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emphistic · 12 days

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Casual

A/N: edited this while watching the debate 💀

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It’s crazy what you do for a friend.

Sukuna was never one to let people in. He never was, and never would be. The result was always the same.

Sukuna hated smoking. He hated it with a fiery, burning passion; and he quit years ago. He didn’t smoke anymore, but, whenever he found himself missing you more than usual, at a quarter past one, he couldn’t help but spend eight dollars at the convenience store.

Being with you burned. In a good way. Cigarettes were nearly the same.

When you told him, last night, that you would be seeing other people, Sukuna didn’t know how to feel at first. You were free to date people who liked macaroni and cheese just as much as you did. His job was done, the curse was lifted. So why was he still unsatisfied? He helped a friend. That was all there was to it. Sukuna did what he was supposed to do, so why did he still need more?

Was that selfish?

He’s been in the shadows your whole life. He’s watched you get boyfriends, break up, make new friends, lose friends; he’s seen it all. And he’s been with you, through it all. Sukuna couldn’t remember when he first started to like you, but when he did, he was already in far too deep. That’s why it hurt so, so much. Because you didn’t know how it felt to have someone rant and vent to you about their life and their crushes, whilst all you wanted was to do the same.

You’ve cried on his shoulder, asking yourself, “Why won’t he just like me back?” And all Sukuna ever wanted to say was “Why won’t you just love me back?”

But, even after all of that, Sukuna couldn’t hate you. He could never. He loved you too much to let go. It was unbearable, he felt like bursting at the seams. But no, he couldn’t let go. If he told you how he felt, he already knew what your response would be.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” “Why did you never say anything earlier?”

Because Sukuna knew you were better off without him, and that you didn’t feel the same way. That’s why. It was obvious from the moment you proposed this fake relationship in order to rid yourself of the “curse”. And, if it was already clear you didn’t feel the same way, Sukuna knew this fake relationship would be the closest you two would ever get to being in love.

You put on a mask when you two started this whole arrangement. You played a character. It was an act. As for Sukuna? He only played out his vulnerabilities. This whole relationship was all for you. Everything Sukuna said and did, was for you. This . . . wasn’t any different. Yet, it was still one hell of a stab in the heart when you showed crystal clear interest in Naoki fucking Ito. It was inevitable, but still. . . And when you suggested setting him up with Eileen? God, Sukuna wanted to shove a gun down his throat. You were just too dense for your own good, huh? Well, that is what started this whole ordeal in the first place.

But, whaddya know, Sukuna took up your idea after all. Sukuna was hurt, he was confused, struggling to hold it together. Sukuna needed you, but you would always be as far and beautiful as the blazing hot sun ninety-three million miles away. Sukuna wanted a distraction. Besides, it couldn’t be so harmless if it was the same thing you were doing, right? Like you said, Natural Immunity, was it? People combat illnesses by injecting it into themselves. Maybe copying what you did with Naoki would make the burn hurt less.

You told Naoki and Eileen that you and Sukuna had broken up, simply because you two had lost interest in the relationship. Naoki, of course, immediately jumped at his chance, and asked you out on a date. Because you had been waiting for this moment your whole life, you obviously agreed. And from there, you and Naoki hit it off. Or so Sukuna thought. . .

But, anyhow, Sukuna tried to do the same. He and Eileen gradually started drifting closer and closer together. Yeah, he still found her occasionally annoying, but hey, he had been dealing with Yuuji and you for twenty-four years. Surely he could handle a minor pest like Eileen Mifune.

The two of them exchanged numbers, and every now and then, Sukuna found himself being on call or texting with Eileen, talking about nothing in particular. It always made him feel weird and strange inside, his stomach often hurt afterwards and he knew it wasn’t just because of a stomachache. It wouldn’t make any sense; Sukuna paid attention to his diet like no other. Was that what it felt like to have butterflies? Did you ever feel that way when you talked to him? Sukuna knew not.

You and Naoki started going out more frequently. You two talked till the sun went down, and while it should have been fun and enjoyable, you realized you always wanted nothing more than . . . to sleep. You wanted to get back into your bed, pull the covers over yourself, and escape the light of day.

Being selfish was an unfamiliar concept to you. For years, you have always wanted to be able to make mac n’ cheese with someone you loved. Truly loved. And, yet, when you and Naoki happened to do just that, you felt . . . nothing. This wasn’t what you wanted. You needed more. Was this . . . love?

Sukuna was confused. Growing up, he never really knew what love was. Fortunately, he felt familial love, but romantic love was just . . . different. Yeah, he had his fair share of girlfriends, but he never felt an emotion towards them quite as strong as the one he always felt when he was around you.

Sukuna studied the way you talked and smiled and laughed with Naoki. He needed an example to follow, if he was going to be able to show love towards someone else. But, in the end, he was only copying another imitation. A false version of his ideals.

Everything was so different. The way you interacted with Naoki, the slightly dimmed light in your eyes that was only noticeable to Sukuna, the atypical sound of your voice. It confused Sukuna, severely. You had him thinking two plus two equaled five, and that a lie plus another lie was completely fine. Did you even know Sukuna lied awake at night thinking of a girl he had no chance with? Fuck, love could be embarrassing as hell sometimes.

Listening to heavy metal. Standing still under spraying, cold, shower water. Screaming in empty parking lots. Texting with Eileen. Sukuna tried to cope, he really did, but it only backfired at him in the end. As the days passed by, you two found yourselves only hurting each other more, and more. It was inevitable, because the both of you were just too close.

Stuck by the glue, and cursed by Eros; you and Sukuna may not have been the world’s idea of lovers, but you two were friends, and that was just as bad.

“What have you been up to lately?” you asked, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. It was a Saturday afternoon, you had nothing important to do, and you always failed to see the harm in innocently inviting a friend over.

“Ah, I’ve been—”

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzzt!

The both of you simply stared as the screen of your phone lit up to reveal Naoki’s contact name. It was just plain “naoki: eileen’s cousin”. Damnit, you always forgot to change that; you mentally facepalmed.

“. . .Forget it. You should get that.” Sukuna scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes elsewhere.

You hesitated. For some reason, you almost didn’t want to pick up the phone. But you did. Of course you did.

“Naoki, hi! What’s up?” You put on your best smile as you spoke.

“Hey, I was wondering if we could hang out tomorrow?”

“It’s kind of late to be asking this,” you laughed, “don’t you think so? But, yeah, sure. I’ll text you later for more details. I think I’m gonna go—”

“Alright, that’s a good idea. Ciao; night.”

There was a beep after the phone call ended, and you quickly turned your phone on Do Not Disturb, which is what you should’ve done a lot earlier.

The sound of Sukuna’s voice was what brought you back. “You seem to be talking to Naoki a lot more often, nowadays.”

You frowned, what was that supposed to mean? “I could say the same about you and Eileen. You two seem really buddy-buddy together, huh? Did you finally listen to my idea after all?”

“It’s whatever.”

Tension was remarkably high. The two of you sat in awkward and total silence. You were both seated on opposite ends of the couch, nursing individual glasses of Sex on the Beach, whilst some random TV show played as background noise. You invited Sukuna over to talk; you always loved hearing his voice. But . . . it seemed like there wasn’t much talking being done.

“So,” you began, “does that mean you’re interested in Eileen? I could give you some pointers if you are. Like, what her favorite flowers are, or what her favorite movie is—it’s Interstellar, by the way. But, y’know, stuff like that.”

Sukuna sighed, “No, thanks. I’m honestly just a little confused right now. I’m not sure if a girl is what I need.”

“Oh . . . yeah, totally! I get that,” you nodded. “It’s always good to solely focus on yourself instead of others. That way, you can figure out what you really want in life. And, maybe, being you is all you need. Not a girlfriend or a boyfriend, or any of that, to be specific. Y’know?”

“Uh huh.” Sukuna’s voice sounded distant, despite being only a few feet away.

And, to be completely honest, you were currently at war with yourself. For as long as you could remember, you’ve always wanted to be able to make macaroni and cheese with someone you really loved. And even though you had accomplished that—with Naoki, a few days ago—you couldn’t help the empty feeling you had inside. It was so, so strange. Like nothing you had felt before. You got what you wanted, so why did you still need more?

