N looked down at the mug in her hands, trying to figure out how to proceed with this subject.

“You should just call him,” Zendaya interrupted her thoughts.

“I can’t do that. I’ve picked up my phone a million times…”

“It’s up to you, but he will answer,” Zendaya encouraged.

“Thanks, Z. Can we be done with this now?”

“Sure. Only if you tell me all about your time at home! Spill!”

Y/N smiled as she began to catch up with her with her friend at 3 AM.

Three gloomy days had gone by and Tom still didn’t have any word on the girl he loved. She’d been in London for three whole days and hadn’t called him. The silence was deafening to him. He couldn’t take it any longer. He needed to do something.

“Guys. I need to make a gesture. I have to see her.”

Tom was breaking as he stood in front of his friends.

“Have any of you heard from her? Haz, you grew pretty close with her. Can you give me anything?”

“Tom. If she had reached out to me, I would have told you right away. Why would I keep that from you?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, mate. I’ve just been on the fucking edge. Why hasn’t she called?”

“I wish we knew. I really wish we did.”

As the boys contemplated what Tom should do, Zendaya finally made an appearance after three days.

“Long time, no see!” Harry joked, “Where have you been hiding?”

“I’ve, uh, been with Y/N actually. We had a lot to catch up on…” she responded, looking at everyone but Tom.

“Did she say anything about me?” He asked, hope in his eyes.

“Tom. You know that’s not my place.”

“Please, Z! I’m going out of my mind here. I’m trying to respect what she asked of me, but I don’t think I can much longer.”

“We did talk about you, but she wasn’t giving me much. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thank you. Do you think I can go see her?” Tom asked.

“It’s up to you. I don’t know. Like I said, I can’t get a read on her.” Zendaya tried to explain.

“I’m going to see her. I need to. What should I say to her? I don’t want to come on too strong.” Tom asked.

“Tell her how you feel. Tell her what you know she needs to hear. I think it could be romantic,” Tuwaine chimes in.

“I’m going to do it. I’ll see you mates later. Wish me luck! Z, don’t tell her that I am coming. Got it? I can’t have her running away again.”

“Fine, Tom. Go get her.”

London was rainy this time of year. It was always rain or snow and today, the rain was coming down harder than the day that Y/N had gotten back. She had finally unpacked everything from her six month excursion home and picked up the packages that she had shipped back to London.

For the first time, Y/N was able to flop down on her couch and relax. She flipped on the TV to watch a Christmas movie (after Christmas). The sound of Anna Kendrick talking calmed her down and the sound of the rain made her eyes start to flutter as if sleep would come at any minute.

*Knock, Knock, Knock*

Y/N was so startled that she shot right up. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she didn’t know who it could be.

Wrapping a blanket around her, she made her way towards the door.

*Knock, Knock, Knock*

Whoever this was, they were not very patient. Y/N looked out the peephole, but couldn’t see anything because of the rain. She unlocked each of the locks that lined her door and opened it up to come face to face with a drenched Tom.

“Are you insane, Tom?! You are going to catch pneumonia!” Y/N looked at him in shock.

“I need to talk to you and I will stand here until you let me,” Tom said while looking her straight in the eye.

“Come in I guess. I can’t leave you out there.”

Y/N opened the door enough for Tom to walk in. She had no idea what she was feeling or how she was going to be able to talk to him.

“What is it Tom?” Y/N asked as they stood in her front hallway.

“Please, please, just let me say this,” he asked.

“Okay,” Y/N nearly whispered as she wrapped her blanket around her tighter.

“It’s been the longest fucking six months of my life. Back at your birthday, I was too scared. I couldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear. But love, I want you. I want every bit of you. For worse and for better. I will wait forever for you. I know that I completely broke your heart, but I will do everything I can to be the one to put it back together for you, if you haven’t done that already.”

Y/N looked at Tom with teary eyes. She didn’t know what to say, but Tom wasn’t done yet.

“Y/N. This is my absolute favorite picture of us. I couldn’t bring myself to change it after you left. I messed up so badly. I have not been able to forgive myself for it.”

Y/N looked at his screen saver. The picture had been one of her favorites too. It was their first Christmas together. Tom took Y/N to see the place in London with the most beautiful Christmas lights. She had been in awe and so excited at the same time. Tom couldn’t stop holding on to her all night. One of their friends had snapped the picture of them right as Tom kissed Y/N on the cheek with his arms wrapped around her waist. It really had been a perfect night.

“Y/N?”

She snapped out of the happy memory.

“I know that there is no excuse for why I wasn’t there that night and why I didn’t even call you. I had to of lost my mind then. There is no excuse for it. I left you all alone though and I was too much of a coward to tell you why and I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to say anything to me right now, but I’m telling you, I will wait forever for you. You are my person. I just need you to know that.”

Tom finished his speech. He definitely hadn’t prepared at all, but that was how he felt.

Y/N knew it must’ve been so hard for him. She couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her face. Tom had just poured his heart out to her, but she didn’t know what to say. Was it okay for her to just go back to him? She was so confused. Her head was telling her that she couldn’t in order to avoid any kind of pain later, but her heart was a different story. Her heart wanted her to open her arms and take him right back into them. She hadn’t stopped loving him over just six months. He was all she thought about and cried about and dreamed about.

“Okay, I know I said I didn’t expect you to say anything now, love, but could you give me some sort of sign?”

Y/N realized that the two minutes she had sat there pondering, must’ve seemed like an eternity to Tom.

“I’m really just trying to gather my thoughts, Tom. I knew that I’d see you again, but I honestly didn’t know what to expect or what I would do. I don’t have anything to say that is nearly as beautiful as that, but I did miss you. I missed you so much Tom…”

Y/N finally looked up into Tom’s chocolate eyes, which were twinkling like when she first knew she loved him. Let’s be honest, she knew she couldn’t let him walk away. She still loved him. And the feelings she felt for him didn’t come around for people very often in a lifetime.

The tears fell faster from her eyes as she tried to wipe them away.

“Hey, hey. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Tom looked so worried for her. He slowly inched forward, putting out a hand to wipe the tears for her. He couldn’t stop himself. That was one of the things she loved about him.

“I love you, Tom,” Y/N finally blurted out, “I love you so much.”

Tom smiled the biggest smile that he had made in months. His heart filled with so much joy and he couldn’t believe that he has her back as his again.

Tom took both hands, one against her cheek with a thumb wiping the last of her tears and the other wrapped around her waist and onto the small of her back to pull her closer to him. Their lips connected, finally, after six lonely months. Tom got the girl.

#tom holland #tom holland fan fic #tom holland x reader #mcu #marvel #peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #kalimagik #happy reading #new fic #songfic #taylor swift song

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azwriting · 4 years

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Binary Suns (Two Sides of the Same Coin, Din Djarin x Fem!Reader) - Chapter Two

A/N: This took forever to write and I’m so sorry! I had the worst writer’s block and I hope it doesn’t show in this chapter....

Summary: Mando and the Reaper find themselves in Mos Eisley where a shady young bounty hunter seeks the help of the Mandalorian.

Warning(s): Canon typical violence, me having major writers block, posting this at 4 in morning unedited,

Word Count: 8431 (I’M SoRrY)

The Mandalorian had tried to do the right thing: he went against the Guild and rescued the small green asset, he had taken the child somewhere safe where he had hoped they could lay low for a few months, but trouble seemed to follow. Because of his years of rigorous training and the years he had dedicated to the Guild, he could have foreseen the inevitable bounty hunter tracking the kid to Sorgan, but taking on a new strange passenger? No training or amount of labor could have helped him predict that one.

It had been a few days since they had departed Sorgan, leaving Cara behind with “Until our paths cross” and “Not a scratch on my ship Dune!” It had been a few days and he still did not have a decent interpretation of the Reaper, (Y/N). Mando knew nothing about her, only the minor glimpses into her life that Cara had revealed and how oddly well the child and her connected. It was almost as if they spoke their own silent language.

There were a few things he did uncover though. They were small details but provided an insight into her guarded life. Without the white paint smeared around her eyes, the dark circles hidden underneath were revealed to him. He had mistaken the purple and bluish patches of skin for bruises until he realized they were not healing. She did not sleep much… that much he could gather. Late at night whether he was in the cockpit or the confines of his room, he could hear the faintest of movements, like the soft hum of a breeze. The Razor Crest was not quiet by any means, every step warranted creaking durasteel in response, yet barely any noise ever came from her. It was as if her feet never touched the floor…

(Y/N) was impossibly agile, quick reflexes, reacting to things before his mind had even processed them. Reaching for things before they had even fallen, catching the kid before he could get them all into trouble by pressing whatever button he could reach. Mando had seen it on Sorgan with the way she took out the raiders. All quick and precise movements, flipping up and into the air only to land before them and drive her spear straight through. It was unlike anything he had ever seen across the galaxy.

She constantly wore armor around her chest and abdomen. Whether it was sitting on the floor playing absentmindedly with the kid or sitting silently in the cockpit alongside him. It appeared as if she never took it off. Coming from the man who was covered in head to toe Beskar everyday, it seemed a little strange. An out of character trait for someone who was not devoted to any creed. He began to wonder what dangerous predicament the Reaper had experienced to make her so tense.

(Y/N) was jumpy, jumpier than him. Any great fighter had their senses heightened, always ready for the unpredictable, but (Y/N) was on a whole other plane of existence. Every little insignificant noise earned her gaze, earned her fingers grazing her blaster. Her reflexes making her ready to spring into action at any given second. Mando was positive that each and every time he entered the same area as her on this small ship that her breath hitched. She would be stiff for a moment until whatever irrational fear played out behind her eyes faded away. He tried not to take it personally, many beings feared him and it brought him a strange sense of joy sometimes, but strangely not with (Y/N).

The Mandalorian knew the weight of trauma, of secrets, the Beskar was not the only thing that weighed him down. He knew what it did to someone and he knew she harbored many secrets, a past that left a burden on the young Reaper.

Regardless of his own intense curiosity that was building beneath the helmet, (Y/N) never voiced any. She never pestered him about what was beneath the helmet, like so many did. In fact there were moments over the past couple of days that he felt that she looked straight through the helmet. It was one night in particular when she was just informing him that rations were running low, the child seemingly always hungry, that the visor that tinted his vision served as the only reminder that she could not see him. Her eyes always found his with ease despite the barrier. They were small gestures but he deeply appreciated them, not that he would ever voice that. Mando needed to remind himself that she was simply here to help with the kid, but he could not help but enjoy the new company. Although she could talk a little less…

(Y/N) had retired to her small cot for the night, leaving Mando and the child alone in the cockpit. The two were silent, except for the occasional chatter from the small green creature behind him. The Mandalorian kept his eyes trained on the vast stars before him, thoughts wandering to the woman below. He had never been curious, it was something that diminished in him as a boy during his training, yet this former Rebel had awoken it in him. She was as much as a walking mystery as he was.

A loud beeping derailed his train of thought, bring him back inside of the cockpit. His head looked around the control panel, searching for the indication of what was wrong, when he caught sight of the scanner. Behind the Razor Crest was another ship, its targets locked onto them. “Shi-” Mando could not even get a word out before a blast hit his ship, rattling the worn durasteel.

“Hand over the child, Mando.” A demanding voice cut through the radio, almost drowning in the sound of other blaring alarms and the frightful whimpers of the kid. He quickly accelerated, dodging incoming blasts, although a shot hit one of the jets. The Razor Crest jolted forward at that, electricity crackling throughout the cockpit. With the chaos that was ensuing, Mando did not hear the footsteps climbing the ladder.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” (Y/N)’s voice carried through the small cockpit as she entered. It had been longer than five minutes, he silently noted to himself. “And you somehow find trouble! Seriously you two!” (Y/N) pointed down accusatively at the child, a smile breaking through her teasing tone. The child babbled something in response followed shortly by a giggle. Perhaps if they were not in a state of peril than Mando would have found humor in the comment, maybe even allow a corner of his lips to twitch. Instead he was stone cold, focused on putting an end to the hunter behind him. “Hold on.”

(Y/N) hovered behind him, hands tightly gripping the molding of the cockpit’s viewpoint as Mando spun the Razor Crest around, the ship taking a few more hits. “I can bring you in warm or cold.” The hunter’s voice came from the radio and the child whimpered quietly, no doubtedly petrified. Mando suddenly braked and (Y/N)’s hands slipped from the ceiling and she stumbled forward, hands falling to clutch onto the Beskar pauldrons on his shoulders. He immediately stiffened, the cold from her hands seeping through his layers, the apology fumbling from her lips muted against the ringing in his ears. A shiver ran up his spine, but he was unsure if it was from her frigid hands or something else entirely. As his defense system locked onto the ship that was now before him, he banished his internal inquiry.

“That’s my line.” The Mandalorian declared firing at the other ship, it exploding into nothing more than speckles of dust. (Y/N)’s hands slipped from his shoulders as he moved to fiddle with multiple toggles and buttons, the Razor Crest whining in a state of distress.

“Nice shot Mando, decent comeback.” A small noise escaped the helmet and she bit back a grin, turning to squat down before the baby. She could hear him mumbling about losing fuel as he tried to transfer energy elsewhere, the alarms only blaring in response, and the engine powering down. “Are we floating dead in the middle of space? Yes we are, yes we are!” (Y/N) cooed to the child, softly stroking one of his long green ears, earning her a soft giggle in return. His big brown eyes held onto hers, his small teeth poking out through his smile. She had never seen a creature so easily enthused, especially by her.

The cockpit abruptly was filled with red light, tinting everything in sight. A non-amused groan sounded from the chair to her side as Mando sat back down, continuously switching toggles. The engine sputtered back to life and the rusting gears of the pilot chair creaked. (Y/N) tore her eyes away from the baby, finding the man had swiveled his chair over to peer at them, the helmet tilted down. (Y/N) did not need to see his face to know the telling look of “Don’t underestimate me”.

It had been a few days since (Y/N) had joined the Mandalorian and the child on their desperate attempts to avoid the Guild. She did not know much about the man hidden behind the beskar and she had accepted that. She knew that the creed prevented him from showing his face, that the creed hid all remnants of whoever he was before. (Y/N) could understand that, could relate in her own way, the hood she adorned hid more than just a face. But during their few days in space together, in the small confines of his ship, she had uncovered a few things without ever having to ask.

Mando was quiet, never speaking more than necessary around her. He had been stiff at first, but she could feel him starting to loosen his resolve around her. She knew he hid behind a facade, but the child had started to break through that long before she even began accompanying them. The late nights where she could hear him talking to the child, who only offered incoherent answers, proved that. Waking up in the cockpit with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders proved that. Although that was something both of them never dared to address. He was not as heartless as he wanted others to believe.

He was protective. Perhaps it was his line of work that had brought it out or something he too buried beneath the mantle of a Mandalorian, but he was protective, overly so. Late at night when she could not sleep, a common occurrence, she could hear him up in the cockpit refusing to sleep afraid for the unknown. He constantly checked on the child, more so than her, even reluctant to let her leave the room with him. (Y/N) attempted not to take it personally, most of the beings he had encountered lately had been after the child, but she secretly hoped he did not think of her like so. She was here to help, not harm him.

She could feel a strange sense of comfort emitting from him, beneath all of the stress. (Y/N) was unsure as to why but he seemed to tense around her despite the deep, dare she say, relaxed breaths that escaped from the helmet. Whenever she looked to the visor, searching for eyes she would never see, he seemed to stutter in his movements, hands twitching at his sides. He was never just one emotion, that much she could tell.

Against her control, the sight of the helmet still brought forth unwelcomed thoughts. She would have to take a moment to calm her heart and he seemed to know to wait to speak when the flashes resurfaced. It was not Mando’s fault, he did not mean to stoke the inner fear she had from her youth, but it was just a foolish thing she could not control. With each passing day, (Y/N) hoped the sour taste in her mouth would disappear when her eyes first land on the Mandalorian.

Mando was a good person, she knew it. He tried to obscure it behind curt sentences, bloodied hands, and polished armor, but it was there. He too had the weight of trauma secured around his soul, tighter than the beskar, she knew that personally. Despite everything, she was beginning to enjoy his company. She enjoyed the silent looks, the hours spent playing with the child, the teasing remarks that only earned her a soft noise in acknowledgement. Spending so many years alone, having not one but two living and breathing beings around was an unexpected but welcomed change. And to think, she had almost fought him on Sorgan before a single word had been exchanged between them.

