"A lone sword" -a one-shots book

" homewarming "

The Table x reader
angst? & platonic
+found family
+unhappy reader
+barely graphic violence

"

The yellow bowed down to the oncoming purples and blue in the sky. The white clouds interrupted the harmonious pattern while the sun continued to shine brightly, looking fierce even as it descended somewhere unseen.

I stared into the soon to be night sky mesmerized. It felt kinda dumb that something that happened something so often would matter so much.

Logically it didn't, it was simply colors created by something scientific and explainable.

And yet the scene was heartbreaking, in this moment it was made for me and my emotions. So yeah, I was crying looking at the stupid sunset. I had no need or motivation to wipe my tears as they fell, it felt like to wipe them I'd have to acknowledge they were there.

So my tears slid down my face as my probably swollen face stung along with the rest of my beaten body. I wanted to pull myself out of the scene but I felt locked in, like I had to wait till the night came down.

...

And I did. The night sky wasn't as spectacular as the sunset blending within itself, but it still looked good. I was kind of tired of the sappy stuff, and fighting with New York. So I left. I finally lifted myself from the lightly bloodied ground, and decided to go back home.

I could never not feel weird about going home. I'm rarely there and sometimes forget that I even have a place to stay but the overwhelming familiarity whenever I am there always reassured me otherwise. It was so lonely and maybe unhealthy? Using my home as a poorly crafted coping mechanism and nothing else.Maybe I needed to branch out?

A sigh escaped me as I entered my old apartment, the mold was literally killing me and if I jumped too hard I'd fall through the floor. But I had grown so many plants in here it looked like I was collecting every fallen leaf I saw, and the furniture was so well loved there were me shaped imprints decorating everything.

With frightening familiarity I navigated my home to tend to my wounds as I listened to all the songs that had made me cry. Right as I finished the last stitch and the last tear I could hold in my body fell, I heard an unfamiliar sound. A knock at my door.

It had been so long since I had heard a knock that I had just started thinking that my door didn't make noise. The sound foreign to me at this point, made only for movies and fantasy. I shoke off the heebie-jeebies and washed off the dried, and still drying blood from my freshly fixed wound. The knocking did not stop though and seemingly got louder without my proximity to it changing.

My hair raised on end as I heard the knocking get louder and louder and progressively more aggressive. To the point of me feeling the door creak and bend unnaturally almost like it was clawing to get away from it's abuser.

That image in my head had forcibly dragged me to the begging door. I waited for the odd pause in the crazed knocking to open it. The click seemed the silence the collective chatter outside the door.

...

Y/N took in the sight of group of three at their door. The first of which reached inappropriately tall heights and dressed for a cold that was unrealistic for the area, the second was dressed in the stark opposite and was lanky and unique in appearance, lastly the third was advertising their identity blatantly with their choice of clothes and who was perfumed by daiquiris.

Y/N was stunned by the turnout of people at their door, they was expecting a lost salesman or maybe a rouge delivery person. After they allowed themselves to process the mild shock, they noticed that there were three more people as well: A man of respectable height though second to the winter giant, wearing a cowboy hat, next to him was a guy in a smooth black suit and bright blue tie that he couldn't seem to stop readjusting, and lastly a irritatingly familiar face, belonging to the one he had brawled with prior.