Was that selfish?

Whenever you talked with Naoki, it drained you more than anything. Was this the love you had dreamed about as a little girl? Was Naoki Ito really who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with? Was he the one who would fulfill your wishes, and make macaroni and cheese with you? Was he for the better?

You’ve always had a wide imagination since birth. And yet, you couldn’t imagine yourself living a lie. It was just . . . absurd, to say the least.

“Say, we haven’t had anything to eat, yet. Are you hungry?” you tried asking. For, you would hate to have to sit in silence for the rest of the evening.

“I dunno. Are you?”

“I mean, now that you mention, I guess I am.”

“Let me guess. You want macaroni and cheese? I can make it for you pretty quickly. As thanks, for having such a good collection of drinks.” Sukuna gestured to his now empty glass.

Your eyes lit up, a smile forming on your lips. “Oh, that’s okay. We can—We should make it together! It’ll be fun, don’t worry. I know I’m not the best cook, but I can make a mean mac n’ cheese. And if we pair up, we could probably make the best mac n’ cheese to ever walk the Earth.”

“No mac n’ cheese walks the Earth, dumbass.” Despite his comment, Sukuna picked up his glass and walked into the kitchen. You soon followed suit, also grabbing your glass to leave in the sink.

“So, you’re the Head Chef here.” You turned to face Sukuna with an “eager-to-work face” and your hands on your hips. “What should I do?”

Sukuna laughed. You hadn’t heard him laugh in a long time. You honestly missed that carefree smile of his.

“You make me feel like I’m fuckin’ Gordon Ramsay or some shit. But, okay. You can handle the macaroni; I trust you with that. As for me, I’ll take care of the roux. Believe it or not, too much cheese can be a thing.”

“Seriously? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Trust me. I have experience.”

While you two worked in the kitchen, Sukuna told you a story that happened just a few years ago.

It was Thanksgiving, and the whole Itadori family were all assigned roles for what to bring to the dinner. Sukuna was in charge of the turkey, like always, and his . . . actually, he didn’t even know who Choso was in regards to the family. But for some reason, he was always invited to their family reunions and holiday dinners, so whatever.

Anyway, Choso was assigned the mashed potatoes and gravy. His cousin was bringing the pumpkin pie, while Yuuji was assigned the infamous macaroni and cheese. As you can probably tell, the theme of the dinner party was American. Just for funzies.

Little did Yuuji know, Choso was actually lactose intolerant. And guess what, Choso didn’t even know he was lactose intolerant. Now, some people who are lactose intolerant, can handle some bits of cheese here and there. But unfortunately, Choso is not one of those people. And it certainly did not help that Yuuji absolutely went above and beyond with how much cheese and cheddar he used to make the macaroni and cheese.

It was a disaster. But long lasting memories were made, and a couple polaroids were taken (of miserable faces). Long story short, Yuuji is banned from ever making macaroni and cheese again. And Choso is forever hesitant about attending the annual Thanksgiving dinner.

“That’s hilarious, Sukuna. I feel kind of bad for Choso, though, the poor guy must’ve been so embarrassed. I can’t even begin to imagine how he felt.”

“Eh, he’s over it now. I think. He’s just a little more cautious.”

“I bet he went and took a bunch of tests to see all the things he was allergic to, afterwards.”

“You’re not wrong. He actually did do just that,” Sukuna laughed, putting the finished macaroni onto two plates for the both of you.

“It smells delicious,” you moaned. You two decided to just eat from your plates on the counter. Your dining table was full with grocery bags you had yet to unload.

“Thanks to me, of course.” Sukuna gave you a shit-eating grin. He could be so cocky, sometimes. It was in his character.

“Whatever, look at this.” You picked up a single piece of macaroni, and shoved it in Sukuna’s face. You moved it as if to pretend the macaroni was dancing.

Sukuna grimaced. “What the hell are you doing with that?”

“I am just a little dancing piece of macaroni. I am not spaghetti, or penne, or rigatoni. I am not lasagna or a fat slab of bologna. I’mmm macaroni.”

“The fuck are you singing a song from Sausage Party for?”

“So you did watch it, after all! You liar!”

“Pfft.” Sukuna rolled his eyes, holding up his hands in defense. “Neither you nor Yuuji would stop pestering me about it; I had to.”

You set the macaroni back on your plate, and cleaned your hands with a nearby napkin. “Sure, sure. Just admit it, I have the best movie recommendations.”

“When Hell freezes over.”

“You are such a grump. I hope you know that.”

“I don’t.” Sukuna quipped.

You playfully glared at Sukuna, pressing your face impossibly closer to his, until you couldn’t draw a line between where your breath ended, and where his started.

“You can be so mean, sometimes. Y’know that, right?”

“Yeah, well, something tells me you love that about me.”

As the hours flew by, and the day turned from afternoon to evening, it was soon well past eight. You had none of the lights turned on, and your whole apartment was completely drowned in darkness. You didn’t know who leaned in first, but you knew you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Your lips pressed against Sukuna’s in a chaste kiss, before you pulled away after a mere second, a stupid look on your face as you giggled. “You taste like mac n’ cheese.”

Sukuna grumbled, “Well, no shit, Sherlock,” before grabbing you by the back of your head, bringing you both into another kiss. This time a little less PG-13. His lips were cold, cracked, and his hands were frigid to the touch. You pressed yourselves closer together, and curved your body into his as you looped your arms around his neck. You wanted to warm him up, and make him feel as fuzzy inside as he made you feel.

It felt so right. Nothing like how you felt with Naoki. But maybe that was the difference between a friend and lover; and that made you feel more guilty than anything.

You wanted to grab Sukuna’s hands, and hold them in your own. You wanted to kiss along the ink of his tattoos. You wanted him to be warm, and to feel all fuzzy inside. But you knew he was probably better off getting that feeling from someone other than you. It didn’t make sense.

Sukuna kissed you like it was the end of the world, like he wanted to savor every last second with you. And maybe you were flattering yourself when you thought that, but, you couldn’t help but wish Sukuna felt that way. You really, really wanted him to feel that way. To not want those kisses to end. To want to be the last person giving those types of kisses.

Why did you want that?

“Sukuna,” you whispered, between kisses, clearly out of breath, “it’s late.”

Closing your eyes, you were the first one to pull away. Your voice was so soft, just above inaudible, and yet, Sukuna still heard you. He always did.

“Are you sleepy?” he asked, voice equally as quiet.

“No.”

Sukuna kissed your eyelid, so gently, like he thought you could disappear at any given moment. And, had your eyes been open, you would’ve noticed the melancholic look on his face. The furrow of his brows. The softness of his eyes. He looked like a child about to cry after getting scolded for doing wrong. God, he was a grown man, and yet, he had never felt so little.

“Are you tired?”

You opened your eyes, glancing up at Sukuna, “If I asked you to stay the night, . . would you?”

“Is that what you want?”

“. . .” You might’ve been only half-awake, and also rather tipsy, but you still fully registered Sukuna’s words. In the end, it was you who chose not to answer, because you simply couldn’t.

Sukuna swallowed the lump in his throat, avoiding your eye contact. “I would stay.”

“In that case, I am tired.”

“. . .That would make the two of us.”

That night, as Sukuna laid awake in your bed, with his arms around you, and his breathing even, he didn’t get a wink of sleep. How could he, when you broke his heart without even knowing you were responsible for it in the first place? Sukuna wasn’t confused by what was said, he was confused by what was unsaid. It wasn’t easy when his heart wanted you whilst his brain said “no”.

It’s tough saying “I love you” to someone who doesn’t even know what those words mean.

Naoki came over to your apartment the next day, just like he said he would. You two lounged around, gossiped about annoying co-workers and bosses, sipped on lemonade, and overall, were having a grand ol’ time. Sukuna wasn’t at the apartment, he was out doing something you didn’t bother asking about.

One thing led to another, and all of a sudden, you and Naoki were talking about feelings. It all happened so fast, you didn’t even notice that Naoki had asked you to be his girlfriend until you found yourself drifting to the thought of Sukuna. Of course, even when someone’s asking you to get into a relationship with them, you obviously have to go thinking about another man. Of course.