The crackling static of the radio pulled the hunter away, the visor returning to the vast expanse of space. “This is Mos Eisley Tower, we are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.” Mando confirmed that he was heading for the hangar, but (Y/N) groaned drowning it out. She stood back to her full height and eyed the sand covered planet rapidly consuming their view of space. “Mos Eisley?” Of all the places to land…

“You’ve been here before?” The deep modified voice questioned. (Y/N) leaned over him, eyes narrowed and observing. She could feel the Mandalorian tense beneath her, the frigid chill of the beskar radiating through her clothes. She paid no mind to it as memories of the pale architecture of the former wretched hive of scum and villainy surfaced in her mind. It had been different then, just as it would be now. Back before embarking on a trip with a Mandalorian bounty hunter and a small green creature, back before the whispered tales of a hood black figure spread across the galaxy.

“A long time ago.”

Climbing down from the cockpit, (Y/N) watched as Mando laid the kid down in a small compartment. He had seemingly fallen asleep during their descent, the thrill of a chase leaving his little body drained. “Will he be okay in there?” She was hesitant to leave him, not doing so since she had joined his side. The two of them bonded quicker than anyone would deem normal and (Y/N) did not have an answer, not a truthful one. She was scared to part from him, feeling the need to protect him. He was too important and yet too fragile. “He’ll be fine.” Mando assured closing the door. Sighing (Y/N) moved towards the ramp, waiting for the man to finish loading up his weapons. Her blasters never left her side, a habit that she would never shake. The horrors that had been seared into her mind, that bled from her soul with every step had made sure of that.

“No hood?” Mando suddenly spoke, moving to press the button that lowered the ramp. (Y/N) just shook her head, no she would not be needing it. The Reaper would not be present today. They both were silent as the ramp lowered, hands automatically flying up to shield her eyes from the blinding suns. The dry, hot, suffocating air of Tatooine infiltrated her lungs and the immediate uncomfortable prickling sensation of unbearable heat made itself known underneath her dark tunic. She could not imagine how agonizingly hot Mando was beneath all his armor and dark clothing, his skin no doubtedly producing the sticky gleam of sweat under it all.

A blaster went off pulling (Y/N) back to the hangar. Her one blaster was cradled between her hands, finger on the trigger, faster than she could process. “Hey! Hey! You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” A woman’s nagging broke through the tension. (Y/N)’s eyes fell over to Mando, finding his blaster pointed at a few pit droids. His face was turned towards her though and she could sense his eyes observing her and her blaster, as if he was taking a mental image.

A woman emerged from a small office in the bay, her unruly curls taller than her. “Just keep them away from my ship.” Mando huffed out holstering his blaster, (Y/N) following suit, only after assessing their surroundings. No trouble appeared to be near, especially from the tiny woman.

“Yeah? You think that’s a good idea, do you? Let’s look at your ship.” The woman, a mechanic, chastised stepping closer to the ship with her datapad in hand.

The quiet chatter of the city streamed into bay three-five, gaining (Y/N)’s attention. She could not help the curiosity that came over. It had been years since she last stepped foot on this planet, the first planet she had ever come back to. She never stuck around long enough to see how change would progress. Looking back to an occupied Mando and Mechanic, she knew she would not be missed. (Y/N) walked down the rest of the ramp, stepping down onto the hard sandy ground, the exit just ahead. Her next step has not even touched the ground before rough leather clamped around her wrist. The heat from the leather burned almost as hot as the suns of Tatooine. If it weren’t for the steel, (Y/N) would assume that Mando would radiate pure heat, even in the coldest parts of space. Her hands were always cold, a striking difference between the man and her. She was certain Mando believed they were all differences, two things that could not coexist in the same atmosphere. But the similarities greatly outweighed that, two things that in fact orbited each other. Although he would never know that.

“Where are you going?” Frustration had twisted its way into his speech from the credit hungry Mechanic and confusion for her interrupted departure. The stone cold legendary bounty hunter was nothing like she expected, something she had been piecing together since Sorgan. His instinctual protectiveness over the child had proven there was more to him than what had been spoken of.

“Relax, I’ll be back.” She attempted to rip her hand free, but his grip only tightened. Her eyes flashed up to his, narrowing with a challenge, an eyebrow quirking up as well. She could take him with ease, make it to the blast door before he could even stand.

“Just wait a minute.” A hint of humor edged its way into the modulator and (Y/N) fought back a satisfied smirk. She was bound to break through that facade of his sometime. He turned back to the mechanic, never releasing her wrist, he was too smart to think she would stay. “I’ll get you your money. Just remember-”

The curly haired woman cut him off, “Yeah, no droids, I heard you. You don’t have to say it twice.” Mando did not comment, instead he released (Y/N)’s wrist. His now free hand gestured for her to lead the way and she wasted no time jetting towards the bay exit, the hunter close behind.

The two stepped through the blast door, greeted by the quiet hangar alley. (Y/N) half heartedly expected to see the sickening white duraplast armor patrolling around, but with a heavy exhale she reminded herself that it had been taken care of. “Is there a cantina or something around here?” Mando asked reminding her that he was still in fact next to her. She rolled her eyes at his question, was there a cantina in Mos Eisley? He must have never been here, especially during the Empire’s reign.

“Yeah, it’s just a few streets over.” (Y/N) answered, eyes scanning the area. Last time she was here it was bustling with smugglers, spice runners, and running fugitives. Now it was almost bare except for the occasional traveler and moisture farmer passing by. It was unlike Mos Eisley to be so… civilized. Pride attempted to rise in her, but she snuffed it out quickly. This was how it was supposed to be.

“When were you on Tatooine?” The words surprised her, the Mandalorian verbally seeking out information about her. She was astonished to know he was inquisitive, let alone about her.

“It was one of the first places the “Reaper” went to.” It was the first real city she traveled to, bearing no identity as she removed any traces of the horrid Empire. It was wear the Reaper was born, her alter ego. (Y/N) did not associate herself with the stories that had spread across the galaxy. She was no guardian angel, no she was the person she had needed as a child.

“That’s why you didn’t wear your hood.” Mando said more to himself than her.

(Y/N) nodded in agreement, “They didn’t need to think it was some second coming and it’s nice to just observe, to see this prosperity that is attached to the name.” She could recall the weeks she had spent here, covered in grime that consisted of blood, sweat, and coarse sand. She had barely slept while freeing each and every small town or village of stormtroopers. If she had not struck them down, the few she did not, were left for the Tusken Raiders.

They turned to their right where a pathway was lined with weathered Stormtrooper helmets, all pierced with stakes. He turned to her wordlessly, the tilt of the helmet indicating the question he did not ask. (Y/N) winked walking past him, “What? Didn’t know I was an artist?”

The cantina was quiet, only a few local patrons sitting around the old bar, the occasional droid rolling by. Mando approached the bar leaning against the worn countertop, “Hey droid, I’m a hunter. I’m looking for some work.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as (Y/N) rested against the counter beside him, eyes patrolling the small cantina and droid before them. She was paranoid so was he, but she always seemed to be on the lookout. Him shooting at the pit droids had her ready to attack in a split second. Just another telling reason as to why he determined she was jumpy.

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine.” The droid responded and Mando let out a sigh.

“I could’ve told you that.” (Y/N) mumbled. He slowly glared over at her, eyebrows raised in annoyance. Her eyes widened in dramatics before she pursed her lips and turned to face the opposite wall. Expressive, he mentally noted, another thing to add to his list. She was extremely expressive in her movements and facial expressions. A part of him was relieved she had not worn the hood since Sorgan, he found her reactions to be… enjoyable.

“I’m not looking for Guild work.”

The bartending droid was quick to retort, “I’m afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation.” Mando wanted to blast the damn droid, being of absolute no use. How was he supposed to pay for repairs if he could not find a job? How would he buy rations for himself, the child, and now (Y/N)? He thought back to the simpler times where it was just him all by his lonesome, but had those times really been simpler? He enjoyed having the child now and he liked (Y/N)’s company, he had been alone for far too long.

“Think again, tin can!” A voice called. Mando twisted around to see a young man sitting in a booth with his legs propped up as if he was some high and mighty scoundrel. “If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friend.” He added gesturing to the open seat across from him. The beskar helmet turned to face (Y/N), who already was focused on him. Wordlessly, (Y/N) lifted her shoulders into a shrug and Mando sighed. What other option did they have? He sauntered over to the small booth, (Y/N) staying at the bar. “Names Toro, Toro Calican.” The young man, Toro, boots dropped from the table as he placed down a bounty puck onto the table between them. “Picked up this Bounty Puck before I left the Mid Rim. Fennec Shand, an Assassin. Heard she's been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

Mando narrowed his eyes at the boy, unsure how naive he could possibly be,“I know the name.”

Toro pulled the tracking fob from his belt as he continued, “I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she's headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job.” Mando heard (Y/N) snicker from the bar, her head dropping in laughter. Toro was a newbie, that was for sure.

After Toro confessing that he was in fact, said newbie, he made the Mandalorian an offer he could not refuse. “You and your hot partner can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild.” From his peripheral vision, Mando saw (Y/N) stiffen at his words. Through the security of his helmet, he allowed his eyes to rake over his new supposed partner. The thought had not yet crossed his mind, (Y/N) was now his partner, both protecting the child.

Her hair was secured in a braid once again, the same taupe colored piece of fabric woven into it, along with grains of sand that had fallen to embellish her hair during the walk here. She wore a dark blue tunic over a white long sleeve, the black armor as always wrapped around her torso. Mando took in her black belt and two holstered blasters, her brown pants that were tucked into her black boots, and something silver that gleamed inside her one boot. He swore it better not be anything of his.

His eyes found Toro’s to be regarding (Y/N) as well, although it was in less of an observant way as Mando had just done or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself. Mando was not pleased to find that Toro was eyeing his partner and so visibly, no discreteness to it. He leaned in the beskar plate pressing tightly into his chest, “She can see you.” Toro’s eyes snapped back up to (Y/N)’s face, who had not moved from her position at the bar. With her head staring straight ahead at the multitude of vials of different liquors one of her hands raised and gave the two men a short wave, indicating that she did in fact see them.

Toro’s mouth fell open as he searched for what to say, some pathetic excuse, but only straggled spurts of air fell from his lips. Mando did not grant him anymore time to find his words, “Meet me at Hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring two speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob.” They both stood and headed for the door, (Y/N) approaching them with a sly smirk on her face. Toro refused to meet her gaze instead holding Mando’s visor as his leather covered hand extended out for the tracking fob. Mando watched as Toro’s eyes widened as he glanced down at his hand and then back up to the helmet. Before anyone could react, Toro smashed the tracking fob into the stone wall.

(Y/N) let out a small noise and the Mandalorian bobbed his head in shock and annoyance. “Don’t worry, got it all memorized!” The young bounty hunter reassured tapping his temple. Mando mentally facepalmed himself, what had he gotten himself into?

“Half an hour.” He repeated before nodding for the Reaper to follow him.

The minute the two were out of the cantina, (Y/N) grabbed his arm. “I don’t trust him Mando.” He looked down at her seeing the uncertainty embedded in her eyes, could feel it in the way her cold fingers clutched onto him. Even underneath the heat of the binary suns, her hands were still cold. He envisioned that even the heat of a thousand suns that they would still be cold, it was just another attribute that made up the mysterious Reaper, his new partner. The word still felt foreign in his mind, he could only imagine how bizarre it would feel tumbling from his lips. Mutely Mando nodded and her hand released him, leaving him to feel strange in its absence. He did not trust the kid either, but they needed the credits.

The two entered the hangar silently, the mechanic nowhere in sight. Surely she was gathering the parts she needed to patch up Mando’s sorely messed up ship. She would never say it, but the ship was older than them both and belonged in a ship graveyard somewhere on Jakku or Honoghr. Her ship the Weeping Sinner, a name her brother had bestowed on the old freighter, was newer than his. And yet, they had left that one behind on Sorgan in the hands of Cara. Her ship could have handled a shoot-out better than this.

(Y/N) followed the Mandalorian up the ramp still playing over what the wanna-be bounty hunter had said. “Partner.” She elected to ignore his words before that, but dwelled on the title he had given Mando and her. They were partners now, working together to protect the child, it was odd to think of. Their partnership was almost humorous considering the stories, the history she knew… but it was the three of them now. A drastic change to the solidarity she had grown accustomed to since the war ended.

Inside the Razor Crest, Mando moved to collect supplies for his trip with Toro and (Y/N) headed towards the small compartment to check on the kid. She was amazed he was still sleeping… except as her eyes fell onto the empty compartment, she realized he was not. Mando’s eyes seemed to have noticed the same gut wrenching sight at the same time because he quickly bolted over to investigate, confirming the child was not inside. His helmet whipped back to her widening eyes and they both took off running out of the ship.

“Hey!” Mando shouted down at one of the pit droids, who in terror collapsed down into itself. Durasteel filled (Y/N)’s stomach as she scoured her surroundings, searching for green ears and that oversized beige tunic. Where was he? Was he okay? Had someone taken him? The information Mando had told her when she first joined them, reiterated itself inside her head. “Imps had him hooked up to some machine, the client didn’t seem to be concerned about whether he lived or not.” If a hunter had found him there was no saying what could have happened to him, what was currently happening to him. The child was of grave importance, Mando had begun to put that together and (Y/N) had known it the minute she had seen him playing with the children of Sorgan, those little green ears perked up in joy. She felt dizzy, enough of them had suffered, the child did not deserve any harm.

“Where is he?” Mando demanded looking down at the quivering droid. Fear encompassing his voice even through the modulator.

“Quiet!” The mechanic attempted to shout and keep her voice down at the same time. She emerged from her office, a small bundle secured in her arms. (Y/N) was quick to raise her blaster targeting the Tatooine native. She craved another weapon, one that fit in the palms of her hands better. A weapon that was quicker, cleaner, more precise in the hands of someone like (Y/N), someone who was as lithe as her. She desired the weapon the Reaper beared when taking down any outpost still flying the Imperial flag, still under control. But this was not the place, not without a hood, not with a Mandalorian she barely knew.

Muffled cries escaped the child as she walked closer, unaware of the blaster pointed at her and the tensed Mandalorian. “You woke it up! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?” The woman complained, eyes flickering between the two. She seemed unbothered by the two fighters standing before her as if she had stared down far more dangerous people. Living in Mos Eisley, it was possible.

“Give him to me.” Mando demanded, pointing at the incoming child. (Y/N) tightened her grip on her blaster, one foot stepping closer.

“Not so fast!” The mechanic shifted to the side holding the child away from them. An animalistic sneer escaped (Y/N)’s lips as she took another intimidating step forward. Both the woman and Mando turned to look at her appalled, stunned by her fearless approach. (Y/N) was undeterred by their silence, only jerking her blaster up as a reminder to give them the child or else. Big brown eyes met hers and a soft murmur escaped the child, his claws reaching out for her.

A hand was gently placed on top of her blaster, urging her to lower it. (Y/N) swallowed slightly, not even looking at the man as she reluctantly holstered the weapon. Taking a deep breath, she tried to reign in the inner warrior that had escaped from its cage. “Please.” She whispered desperately, trembling hands reaching out. The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of the sudden change in her, but against her better judgement she handed over the child.

A sigh of relief escaped (Y/N)’s throat once she felt the soft fabric graze her exposed skin and without a second thought she pressed his little body into hers. Content little sounds fell from the baby’s mouth and a claw raised to rest against her cheek. (Y/N) offered him a small smile, pleased to see he was in no danger and no harm had come to him. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible as she regarded the mechanic, who in shock just nodded. She could feel Mando’s eyes on her too but she kept her head down, basking in the joy of the child.

“You got a job, didn’t you?” The woman asked instead. Mando did not answer as he moved to collect his belongings from back inside the ship. She continued on anyways, “I figured you were good for the money since you have extra mouths to feed.” (Y/N)’s eyes drifted away from the child to glance up at the Mandalorian already staring back down at her. Her partner… Her (Y/E/C) eyes fell quickly, her cheeks flushing in the slightest. The awful sweltering Tatooine heat must have been getting to her. The child cooed up at her almost as if he was calling her lie.

“It’s not like that…” She mumbled to him. She had been alone for so long, it was overwhelming to finally be near others again. Let alone have a partner.

Mando walked down the ramp and headed for the exit, (Y/N) and the child following close behind. Outside the hangar, Toro leaned against one of the speeder bikes, arms crossed, and a relaxed expression on his face. “Hey Mando, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh?” Mando was silent as he plopped his belongings down onto the one speeder bike. He moved to inspect the bike, clearly not impressed. “What'd you expect? This ain't Corellia.” Toro shrugged, looking over to (Y/N) and the baby. She did not meet his gaze, instead watching Mando strap his pack to bike. (Y/N) was uncertain about this hunt, Fennec Shand was a highly regarded mercenary with a big bounty over her head, there being only one other person as high as her.

