Posted in Headcanon

Hope Is A Dangerous Thing

She stares at her carefully arranged shotgun collection, idly caressing the edge of her glass to make a melodic noise. It’s a trick he mastered and one of his many habits she adapted along the line.

Not that there will be more habits for her to observe and pick up, considering how things are spiraling down into this bloody avalanche.

Amongst many things that she foresee as why they would eventually break up, she never thought their eventual demise would be caused by a series of unfortunate events and miscommunication.

Because that’s all there is. They had their own foes to battles and shits to take care of, and things went awry when they can’t seem to get ahold of each other, and then John found out she hadn’t been sleeping and fucked up her eating routine again before they even got the chance to properly talk to each other.

Which is why none of them had a clear mind when the fight blew off and she kicked him out with a “If this shitty treatment is what I get for being brutally honest with you, then don’t fucking ask, you bloody git!” right on his face.

So maybe she should be glad, happy because this fling of theirs is doomed from the start and a sooner ending is better than a later one. And maybe there’s a part of her that wish for a rather clean break so she can put everything about him into a closet then shut, sealed, and booby-trapped the door before going back to her routine of solo monster-hunting. The way it used to before he barged into her life and stole the peace of being alone she had grown accustomed with.


And yet.


Yet there still is a rather huge part of her who wish that they could talk this out calmly the way they always do and reasoned with each other. Hope that some time apart is all they need so they can straighten out their messed up mind and get ahold of themselves before they meet up for a proper talk.

Because she haven’t changed her mind about staying with him as long as he stay with her. Haven’t changed her mind about being on his side as they go through the shitstorm that is their fucked-up life. Haven’t changed her belief that what she feel for him is strong enough to withstand whatever rubbish “fate” throws their way.

Because, as bloody cheesy as it sounds, she still care for him. Still want him. And still so fucked in love with him.

She’s still his, as much as he is hers. His, even if he decided that he’s not hers anymore.


Gathering herself up, she put her untouched bloody-red wine away and walk out the armoury, convinced that this is just something they would rebound from stronger than before.


As she crosses her mansion, reminiscing their moments there together and time he spent to get to know this place as well as she does, she let a fleeting vexation cross her mind.



Still, she hopes he feels the same and is not about to prove her wrong.





À la mort,

Prompt: Olly Murs’ Up (featuring Demi Lovato).
“I’m gonna place my bet on us. I know this love is heading in the same direction, that’s up.”



An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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