But you bit your tongue, and reminded yourself that Sukuna was probably better off without you. You were just too confused, and too scared. You felt obligated to say “yes” to Naoki, and so you did.

What you didn’t expect was for Naoki to place a chaste kiss on your lips right afterwards. Like, immediately afterwards. You were too stunned to kiss back, not like you would’ve anyway.

You blinked, once, twice, thrice, before you could form an answer. “I—Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that kind of thing?”

“Oh, ah, sorry. I got a bit excited.” Naoki pulled away from you with an apologetic look on his reddening face.

After being with Sukuna, it became a sort of reflex or an instinct to you; so you didn’t even notice that you had wiped your mouth after Naoki kissed you until he pointed it out himself, a clearly embarrassed expression on his face.

“Was it that bad of a mistake? That you had to wipe it off?” Naoki tried to joke, but he cringed at himself afterwards.

“Oh, uhm. . . Sorry, old habits die hard, huh?” You laughed nervously, trying to save the mood.

“. . .Anyways, I’m really glad it’s you that I’ve gotten now.” Naoki smiled. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful—ever since that night at the bar—but up close is a whole ‘nother story.”

“O-oh! Thank you, that’s . . . really nice of you to say,” you smiled.

Sukuna was never a man of words. He never told you how good you looked or dressed. Rather, he showed you. It was obvious from the way his stare always seemed to linger at your lips, the way he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face, the way he leaned closer to your face when in conversation. Sukuna stopped doing a lot of those things when Naoki came along, and you longed for them ever since.

“No problem! I’m sure you hear it pretty often, anyways—”

Naoki was cut off by the abrupt sound of the door being unlocked, opened, and then shut. Were you expecting someone else today? You swore you only invited Naoki over. The both of you were quick to turn your heads and face the direction of the door, where you found Sukuna standing. Thing is . . . he wasn’t alone.

Your eyes flickered up to meet Eileen’s, who was dressed in a very “date-like” outfit. Mere eye contact, and you felt your whole world crash down. Was Sukuna actually interested in Eileen? You knew that you had played Cupid for them the last few days, but you were mainly joking, since you knew Eileen was far from Sukuna’s type. You were a clear hypocrite; it hurt you to see he had actually taken your suggestion.

Eileen—opposite from you—didn’t look at all surprised by the sight of you and Naoki. She smiled at you, but you didn’t feel any authenticity in it. Still smiling, Eileen placed her hand on Sukuna’s arm, and broke eye contact with you to look at him with a warm expression on her face. It made you feel cold, and sick to the stomach.

You had said, a multitude of times, that Sukuna was better off without you. But was Eileen really the solution for that?

“Sukuna. . . Why—What are you doing here?”

The look on his face was so, so distant. You had never seen him looking at you with such lack of emotion. It almost sent shivers down your spine. “Don’t be silly. This is basically my second home. And, besides, I thought you wanted us four to all have a double date. Didn’t you?”

Fuck, that was going to come back and bite you in the ass one day or another, you thought to yourself.

“Oh . . . right. But, we probably should’ve, like, planned this out, and talked about it. Not, like, just come barging into my apartment on a random Sunday, you know?” you joked.

“It doesn’t look like you’re busy right now,” Sukuna argued.

Naoki’s eyes darted between you and Sukuna. He sensed some tension in the air, and decided to do something about it. “Well, I, for one, think it’s a great idea. For us to all have a double date.”

Because it only happened a few minutes ago, you had no chance of telling Sukuna about your new relationship. But, seeing the emotionless expression on his face, it looked like Sukuna had already put two and two together and figured everything out himself.

“Uhm. . . Okay, sure. We can have a . . ,” you almost couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, “. . . a double date.”

Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest (and all you could notice was the way his muscles flexed in the tight shirt he wore), and in the process, knocked Eileen’s hand off his arm. “Movie?” he suggested.

“Are you into science fiction, by any chance?” Naoki asked Sukuna, passing him the remote as the pink-haired man sat down on the couch, coincidentally, right by you.

“Of course. We should watch Interstellar.”

“‘Kuna, oh, my God!” Eileen exclaimed, forcing room for herself beside Sukuna. “That’s my favorite movie!”

“Oh, really? I think it’s pretty entertaining,” Sukuna replied.

Bullshit. Sukuna hated sci-fi movies more than any other genre. He loved pointing out inaccuracies and other things of the sort. He wouldn’t enjoy Interstellar, never mind watching it, unless. . . You frowned, remembering how you had told Sukuna about Eileen’s favorite movie. Maybe he really was interested in Eileen after all, and wanted to have something in common with her.

You felt uneasy just by the possibility of that idea. But you knew full well you shouldn’t have. You were the one who called this arranged relationship fake in the first place, so why did you want it to be more than that? To be real?

It wasn’t fair.

Day after day, you had slowly begun to realize that maybe you weren’t as in love with Naoki as you had thought. Hell, you weren’t in love with him at all. He liked macaroni and cheese, you liked macaroni and cheese, but that was about it. He was nice, but he wasn’t even close to your type.

You wanted someone who used actions more than words. You wanted someone with charisma, and the ability to be naturally funny. You wanted someone who knew their way around a kitchen. You wanted someone who could teach you how to ice skate. You wanted someone to care about you and your health. You wanted Sukuna.

Fuck. You wanted Sukuna so bad. So bad. It took you years to realize, months to say it yourself, and an infinite amount of days to act upon it. You wanted Sukuna; you needed Sukuna. But it wasn’t right. And it sure as hell wasn’t just.

There, you said it. You said it all. You had ruined everything.

You wanted Sukuna most when you couldn’t have him. You were right, as much as you hated to admit it. Sukuna was better off without you.

Guilt had already completely overtaken your mind and soul when you suddenly realized that you had zoned out in the middle of everyone figuring out which movie to watch.

“Girl, hello?” asked Eileen, waving a hand in front of your face. “Earth to—”

“Sorry. I—I was just . . . thinking about something. Anyway, what movie did you guys pick?”

“White Chicks,” Naoki answered. “We decided since we’ve all seen Interstellar, we should just watch something else.”

You nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll go make the popcorn.”

As you stood up to walk into the kitchen, you noticed a pair of footsteps behind you. Turning around, your eyes met Sukuna’s; his face expressionless, save for the slight furrow of his brows.

“I can trust you with macaroni,” Sukuna began, “but I cannot trust you making popcorn without blowing up this whole city.”

“Seriously?” you laughed, but you didn’t stop him.

The both of you stood in the kitchen, as still as statues, quiet as mice, and watched as the seconds ticked down on the microwave in big, red numbers. You spent two minutes thinking about all the time you had ever spent with Sukuna, and the last minute thinking about Naoki. As the seconds passed, you found your body gradually leaning closer and closer to Sukuna, until the two of you were shoulder to shoulder.

When you looked at Sukuna, with forty seconds left on the microwave, it almost seemed like he turned to look at you simultaneously. His eyes were empty, and the light in them was faint. They looked more brown than they did red, which was a rare occurrence for every blue moon.

“I’ve missed you,” you blurted out, before you could realize what you were saying.

“You saw me yesterday.”

“That’s . . . twenty-four hours too long.”

Sukuna leaned down, till your noses were almost touching, and his breath fanned your face. His gaze drifted from your eyes, to the curve of your nose, to your cheekbones, and then, to your lips.

“Huh, funny. I feel the same way.”

Last time, you had not an idea who leaned in first. But this time, it was you. And you knew, for sure, because you wanted to. You needed to. And so you did. It was simple as that.

You had Sukuna’s face cupped in your hands, and your lips pressed against his in a frenzied kiss that made your knees go weak. Sukuna quickly kissed back with just as much enthusiasm, if not more, and held you by the back of your head. The both of you, controlled by no bounds and already having forgotten about the cousins in the living room, kissed with abandon.

Sukuna’s hands were cold, and rough, but they were gentle and gingerly when tangling themselves within your hair. It was like a routine, for Sukuna to twirl strands of your hair between his fingers. He usually did it subconsciously.