“Hey kid, why didn’t you pick something easier to get yourself into the Guild?” (Y/N) prodded, jerking her chin towards him.

Toro smirked slightly at her words, “Please as if any other bounty could get me in. The only other one worth such a high honor is the Reaper, but their just a myth.”

(Y/N) faked a laugh, eyes flashing over to a quiet Mando. “You think the Reaper is just a story?”

Toro nodded tossing in an unnecessary wink, “No one just helps others for free.” She shrugged innocently, knowing that perhaps there were people like that out in the galaxy. (Y/N) never allowed anyone to pay her for what she did, the most she would accept for her deeds was food and fuel. The work of the Reaper did not require payment, she found her reward in the relieved sighs, the gracious smiles, and the dissipation of fear and suffering. The Empire had oppressed too many and ridding the galaxy of such evil was enough reparation.

Mando sauntered back up to her side, a simple glove reaching out to stroke one of the child’s silky ears. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Keep an eye on the kid.” (Y/N) agreed, eyes searching the visor for his. She knew she would never see them, but attempting to find them was enough. It was a game she played: if he’s tilting his head than his eyes must be there or he stiffened, I must have found them. (Y/N) wanted to remind him to be safe, to watch his back, but he was a Mandalorian, a skilled fighter… He would be fine.

(Y/N) watched as the two speeder bikes took off in a cloud of sand, the child babbling up at her softly. She smiled looking down at his sweet little face, “It’s just you and me, kid.” Another babble floated up to her ears, his head attempting to turn back. “Don’t worry he’ll be back soon.” Bouncing him lightly in her arms, (Y/N) turned to enter the hangar again. Before entering bay three-five, she cast one last glance out to the horizon, inwardly remind herself that everything would be fine.

The day flew by quickly and the binary suns rose the morning, greeting the two of them with the same insufferable heat. (Y/N) and the child made due on the Razor Crest, attempting to keep each other from the brink of boredom, while the mechanic worked around them. Peli, as she was called, was a nice lady (Y/N) could give her that. She had fed them both, dramatically professing how she would only add it to Mando’s other charges, but (Y/N) could tell she did not fully mean it. She could tell the lady enjoyed the change in company. Her and the child got along well too.

Although (Y/N) was going stir crazy. She had not sat around for so long, not since she had been in the Rebellion, but even then there had been something to do. She preferred to keep herself busy, it left less time to remember, less time to feel alone. But now she could only lean against the cold durasteel and watch the child play with a small shiny sphere. It was entertaining enough, watching as the sphere reflect back a distorted image of herself. (Y/N) pondered briefly if that was how she truly looked: altered, disguised, and nothing like her true self. She was always the Reaper or a Rebel or something that no longer existed, never just (Y/N). She was always a conscious blend of multiple things, never truly herself. Fear held her back, just as it had for all these years, since that horrific night. Although she supposed the chance for her to be just (Y/N) died long ago with so many others.

The mid-afternoon sun brought down an intense heat, everything practically radiating thick waves of the sweltering heat. (Y/N) had stripped down to just her blue tunic as she tried to keep the kid cool inside the shade of the Razor Crest. His little green self seemed unbothered by the heat, but she was still worried. She could not wait to leave, the coldness of space calling to her. She had not grown up anywhere near the desert heat, the planets she had lived on were always cool. The closest to heat she had gotten was Yavin 4 during her early years in the Rebellion.

The sound of the blast door opening had (Y/N) jumping to her feet. An alleviated groan passed through her lips, “Finally they’re back!” She jumped down out of the cockpit, eager to leave, but the smile on her face soon died. Toro was walking up the ramp of the ship, blaster raised in defense, no shining beskar in sight. “Where’s Mando?” (Y/N) questioned, slowly walking to the side, her hand reaching for her blaster. Mentally she cursed, during her changing she never clipped back on her belt. Now she was blasterless, but she was not weaponless. Concern tugged at her heart, concern for her Mandalorian partner. She hoped he was alright and not buried in a pauper’s grave somewhere in the desert.

“Oh don’t worry, he’ll be joining us shortly. And until then, you’re going to do as I say because I don’t want to mess up that pretty little face of yours.”

(Y/N) quirked an eyebrow up at that, “Oh is that so?” Toro nodded as the two began to circle each other in a standoff. She wanted to laugh at his boldness and ill-placed confidence. This adolescent could not beat her, he had nothing to hold against her.

As if on cue, a quiet whimper filled the tense ship, heads turning to find the child watching them from a step on the ladder leading up the cockpit. (Y/N) gulped, of course he would follow… “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to this little guy would you?” Her eyes snapped back over to Toro who now pointed at the child. With a blaster pointed at her, she could handle it, but she could not risk the kid.

“You backstabbing bantha!” (Y/N) spit, the two of them now locked on opposite sides of the ship. She did not know why he had double-crossed Mando, but he had no less. And now he was threatening the kid, oh how badly she wanted to unleash the Reaper on him.

“It’s just business, you know.” Toro grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling down at the child.

“I wasn’t in the Guild, so no I don’t.” A thick eyebrow lifted at that, curiosity emitting from him.

“Who are you then?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, ignoring his question. A part of her told her to wait for Mando, that she could not risk endangering the child, that she could not risk exposing herself. Her actions would no doubtedly out her, but to who? The child? He already knew who she was and he would be the only one walking out of here besides her. Peli was nowhere to be found, meaning while she bore no hood, no could identify her.

Yes, she could stay here and play Toro’s little game and wait for Mando to arrive whenever or she could handle the situation herself. Just as she’s done all along. As she stared at the blaster pointed down at the baby, her decision was made. (Y/N) smirked, her head tilting down threateningly, fingers twitching at her sides in anticipation.

“I’m the Reaper.”

Night devoured Mos Eisley as Mando slid off the dewback, eyeing the speeder bike resting outside of hangar three-five. His chest tightened with unfamiliar feelings, feelings that the child had awoken in. His jaw clenched as he pulled his blaster free from the holster, heading inside the bay. He did not know why Toro had killed Shand, but his gut told him it was not in defense. Slowly he stepped down the stairs, scanning for any threat. He swore if Toro had laid a hand on the kid or (Y/N)… he swallowed thickly not fond of the potential sights he could see. His grip tightened around the blaster in determination, anger seeping in.

“Took you long enough, Mando.” a voice called and in defense his blaster raised to point at the dark shadows of the Razor Crest. What he saw made his heart skip a beat. (Y/N) walked down the ramp, the child asleep in her arms. His eyes frantically raced over the two of them, finding no evident sign of harm. He could not fathom it, where was Toro? He was still tense, eyes searching the grounds of the bay, fully expecting the young bounty hunter to ambush him from the shadows. But his eyes found something else. Beside the ship, was something dark, a silhouette. Mando moved closer hesitantly, blaster still secured between his glove.

On the ground was Toro, eyes closed and a strange blaster hole going straight through his chest. He was dead… which meant (Y/N) had killed him. His eyes lifted back up the ramp where she peered down at him, the moonlight the only source of light. “A-Are you both okay?” Mando’s voice was stiff, the dread and anger he had felt still woven into it.

She smiled lightly, “Yeah, nothing I couldn’t handle.” A deep sigh fled his lips and Mando rolled his shoulders trying to loosen some of the built up tension. Of course, the Reaper could handle herself, it was foolish of him to assume otherwise.

“Peli, the mechanic, is scared out of her mind though.”

Mando’s lips twitched a little beneath the helmet, “From him or you?” (Y/N) laughed loudly, before clamping a hand around her mouth. Her eyes looked down checking to see if she had woken the kid, she had not.

“Good question.” He walked around to the end of the ramp where (Y/N) met him. Looking down at the sleeping child banished all of his previous fears, he was safe, so was she. Through the veil of his lashes he looked up to the former Rebel, who smiled down at the creature too. “I will say though,” Her eyes flickered up to the visor, finding his eyes with such ease, Mando swore she could see right through. “I did warn you about him.” He groaned taking a step back, trying to fight the smile that broke across his face.

“Go back inside, I’m going to figure out the payment with the mechanic, and then we are leaving this place.” Her eyes widened in thankfulness as she nodded, turning to head back up the ramp. With her back to him, Mando carefully eyed her and let an amused hum slip out. Shaking his head, he left to find the mechanic.

(Y/N) felt as the Razor Crest lifted from the bay, leaving Tatooine in the rear viewport. She was thankful to leave, the sweltering heat draining her and the minor scuffle she had with Toro. He had not put up much of a fight just as she expected, he seemed to shaken to function after her admission. The Reaper did after all strike fear into the hearts of the malevolent.

Carefully she placed the child down into the small compartment and wrapped the small blanket around him. At the end of the day, she was glad he was safe. She would not have been able to function if he had gotten hurt, he meant to much. Before she had even crumbled to her knees before him in Sorgan, he had awoken something in her. Something she had not felt for decades, a sense of belonging. The Mandalorian only began to heighten that feeling too.

(Y/N) leaned against the durasteel wall, eyes never faltering from the sleeping child as she heard the cockpit door open. Heavy boots thudded down the ladder before Mando turned to face her, both of them inhaling greatly. “Hey.” She mumbled, eyes heavy with sleep. She was exhausted but she knew laid down on her small cot that she would not sleep anyways. Sleep never came to her easily despite how depleted her body was. Mando nodded once and approached them, the helmet tipping towards the peacefully resting child. (Y/N) too went back to watching the child, the sole purpose they were on this journey, facing trouble at every corner. He was worth it.

A leather hand moved in the corner of her vision, reaching down for something. She was tired, but still fast. Her hand snatched hold of Mando’s wandering hand, eyes wide in confusion. “What are you doing?”

His visor was looking down at the ground, “What’s in your boot?” (Y/N)’s blood turned colder than Hoth, the color draining from her face. She did not have to look to know what he saw peeking out from the black boot.

“Nothing of yours if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Her answer was rushed, tumbling out messily, but Mando sighed and nodded. Her hand slowly released his and they both moved back to watching the kid. The air was tense between them but (Y/N) knew it was not because of her unwillingness to reveal a single item.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.” Mando breathed out.

Her (Y/E/C) eyes moved over to fixate on the beskar, “It’s okay, I’m used to taking care of myself.” They were silent once again and the comfort of her stiff cot called her name. (Y/N) spun to leave, but now the worn leather caught ahold of her hand. Their eyes found each other and she swore she could feel the ghost of Tatooine’s heat creep up the back of her neck.

“I know you are and so am I, but we…” The man before her trailed off searching for the correct words. He did not talk much nor express his feelings, (Y/N) knew that. “We don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

She knew he meant more by his words, that they now had each other’s backs, that they were no longer alone. Guilt flooded (Y/N)’s thoughts. She was hiding so much from him, more than any single person could bear. She wanted to tell him, but fear enclosed around her so thickly. If the truth came out, he would never look at her the same and she would lose the first sense of belonging she’s had in a long time. It did not matter anyway, lying was encoded in her and the truth was buried so deep, it felt lost and out of touch.

(Y/N) smiled weakly, her hand falling back to her side free, “Goodnight partner.”

Taglist: @emma-frxst @silverlambcaptain @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @capisalittleowlie @sailorflowermoon @ah-callie @fleurdemiel145 @sporkedloser @mxicanvinlla @greendragonzz @retrobhaddie

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x fem!reader #star wars series #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #Pedro Pascal x reader #azwriting

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screwedupwitch · 3 years

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When I began therapy to deal with an episode of depression and lack of motivation, my first assignment was: wash your dishes every evening for one week. It was a 'task' because along with avoiding facing my life-situation and dealing with irrational anxieties head on, I was also avoiding doing basic life tasks like cooking, cleaning, and doing the dishes. My therapist claimed that the state of my house reflected the state of my mind and that doing the dishes might be the first step towards eventually sorting out the mental tangle.

I have read other articles about how doing the dishes can be an act of mindfulness. And let alone the beneficial side effects of dishwashing, just the logical fact that the unwashed dishes left overnight might become breeding grounds for bacteria and fungi should be enough to motivate anyone to strive towards a sparkling dish-less kitchen each night, right?

So why then is this requisite task so difficult? I know I am not the only one who faces this struggle, at least within my circle of friends.

I don't know why. I hate washing dishes everyday. I hate the fact that day after day, no matter what disasters are unraveling in life, these greasy dirty pots and pans just keep turning up, staring at me from my tiny basin. They lie there motionless, waiting for me to attend to them, to meticulously wash and scrub away every bit of oil, curry, burnt food bits, never mind that the only thing I would rather do is escape reality for a bit - by sleeping or maybe watching some tv... they just wont leave me alone! Where is that one day when I will be on top of (figuratively) the daily unrelenting pile of dishes?? When will this end???

Never.

That's it. Never.

For the longest while I was viewing doing the dishes as moving closer and closer to being a responsible, clean person. It's a goal that I move closer to, every day I do the dishes and away from, each day I miss. Which made me associate the state of my sink with the state of my... person. Filthy dishes = filthy unresponsible human.

For something like dishes, which is going to be part of my life every day (until someone invents food pills that will fill us up without the need of any elaborate cooking), it's not worth making it into a battle of how-close-am-I-to-my-ideal-self. I don't have the strength to fight every day.

Dishes are not a destination, but a journey, a routine. An item in the checklist of every day. Confronting this fact that it will really never end and maybe accepting it to some extent, has made me despise this task a bit less. It's easier to muster up motivation for a chore that cannot be helped than for a decision which will determine how far I have come on the path to becoming a fully realised adult... When I remind myself that the dishes made no promises to stop turning up, I hate them a bit less when they do.

I don't know how well I am communicating the transformation in my viewpoint. Yes, everyone knows there will be dishes to wash everyday but I didn't _know_ know until that one moment of clarity.

If I accept that this is a task that will _never_ end, then I take it on less grudgingly and resentfully each day.

Discussing this with a friend led us to the deep conclusion that maybe this realization - that each new day you come back to the start and do the same things again, it's an endless loop with daily chances of success - maybe that's what adulthood is all about.

So dishwashing is not a destination where a win means a win forever, but a journey where each step is full of...I guess a new combination of dishes and foodstains... And its going to end when we stop eating forever. And each day you skip the dishes, you have a new chance to succeed the following day. The only sad consequences will be the visible build up of fungi and bacteria and the unbearable stink.

Well, it remains to be seen if this change of perspective translates into a daily habit of tackling these dishes or it's just another wave of 'Aha' which will roll over through me soon...

But tonight, I will look at those dishes and remind myself of my unfulfillable expectations and unwarranted hatred.

#dishes #dishwashing #adulthood #adulting

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morning-star-57 · 5 years

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Marinette Protection Squad

Okay, so, first of all, thank you to @kilieria for allowing me to use her idea to make a story. I don’t know if this is going to be a one-shot or not, depends on the response, I guess.

Also, for the sake of the story, the class didn’t switch back and Marinette is still in the back by herself.

Summary: Marinette thought that her classmates would have her back. After all, she always had theirs. But, apparently, their “everyday Ladybug” just wasn’t as interesting as the stories Lila tells. Fortunately for her, Luka and his friends think otherwise.

Part 1 || Part 2

Marinette sighed into her palm as she stared at her friends from her seat in the back (you were literally left behind a voice in the back of her mind. But she didn’t want to humor lest another akuma comes after her). Alya and Nino were giggling to each other, Alix and Nathaniel seemed to be getting along surprisingly well, and Ivan and Mylène were cuddling in their seats contentedly. And, of course, Lila and Adrien.

She glared at Lila as she placed her hand on Adrien’s shoulder and leaned into his face to laugh at whatever he said. How dare she?! Especially since he looked so uncomfortable! Marinette huffed, not only was Lie-la a liar (She could hear a laugh that sounded strangely like Chat in the back of her mind), but she had no concept of personal space!

She knew she could go down there and say something, but she also knew that the class all collectively decided to label her as jealous and irrational. It hurt more than anything. Adrien wasn’t the only reason why she disliked Lila, though she admitted that that was a reason as well, but, apparently, that’s all the class saw. Even Alya! Her best friend turned against her when she needed her most!

She took a deep breath and calmed herself down. There was no need for her to get herself all worked up.

The bell rung and she grabbed her bag, quickly walking down the steps, head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. In hindsight, not looking at where she was going was probably the worst idea she ever had (or the best but she doesn’t know that yet).

She collided with presumably another human and yelped in pain. Feeling herself lose her balance, she braced herself for the pain that came with her clumsiness, but it never came. Instead she opened her eyes to find herself being held up.

“Marinette?” She looked up to find familiar blue ones staring at her worriedly. She let out the breath she was holding and gave him an embarrassed smile.

“H-Hey, Luka! Um, nice catch.” He laughed and pulled her back up before letting her go.