Your heart felt heavy, and you knew, with all your mind, that what you were doing was wrong. But . . . it felt so right that you didn’t know how to feel. You were weighed down by your conscience and your guilt, but even then, your heart kept calling out for a man who you knew you couldn’t have.

“Mmm,” you sighed, pulling away from Sukuna with a regretful look on your face. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck are you sorry for?” Sukuna teased, but he straightened up when he noticed the frown clear as day on your face.

“It’s. . . It wasn’t supposed to go this far,” you began, casting your eyes downward. “This was supposed to be casual, a fake relationship. I—I didn’t plan for it to be so realistic. And, besides, we’re both seeing other people, anyway. This . . . isn’t right, Sukuna.”

You hated to admit it, but you knew it was true.

For a second, Sukuna looked dumbfounded, an expression you rarely saw on him. But then his confusion turned to melancholy, and then to exasperation. “Casual? Casual! Was it just casual when we kissed all those other times? When we kissed in the dark, hidden away from the world and everyone else? Was it just casual when we made macaroni and cheese together? Like you’ve always dreamed of? You can try all you fucking want to pretend none of that shit happened. But guess what? They still did. And, you know—fuck. Forget it. This whole relationship has been far from casual.”

Your mouth opened and closed, but for a few moments, no sound came out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” (You did, you really did have a great idea of what he was talking about, but couldn’t indulge it.)

You were hurt, more hurt than you had ever felt in your whole life. It was an awful, absurd idea, but you really needed Sukuna to understand that what you were trying to do was incredibly necessary. Sukuna should have never agreed to your stupid “curse removal idea” and you should have never brought it up.

But you did, and now everything was ruined. Sukuna was focused on you, and you were focused on him. At first, you didn’t want to believe what you felt about Sukuna, but you could only push those thoughts away for so long. You’ve made your bed, and must lie in it.

All of a sudden, you’re in a relationship with Naoki, while having feelings and thoughts and desires about another man whom you truly, truly loved. Your world was completely messed up, flipped upside down. You needed time to yourself, to become less confused. Being in this relationship with Sukuna for any longer would just be digging a deeper grave for yourself.

“Of course you don’t.”

“. . .Excuse me?”

“Do you seriously think I would date someone I had zero feelings for?” Sukuna pressed.

“Remind me how this is relevant.”

“How can you be this fucking dense? Oh, right, because you have no idea what it means to want someone you can’t have.” Sukuna poked a finger to your chest to emphasize the word “you”.

“Come again?”

“You have no idea what it feels like to be in love with someone since childhood and have them be completely oblivious to your feelings. I’ve watched you love and hate, smile and cry, and yet, you’ve never even so much as glanced my way.” Sukuna sighed, pinching the space between his brows. “You’re focused on anything but me.”

You were expecting it, but you were still surprised to hear it with your own ears. You had truly fucked up. “I—you—why didn’t you tell me how you felt before—?”

“Does it matter? You wouldn’t have felt the same way; I know. But whatever, you’re right. It was wrong for me to kiss you. You finally found someone who loves macaroni and cheese. Congratulations. There’s no reason for this fake relationship to continue. It’s done, we’re done.” Sukuna gave you one last look from over his shoulder, before turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

He couldn’t possibly be serious. You could not believe that Sukuna was really throwing away your friendship because of this. Of course, he had good reasons, and you would probably do the same if you were in his shoes, but. . .

“Sukuna. . .” you whispered, a last attempt at fixing things. You needed to explain, because right now, you sounded like the biggest dick in the world. But, Sukuna probably didn’t want to see your face ever again, and how can you possibly explain yourself to someone who didn’t want to hear an explanation?

As if by a miracle of God, Sukuna stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name, and turned around to face you with an indifferent expression painted across his features. “I only have one last question for you. Did you finally get what you wanted?”

There is a current heatwave where I live. And yet, I feel so cold without your touch.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst

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xxacademy · 1 year

Text

tender

husband!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: succumbing to injuries inflicted by a B.O.W you fight the mental and physical battle to recovery. meanwhile, your husband does everything in his power to support you.

any leon timeline works, except re2. i did have older leon in mind though <3

a/n: inspired by lil a snippet from an anon request, find it here. anyhow, i love how this turned out, i was 🥺 writing it. pls lemme know what you think <33

content//warnings: depictions of blood & injury, hospital setting, non-graphic description of an IV, pain medication, y/n is used ONCE, pet names (dear, sweetheart, honey), hurt/comfort.

harsh white light wakes you revealing an image of horror. your trembling hands painted with your own dried blood, hooked up to an IV and a pulse oximeter. dazed, you know you’re in pain, but it’s not registering. it’s like you’re floating, possibly in a dream. a bad dream. but the reality of your condition is enough to confirm this is in fact not.

there’s a small group of medical staff standing at the end of your bed, talking quietly amongst each other. “the bloodwork came back, she’s not infected. all though the acid is wreaking havoc on her immune system, sending it into overdrive. the patient needs to be monitored for at least another two days.”

one of the nurses walks over to check on you, first, he looks at the monitors at your bedside, then goes to place a hand on your forehead. he notices you’re waking up, your heavy-lidded eyes focused on your hands.

he calls the doctor over, who pulls a chair up next to you. “hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is soft and calm.

“w-why am i here?” you mutter shakily, unable to make out much more.

“you sustained serious injuries on an extraction mission against a bio-organic weapon. you came in contact with its lethal acid, which is primarily why you’re here. your ankle is broken and you have puncture wounds in your arms.”

you’re still fixed on your bloodied hands, images of what you endured flood back. it was so intense- the last thing you remembered is a sharp talon-like claw piercing your upper arm. it all went fuzzy after that.

“you had surgery early this morning, and we have you on a morphine drip to help with the pain. please let us know if you begin to feel ill.”

you respond with an unsteady nod.

“you’re gonna be alright.” she smiles sympathetically.

another nurse comes into the room walking directly to the doctor. their speaking is hushed. “doctor, there’s a man here to see the patient. he says he’s her husband.”

“we can’t risk exposure from an outsider, we can’t have visitors yet.”

“he seems antsy.”

“well, assure him that she’s okay”-

the room is dead silent, so you can rather clearly make out what they’re saying.

“bring him in.” your voice quivering.

their heads turn, giving you a look of disappointment. similar to the one your mother gave you as a child. a sullen expression of remorse when she couldn’t afford to buy you new toys.

they do not want to hold your loved ones away from you. but it’s what has to be done. after all, it could mean life or death.

you sigh. you’re in no place to put up a fight.

“i’ll talk to him.” the nurse whispers. leaving the room.

“i’m sorry mrs. kennedy, you’re just not in a well enough state for visitors yet.”

you respond with yet another dreary sigh. fidgeting with the ring finger of your left hand.

your wedding ring is missing. you know you were wearing it prior. you’re always wearing it. sometimes you would loop it around a necklace chain, but you didn’t before this mission. surely it was on your finger.

“-doctor” you whisper.

“yes mrs. kennedy.”

“do you have my wedding ring?”

your tattered and blood-stained belongings were placed in a biohazard bag. a nurse picks up the bag feeling through the plastic for a ring.

“it’s not in here.” the nurse admits, a touch of anxiety in her voice.

“that’s okay.” you exhale.

it’s not okay. your beautiful diamond ring was more than just a pretty thing. it was one of the only sentimental pieces you coveted so highly. hand-picked by leon, it was a symbol of his undying affection. despite all the odds pinned against your love.

wanting to cry, but your bloodshot eyes are dry. the medication numbs you enough to let the pain run by, but you still feel broken, physically and mentally.

the hours pass as you bob in and out of sleep. your wavering limb’s finally settling. nurses and doctors are always present, constantly checking your vitals.

the next day two nurses come to bathe you at your bedside. gently wiping the sticky dried blood from your skin. the other trying to get it out of your hair.

“thank you, i mean it, thank you,” you whisper, fighting to keep your eyes open.

it was a relief. the sweet, metallic smell was driving you crazy. it felt itchy and uncomfortable against your skin.

…

leon hasn’t left the hospital. confined to a chair in the waiting room for the last day and a half. constantly flagging down staff for updates on your condition.

“she’s doing really well, the blood transfusion took perfectly.” the nurse smiles reassuringly.

“does that mean i can see her?”

“not yet, but soon.”

leon sighs. “well anyways, thanks for the good news.”

he sullenly returns to his chair. the stress and lack of sleep painting his under eyes dark. in his grasp is a picture you two took together, one he always carries in his wallet. it was taken a few years ago and you’re kissing his cheek. it’s the only solace he can find in the depressing waiting room.

leon had fallen asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours. slumped over in his chair, chin resting in his palm. he jerked awake when his chin slipped. it was dark outside and the lobby eerily quiet.

3:47am

leon walks to the front desk heavy-footed and groggy. “my wife, y/n kennedy, is she okay?” his voice is grave.

“yes sir, she’s sleeping- and everything is looking good. but, you should get some sleep too sir, it’s gonna be a while until she wakes up.”

“-thanks.”

the pain of not being able to see you cuts like a knife. leon can't stand the image of you suffering and alone. but he’s borderline delirious from the sleep deprivation. he returns to his chair, lays his legs out across another, and falls asleep.

leon is jolted awake by a nurse tapping his shoulder. it’s morning- warm sun seeping through the windows and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the lobby.

“do you need me to move?” he asks, still half asleep. voice deep and raspy.

“oh no mr. kennedy, your wife is on the right track to her recovery. you can go see her now.”

…

you feel much more alert, the daze the blanketing your apprehensive thoughts finally lifting. they switched you onto a far less invasive medication, which was probably helping.

it’s been a week since you’ve seen leon, and about two of those he’s been here, but just barely out of reach.

whenever the nurses praised you for the progress you made- you jump straight to asking if you're well enough for visitors. In your defense, it’s been unbelievably hard going through this journey alone.

the door creeks open, a very common occurrence of your stay. but instead peaking through the door is your blonde-haired husband.

you immediately start to cry- tears welling up and streaming down your cheeks. leon tears up too, casting a glossy filter over his blue eyes. he delicately wraps his arms around you, careful not to inflict any more pain. and you bury your face into his chest, immediately staining his shirt with your cry.

“i missed you, leon, i can't believe you’re here, i’ve missed you so much.” you sob.

“it’s really you, you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you, dear.”

you take your time, relishing in the comfort of your husband's arms. he gently rubs your back, consoling you with his touch.

“how're you feeling?”

“ugh okay, i guess. my whole body hurts and i can barely move. but the doctors say i’m improving- so yippee” your deadpan tone emphasizes how exhausted you are.

“that’s what i heard. and look, i know it’s been hard, but i’m so proud of how strong you’ve been, sweetheart.”

“i love you.”

“i love you, too” leon squeezes his embrace around you a little tighter, gently kissing the top of your head.

you smile, the first one in a while. but it quickly fades. “leon, can i tell you something.”

“of course you can.”

you fidget with your hands pressing your face deeper in his chest. “i lost my wedding ring- i think it was during the mission. i’m so sorry.”

“is that really what’s on your mind right now?” leon chuckles.

you look up at him with, tears streaming down your face. “you do understand how much that ring meant to me.”

“of course, i know, dear. but how can i care about the stupid ring if the wife i thought died is actually alive and in my arms?”

leon wipes the tears from your cheeks, his hand cupping your jaw. “i promise i’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“okay.” you say sniffling your runny nose.

with a big yawn, leon stands up raising both arms up into a stretch, his shirt lifts up slightly showing off his abdomen. “i’m going to find your doctor, see when you’re coming home.”

you smile. it’s nice not being alone. you feel bad knowing leon anxiously waited at the hospital for days. but there’s an unfamiliar warmth in knowing how much he cares. leon had always cared about you- before you were even dating. that’s one of the many reasons why you married him. aside from the ongoing list of shared interests- he’s so protective, it’s one of his beautiful ways of loving you.

leon comes back to the room, “looks like they need to run more blood tests, make sure that acid is out of your bloodstream before you come home.”

you’re totally spaced out, it feels like you haven’t even had a chance to take in what’s happened to you. it’s all become a blur, taking in the moments a second at a time. you were so worried about the details it almost failed to compute that you were nearly infected by the very thing you swore your life to rid of.

like a time release valve finally triggering; anxiety washes you cold- it could have been the end. leon would have been widowed, and all your friends would have been at your funeral. your mind is playing devil's advocate. what if i don’t get better? are the doctors just hoping i stay positive?

“are you okay?” leon’s bloodshot eyes are nearly aching with concern.

“i’m scared.” your chest is sinking deeper with each anxious breath.

“why? why would you be scared?”

it may not make sense to you now- but having leon there was a sort of reality check. alone, you just survived. with him, everything has weight.

“i dunno… i just want things to be okay. i want you to be okay, i want to get better.”

leon rushes to your bedside, holding your hands in his. “but it will get better- you’re doing better, so much better! i’ll be there every step of the way. i promise you.”

you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. trying to hang on to his words.

you sob, absolutely overcome by emotion. “i love you, leon. thank you for being here, thank you for everything you’ve done.”

a nurse knocks at the door but you don’t let go of leon’s hand.

“mrs. kennedy- so sorry to intrude. but the doctor wants to do a scan of your ankle. is that okay?”

you wipe the tears from your face, trying to compose yourself.

“yes, of course, that’s alright, thank you.”

leon whispers “you got this, dear,” before standing up and sitting in a chair by the window.

…

leon has done everything possible to make the next few days easier for you. like ordering takeout and watching your favorite movies with you. serving as a distraction while you recover.

it certainly worked. he’s good at keeping you calm, and the energy light-hearted. you didn’t even think it was possible, given the grim reality of your circumstances. but somehow he can have your eyes filled with tears, giggling with laughter.

four days you’ve been in the hospital, and today is your last one. you’re able to stand up and the effects from the B.O.W are finally gone. granted you still have a long journey to recovery, at least you can go home.

…

after the agonizing hours of travel, you make it home. leon helps you into the house, guiding you to your bed. “i want to take a bath, i feel disgusting.”

“i’ll draw one for you, you want it now?”

“hmhm” you nod.

“sure thing, sweetheart.” leon tenderly kisses your forehead.

he runs a hot bath, adding a little lavender soap, just the way you like it. he walks you to the tub and helps you undress. he holds your hand as you shakily step in, slowly adjusting to the hot water.

“god my first real bath in a week, can you believe it.” you sigh, sinking your body in the bubbly water.

leon chuckles, “i know, you poor thing, those nurses really tried their best to help. but it’s never the same, is it?”

“…especially considering i was covered in congealed zombie guts”

leon laughs, “but look at you now, covered in…” he pauses to read the name on the soap bottle “…lavender dreams”

you both giggle, in love and delighted by each other's company.

“okay, i’ll leave you to it, holler if you need anything.”

…

“leon! will you fetch my bathrobe!” you yell from the bathroom. you hear his feet patter across the hardwood, “coming."

you stare at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your wet hair, inspecting the scars, bruises, and stitches that litter your body. it feels like you came home to a different person, a body you’re now unfamiliar with.

leon peaks through the door. head cocked to the side. “everything alright, baby?”

“i don’t know- it’s hard to wrap my head around it. i-i feel off.”

“c’mere i got something to show ya.” leon swoops you off your feet carrying you in his arms.

“what are you doing?” you giggle wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you’ll see.”

he delicately sets you down on the couch in the living room and sits next to you. he fumbles around in his pocket pulling out a little black velvet box.

“leon-honey, oh my god, what is that.” your eyes are round and doe-like, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

he opens the box, presenting it to you as if his hands were a clamshell, revealing a glimmering ring set in pearlescent white satin.

“for you- i know it was hard losing the ring, but that one was beaten up anyways. you deserve something a little nicer.”

tears swell, gathering in the inner corners of your eyes. chocked up and rendered speechless, you mouth the words, i love you.

he reached for your trembling left hand, sliding the diamond wedding ring onto your finger.

“i love you, most.” he beams, the words fluttering with tenderness.

“i-i love the ring, it’s beautiful-truly. but how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“get a new ring, you were with me the entire time…?”