“Why are you in such a hurry, Ma-Ma-Marinette?” She pouted at the teasing tone in his voice, but let it fall off her face in favor of a smile.

“Just need to get home, that’s all.” He frowned in confusion.

“Really? Thought that you'd be going shopping with the girls.”

“What?” She blinked. Shopping? When? She never heard of this. “Who told you that?”

“Juleka told me not to wait for her since she was going shopping with her friends. Naturally, I assumed you’d be there too.” Marinette’s entire body felt heavy as she processed what she was told. They didn’t invite her?

"I wasn't aware that they were going." She couldn't help the bitterness that colored her tone. She'll feel guilty later, but right now she'll be as petty as she wants.

Luka blinked at he before smiling.

“Well, since you’re free, why not come hang out with my friends?”

“Oh, I couldn’t...”

“What?” Luka gave her a teasing smirk. “Don’t wanna be seen with us?” Marinette froze before shaking her head furiously and flailing her arms.

“What?! N-No! I mean, I wouldn’t mind- I mean I do but- No! I just wouldn’t want to intrude and-and-!”

Luka laughed loudly, causing Marinette to stop her rambling.

“Don’t worry Ma-Ma-Marinette, I want you there and I’m sure my friends will love you!”

“But you’re all older than me. Wouldn’t I stick out?” He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

*****

“LUUUUUKAAAAAA!”

A blur of green and white invaded her vision before Luka released her and caught them. Fortunately, he seemed to have better balance than she did because he didn’t fall over at the sudden collision.

On his back was a short, olive skinned girl with light brown hair that was up in a high ponytail and dark brown eyes. She wore a green jacket with a white shirt underneath that was tucked into the light blue skinny jeans she had on and light green flats. Her left eyebrow had a split in it and she had a small stud in her nose.

The girl jumped off of Luka and instead let herself fall dramatically into his arms, putting one hand on her forehead and the other over her heart.

“Where have thou tarried away for so long, my darling~?”

“Avoiding you, probably.”

Marinette turned her head to see a two other of people sitting by the stairs.

On the far right, with large gray headphones that were resting on his stomach, was a dark skinned guy with black eyes and short brown hair that reached down to his neck in the back and brushed against his eyes in the front. He had a denim jacket over a black shirt that said “Viva La Vida” in bold white and ripped jeans. He had a silver chained necklace with the Star of David on it and on his feet were black and white checkered converse.

He was laying down on the steps with his head on the lap of a pretty brunette with blonde highlights. Her hair was left down, reaching up to her waist but had a white headband that kept it from falling into her face. She wore white pants that ended at her ankles and black ankle boots with a tall heel. She had on a sky blue, long-sleeved shirt that cut off at her midsection and had a black and white checkered pattern on the hem.

The girl in Luka’s arms huffed and picked herself up.

“How dare you! I’ll have you know that I am a delight!” Marinette couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her as the girl in blue poked at the guy in the stomach. Unfortunately, that caused all of their heads to turn to her. She swallowed back the nervousness and smiled at them.

“Hi, I’m Marinette.”

The girl in green was suddenly in her face and gave her a hard look. Marinette suddenly felt the nerves come back like a tidal wave. Too close! Suddenly, the girl grinned and squealed, grabbing Marinette by the shoulders.

“She’s so cute! Can I keep her?” Luka reached over and gently pried the girl in green of of her and she was never more thankful. Finally having the girl back on the ground, Luka smiled at the group and gestured over to Marinette.

“Guys, this is Marinette. Marinette, this is Elaine,” he pointed to the girl in blue, who had stood up by now and- whoa she was tall! “Samuel,” he pointed over to the guy, who nodded at her with a soft smile. “And, of course, Carmen.” The one in green waved erratically and gave a smile that could blind the sun.

“It’s so great to finally put your name to a face, Marinette!” Carmen held her hand out and Marinette took it to shake. “Though, Luka didn’t mention just how adorable you are!”

Marinette blushed and squeaked out a ‘thank you’.

“Alright, Car! Stop embarrassing the poor girl!” Samuel interjected, picking Carmen by the waist and setting her on the school’s banister. Elaine shook her head and gave Marinette a warm smile.

“We’re sorry about her, but don’t worry, she’s nice. Just a bit excitable.” Elaine held her hand out and Marinette shook it. “Though, she is right... you’re so cute!”

Samuel took Elaine and pulled her away as well. He turned to her and grinned. “They’re both horrible, but I’ll make sure to keep you safe from their clutches!” He gave a dramatic bow that reminded her of Chat Noir’s, but not as flirty.

“Marinette’s joining us today. You guys okay with that?” Luka said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Of course! She’s welcome to join us whenever she wants!” Carmen practically vibrated in her shoes with excitement. Marinette smiled brightly.

“Thanks.”

“No problem! Now...” Carmen hip bumped Luka out of the way and wrapped her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. They started walking down the stairs, the rest of the group following. “Since you met Luka first, we gotta ask: do you think he’s cool?”

Marinette gave her a confused look. “Yes?” Carmen shook her head sadly while Elaine ran up to her other side and took her hands in hers.

“You poor thing. Don’t worry, Mama Elaine will wash away those impure thoughts from your head!”

“Um, what?” Carmen turned around and glared at Luka.

“You see what you did? You convinced her that you’re actually cool, you despicable fiend!”

“An outrage!” Elaine yelled.

“For shame!” Samuel joined.

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at their antics as Luka gave them an offended look and Samuel gave him a scolding finger wag. They were a little loud, but everyone seemed so comfortable around each other. It was nice. Kind of reminded her of how she and her friends are. Were. Were they her friends anymore? They left her behind and they probably don’t want to be seen with her since they didn’t invite her. And that means that she’ll be friendless for the rest of her life and that means that she’ll live the rest of her life as a lonely old woman with nothing but her goldfish that die every three weeks because she couldn’t take proper care of it because she’ll be lamenting over her failed social life and-!

“Marinette!” She jerked and surprise and looked up at the group who gave her worried looks.

“Marinette, what’s wrong?” Elaine bent down just enough so that she was eye level with her.

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking of how close you all seem. Reminded me of how my friends and I were.” Samuel frowned.

“Were?”

“I...” She looked down. “I guess they don’t want to be my friends anymore. They didn’t even invite me to go shopping with them.”

The group shared a look and nodded. Carmen took Marinette’s chin in her hand and tilted it upwards so that she was looking at her in the eye.

“Well, forget about them. We’re you’re friends now!”

“But-.”

“Nope! Welcome to the squad!” Somehow Marinette knew that arguing would be useless.

Luka smiled at her.

“Told you they’d like you.”

****

And that’s a wrap! Thank you for reading my first ML story and thank you again to Kilieria for allowing me to use her AU.

Part 2

#luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #ml au #miraculous ladybug #ml salt #ml spoilers #season 3 #ocs #fanfic #ml chameleon #our girl deserves better

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adshoactivist · 4 years

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I don't know what to do or how to feel. I don't really have many close friends I can talk to because I switched schools and ever since I've been in a consistent state of anxiety and sadness. So many things are going wrong.

I don't have a life out of school work, but still I find that my assignments are piling up on me and it's awful, it makes me not sleep or even think about anything else including my wellbeing.

For the first 15 years of my life I was known as the fat sister and when I turned 16 I decided to fix it. At first it was simple. I had developed a love for dancing and to this day it still serves as one of my few sources of stress relief (I can dance full choreographies out of my head for hours non stop). But then I developed an eating disorder. Every time it seemed like I gained weight I'd try to lose more weight so I can get skinnier and it worked. It got so unhealthy that my parents actually started noticing and they usually don't have the chance, with all that's going on, to care about my health. When they intervened, things started getting better and I regained some weight but I often relapse and for days all I can think of (and do) is not eating. Today I'm a few months away from being 18 and it's affected me so badly that I have actually missed two periods and I usually can't make it through one without fainting.

The anxiety that developed since I entered this school is something I don't even know how to get into. My whole life I've been hearing about how I should go to this school, it's the best in the country, etc. I didn't make it at first, for the first five years of highschool I attended what's locally known as our second best school. Since this switch happened or rather, it had always been happening but now more than ever, all I can think about is the fact that some of the most powerful children in the country attend this school, I can't possibly be enough, I need to constantly be aware of how I carry myself, I need to make a good impressed and have some sort of class, basically, I need to not be and version of me I find comfortable because the oh so powerful children might not like that. The person who reminds me of this is my mother, all my life she and I had not had the best relationship. She consistently nags me about my hygiene, my voice, my weight, how I treat my siblings... I'm from Guyana, be aware that what the word "nagging" means here is completely different from what it means outside of the Caribbean. Any way, what she bothers me with everyday can actually classify as mental abuse and she's gone as far as wishing she hadn't conceived me and my siblings because of my demon father (get to that in a minute) and I know that it's not the farthest she can go but it still really hurts. So back to the problem I'm describing, because of my poor relationship with my mom and other situations, honestly, I have no self esteem and I find myself in a bad state in which I'm hyper aware of my surroundings, and I can't have a normal conversation without wanting to take myself off this earth, I can't look people in the eye, I hyperventilate like it's no one's business, I genuinely develop the urge to kill myself and I have to resort to measures I was forced to use when I was 13 and I had a weird obsession with the idea of my death. There's a lot more going on than I can't get into because it's 4.30 and I should be up and ready, preparing for a class but yeah.

My mom and dad are on the brink of divorce where they only want to stay for my eight year old brother but can't stand each other, for reasons I can only summarize as my father cheating on my mom for the third time since my sister and I were old enough to know the truth. When I talk to either of them, all I can think about is the fact that you can hear it in their choice of words that the don't love each other or want anything to do with each other and as the middle child I feel like I'm losing them both. My father and I were never really very close, he usually was just around to be the one person on my side when I fought with mom, he used to be an alcoholic and it's hard to really spend time with someone who you usually see at nights when they can't comprehend a lot. He really only became more constant in my life a few years after my brother was born and I can't connect with him. One thing I learned recently is that when they first started discussing the possibility a divorce, he had threatend to leave mom and essentially put us out of his life with it. So, my first unintentional method of coping was to stick my head in the sand and ignore it, but problems don't just go away and that's a really easy band aid to rip off given the intensity of the wound beneath it. My mom and I have been getting even further apart from each other because even though our relationship was bad, she was there, you know? But yes, because of my tendency to bury myself in the sand I missed a lot of important details about what my father does and her initial idea was that I was protecting him and goes into a spiel about how I am an untrustworthy source and I better stick my head in the sand should she ever end up like my father and it honestly hurts. I know she means well and does not want to hurt my siblings and me, but... It's hard to believe that our relationship is anything similar to what it was before since she learned about it.

Now it's 4.45AM on February 14 and they are arguing outside and there's so much more going on, but I currently don't want to burden my current friends with it so I leave my problems here for my anonymous 28 followers because if I don't talk to someone about it I might explode or do something irrational. Thank you.

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slashthedice · 5 years

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Be Mine Forever (Ch. 2)

The next six weeks were hell. Rescue teams worked day and night to uncover the men buried beneath the rubble. You had initially tried to join the men that donned the mining gear and removed debris, but they turned you away, saying it was no place for a woman. Still you showed up at the mine everyday. You and Rhonda stood by, holding hands and watching the maddeningly slow pace of their progress. There was no means of communication with the men down below, no way of knowing if Harry was still alive, if any of them were still alive. You begged them to move faster, to let you help, but every time you were told that they were doing the best they could and that you needed to stay out of their way.

You couldn’t sleep. You could barely eat. Harry was alive, you told yourself. He had to be. But you knew that he and the other men did not have access to food, they would have very little water if any, and eventually they would run out of air.

The other girlfriends and wives of the men down below showed up to the mine too, their friends and parents as well. You all wore nearly identical expressions of anxious fear and worry. Yet, as the weeks dragged on, the number of people that showed up began to dwindle and thin. People began to lose hope, to give up on finding the men alive. The fear was that there would be no rescue, that they were now just trying to recover bodies. Soon enough, it was only you and Rhonda there to watch the rescue workers come in and out of the mine, and you suspected that she was only there to support you.

She talked about what she would do without Jim, how she and the kids would get by. You tried to listen and commiserate, but you couldn’t understand how she could just give up. You knew that Harry was down there just waiting for someone to find him and bring him back to you. You knew he wouldn’t give up, so you refused to let yourself give into hopelessness. You tried to express this to Rhonda, but she just gave you a sad smile.

Finally, after four weeks, Rhonda told you she couldn’t come with you the next day as you dropped her off at her home.

“I have to look after my kids and get back to work. I need to put food on the table somehow,” she explained, with a sheepish look.

You understood, of course, and you told her as much. Still, you couldn’t help the cold feeling that swept through you, making you shiver. Hugging your coat tighter around your body, you pretended that it was just that cold late-winter air making you feel this way.

She squeezed your hand between her chilled fingers in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture before wrapping her hand-knitted scarf around her neck and opening the passenger door. You felt very alone watching her retreating form shuffle up to her front door. She waved as you pulled away and headed for home. You forced yourself to return the gesture.

You pulled into the garage and trudged into the house, turning on the lights before stripping yourself of your coat, hat, and boots. You weren’t sure which you hated more, waiting around helplessly at Hanniger Mine all day, or coming home to an empty house where everything was a stark reminder that Harry wasn’t there.

Every day you ate at the little yellow kitchen table that you had found second hand and the two of you had fixed up and painted together. Harry had hated the yellow, but you thought it was cheerful. His towel was still hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and a little pang went through your heart every time you caught the faded navy blue in your peripheral. Even seeing his soap and shampoo in the shower was difficult, resulting in tears on more than one occasion.

The worst room in the small house, however, was the bedroom. Most of Harry’s things were in there, untouched and unmoved. You wanted everything to be just where he had left it when he got home, but this frame of mind just made you miss him more. You had taken to bringing one of his shirts with you to bed at night, burying your face into the garment clenched in your hands. You barely slept, but the familiar smell of him on the soft fabric offered some comfort and helped you to get what little rest you could.

As the sixth week of helpless waiting passed you by, you were suffering a particularly rough night. Unable to bear being in the bedroom alone, you had migrated to the old couch in the living room, wrapping yourself in an afghan and trying to get as much sleep as possible. You were in and out, tossing and turning with terrible nightmares and unable to get comfortable on the admittedly lumpy sofa. This went on for the majority of the night, and the sky was beginning to grow pale with the impending sunrise when you finally began to doze off.

That was when the phone rang.

You jolted upright. The afghan was flung off to some far corner in your mad dash to get to the phone. Its shrill, screaming ring filled the whole house. You nearly tumbled as you all but dove to answer the shrieking machine.

“Yes? Hello?” You answered breathlessly before the cool plastic had even hit your ear.

“(Y/N),” you recognized the voice to be Deputy Newby.

Your heart was in your throat. “What’s happened?”

“We broke through, (Y/N). Harry is alive.”

What happened next was a blur to you. You dropped the receiver and ran around the house like a chicken with its head cut off, grabbing and putting on clothes and your keys as you went. You somehow managed to put your boots and coat on before you found yourself in your truck and flying down the road that you had become intimately familiar with over the past six weeks. The tumbling gravel was like a routine now, but for once it didn’t fill you with dread.

Had you been paying more attention, you would have noted the strain in the deputy’s voice. Had you stayed and listened, he would have warned you that the Harry Warden they found in the mine with the barely recognizable corpses of the rest of his crew was not the Harry you knew and loved. He would have told you that the man they found was near deranged, delusional and violent. He would have told you not to come to the mines.

But you hadn’t heard any of that.

As you pulled up to the Hanniger mine, the first thing you saw was the ambulance. You rushed towards it, hoping to find Harry inside but seeing nothing. Then you heard the commotion happening over by the entrance to the mine. You followed the sound with your eyes, spotting a group of men seemingly struggling against each other, almost like there was a fight happening.

Looking closer, you realized that it was really just a number of men trying to hold onto one man. Harry. He was covered head to toe in black soot and dirt. His dark hair was matted to his head with sweat and what looked like blood. He pulled violently against the people holding onto him and leading him forward, wrenching his body this way and that, thrashing his head.

You let instinct take over and sprinted towards him, your heart soaring with the knowledge that he was alive and here in front of you. You could think of nothing but your intense need to wrap your arms around him and just feel him against you, almost like you needed that tangible proof that he was really here. You were just a few yards away when a different pair of arms yanked you backwards.

“No, (Y/N)!”

You struggled against their hold like your life depended on it. “Let me go! I need to go to him!”

“Not now. He’s dangerous.”

The rational part of your brain recognized that the owner of both the voice and the arms was Deputy Newby. The irrational part of your brain couldn’t care less. Harry would never hurt you.