“i have my ways,” he smirks, planning on keeping that little secret to himself.

leon holds your hand, admiring the way your hand looks adorned by his diamond ring.

“remember when we got engaged?” he muses.

“of course i do! you took me to milan, i should have known you were going to propose.”

“you have the same look in your eyes as you did then.” leon swipes his thumb along your cheek, smiling to himself, gazing into your eyes.

“and you’re as smooth as ever” you look at him through your lashes, pupils wide. “but really leon, thank you, means more than the world”

“you are my world.” his soft lips meet yours, kissing you gently.

somewhere in the crystal pools of leon’s eyes, you find the hope you were looking for. his unbreakable faith in you, alongside his never-ending acts of love, is reassuring.

hell, it’s not going to be easy, but at least you're not alone.

⭐️tags

@yourgentlegirlfriend

#academy fics✨#thank you for reading <3 #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy #leon fluff #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #husband!leon kennedy #wife!reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #resident evil fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

the girl next door 17

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“You’re leaving me?” Your mom whines.

“Sorry, Holly, they need to keep you overnight for observation,” Steve crosses his arms.

“But... you could stay?”

“What about her?” He asks, nodding over his shoulder as you sit on the bench against the wall, head down as you grip the boxes of pills. You haven’t said much since she woke up, you just stayed out of her way. She only wanted to talk to him anyhow.

“She can drive,” she pouts.

“I drove her here and I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I have stuff to do. We’ve been here all day and I didn’t exactly plan for it,” he shrugs, “you got my number, okay?”

“Wha-- I’m sick, how can you just abandon me?”

“Now, Holly,” he firms his voice and drops his arms, hands on her bed rail, “don’t be dramatic. No one’s abandoning you. There’s nowhere for either of us to sleep and you need rest if you’re going to come home. Look at it like this, I’m taking care of your daughter while you’re here. Making sure everything’s ready for you.”

“Hmph,” she grunts, “I... I’m sorry. I’m scared, Steve,” she sniffs though even from where you sit, you can tell her eyes are dry, “I’m going to miss you,” she touches his hand and rubs it, “these last few days have been... the best I’ve had in a long time.”

“I know,” he lowers his voice, “but you gotta get better and... take better care of yourself. You want this to last, right?”

“I.. I guess,” she concedes grimly, “can I... I get a kiss before you go?”

He nods and leans in. He kisses her cheek, ignoring her pucker, then stands. He gives a yawn as your mom blinks up at him. She obviously expected more and you can’t tell if he even realises her disappointment.

“Alright, sweetie, give your mom a hug, I can see you dwindling over there,” he beckons you over.

You stand without a word and approach the bed. Your eyes meet your mom’s glare. You don’t hug. Ever. You can’t even remember the last time you did. Maybe when you were ten? You look down ashamed and spread your arms, embracing her quickly and daintily as she just lays there.

“Bye mom, love you.”

She pauses and swallows loudly, “love you too.”

You spin back to Steve and slant your mouth. You know she’s only saying that because he’s right there. You cross the room as he bids his own farewell and you mom huffs and puffs mopily.

As you come out in the hall, Steve walks beside you. You’re startled as he touches your lower back. Again. It must be a habit.

“So, when we get home, are you going to try some of those pills?” He asks.

“What?” You look down at the handful. “Oh, uh, maybe...”

“The nurse said you should try. Even just for tonight. At least get some sleep while you can, you know?”

“Yeah, er, I don’t know.”

“Nothing wrong with accepting a little help. Especially when you need it.”

“Mm, I guess,” you shrug, “I’ll think about it.”

You carry on, following the halls and riding the elevator in silence. You chalk it up to fatigue on both ends. As you come out under the sky, the sun is setting. You follow Steve to his car and get in, resting the boxes in your lap as you rub your eyes.

He turns the engine and backs out. He grips the wheel and sighs. The air is thick even as the AC blows.

“Does your mom always talk to you like that?” He asks.

You’re struck by the question. You know you can’t tell the truth. Even if you didn’t know your mom would lose it, it’s too embarrassing. Besides, you deserve it. You ruined her life.

“She’s just out of it, I think,” you murmur. “Me too. I was worried.”

“You’re a really good daughter,” he says, “a good person too. You know, you can tell me anything and I'll believe you. I’ll listen, sweetie.”

You nod and chew your inner lip. He might believe you but he wouldn’t be able to change it. No one ever tried. Even when your aunt saw how your mother was, she only ran away.

“Seems like you could use someone,” he steers smoothly behind another car, “what... I hope it’s okay for me to ask but where’s you dad?”

Your heart drops. You shift and the boxes fall onto the floor. You bend forward to pick them up and suddenly, the car jerks and Steve’s pushing you back against the seat. You flatten yourself to it as your pulse pumps wildly. He’s at a complete stop as the car in front of him is only an inch away.

“God-- guy didn’t even tap his breaks,” he snarls as he keeps his arms out, his hand on your chest, cupping you.

“Uh,” you gulp and look down.

He glances over and retracts his hand. He puts it back on the wheel and clears his throat, moving in his seat as he slowly leans on the gas. You won’t say anything. It was an accident and awkward enough.

“I didn’t want you to hit your head,” he says.

“It’s fine, thanks,” you carefully bend again and reach down to retrieve the pills. “Didn’t mean to drop these.”

“No harm, no foul right,” he chuckles and pulls his hand from the wheel to rub his neck. “You can crash at my place if you want. Might be weird all alone in that house. Unsafe.”

He bends his elbow against the armrest as he drives with one hand. You lean into the door and stare out the window. You really just want to go home and be alone.

“It’s okay. I’m... an adult.”

“Oh, I know, sweetie, I didn’t mean to treat you like a child. I know you’re not. Trust me, that’s clear,” he assures you. “I just thought... pretty girl like you home alone. Maybe I worry too much.”

You didn’t think of it until he said something. You clutch the boxes tight and cross your feet together. You turn your head straight and watch the traffic ahead.

“I don’t think... guy don’t...” you don’t know how to say it aloud. You’ve never had to admit what a loser you are, it’s just been obvious. Somehow, he seems to miss that. “It’s a safe neighbourhood.”

“Sure, I guess you’re right,” he clicks his tongue. “Be weird being alone though, won’t it? You and your mom, you’re always together. Someone like me... I’ve been alone a while. Guess I’m used to it.”

“Oh, yeah,” you agree flatly.

“Sorry, that was... sadder than I meant,” he laughs at himself hollowly, “you know, I just never married. Always wanted to but did the military thing then the art thing and then I woke up and I was fifty. Then fifty-one and one and one...” he shakes his head as he slows down with the residential traffic, “if I can pass on any wisdom, sweetie, don’t let life run away from you. Don’t run away from it.”

“Erm, thanks,” your tongue makes a gross noise as you swallow.

“Just the wisdom of an old man,” he scoffs, “young girl like you, you got a lot waiting for ya.”

You turn your head and hide your frown. You feel even worse with his empty promises. There’s nothing for you. You’re too stupid for college, you’re too useless for a job, and you’re just a shell of a person. There’s nothing in you worth a damn.

“Sweetie, you okay?” He asks as he turns onto your street.

“Tired,” you answer; it’s the truth, just not the whole truth.

“Yeah, me too,” he yawns, “before you ditch me, how about you come have some dinner? You’re gonna need something in your stomach before you take those meds.”

He pulls into his driveway and you peek over at him. Your stomach growls before you can say you’re not hungry. You flick your thumb on the elastic band around the boxes. You can’t be rude, what if he tells mom?

“Alright,” you accept, “thank you.”

“You’ve been through a lot, sweetie,” he reaches over to squeeze your shoulder, “you don’t have to keep being strong.”

#the girl next door #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

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summerfox1988 · 1 month

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This is my first and last Dead on Main prompt. Any and all writing prowess has been consumed by drought. Not sure if this variation has been done yet, but:

Danny as John Constantine’s whatever, and he gets roped in to filling in for John. Shows up dressed in the above.

After AGiT, he was trying to help Clockwork figure out what went wrong.