“Harry!” You cried, continuing your attempts to wiggle free of the officer’s hold on you.

Harry’s head whipped towards you with such sharpness that you thought it would fly right off his shoulders. He was close enough now that you could see the wild look in his wide, dark eyes. They looked like the eyes of a cornered animal, too scared to do anything but lash out. For a heart stopping moment, he looked at you like he didn’t even know who you were. He stopped struggling against the plethora of hands pushing him, and just stared at you with that crazed look.

Then he lunged.

You recoiled as he dove for you. The men surrounding him just barely managed to regain control as one of Harry’s soot and blood-stained hands clawed through the air in your direction. He shrieked and he howled as they dragged him towards the ambulance and away from you. He was yelling and yelling and yelling, the words incomprehensible to any present, but ceaseless and vehement.

You were frozen in place, unable to resist as the deputy dragged you backwards towards your truck. “Don’t look, honey,” he advised.

But you had to look. You stared on with wide-eyed shock as they all but tossed Harry into the back of the ambulance, strapping him into a gurney even as he cursed and yowled, fighting them every step of the way. Your heart broke a little more with every animalistic sound that came out of him. The doors to the ambulance closed, muffling the sound of him.

As soon as your line of sight to Harry was severed, you felt all of your exhaustion from the past few weeks crash down upon your shoulders, nearly crushing you beneath its weight. You leaned heavily against Newby, eyes never leaving the closed doors of the ambulance. You felt dazed, like this was all some horrible dream. You didn’t even realize that you had spoken until you heard your own voice.

“Where are they taking him?”

“Hospital, for the time being.”

You swallowed hard. You wanted to ask what was wrong with him. Why had he lashed out at you like that? Didn’t he recognize you? You had known that he wouldn’t come out of the experience unscathed, but the man you had just seen, the man that had tried to attack you, was not even a shadow of the one you knew.

Newby pushed you up so that you were standing on your own, but he kept his hands on your upper arms. “Listen, (Y/N). I tried to warn you, but Harry is the only one of the men still alive. He did some things to survive that just aren’t human.”

Your head was spinning but you tried to focus on what he was telling you. It didn’t make sense and it didn’t seem that he was going to explain further.

Harry was the only one that survived? You thought of Rhonda and her now fatherless children, and guilt swept through you when you thought of how glad you were that that was not you. Harry may have been changed, he might be acting strangely, but he was alive. Rhonda would never have Jim back.

You slowly focused back in on Newby standing in front of you. He was staring at you with more pity and concern than you cared to see. You wouldn’t say that you were close with the deputy, but had become familiar with him through the course of the rescue effort. You shrugged his grasp off, sliding away from him and walking towards your truck. Unsurprisingly, he followed close behind.

“What hospital are they taking him to?”

“(Y/N), I really don’t think-”

“What hospital, Newby?” You asked again, more firmly this time.

He sighed and ran an agitated hand through his hair, but he told you what you wanted to know.

You thanked him with a quick word and a nod before driving off, more than happy to watch the mine recede in your rearview. If you ever saw it again, it would be too soon.

When you got to the hospital in the next county, you explained to the nurse at the front desk why you were there. She asked how you were related to “the patient”. You told her that you were his girlfriend and that you desperately needed to see him. She gave you a look of barely concealed disdain and explained that only spouses or immediate family members were allowed to visit patients. You explained through gritted teeth that Harry didn’t have any other family, even throwing in a lie about how you were engaged and set to be married in the spring. She looked pointedly at your empty ring finger and gave you the ever infuriating “It’s out of my hands” speech.

You went back everyday for the next few days, until they told you he had been transferred to the state mental hospital under court order. Your brows had furrowed at this. Why had no one told you? Surely Newby had known about the transfer.

It was a great deal further to drive to the state mental hospital, but you were more than willing to do so. Still, when you got there, you were stopped at the gate and they told you the same thing you had been told at the hospital, but under much stricter terms. They refused to even confirm for you that Harry was actually there at all.

You were sent back home with nothing to show for it, and you felt further from having Harry back than when you began.

While you were focused on gaining access to Harry, the town had recovered the dead. At least, what was left of them. A couple of the men had been killed by the initial explosion and subsequent collapse of the mine shaft. The other two bodies were torn apart and mutilated almost beyond recognition. The sheriff did his best to keep the details quiet, but Valentine Bluffs was a small town, and like most small towns news travels like wildfire.

Unbeknownst to you, the already gory details were being further sensationalized as the rumors spread from person to person. Almost over night, in the eyes of the town Harry Warden went from reserved but not disliked miner to bloodthirsty, cannibalistic serial killer. People were in mourning, their grief driving them to look for someone to blame, and it was easy to turn a traumatized survivor into the Boogeyman, especially when his rescue could only be described as nothing less than antagonistic.

These newly formed opinions were split when it came to you. To half the town you had always been a loose woman, living with a man you weren’t married to. Those that had been of this opinion were the first to proclaim you guilty by association. The other half pitied you, there were whispers that you would have been better off if Harry had died like the others.

The following weeks were dark ones in the sleepy little town of Valentine Bluffs. There were four closed casket funerals in rapid succession, only one of which you were invited to. Seeing Rhonda and her little ones dressed all in black chipped away at your already broken heart. Then there was the memorial service for all the miners. You went to show your support to the friends and family members of the men who had died, but it felt wrong for you to be there.

Both of Harry’s old supervisors spoke at the memorial, talking about how hard-working and brave all the men who worked in the mines were. They said the lives that were lost would never be forgotten, how it was unfair that they were taken from the community before their time. You seethed listening to their hollow words. It was their fault that this had happened in the first place, but everyone seemed to forget that. As far as you could tell, the whole thing had been chalked up to some freak accident, an act of God that couldn’t have possibly been prevented.

After that, life just sort of continued on. You refused to say that things went back to normal, because they didn’t. Your life was irrevocably changed, shaken to its foundation, but you had no choice but to continue living it. You went to work, you came home, you tried to get used to sleeping alone. You still never touched any of Harry’s things besides the shirt that had become a permanent fixture in your bed. It tore your heart to shreds when you realized his smell on it was fading.

The months came and went, each one no more remarkable than the one prior. The seasons shifted as time continued to pass you by. The cold winds of winter slowly warmed into spring, chased rapidly by the muggy heat of summer. The dog days faded away into crisp air and crunching leaves, followed once more by the harsh bite of winter wind, snow, and ice.

You and Rhonda continued to see and support each other to the best of your abilities. She was one of the few people that neither pitied nor disliked you. You helped her with her children when you could, welcoming the time away from the lonely time capsule that was your house. You became a regular fixture at their dinner table. You tried to help out with groceries and the like when you could, but Rhonda was a proud woman and refused anything she considered charity from you.

When the final days of January gave way to the beginning of February, you felt yourself grow apprehensive. When the first red and white decorations appeared, that anxiety continued to bloom within you. Cupids and hearts littered the homes and storefronts of Valentine Bluffs, and each addition to the preparations for the town’s namesake felt like another weight on your already heavy heart.

You became reclusive as the anniversary of the accident drew near, wanting to avoid the reminders of that night as much as possible. Thankfully your boss was a fairly understanding and reasonable person, giving you the 14th off. However, not being at work meant that you were at home. Alone.

You spent most of the actual day in bed, clinging desperately to Harry’s flannel shirt, though it had long since lost any traces of his scent, and sobbing intermittently. You had heard nothing about him or his well-being since he had been sent to the state mental hospital. You had at one point thought that perhaps Deputy Newby would be able to inquire on your behalf since Harry was there under court order, but all of your pleading had ultimately proven fruitless. When he had finally given into your begging and called, the only information he could gain was that Harry was indeed committed there.

As the afternoon rolled on, you dragged yourself out of bed to get dressed. The widows and families of the men killed a year ago were gathering together before the Valentine’s Dance to have a small service in honor of the dead. You, of course, had not been invited, but you were watching the children for Rhonda. She felt that they didn’t need to be reminded of such a tragedy and decided to go by herself.

When you arrived at their small house, you were struck by a twisted sort of deja vu. You had been to Rhonda’s home many times since the horrible night that seemed so long ago, and yet on its anniversary you could hardly look at the yellow siding or the old wood of the front door. You knocked lightly, trying not to imagine how it had felt when you were desperately slamming your fists against the cool surface.

When Rhonda answered the door she looked worn-out. You could still picture her in her curlers and housecoat, haloed by the hall light. She wore a black dress now, and her red hair was shorter. She had cut it a few months prior, claiming that she needed a change. Wordlessly she drew you into a tight hug, a gesture you returned. You weren’t sure if she was trying to comfort you or herself. Either way, you were starving for the physical reassurance the embrace provided.

“Thanks for doing this,” she said quietly. You suspected that the children were in the kitchen just down the hall and she didn’t want them to hear your conversation.

“It’s no trouble,” you replied.

She laughed humorlessly. “I wish you could come with me.”

You both knew that you couldn’t.

She excused herself quickly after your initial exchange, telling you that she wouldn’t be gone for more than an hour. You told her to take her time, that you and the children would be fine.

The hour passed quickly, uneventfully. You fed the children their early dinner and sat with them in front of the television. Staring blankly at the moving pictures on the screen and fighting off the thoughts that were swarming your mind, you barely heard when your friend returned.

She looked more tired than she had when she left, and the tears staining her cheeks were apparent. You were struck then, not for the first time, how different your situation was from hers. This woman that had been a beacon of strength for you over the past year, had welcomed you into her home and into her family, had suffered such an unimaginable loss. Harry was still living and breathing, and as long as that remained true you had hope of seeing him again. Jim was gone forever, buried beneath six feet of impassive earth. She had to live with his loss and remain strong for the sake of the children that she was now raising on her own.

You felt a wave of guilt for feeling so sorry for yourself.

She thanked you again for watching the kids. You said nothing, but now it was your time to initiate a tight hug. You hoped it was enough to communicate all you felt. You wanted her to know how much you admired her as well as how sorry you were. She squeezed you back and buried her face in your shoulder, tears silently soaking the fabric of your sweater.

You wished her a good night and said goodbye to the children. You drove home in silence. Even your normally restless thoughts were quiet.

You pulled into the garage and killed the truck’s engine. A long sigh flowed from your lungs and through your lips. Ahead of you was an evening of silence. You would shower and go to bed, you didn’t think that you would be able to stomach any food that night. The truck’s door swung open lazily, and you exited the vehicle with that same sluggish energy. Your keys clinked against each other loudly in the silence of the garage, and when you had finally retrieved the house key you reached towards the lock.

The door swung inwards when your fingers met the knob.

You froze in place, pulse racing in your ears. You were sure that you had locked that door behind you when you left. It was a habit, the garage was far from secure and you wanted to make sure that no one would be able to get into the house. At the very least, you were sure that you hadn’t left the door ajar.

You took a cautious step inside. The house was dark, illuminated only by the light of the slowly setting sun. You felt around the wall for the lightswitch, flicking it on when your searching fingers found it. But nothing happened. You flipped it up and down a few more times just to make sure, cursing under your breath when the lights still did not turn on.

Your tongue darted out to lick your dry lips nervously as you shuffled further into the house. You strained to listen for any sound at all, but there were none that you could detect. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that the house was empty. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You headed towards the bedroom, intent on checking the lights in there and then grabbing a flashlight if your fears were confirmed and the power was out in the whole house. As you neared the door, you heard an odd sound. It almost sounded like someone breathing, but it was off. More labored, almost mechanical, distorted. You approached the opening as slowly and quietly as you could. You were almost close enough to see into the room, just a few more steps. You pressed yourself against the wall and leaned towards the doorway. Just a little further and…

And the coat closet behind you burst open.

You shrieked in a mixture of fear and surprise, turning just in time to see a dark silhouette charge towards you, the light from the headlamp they wore blinded you until they were within an arm’s length of you and by then it was too late for you to run. The gloved-hand that was not gripping a pickaxe clamped down on the back of your neck, catching some of your hair and nearly ripping it out of your scalp. The stinging pain was eclipsed by the adrenaline and pervasive, unadulterated terror flowing within you. You stared in horror at the soulless gas mask glaring down at you.

Harry’s thoughts were pure chaos and his heartbeat thundered in his ears covering the sound of his harsh breathing reverberating inside the mask. He had been thinking about this moment all year. You had abandoned him, just like everyone else. You, the person who had been most important to him, the one that professed to love him, the one he had trusted above all others.

He had almost a full year in the state mental hospital to think about your betrayal. He needed to make you feel what he felt, you needed to answer for your actions. The only way justice could be served, the only way he could deliver the full force of his revenge, would be to take an eye for an eye.

You had ripped his heart from his chest, now he would return the favor in kind.

Of course, he knew that you wouldn’t let him exact your punishment without a fight. He was almost proud of you for the struggle you put forth. You kicked and you screamed and you clawed at any part of him you could reach, but his death grip on the back of your neck never wavered as he pushed you back towards the wall. His hand choked up on the neck of the pickaxe as he used it to keep your chin raised and your wide, fear-filled eyes on the impassive face of his mask. Your body hit the wall hard, and he heard you wheeze as the breath was slammed from your lungs. He pushed his weapon further into your throat, preventing you from recovering the lost oxygen. Your eyes bulged and your face turned red as you gasped for air, hands clutching and clawing uselessly against the thick fabric protecting his arms.

So focused was he on holding you in place, slowly crushing your airway with the rounded head of the pickaxe, that he failed to notice your dominant hand reaching towards him. At least until he felt your fingers pry underneath the mask. He tried to jerk his head away, but it was too little too late as you ripped the facade away.

In trying to escape your grasping hands, he had loosened his hold and the pressure on your windpipe just enough for you to greedily suck in a lungful of air, which summarily froze in your throat as you glimpsed the oh so familiar face underneath the gas mask.

Part 1

Part 3

#harry warden #harry warden x reader #harry warden/reader #my bloody valentine #reader insert #slashers x reader #bmf

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liv-light-seer · 5 years

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Wondering Nights: Entry 8: Sensory Overload

Since the encounter with my neighbors, my senses have heightened. Not in the most graceful way either. For example, the tech guy came over, not my techie friend. I had to hold my breath around the guy. He didn’t smell the most hygenic. Then when I looked at his eyes, I saw each spec of color change. Don’t get me started on the when we were in the woods. I kept flinching because it felt every bug was on my body. Yes, I’m a scientist, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my irrational moments of dislike. Mine happen to be winged bugs. I shutter even now as my ears can still hear the buzzing and flapping.

Luckily, the guy was good at what he did. I bought the wall and added some techy benefits that had made hooking to my home system pretty easily. They have this new sensory tech that can connect remotely. Unless someone disconnects the actual sensor directly, which will make it go off, I will be signaled of a breach. I hooked up some cameras too to overlook the wall just to do a double check, so I'm not jumping at every squirrel who wants to cross my barrier.

A side benefit to my being hypersensitive to everything? Even without the sensory technology, I can keep the 14 acres of my land for the most part under surveillance. So, on the off chance that it did get triggered by a squirrel, I can sense it. I haven’t experimented yet on how much or how far I can sense things. But I’m a bit happy for this to kick in. I feel much safer.

I called Brad, my techie friend, to help explain to me a bit more of what the guy hooked me up with. I’m really grateful, but it only confused me more. I’m not sure if this is because I’m Tech-intolerant or if my entire body was so focused on my senses that I wasn’t able to focus. Focusing hasn’t been a problem for me before. I’m hoping that I might be able to control the overload of sensory more so that I will be able to focus better.

I had a thought earlier, and I tried to focus. Did you know that there are constant little specs surrounding us. All throughout the air. Before this transformation, I would only catch them through sun beams, but they surround us constantly. It’s really quite marvelous and disgusting. What my eyes are catching is making me see the world in a whole new way. But still, I’d rather not be able to see the constant reminder that I shed skin regularly. It’s bad enough when I dust my house and get that reminder.

A positive about all of this sensory overload. I was able to find a mini den of wolves, or at least I’m pretty sure it’s a wolve’s den. I’m not sure if I should approach them yet or just let them be. Whatever they are, they are lucky to be on my land, which explains why the neighbors were trespassing before. I can’t sense anything about the canines that would cause me to be overly worried, but it seems like their patterns are regulated. Which doesn’t make much sense. Most of the time, wolves stay in a general vicinity, but they don’t create patterns while they hunt. I’ve also noticed that their patterns clearly avoid the neighbor’s property. Are wolves that intelligent that they are able to sense when things are not the safest for them? Or are they not wolves at all. Need to do more research than just on wolves.

I know this much, I’m keeping an eye on them. I have this nagging need to go and introduce myself to them. But they are not wolves, and some other canine they probably wouldn’t like me. If they are wolves, then a wolf pack normally protective minded, probably wouldn’t accept a half wolf-half human amongst them. I think I might walk the woods everyday, so they can at least get used to my scent. That way, if I happen to need to defend them from the neighbors they will recognize my scent as friendly. Hopefully.

@cantdutchthis @catthewall

#senses #nontraditional werewolves #werewolves #wondering nights #storytime

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wanderandwondertogether · 5 years

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Be Still

It isn't easy to talk about our weaknesses. We often feel vulnerable when we do. We keep up the appearance that we have it all together. We're scared to let others see the truth that on the inside we're falling apart. For a while now God has laid something on my heart. I need to be more open about my struggles. I need to share my testimony of what God has brought me through. This isn't a ploy for sympathy or attention. I am sharing this with you in hopes that you will get a glimpse of the love and hope that Christ offers. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is perfected in weakness." Romans 12:9.

I was a quirky child. Some things never change haha! I was very shy, hid my emotions, and I worried about things most would never think of. Irrational things. This is embarrassing to admit but for example: I was afraid the wind chimes moving in the wind would encourage a tornado. In my mind if I didn't do certain things like take those wind chimes down, natural disasters would occur. I laugh about it now but being young and worrying like that was miserable. I felt isolated. My mom talked to my doctor about my quirky behaviors; how I went around unplugging everything, straightening the shoes in a perfect line, saying repetitive prayers, and blowing kisses to God. Yes, I did all that and more. I was diagnosed with OCD.

OCD stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It is a mental disorder that consists of obsessive thoughts and urges and/or compulsive repetitive behaviors. It is not solely about being neat and organized. It is chronic, long lasting, uncontrollable, and can interfere with everyday life. The cause is unknown and there is no cure. However, it can be treated with therapy and medication. Times were different back then and I sought neither because we didn't have the knowledge and resources that we now have.

My worst obsessions were not consistent so things looked up for a long time. I still had some quirks but nothing too consuming. All that changed after I had my daughter. About five months after Lily was born I began having intrusive thoughts. This is a very ugly and distressing part of OCD. Disturbing thoughts that I didn't want to have, nor did I have any clue as to where they were coming from. I started to believe them and started questioning if I was a good person or not. They disturbed me so bad that I would start doing compulsions to alleviate the stress that they were causing me. Ruminating on those thoughts caused me to give those thoughts power. Therefore the intrusive thoughts intensified. It was a vicious cycle. I didn't know what was real anymore. I was trying to relieve my worries and figure it all out on my own, by doing so I severely damaged my mental well being.

This is what still breaks my heart. I let this continue for three years. Three years! My obsessions consumed hours out of my day, everyday for three years. I missed out on so much during that time. I missed out on Lily's milestones. I was physically present but not mentally. One of my best friends lived two minutes away at the time. There was so much fun to be had and memories to be made but I was too consumed and now she lives in another state. I wasn't present and I wasn't me.

I took my eyes off of the one true hope I had, Jesus. If I had been still and looked at myself the way He looks at me, I wouldn't have believed these lies my brain kept telling me. Instead I let fear take over and I was left paralyzed, feeling isolated, and in a mental prison. In all of this though, God is so good. Even though I took my eyes off of him, He sought me out. He was there whispering hope into my days. I barely had the strength to stay awake. I wanted to sleep a lot to escape my thoughts. I was very unproductive during this time. I did what I needed to take care of Lily, did my job, and nothing much else. One thing that God encouraged me to do though was to get into His word everyday. If it wasn't for Proverbs 31 Ministries I don't know how I would have been reminded of the truth. Their devotionals got me more into God's word than I had ever been and at the time I needed it the most. It encouraged me to seek Him more and more each day. I was so painfully slow at it but I started to hand over these issues to Jesus. I remember going to a Women's Conference and they had ushers that would pray with you. I went up and wrapped my arms around this stranger and bawled into her shoulder. At that time I didn't see her. I saw myself being at the feet of Jesus holding onto his garment. Like the woman with the bleeding. For she said to herself, "If I can just touch his robe, I'll be made well." Matthew 9:21.

Jesus was my answer all along. I had been so consumed with the what ifs and being in control that my negative thoughts took over. I didn't even recognize it as the lies of OCD. It sounds crazy but my mind didn't even process that I had OCD. I needed to let go of my certainty and choose instead to trust God and His oversight for my life. Thank you Jesus for showing your love for me and speaking truth to my heart during that time. When I finally let go and was still enough to look at Jesus and see His love for me and that I was His is when these thoughts lost their power. I was able to see them for what they were, an ugly symptom of my OCD.

Looking back I can see all the times Jesus was there interceding on my behalf and comforting me through others. The time I was so consumed with fear I was up all night shaking and throwing up, Shane stayed by my side and held me. My best friend going to my parents and all three of them interceding in prayer for me. The messages at church that were just what I needed to hear. The friend who said God laid it on their heart to pray for me while they were washing the dishes. God you are so so good!

I share this so that someone may find hope. Mental illness is still sometimes seen as taboo and kept hidden. I pray that anyone who suffers with it will seek help and not be ashamed. There are many resources out there and people have more understanding of it now. I let the cycle last way too long. My intense struggle with OCD has left me damaged. I now have to take anxiety medicine daily, even if I am not obsessing. I created so many negative pathways in my mind that it is now constantly on alert. I still have to daily remind myself of God's truth. I have two notes that I carry around with me and look at frequently. One is biblical insight to OCD, the other is a list of God's promises. I can say that I am back to feeling like myself and life is good. Freedom truly comes when you let go of control and rest in the One who holds all things!

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hawkinstrashmouth-blog · 6 years

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The Roasted Bean Coffee Shop (Reddie ch. 1)

Description: If IT never existed in Derry. Eddie is in his senior year and openly gay. Excited to leave Derry because of the homophobes and his mother. Eddie runs into a long lost friend, Richie Tozier and Richie just so happens to take an interest in the smaller boy once again.

A/N: Constructive criticism is very appreciated, but please no rude comments. I am very new to this. Let me know if you want to be added in the tag list! Thanks! :)

Disclaimers: MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND LATER ON WILL BE NSFW (NOTHING TOO INTENSE YET OOF)

Aged up to 17/18 – senior year

Word count: 1,328 (Kind of a short first chapter but they will get longer and hopefully more interesting :/ )

Parts: 1/?

Tag list: @get-fcking-reddie LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED IN THE TAG LIST WHEN I POST!!!!

CHAPTER 1 YEET

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Have you ever wanted to run away? Ever wanted to pack up all your shit and run far away from everyone and everything? Away from the hurt and the trouble. All your problems. Eddie desperately wanted to leave. As far as he was concerned, this town was cursed. From the homophobes in the town that hated Eddie for his sexual identification, to his own mother who constantly was breathing down his back and telling him to take his pills.

His fake pills. He knew they were fake, but he had been so attached to the pills from the constant fear of disease. He could survive without them, he knew that his phobia was irrational, but nonetheless that didn’t help his mind change course. He despised the town and the people in it. Just one more year, one more year of absolute hell, then he could run far away from all that hurt that this town had caused him.

Grabbing his black back pack off his wooden floor, Eddie ran down the stairs. Reaching for the doorknob, there was a voice behind him. He was foolish to think he could possibly scurry away that quickly from his mother. A complete and udder fool to think it would be that easy.

“Eddie! You better not be leaving without saying goodbye to your dear mother!” His large mother said from the kitchen. She was a plump woman in her forties who treated Eddie like a child. Like he was incapable of tying his own shoes, chewing his own food. And even, breathing his own air.

“Sorry mommy, I just forgot.” He lied directly to his delirious, bulky mother’s face. He huffed out a large breath knowing that the crazy lady wouldn’t let him leave without the everyday, endless kiss on the cheek. It’s not that he didn’t love his mother because, he did. Of course he did. But, she was piece of work, she probably thought the same of him.

Dragging his feet along the floor, the boy smooches a big, fat wet kiss on her cheek. He could feel the cheap pink blush that was coated on her face and well, now on his lips. The germaphobe could only think about how the hell he was gonna get this off his lips without offending his mom’s poor feelings.

Retracting as fast as possible, Eddie says a quick goodbye once again and makes his way out the door. After closing it, he tries to breathe. A huff that he had no idea was stuck in his throat was finally released. Being in his town made him feel like he was constantly suffocating and dying. A slow and agonizing death.

Eddie began dragging his feet along the side walk to school. Luckily, he only lived a short 10-minute walk from and to Derry High school. There was just one stop before school, as always. When he was younger, he used to ride his bike everywhere. Up until last year when his mother decided that it was too threatening and unsafe for a boy like him. At the rate, she was taking things from him for being ‘unsafe’, he eventually won’t even be able leave the house at all. Sometimes he thinks about just defying his mother entirely. All hell would probably break loose.

Getting bored, he began counting the number of steps he took and he lugged himself along. It was still warm outside, summer just ending. Too bad, it going to get cold. Though Eddie hated the bitter weather, always tugging and biting at him as he walked, he hated summer. Not for the weather, but rather the loneliness.

Since Eddie had come out as gay right before high school, in the eighth grade, not many people talked to him. He had his couple of friends Bill, Stan, and Mike. They were really excepting for him. They weren’t around much though; Bill and Stan were always off doing something. Most of the time they talked was at school where they were safe and away from Eddie’s frightening mom. But Mike was a home schooled kid. They got along well because Mike got made fun of for that and well, his skin color.

But, they rarely ever got to hang out anymore. As he pondered, Eddie made a turn in the opposite direction of the school. Coming to the coffee shop everyday of high school, well everyday he wasn’t in the hospital for some god-forbidding disease his mother thought he had. Seeing the small Roasted Bean sign in bold black letters he swerved to the door. He pulled open the warm metal handle and slid in.

This was Eddie’s favorite place, he felt as though he could escape from his life here. Not many of people came to this little place. It was just down the road from the school. You would think most students would come here in the mornings, but no. This place wasn’t cool enough for the annoying high schoolers.

Every morning the short boy would tell his mom that he was going to a early morning study session but rather, he was just coming to this old place and sitting alone in a booth. Usually just looking out the window and drinking his coffee silently. The only part that he thought was enjoyable about Derry. The silence.

He took in a long inhale of grounded coffee beans and instantly felt relaxed. Coffee was Eddie’s favorite drink. It was one of the first things you would learn about him. Well, that is if they ever take the time to get to know him. Most don’t. They see him as a queer, asthmatic freak. They look at him and heavily judge who he is as a person. Thank god he met Bill and Stan when they were younger, they were so innocent and thought nothing much of him. Just wanted to make some friends.

That’s how the people in Derry are, judgmental. Eddie always supposed it was because they felt invalid as people and so they take it out on the odd one out. Who just so happened to be Eddie. Fulfilling his morning ritual, he walked up to the counter to get the same drink he always does. A black coffee. His mom doesn’t let him drink coffee, says it’s bad from him. But something was off, something was not like normal.

The barista wasn’t the normal lady with the dark brown hair and bright blue eyes in her forties who usually took his order and didn’t say much. The lady with the dark bags that plainly didn’t care what he had to say because I was too early to care. He could recognize that face from a mile away though. The dark chocolate curls the hung low on his face and the freckles that reminded him of a galaxy of stars. Oh, and let’s not forget the thick glasses that shielded this pretty eyes that were full of light.

Richie Tozier? Trash mouth? He and the boy in the apron at the register used to be the best of friends. They were closer than most. They would share secrets and would sneak into each room’s every single night. But all the shared secrets and midnight talks stopped when Richie’s parents became more and more abusive. But, to top it all off, Eddie was gay. Richie’s parents didn’t like that very much at all.

It’s not that Richie had ever said that was one of the reasons but, it didn’t need to be said. The two drifted apart and now they seemed to being lived on different planets. They could see each other but, they never spoke. Just glances in halls and small one word exchanges if only absolutely nessesary. Eddie had almost forgot about the annoying boy who made him realize his sexuality.

Oh yes, the pain and agonizing truth. Eddie had always had a thing for the trash mouth growing up. His gross ‘your mom’ jokes and such. Snapping out of his trance of shock and confusion, Eddie walked to the counter. Richie looked equally confused and distraught by seeing the boy in the coffee shop.

It threw them off like a broken roller coaster that went off it’s tracks.

“So what can I get you, good looking?” The annoying boy said in a British accent wiggling his eyebrows in almost a mocking manner. Oh boy.

#derry #derry maine #it book #it 2017 #richie #richie tozier #eddie #eddie kasprak #sonia kaspbrak #reddie #reddie fanfic #reddie fanfiction #this is trash #chapter 1 #beverely #beverly marsh #stan uris #bill #georgie

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scoobiesminyard · 6 years

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If you asked any member of the Losers Club about who the biggest romantic in the group was, they would all immediately answer Ben Hanscom. He wrote love poetry for gods sake! He listened to George Michael and Whitney Houston! (He had attempted to hide this slightly embarassing fact, but he underestimated how goddamn snoopy Richie could be). He may have said that he only agreed to watch When Harry met Sally to appease Bev, but the others knew better. He was, put simply, a huge romantic.

Ben loved strongly and purely, and he liked to express that love through his poetry. It was slowly but surely improving, or at least he said. They wouldn’t let anyone read it. Not since last summer.

It had been months since the poem had been left in Bev’s bag. Months since she realised that it was him who had done it. Months since they had softly said the words to each other... and in those months, nothing had happened. They hadn’t kissed, hadn’t held hands or gone on a date (except in Bens daydreams). They hadn’t even talked about it. The only explanation was that Bev didn’t feel the same way (understandably, she was so beautiful and so funny and so strong and he was so.... not) and she was just trying to avoid hurting his feelings. How could he expect anything differently? He wasn’t worthy of her. Not like Bill. Not like brave, handsome Bill... It was days like this that he listened to sadder songs, wrote more negative poems. He felt his heart aching in his chest as he looked at Bev. He would wish miserably that he didn’t love Bev.

But then Bev would look at him, with that glint in her eye. She would laugh at him- no with him, never at him- and she would smile so damn bright. She would bump up against him or listen to him speak with patience, before interrupting to say what was on her mind. It was when they were lying on the grass of the Barrens cloudwatching lazily or she was jitterbug dancing with Richie until they collapsed with laughter, that he knew Bev was the best part of his life. He had loved her since she signed his yearbook, when she became the first person in this school, in any school to really care about him, He didn’t care if she didn’t love him back because she didn’t owe him anything. Bev smoking in silence, Bev smiling at him, Bev cycling around him, Bev tickling him, Bev crying in his arms. She was the best person he had ever known.

And Ben couldn’t hide how absolutely lightheaded he felt around her. The others had known for absolutely ages. It was just an unspoken thing- Ben is whipped for Bev. Bev’s feelings are unclear. Then again, her thing with Bill never went anywhere. Ben had rubbed his sweaty palms against his shorts as Bill told them that he and Bev, whatever they were, were over and would just be friends from now on. Bev seemed happier after that. She didn’t need a guy. She was fine on her own. She didn’t need Ben.

Ben would probably have left things like that for the rest of his life if it was up to him. The silent pining, the confused feelings, the angst of it all. He had already made a move, he thought. He had made his feelings clear that summer and everyday since. And with no result. Anything further would probably be weird and creepy. Things were fine the way they were. Richie felt differently.

"Benjamin my good fellow, I have to make some inquiries” Richie said in his British guy voice, looking at him sternly.

They were walking to the library, where they often studied (well, Ben studied and Richie tried to distract him). It was a January afternoon and it was absolutely freezing. He was wrapped up in a scarf, hat and thick coat but Richie was seemingly fine wearing a denim jacket. He was unfazed by everything. How annoying. Ben was used to Richie’s antics by now and just sighed.

“Whats up Richie?” “I have to ask my good fellow... what are your intentions with Miss Marsh?”

Ben nearly walked into a streetlamp.

“Wh-What? What are you talking about?”

Richie scoffed and slung his arm around Ben's shoulder. This was awkward, considering the height difference (Richie was starting to shoot up like a bean pole) but Richie continued speaking.

“I mean, its absolutely ridiculous how long you two have been iffing about. Its 1990 my good sir! A whole new year, a whole new decade! Its time to get a move on- its almost Valentines day” Richie said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ben waited a moment and thought about Richie’s words. He never thought he would say this but maybe Richie was right? He could try again, really lay things on the line, be honest-

Ben shook his head. What was he thinking? He couldn’t risk making things more awkward, ruining their friendship. ‘Bev already knows’ he reminded himself. ‘You’re just gonna make her uncomfortable and force her to reject you properly’

He said as much to Richie, who scoffed again.