Traversing through the Realms, he keeps encountering this weird dude that keeps getting into verbal arguments with random citizens of whatever city Danny is in that CW sent him to. This dude kept bartering horribly, and swindled his way out when he realized he couldn’t get what he wanted the proper way. Not liking the way this guy did things, Danny confronts him. Since Danny utilizes Proper Communication, he doesn’t get his ass handed to him by who he now knows is The Laughing Magician. Lame name, but Danny isn’t one to talk. Anyhow, turns out he was getting materials to figure out the same thing Danny was sent to search for.

Danny talks his way into a team up. John was Not having it, he isn’t fond of babysitting. Soon figures out that Danny can hold his own, and concedes. A few stops in alternating times and dimensions, they get a lead. Narrowing in on a whisp of CW’s power that he didn’t sanction, they come across Valerie Gray. She’s been using her stolen Medallion to traverse the Realms and finding teachers who can help her fight the supernatural.

She sees them and takes off, and they go on a what surmounts to a loony toon style chase. In the end they only caught up to her because CW managed to wrangle enough power into Valerie’s Medallion to send her to a Time Period where the people sucked. They save her, and John surprisingly talks sense into her. (He maybe brings up Asta, or some other personal story that gets through to her.)

They go back to the Ever Moving Now. They patch up CW, but by then time has moved on in Amity Park.

Danny took to staying in his unaging ghost form after one dimension made his human form ill. The Realms helped sustain him when ever they stopped to rest, so his human half was only malnourished and slightly dehydrated. (Frostbite will have a field day figuring that out, but we’ve gone on another tangent!)

Valerie’s time was stopped while she wore the Medallion. (After her self appointed quest, CW gave her a modified version so that her lost time didn’t catch up to her too quickly).

As they’d already separated from John because he came from a different dimension, they had this discovery in CW’s lair. Danny contacts Jazz one last time. He tells her what he’s done, and not to worry. He made a new friend who owes him now. They have a heartfelt goodbye. He couldn’t bring himself to do the same for Sam. (Whether she and Tuck moved on is up to you).

Valerie stayed behind in Amity, she wanted closure and to give it. Danny went back to the Realms. There were more worlds to help, and in the time he’d been gone Amity had advanced enough to where he wasn’t needed anymore. Not to mention his rogues had settled down when they realized that with Danny gone the humans only got more vicious in retaliation. If they couldn’t blend in, then they didn’t visit.

Danny goes through multiple self discoveries and emotional upheavals. He ages on and off and is no longer sure how old he is. At this point he doesn’t really care. About anything really. He’s getting better though. But since John was around most of his latter formative years, Danny emulated the man more than he should. Which is why, in one of his better moods, Danny got them matching pajamas. (The attached picture) That was a fun time.

Because Danny runs into John a couple more times on his adventures, they exchange favors and earn them in turn. Which leads to the scenario in which Danny gets summoned in John’s place.

Zatanna was trying to summon John for whatever reason. However, due to John helping Danny create his summoning sigil, John had finagled it to where Danny can get summoned in his place if John is unavailable. Danny Will get him back for this.

At the end of this, Danny has new friends. Along with a new favorite dimension. He pops in from time to time. Eventually for whatever reason, he winds up in Gotham. He meets Jason when he crashes through his window. Danny was heavily concussed the night before, and has a severe headache now. Yay healing factor. The lights hurt, he’s wearing his new glasses*. Along with his favorite pjs. When this brick shithouse crashes in and makes his headache worse. He gives him lip, and grabs one of his dropped guns. Normally RH is never that sloppy, but Danny’s wall wasn’t the only one he crashed through in that fall. Throw. However he got there by whichever villain/rogue.

Danny proceeds to use his powers to fix his wall and window. He kept Hood’s gun in hand in case whomever caught up. They didn’t, he gives back the gun. Patches him up and sends him off.

Jason tries to find him again, an unknown magician in Gotham, his Bat Paranoia demands it. Only Danny knows magic now, he can’t be found by Bat Stalking. He can however be found by coincidence. CW meddles, of course.

They meet, over and over. They get closer, and I am at my limit. Have fun with this whomever!

#because #danny phantom #dcxdp prompt #john constantine #Zatanna Zatanna mention #clockwork #valerie gray #red hood #jason todd #long prompt #dead on main

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lesbiansforboromir · 4 months

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Been scouring your blog to see if you have a specific take and i only managed to find the post where you said you are more for people coming up with their own meaning for Tolkiens work. anyhow, after reading you boromir post on how hope is his poison I am super curious as to what meaning you personally ascribe to it all. A lot of scholars will tout hope over despair as the ultimate meaning here (and the ultimate meaning of real life...ugh) and considering your very gut wrenching but meaningful takes on boromir i was just curious. Your thought process is fascinating from a scholarly viewpoint (which is not my strong suit) but also an artistic, emotional, philosophical, and human viewpoint. Whew sorry this ask is so long and disorganized! Have i mentioned I am not a scholar? :D

First off I love this ask it made me so happy to read I had to do so like five times before I felt qualified to answer it and then I spent like months writing this response which is over 4000 words now if you want to know. And, on that note, dw about scholarliness or whatever this ask has more desire to engage with lotr in nuanced ways than most tolkien scholars achie- (gets hit by a piano) anyway~!

It's also just extremely flattering that you're curious of my personal opinion at all so thank you so very much!

(this is the post anon is talking about for context)

As with all things, my answer has many layers. At the most basic and applicable level, and when taking only my Gondorian/Stewardship investment into account, I am engaging with the story for personal catharsis.

The fact that Gondor felt hopeless, that the enemy was merciless and invincible, that even those figures who were supposed to help had only judgement and platitudes to offer until it personally benefitted them, that Boromir and Denethor were isolated and generally condemned and that many only showed them pity after their deaths, feels extremely cathartically familiar to me and my story with chronic illness. I've spoken about this before here and there, but that is the kind of simplistic, energy giving, 'he's me fr fr' comparison that brings me uncomplicated comfort and inspiration.

But that is definitely not 'what lord of the rings is about' not even just to me, it's not even just what BOROMIR is about to me, it is an element of the story and worldbuilding that I have isolated and consumed but that still exists within a far larger whole. And that whole is also fascinating and compelling but in a far more esoteric and harder to define way.

BUT before we get into it, I do also feel the need to explain the limitations I percieve within the 'lotr is about hope over despair' narrative since you've brought it up but neither your ask nor the post you mentioned properly explains it and it'll enhance my point later. SO.

As far as my experience has lead me to believe, when people say 'lotr is about hope triumphing over despair' they mean it in a moralising fable kind of way. This is definitely the narrative the films latched onto, like a leech. Good characters have hope, lose it only to reclaim it again, teach others to have hope etc, and that is good of them. Bad characters are despairing and therefore have no hope, and they do evil deeds because of the despair and lack of hope. The Aragorn vs Denethor film paradigm.

But nothing within the books is anywhere near as cut and dry. As I said in the linked post, Boromir gains hope after having none (the hope that he can save Gondor by using the ring) and that is bad, it is something he has to 'pay for' according to the narrative. Meanwhile charmed and blessed Faramir admits that he never had any hope quite a few times, yet he is not punished for it. Theoden also has no hope and is explicitely going to war to die, but his death is not considered evil or selfish by the majority. Saruman is very hopeful, he's hopeful that Sauron can be reasoned with, that if they work together they can make a better world, but he suffers 100 indignities and then is killed by a cannibal! And most of all, Frodo also rarely (if ever) shows any signs of hope, he merely doggedly marches on regardless and in the end even takes the power of the ring for himself, essentially the ultimate evil act of desperation, but that saves the world!

For the record the idea that LotR is a fable-narrative of any kind seems exceedingly erroneous to me, like the idea that we are supposed to glean any universal Good Moral from the tale due to Tolkien's 'emminent wisdom' feels bizarre in and of itself. But at the very least this aspect is more complex, I think we can all agree.

But even more than that (and this is more perspective than narrative analysis I suppose but I think it bears saying), ‘despair is evil’ is a kind of horrible thing to teach! If the villainisation of people driven to desperate actions or anhedonia because of the deep despair they are suffering is what LotR is about then that’s.. awful! That sounds like a bad book and I don't think I'd want to read it. But lets put a pin in the concept of condemning people for despair for now, look out for the pin cus it’ll be coming back later.