“Oh, pish posh! Benny boy, Bev is my best friend. I know her okay? She never shuts up about you when we’re smoking. She listens to the same crappy songs you do. She always defends you when I call you a nerd-“

“Hey!”

“and I really don’t know what the girl is waiting for. She still has your poem by her bed, you know. She likes you. And you like her. Maybe she’s waiting for you to ask her again so she can tell you the right answer this time. Romance is a mystery to me. I just hump em and dump em, you know me. But you need to get a move on and get ready to sweeeeeeeeepp her off her feet on Valentines!”

Ben, still processing Richie’s words, stayed silent as they walked in the library doors. Mrs Clarke scowled.

“Mr Tozier. Here again.”

Oh, you couldn’t keep me away from this dusty, cold, silent room full of old books if you tried. Which I know you have. And yet here I am!” Richie said cheerily and steered Ben toward the tables before Mrs Clarke could scold him for insolence.

“You gotta do the damn thing on Feb 14th, handsome. Life is too short” Richie hissed.

“Oh really? Well, I’ll seize the day if you do”

Richie frowned. “Whats that supposed to mean?”

“Oh please. You're smart but I'm smarter. You’re not the only one with eyes and I am not the only one who has a flaming crush on a fellow loser”

Richie, eyes wide behind his glasses, was seemingly stunned into silence and buried himself in a comic he brought from home. His cheeks were tinted red behind the pages. It was very amusing to see him shown up for once. Ben would usually have used this opportunity to actually study in silence for once but his mind had never been further from academics. All he could think about Bev....

And now, all because of that wretched conversation, he was sealing his doom. He was seizing the day. He was getting a move on. He was asking Bev out. On Valentines day. When she said no, kindly but firmly, it was going to crush him. Yet, here he was by her locker. Flowers in his hand and irrational, stupid hope in his heart.

He heard Bev before he saw her. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath when he heard her laugh echoing down the halls. He would follow that laugh down a cliff, into the sewers, into the very gates of hell. She rounded the corner with Richie, fresh off their morning smoke. She was wearing jeans and a baby blue jumper, her hair freshly washed and beautiful like always. Richie was smacking a kiss on her cheek and she was rolling her eyes in disgust, but her giggling was giving her away. Her eyes landed on him, blushing already and holding flowers as nice as he could buy. She stopped laughing. Richie grinned and started walking away, giving Ben the thumbs up. He was gonna have to kill him after this.

Because Bev didn’t look happy at all. She looked surprised, and a bit worried. She walked slowly toward him and gave a smile that didn’t look too genuine. Ben's heart sank to his toes. This was not going to end well.

“Are these for me?” Bev asked softly. “Y-yes. Happy Valentines Day, Beverly. I was wondering if-if you wanted to, to maybe-“

“Gotta go! Bathroom! See you later!” Bev interrupted, panic clear on her face before she ran in the opposite direction to Ben- and the girls bathrooms. Ben gaped after her for a few seconds before lifting a hand to wave goodbye. By then, she was whipping around the corner out of sight.

Ben couldn’t believe what had just happened. He hadn’t been that confident sure but he thought the worst case scenario would be Bev telling him clearly that she just didn’t feel the same way and she just wanted to be friends. And now it seemed like she was so horrified with him that they would never be friends again. Ben felt tears welling up in his eyes.

“Fuck you Richie Tozier” he muttered and wiped his eyes. He had to get his books and get to the bathroom before anyone saw him crying. The bullying situation had gotten a lot better recently and he didn’t want to change that, especially not today. He ran to his locker, his vision blurry with tears (“stop crying you useless lump” he said angrily to himself with no result) and threw it open-

It was then that a box of chocolates fell out of the locker and hit Ben square on the head, It hurt. A lot.

“What the- can this day get any worse?” Ben muttered bitterly before freezing. Now what exactly was a box of chocolates doing in his locker in the first place? He scrambled to pick it up and stared at it in amazement. There was a note attached.

“My mam used to say that the best way to a mans heart is through his stomach. I personally think poetry is much more effective but I’m not much of a writer. I don’t know how to say this well so I’ll just say it badly. I like you. A lot. you want to catch a movie later? Eat hazelnut for yes, caramel for no. Yes I know you hate caramel, that's the point. Bev x”

Ben had at some point sank down on to the floor of the school, holding the box and note in front of him and staring in awe. He read it again. And again. And again. It didn’t start seeming real. He quickly pinched himself but things didn’t start making more sense. This was real. Bev had-

“Eddie would have a heart attack if he saw you sitting in that nasty floor, you know”

Ben tore his eyes away from the single ‘x’ to see Bev standing in front of him, smiling shyly. She hesitated and extended her arm to him. Ben stared at her for a minute before gulping and taking her hand. Her skin was so soft but when she pulled him up, he felt how strong she was. He didn’t let go of her hand. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry for being rude before.” Bev whispered, with a small smirk. “I just- I’ve been planning this for ages. And it was my turn to make a move. I didn’t think you would-and i just wanted to-“

“I wasn’t going to. Definitely no” Ben admitted and Bev looked a little taken aback.

“Why’d you do it then?”

“Richie, he convinced me that maybe I had a chance... I guess he isn’t so stupid after all”

“I disagree! He almost ruined everything! I’m gonna tell him that Eddie likes Stan instead I swear to god, the meddling oaf-“ Bev fumed.

Ben watched her mini rant with a smile. She really had asked him out. She really did like him back. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t think he ever would.

Ben squeezed her hand. “The answer is yes, by the way. A million times yes. I would eat 10 thousand hazelnut swirls if it meant I could go out with you’

Bev’s eyes crinkled as she beamed. This was better than Ben had ever imagined. This was real. And this was really, really romantic.

#hello I wanted to write something soft for Valentines Day!#sorry if it is bad #i just love ben and bev #ben x bev #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #benverly #ben hanscom x beverly marsh #it 2017 #it #richie x eddie #reddit #richie tozier #valentines day

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thoughtsondesign · 3 years

Text

Pandora’s Drawer

I asked my friends to take a photo of their "drawer for everything" to see if they know what I mean. I thought there will be a bit of confusion about what I am referring to, but surprisingly I immediately received these several photos and the only question I got was about the reason for my strange request.

So yes, apparently everyone has one without even questioning its existence. I personally call it Pandora's drawer. You know, this drawer is filled with batteries, pins, notes, birthday cards, cables, small souvenirs and so on. All things we might "need" someday or at least this is something we like to tell ourselves. We see it as an organisational tool. Creation of our desire to avoid the chaos around us. We've all heard the phrase- "keep it just in case”. For example in case we feel the urge to read our biology notebook from middle school or look at a bunch of postcards from every single trip we've ever taken. But is this really likely to happen?

Ever since I was a kid, I argue with my parents about this false sense of order we’ve created at home, where everything is seemingly arranged, but no one actually cares what we are organizing and, more importantly, why. Especially this model of placing unnecessary items in a magic drawer, hoping it might transform them into something useful one day still seems a bit flawed to me. And although I couldn't really comprehend why I hate this drawer so much, it causes me big frustration, knowing that one day we will open the drawer and there won’t be any space for another potential "lifesaving" item. For me, this drawer is a lie, a mask or even excuse for our real insecurities, related with our irrational fear of losing some part of us by getting rid of our possessions.

This monstrous creation was the one thing, I promised myself I won't allow to happen when I live alone one day. But instead of living up to my high expectation, I now find myself, sitting in my accommodation room, starring at my cluttered drawer, trying to convince myself that this time is different, and I might someday use all these items.

But will I, or will I not? This is the question.

And although the answer is quite obvious, Pandora's drawer once again feeds my curiosity with hopes, reminding me of the potential benefits of my possessions in the future. It is like the one-month trial period we are offered constantly by websites, so we finally give up and end up drowning ourselves in anxiety on whether we want to keep something or not. And so, the storage space becomes fuller and fuller with time, leaving us not with satisfaction but rather with guilt and frustration. And we are no longer curious, but actually scared to open this wicked drawer. Or as Francine Jay puts it in her book" The Joy Of Less”:

"Simply stuffing everything into drawers and baskets won't do the trick: out of sight, out of mind doesn't work here. Even stuff that's hidden away stays in the back of our minds. It's like all those items have their own gravitational field and are constantly pulling us down and holding us back.”

Analyzing the absurdness of such everyday habits, I start to see my possessions as anchors, drowning my spirit rather than lifting it. A drawer filled with false hopes and guilt, which leaves me with an important question:

"Isn't it time to throw everything from Pandora's drawer once and forever and spare ourselves an eternity of regrets?”

References:

· Jay, F. (2016). The Joy of Less: A Minimalist Guide to Declutter, Organize, and Simplify - Updated and Revised (Minimalism Books, Home Organization Books, Decluttering Books House Cleaning Books). Chronicle Books.

· 30 DAYS TO MINIMALISM » + printable guide. (2017, November 5). [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24IDJfPCHZM&t=4s

· Kondo, M., & Zeller, E. W. (2015). The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing (MP3-Unabridged CD ed. ed.). Tantor Audio.

· https://www.cuded.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/pandoras-box_by_Alex-Solis600_750.jpg

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 years

Text

Falling (Part 1)

Summary: The reader spends a fall weekend in Austin with Jensen but the weather takes a turn and makes for an awkward situation...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: language (but mostly cuteness)

A/N: Written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing ‘s Seasons of Love - Colors of Fall Challenge where my prompt was “Storms.”

“Y/N,” you heard Jensen say from the kitchen, making you jump. “Dinner’s done.”

“Coming,” you said, wandering away from the back window as you looked out into the yard. The wind had been whipping like crazy all day and now the rain had started to pour down, making the evening a dark and noisy night.

“You okay?” he asked when you took a seat at the counter, a plate of food being slid in front of you. You nodded and ate quietly, Jensen keeping an eye on you the whole time. You slid your plate away when you finished, nervously glancing out his window again. “Y/N...”

“It’s storming pretty bad out,” you said, Jensen chuckling as he took your plate away.

“Yes it is. Sometimes the storms in the fall are a little intense in Texas. Sorry we couldn’t go out tonight. I wanted to show you around Austin some more,” said Jensen, the sound of the sink turning on behind you and his humming a reminder that you were perfectly safe in this big house. “Much different around here than Vancouver, right?”

“Y-Yeah,” you said, spinning on your stool, tucking your legs up so your chin sat on them.

“Y/N, what is going on with you? You’re so jittery tonight. Am I making you nervous?” he asked.

“Pfft, no way Ackles,” you said, most of that a true statement. You’d met a few months back in July when you came on for what was supposed to be only the first two episodes of the new season. Quickly you found yourself signing up for ten more, then another five and then a full season run. You still weren’t sure how that’d happened but you were more than happy. You’d never had so much fun going to work everyday.

“Then what is making you nervous, silly goose?” he asked, coming over and leaning against the counter to look down at you. You ignored his stare, hating the way he could see right through you like that. “Alright.”

You knew he was about to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, spin you around and drop you down on the softest thing possible before tickling you until you couldn’t breathe. He was a good friend, even it’d been a fast friendship but shit you were an adult and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself further by telling him the truth.

“I’m fine, Jensen,” you said, hopping off the stool before he could grab you. “Where’s the bathroom again?”

“Just go down the hall and it’s all the way on the left,” he said, spinning your body around and giving you gentle nudge in the right direction. “Stomach upset? I can find you something to help.”

“I’m fine,” you said again, making your way down and taking a deep breath once inside. “Pull yourself together, Y/N. Don’t freak out.”

Of course the first time you decided to take him up on his offer to come down to Austin for the weekend it had to storm so bad you couldn’t leave the house. Of course you insisted on staying in a hotel even though he offered to have you crash there so you had to go stay in a tall building tonight.

“Y/N? You aren’t having a panic attack in there are you?” asked Jensen, knocking on the door. You flushed the toilet and came out a minute later, forcing a smile.

“All good,” you said, walking past him and back towards his family room, sitting down on his couch when lightening flashed and the power went out. You whined and you heard him sigh, moving about behind you in the kitchen before reaching a hand over to give you a flashlight.

“I think I have some camping lanterns in the cellar if you want to help me look,” he said. You nodded, grateful for the excuse to get somewhere safer and quickly followed him to his basement door and down the steps. You hadn’t seen that part of the house yet. It was finished and had a bar down there, a couch and TV there as well, looking a bit more like the place he would spend watching his Sunday football than upstairs. He went over to a closed door, pushing it open to reveal his random storage, walking to a shelf with what looked like camping gear and grabbing two lanterns to bring back out.

He set them both of the bar and and flicked them on, telling you the batteries lasted a long time.

“You’ve got a big house,” you said, a tiny blush falling over his face. “Not ginormous though.”

“It’s still pretty big for one person,” he said. “Oh, I never showed you this.”

You followed him to the other side of the basement, letting him show you a bathroom and then another room that made you raise your eyebrow.

“It’s a storm cellar. You never know living in Texas, even if Austin is pretty safe for tornados,” he said. He took a step inside, showing you all the provisions in case of an emergency, urging you to take a seat on the small foam mattress in there as you nodded your head.

“You figured it out,” you said, Jensen shutting the door to the cellar and sitting down as he patted the spot beside him.

“You’re scared of the storm. Of a tornado more specifically since I know how much you love thunderstorms,” he said, watching you stick around by the door. “Come sit.”

“I’m just being irrational,” you said, scratching the back of your head, undoing the door. “It’s fine.”

You went out and upstairs before he could stop you, resuming taking up your spot on the couch, staring out the window as you held your phone in your hand tightly, seeing no warnings on it apart from the thunderstorm one.

“Y/N,” you heard Jensen say as he came in the room, sitting behind you. You kept your gaze forward and felt him wrap his arms and legs around you, pulling your back to his chest.

“What are you doing?” you asked, Jensen resting his head on your shoulder.

“You’re scared and I don’t want you to be,” he said.

“The leaves don’t change as much here,” you said, eyes on a tree in his backyard, the bend of it causing your stomach to churn.

“No, not as much as up in Canada. It’s definitely not as pretty as up north. We don’t get the snow though,” he said.

“Jensen, you really don’t have to...whatever this is,” you said, trying to scoot away, his arms pressing you back as you melted into him.

“You’re trembling. Nothing’s going to get you. I’ll keep you safe. If you ever hear a siren, you go right downstairs and into that room and you’re safe. I promise,” he said. Thunder cracked and shook the house, Jensen wrapping his arms tighter as he shushed you.

“It’s late. I should really get back to-”

“It’s only seven thirty and you are not going out in this. You’re spending the night here and that’s final,” he said. “I’ve got the space.”

“I don’t have any clothes or a toothbrush even,” you said.

“You can borrow my pajamas and I’ve got an extra toothbrush around here I’m sure. Come on, it’s about time we had a sleepover,” he said.

“Why on earth would we have a sleepover?” you asked.

“That’s what best friends do. They have sleepovers,” he said, chuckling as he felt your groan. “Don’t get all grumpy.”

The storm picked up and you heard the wind whip, your head ducking down as you wished you didn’t seem so childish in front of him. To your amazement he didn’t laugh, only held on tight and hummed gently, helping ease your nerves as you took hold of his hand and squeezed.

“Sweetheart,” said Jensen softly, your head lifting off the couch, Jensen’s coming off your shoulder as you realized you’d been there for a few hours. You looked outside and found it was dark, the thunder and lightening were gone, only a heavy downpour now. “Do you want me to bring you up to bed?”

You nodded and he sat you upright, one of your hands wiping at your tired eyes as he held onto your other one. He tugged you up and led you to the stairs and up them, down to this bedroom as he went over to a dresser and pulled out a tee shirt.

“Um, this will be big,” he said, handing it to you. “You don’t really like to sleep in pants right?”

“Only shorts,” you said, seeing him glance back at his dresser, both of you knowing exactly the only kind of shorts of his that had a chance of fitting you properly. “I’ll be good in just the shirt.”

“Here,” he said, pulling a blanket off his bed and handing it to you. “In case you get cold.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking the items from him and following him down the hall to a guest bedroom.

“If you need something, I’m right at the other end,” he said, disappearing and returning a minute later with one of the lanterns. “There’s a bathroom through that door.”

“Thanks Jay,” you said, turning off your flashlight. “Night.”

“G’night,” he said, pulling your door shut to give you your privacy. You took off your jeans and top, pulling on his shirt and immediately wondering why they always had to make guys shirts so much thicker and warmer and just softer than yours. You curled up in the bed with the blanket over top of you and felt pretty good, hoping you’d relax enough to sleep soon.

When you were looking at your phone hours later, the battery almost dead at that point and saw it was nearly one, the weather getting worse again on top of that, you wondered how bad it would be if you woke up Jensen. Making you feel better was one thing, but you didn’t get scared easily and he knew it. It’d already been embarrassing enough to the point that you knew you were never visiting again but you couldn’t go do that.

You got out of bed and started pacing around the room, grabbing your flashlight and opening the door to head downstairs and maybe make yourself a snack. You saw a flash of lightening light up the house and Jensen was suddenly right there, a scream erupting from you, a shout from him as you buckled down to your knees.

“Ackles!” you shouted, bursting out laughing as he started to giggle and helped you to your feet.

“I didn’t know you could make your voice that high,” he teased.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you in the nuts,” you said.

“I don’t think I’d survive an ass kicking from you,” he said, picking up your flashlight on the ground, the smile on his face now evident. “I was just coming to check on you. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either,” you said, rubbing your arm, realizing his pajamas consisted of him in a pair of boxers and nothing more.

“The house is getting cool,” he said, glancing down at his own body, a few goosebumps beginning to litter his skin.

“You’re very freckly,” you said, eyes wide when you realized your’d been staring at his chest. “On your face.”

“Alright, hot legs, it’s okay if you look,” he teased, flashing the light down to your bare legs that you were shoving together. “Sorry, I was just joking.”

“You were looking,” you said, Jensen shrugging.

“So were you,” he said, a smirk showing up on his face. “As long as we both can’t sleep, do you want to come to my room? It’s probably warmer.”

“Alright,” you said, turning around and grabbing the blanket, following him down the hall where he was pulling on a pair of flannel pants and a tee to put on.

“Here,” he said, tossing you a pair of definitely older flannels for yourself. “From when I was skinnier.”

“You’re skinny now,” you said, Jensen rolling his eyes. “You’re very fit Jensen.”

“I don’t know why I even kept those, I won’t ever fit in them ever again,” he said.

“Well I’m glad you did because I’m a whole lot warmer,” you said, offering a smile before you heard the wind and thunder quake the house again.

“Come here,” he said, patting one side of the bed. You crawled over to it, Jensen throwing the blanket over top of you as he got in under his own side, sitting up beside you. “I will protect you from whatever is outside, sweetheart.”

“This is so embarrassing,” you said, wanting to shift away from him but his arm curling around your back and resting on your shoulder keeping him close.

“You’re smart to take tornados seriously, even if it isn’t exactly the season for them,” he said. “You don’t have to be scared though. Ask me whatever you want to know and maybe you’ll feel better then.”

It took a minute to warm up to the idea but you eventually did ask one and then another and another, Jensen patiently explaining to you everything from when they were most active, the difference between a watch and warning and when to get in the cellar. By the time he finished, you felt a whole lot better about the storm, the thunder overhead a nice sound now. Apart from the growing pit in your stomach at how much he’d think you were an idiot in the morning for acting like a terrified toddler, you felt safe enough to sleep again.

“Morning,” you heard Jensen say when you made your way out of his room and down to the kitchen the next day, rain coming down still but less harsh than the night before. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you said, nodding your head and avoiding his face.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked, noticing you were in your clothes again.

“Nothing,” you said, flashing him a smile. “I just...you’ve got stuff I’m sure you want to do around here and our flight is at three and I should head out and let you do your stuff.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Sure. Do you want breakfast or-”

“That’s alright. I’ll uh, see you at the airport later,” you said, Jensen nodding. “Are we good?”

“Yup,” he said, a bit too cold for him. “Perfect. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” you said, giving him a wave and for the first time in your life, wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Hey,” you said to him on the flight, poking him in the rib when he ignored you.

“What?” he asked, looking out the window.

“Did you want to grab dinner on the way home and then eat at my place?” you asked.

“I’ve got a couple things I want to do around the apartment. Try to head to bed early after last night if you don’t mind,” he said. “Maybe another time.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, giving him a smile even if he hadn’t bothered to turn and look at you.

He didn’t say much the rest of the flight or even when you got a cab back together, not that that was unusual but everything felt too tense between the two of you and you had to wonder if he really did think of you differently after acting so scared the night before.

“I’ll see you on set,” you said, giving him a smile when the cab stopped in front of your place.

“Yeah, bye,” he said, playing on his phone, not giving you a second glance as you grabbed your bag and got out, trying to get inside as fast as you could. You groaned the second you flopped down on your bed, reaching for your phone in the next, texting hopefully the one person who could help.

Jare, Jay’s mad at me. He thinks I’m stupid after royally freaking out over a little bad weather. What do I do? He won’t talk to me and I don’t know how to fix it. Do I make him cookies? I’m freaking out dude. Help.

You decided you didn’t need to be a complete wreck and hoped in the shower, ignoring the phone and trying to calm down on your own, pretty successfully too until you heard your front door ring.

“It’s after nine,” you grumbled, peeping through your front curtains and spotting a familiar car out front.

“Hi,” said Jensen, carrying a bag of takeout when you opened up. “You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

“No. I thought you had plans,” you said, Jensen stepping inside, putting the bag down.

“You didn’t look at your phone, did you,” he said, poking his head in your bedroom and finding it on your bed. “You uh, did it again. Texted me when you meant to send something to Jared.”

The color must have drained from your face because he was quickly stepping over and putting his hands on your arms.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Y/N. You’re my best friend. You’re incredibly smart. I told you last night, it’s okay if you’re scared. I just want to make you feel safe,” he said.

“Why were you all...cold today then? That’s not like you,” you said, Jensen taking his turn to go pale. “I must have done something.”

“You couldn’t wait to get out of there. I thought I made you uncomfortable last night, that I pushed things too far and you got creeped out. You know me, I just went into defense mode,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I was embaressed and thought you...obvioulsy you already know what I thought. We’re we just stupid?” you asked, Jensen nodding his head.

“I’m sorry I was rude. It sucks a million times more to know I’m the one that’s upsetting you,” he said.

“No more weirdness between us, got it?” you asked, getting a smile from him. “Honest from here on out.”

“Deal,” he said. You stepped around him to dive into dinner when his hand caught your arm, spinning you around.

“What?” you asked.

“I’m being honest,” he said. He bent down and gave you a short kiss, your mind barely registering it before he pulled back. “Did I fuck this up?”

“It’s only fair that I’m honest back,” you said, reaching a hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him back down for more. He smiled into it this time, letting you own the kiss but ending it when your stomach grumbled.

“We should eat dinner,” he said.

“And after?” you asked.

“After I’d like to do a whole lot more of this being honest business,” he said, traveling his eyes down to your lips. “A lot more.”

“You’re on, Ackles.”

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

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#jensen x reader #jensen ackles #SoL-Colors of Fall challenge #supernatural #supernatural au #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #jensen ackles au #dean winchester #spn

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traizhill · 4 years

Text

Farthest from Home

It was on a Saturday morning when Roger was doing some overtime work in his private study when Stella opened the door to the room and served him his brunch. Roger was already up by four O’clock, having retired early last night in order to be fresh in doing work in the morning. Roger favors the silence of the early mornings than the chills of the late evenings in accomplishing tasks required by his work. Because of this preference of time, as well as being a workaholic, he is about to be surprised by the next series of events.

“Roger, I’m leaving.”, Stella declared.

“What do you mean, love? It’s still morning.”, replied Roger unturned and continuing his work for the day.

“No. I mean… I need to stay with my parents.”, muttered Stella.

“What for? Do they need your help again? Why can’t they get your sister?”

“No, Rog. I need to get away from you.”

“Why?”, said Roger, still continuing with his work.

Stella hesitated for half a minute before finding her courage, “Because you’re not here for me anymore.”

“What do you mean? You’re serving me brunch right now. That means I’m literally here.”, asked Roger, still oblivious to the fact that a hard discussion about their marriage had already started. Still in the midst of completing his occupational tasks for the day.

A tear then started to trickle down Stella’s right cheek. She tried composing herself, and then she finally answered, “I’m just not happy anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

Stella remained silent.

“What do you mean you’re not happy?”, as he stares at her for the first time since climbing out of bed this morning.

Still no response.

“Well? Can you give me answer?”

“Say something!”

“God damn it!”, he cries. Finally exasperated.

And then she spoke.

“I understand that you’re doing all of this to give me everything that I have ever wanted. But what if all I ever wanted was you?”

“But I am here! I’m already yours! We’re married, remember!”, his quickly reply.

“Yes, we are married. But you haven’t been present for years.”

“Now you’re just being irrational. All of this is because of you. I’m doing all of this, because of you.”

“But you don’t see me anymore. I’m just an idea to you, and you’re all wrapped up in the things you’re doing for that idea.”

“I no longer exist to you. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually.”, Stella added.

And Roger was left speechless for the first time in the conversation.

Stella then proceed to give her argument, “Remember when we got together, how everything felt perfect? How it felt as if we were drawn together by fate, and that everything that was happening around us was happening because we were being drawn to each other, closer and closer, each and every day? Do you even get those feelings anymore, or are you too busy preparing for the day that I might actually leave you?”

“Because today is that day.”, said Stella, no longer stuttering.

“You don’t actually mean to go through with this, do you?”, Roger asked, finally conceding to the thought that he may actually lose her today.

“Because we can still salvage this. I can still make changes if that is what’s needed. Please tell me this isn’t a done deal already.”

“Please!”, He requested.

“Stella.” He called as he approached her.

Sobbing, he reached for her hand one last time and kissed it.

“Please?”

* * *

Roger never imagined being back inside the house again. Feelings of nostalgia were now creeping up inside of him, even if at the back of his mind he’d already decided he had moved on. Yet in a strange turn of events he is back to where it all happened. They had a big fight on that fateful day, but all he ever remembered was turning on the ignition of his car, and just driving off without a proper destination while listening to the radio after that encounter.

Roger taking long drives without actually going somewhere is not new to him. This was his method of escape. Taking these drives would help clear his mind off of the things that would stress him out. In as long as he could remember, the moment he got his driver’s license he took his first long drive around the city not to celebrate, but to change his coping mechanism. Before, he would always spend his time clearing his head by smoking cigarettes at the park. He started at eleven years old. He did this not because he was friendless, but because he’d prefer to be with his thoughts rather than discuss them with other people.

During one of these driving sessions, he would meet Stella. They would literally cross paths in their first meeting, as she would end up almost being hit by his car. At the time, he was contemplating his career plans. Trying to change course after finding out for himself that he was ill-suited for his current job. Suffice it to say, his mind wasn’t fully focused on the road. She on the other hand, was enjoying her life, perhaps too much, as she obliviously tried to cross the street without checking both sides before moving. Both would take that encounter as a sign that they were fated to meet. They would end up exchanging phone numbers, not for information but rather for keeping in touch.

They would end up getting to know each other in a month. In two they would enter a relationship, and in eight they would get married. Love for them came in like a hurricane, and each and every one of their friends and families had the wrong storm warning. Some even had their reservations, because they could not make out the other’s partner on who they really are up until their wedding. They felt that it was rushed, and they let their feelings decide instead of along with their heads. None of their opinions, given or not, would matter to the couple anyway.

And why would it. They we’re happy. For the first time for Roger, it didn’t matter to him that he needed to do the right things all the time. Stella on the other hand, was a happy person in general. Her personality easily flowed through him, generating enough happiness for the both of them. And Roger was smart enough to not waste it. He was now at his peak form, and he was wholly afraid to let go of it. And for this, he was absolutely sure he had found the one.

“The house is being sold by a happy couple who just moved into their new home almost by the river.”, said the young realtor.

“It’s fully furnished and all the amenities are still intact, so the price would be a little steep for you if you’re going be living here alone.”

“You’re going to be living here alone, aren’t you?”

“No. Actually I’m still just checking out the place. Would that be all right for you?”, Roger replied.

“Sure man, but would you mind not touching anything or putting them out of place? I just got this job, so could you do me a solid?”

“Ok.”

“And please lock the main and back doors when you finish, will you?”

Roger replied with a gesture of a thumbs up as the realtor left. The house was a two-story flat Stella had lived in before meeting Roger. How she came upon this property, was a bit murky to him in the details. She mentioned most of the time that the she inherited the place from a favorite aunt. That she died childless from a short but happy marriage, and Stella surprisingly got it in her will. Her husband passed on early in his thirties because of an inoperable brain tumor, and she had been close to Stella’s family ever since.

As Roger looked around the living room of the house he once lived, he stopped near the fireplace where he and Stella used to lounge around late at night during the weekends when they were not yet sleepy after watching tv. This was the area he wished he had hung out more with Stella. He realized that had he not been as busy with his work, he would have seen better days in their relationship. His favorite memory that he still reminisces about most days was that one time in the winter season, when they sat near the fire and just drank hot cocoa without even talking. Just mutually admiring each other for being there in that moment. Both of them draped in a single thick blanket protecting them from the cold, enjoying each other’s company nonverbally. He didn’t even think of the need to talk. Her presence at that point in time was enough for him to determine that he had found a home for the rest of his life. Then without reason she rested her head on his right shoulder. And that made the moment even more bittersweet to remember.

He then decided to head up the stairs by the hallway exiting the living room. As he took his steps, he is reminded of their return from their honeymoon trip in Guam. It felt just like yesterday when upon entering the house, they dropped all their bags, carried her up into the master bedroom upstairs and gently laid her onto the bed and tried to continue their honeymoon from there. Lights still out with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he was on the verge of weeping when he stared at her gentle elegance formed by her silhouette. He could not believe he was at the presence of a goddess. That he was not worthy of her. But this also made him get his resolve, and that he promised himself then and there that he would earn her for the rest of his life. In the present though, as he walked past that same bedroom, he had already lost her.

Opposite the bedroom was the bathroom. And although not much of it was of significance to the both of them, a collection of memories flashed back at him. They were in the early parts of their marriage, wherein both were having the time of their lives spending rewarding evening baths in the tub. When both of them came home from work, with Stella arriving earlier thus having the time to set up the bath, and after finishing their preferred takeout dinner for the evening they would then take a bath together. Cleansing each other of the worries of the world. Retiring to each other’s bodies, relieving them of the wear and tear brought upon their everyday lives away from each other. He would even fall asleep sometimes, specially when he plays the role of the little spoon.

Stella and Roger wished to have kids someday. Both wanted three children: depending on who came first, a boy, a girl, and the last a surprise wherein they would not bother knowing the gender before its birth. The room next to the bathroom was supposed to be the children’s bedroom until their individual puberty. Stella was the more eager partner between the two to get started. She had already decided on the interior of bedroom, but never got to it because of Roger’s work. As mentioned before, he was in another type of preparation one of which he inadvertently made inevitable. He then remembered that he had not been in the room since he first got to the house. It must have really been an indication of his fate with Stella, because at this aspect of their marriage he didn’t really care for since the beginning.

The room next to the children’s bedroom was the study. He remembers this room bitterly. In fact, he was now feeling a stinging sensation at the back of his neck when he finally entered the room. The room now symbolizes his neglect of Stella. It used to be his temple for earning her, but he didn’t know that he already had her. For all his worries of his losing of Stella, he was laying the foundations for it to happen at this very room. And for it to actually happen in this very room, was the icing on the bittersweet cake he had been baking all that time. He remembered every word of the final conversation he had with Stella, while their actions replayed in his head. Until that final act of persuading her to remain together, wherein as Stella headed for the door, he rushed to block her from going out and hugged her tight and refused to let her go. How in feeling that his hug was convincing her to stay, and stopped her from wriggling away from his hug, he let go of the pressure and he was immediately pushed towards the door of the room adjacent to the study. He fell backwards and hit his head on the way down. He didn’t feel any pain at that moment. He was in fact in a void then, as he saw with his own eyes how she stared at him for the final time. He then stood up, and went straight to the kitchen to get his car keys, and exited the house to take a drive to nowhere once again after so many years of not doing so. In the present, he will do it again after the memory was fully revisited.

* * *

“Lady, it’s way past visiting hours now. I’m afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.”, as an orderly asked a visitor in the Intensive Care Unit to head home for the night.

She remained silent, barely noticing him.

“Hey lady.”, prompted by the orderly, this time waving at her to indicate he was talking to her.

Just then, a night shift attending physician pulls the orderly back out of the room. “It’s ok Clark, that’s her husband.”, she explains.

“I didn’t know Roger was married.”, he responds.

“Is married. Yeah, well she comes here now and again to check up on him. Usually at nights too. I was surprised as you were when I found out. Since then I’ve seen her twice in four months.”

“Does she pay for his stay here too? I mean, it has been that long. It’s almost a year now.”

“You know we’re not allowed to disclose that. But between you and me, they say Roger’s a made man. It’s a shame though, that he couldn’t spend all that money with her, and that they’re both stuck here instead.”

#romantic #drama #short story #writing challenge

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