FOR NOW lets get back on topic, if I don't think LotR is 'about' hope triumphing over despair, what do I think it's about?

Well. I know what I'm about to do appears highly out of character for me so please remain calm and gird yourself before I say this but; Let us start with hearing what Tolkien had to say on the subject.

I do not think that even Power or Domination is the real centre of my story. It provides the theme of a War, about something dark and threatening enough to seem at that time of supreme importance, but that is mainly 'a setting' for characters to show themselves. The real theme for me is about something much more permanent and difficult: Death and Immortality: the mystery of the love of the world in the hearts of a race 'doomed' to leave and seemingly lose it; the anguish in the hearts of a race 'doomed' not to leave it, until its whole evil-aroused story is complete.

(this quote is actually from a letter to a fan who suggested lotr was an allegory for atomic power and he was pretty mean and dismissive about it in reply, it's kind of funny)

Now I've been a bit glib about this in the past, along the lines of 'tolkien's own opinion on what his book was about changed for every year of his life and by the time all his friends started dying around him it became about death, what a surprise' mainly because, again, we've had enough people caring about Tolkien's opinions to do us for the rest of civilisation. But I've always known this glib comment to be pretty baseless and unconsidered, since death was a major aspect of his life from his earliest childhood and it makes sense for that to have been a large part of his work. And since I am being sincere I will, just this once, take Tolkien's hand instead of ignoring him.

For him, the theme of his book was not power or domination (or the evils of war or hope over despair), it was about death. It was about people trying to deal with the realities of death existing for them, not existing for others, and what love (loving the world) meant in that context.

On it's surface I find this quote kind of clinical in it's first impression. There's a prescriptiveness to it that does not inspire me, which isn't surprising since this came from a letter full of veiled snootiness on his part.

But mostly, as a concept.. it seems pretty distant from what actually happens in the story itself, right? What aspect of death and immortality was the fellowship embodying? Boromir certainly died, but he was not looking for immortality and his death is far more concerned with guilt than the fact that he is dying. Theodred is dead already, but not even his father appears all that bothered about it and it's quickly set aside to focus more on the war. Denethor kills himself but his and Gandalf's last interaction says far more about despair and faith than death.

And then no other main character 'dies' at all, unless you count Gandalf. And the only main immortal character we have (other than Gandalf) is Legolas whom, whilst he does have quotes associated with his immortality, is far more invested in his and Gimli's relationship than anything else. It's no wonder people choose 'war is hell' or 'hope over despair' narratives over 'death' as the main theme for lotr from their perspective.

It also does not satisfyingly link to one of the most compelling aspects of the books as a whole; that of how they are presented. The thread connecting death and immortality to writing a story that is from in-universe historical accounts, editted and compiled by many subsequent in-universe hands, is there but hazy. The intense catholic-ness of the story is also intuitably related to death and immortality, but not explicitly.

In essence, death does not feel like the main theme of the books when you are reading them, at least I don't think most experience them that way.

However, in spite of all that, Tolkien's opinion on what his books are 'about' is still the closest I have seen anyone come to my own. Which I assume is hard enough for you all to hear, but imagine how I feel 😩

To me, LotR is most themactically consistent when viewed through the lense of Frodo and Gandalf's ever misquoted early interaction;

"Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought.’ ‘It is not,’ said Frodo. (emphasis mine)

It is not comforting to know that the suffering in front of you was always meant to happen, no matter how comforting the idea of a divine plan might be to some. And that is what Gandalf is offering Frodo in this moment, the relief of a divine plan and its ‘high beauty for ever beyond [the Shadow’s] reach’. But this is never comforting to Frodo in the books, the comfort he finds on his martyr's journey is in Sam. Indeed, it is actually Sam who finds comfort in 'the high beauty', this reminder that beyond all his own suffering there is an imperishable and eternal light that can never be dimmed.

But not Frodo, how can he? His eventual fate is to grasp the power of a weapon so unholy it sickens his soul, to do that which he has been told is irreversible and unforgivable, so that he can never be at ease or even survive in the lands he has loved ever again. The 'High Beauty' is what is doing this to him, what made the rules, what meant for this to happen, what he is doing this in service of. And Gandalf, whose soul will be present to see the very end of this tale, cannot possibly understand what it is for your whole life to be encapsulated by just your own small painful part of what Gandalf would propose was a beautiful and universal tapestry.

And lack of agency against the divine plan is precisely the narrative thread that ties every character together. To some it is a comfort, Aragorn and Gandalf and Sam are all gladdened and encouraged by the knowledge that there is some higher power ordering their lives, some greater beauty they are all a part of beyond any earthly pain or suffering. They are not in control and to remember this is a relief. It inspires them to better fulfill their ordained duties and drive themselves through terrible trials.

To others it is no comfort at all, Boromir and Frodo have no faith in the prospect that the divine plan will include success or happy lives for them at the end of their tasks. But it is a hopelessness and uncertainly that they both accept. They simply believe their duties must be attempted anyway, hopeless or not, even if it makes no difference to the outcome in the end. Lack of control is just a reality they live with.

And to some it is a horror. Denethor and Eowyn want to fulfill their duties, but these duties are torture. They demand loved ones die, they demand relentless fear and sacrifice, they demand ceaseless and hopeless toil. And in the end both of them are given rebellious breaks from these duties by the narrative, ones that are horrifying in and of themselves (and portrayed as wrong to one degree or another) but that are still extremely cathartically presented as attempts to reclaim control of their lives away from a callous divine. Even if, ultimately, this also was out of their control.

Merry, Pippin, Legolas and Gimli appear to have never quite had to confront the realities of their powerlessness before. But through the story they become intimately aware of it in ways that force them to make choices they are not ready to make. For Merry and Pippin, this leads them to ultimately empathise with Eowyn and Denethor’s positions, wracked with guilt and equally horrified, attempting to find agency in death where (it appears) none can be found. For Legolas and Gimli, they confront the spectors of lack of agency/death for the first time in the narrative (sea-longing and the Paths of the Dead) and are irrevocably changed by them, eventually leading them both to attempt to circumvent their fates by illegally sailing to the uttermost west. Obviously fandom likes to believe they made it and live happily, but narratively it is also suggested that they died at sea in the attempt.

Now, at the risk of indulging in my ever-derided biographical criticism, I do think that all of these characterful arcs are represented in Tolkien’s own life. I feel comfortable saying that Tolkien was not a happy man by default. He was wracked with guilt from a very young age (wow a catholic with guilt, groundbreaking) but that guilt followed him and found new reasons to manifest until the very end of his life. And a lot of this guilt had to do with death, his father's death, his mother's death, his friend's deaths. And a lot of it had to do with fear of leaving unfinished or poorly finished business behind him at the time of his own death: guilt about how he had taught his students, about his scholarly work, his parenting skills, his so-oft-mentioned faith.

And being a man of faith, he would have experienced all these things as a part of the divine plan, even as they were also his guilt to bear. So, clearly, Tolkien's experience encompassed all of these characters, right? The despair and the torment and combined love-of and frustration-with the divine. The failure. He knew them all. And within all of them, as well as within the narrative and world itself, there is a wrestling, there is an ever-shifting complexity and multitude of different opinions to how one experiences a life that hurts in a beautiful world that you love but that you eventually must leave, with the sensation that you have no control over any of it.

However, a complication to any declaration of ‘what LotR is about’ is that it is a self-admittedly unreliable narrative. If you cannot necessarily believe everything the narrative is telling you, then suddenly additional layers of complexity come into play in determining the meaning within an already complex text. In LotR you can actually track which characters are recounting which parts of the story to Frodo or Sam at the time of writing. But it is also just obscured enough to make it ambiguous and to enforce the idea that this is a version of this original story edited and compiled for many generations after it's writing.

So not only are these characters and events transient, uncertain and being (sometimes bluntly) misrepresented by the narrators, YOU are now complicit in that. You are yet another interpreter to alter this narrative through your perspective, just as all works and all lives are interpreted by those who view them, with no way to control that judgment. You are also a character now, making it even more difficult to make definitive judgments about a question like 'what LotR is about'.

The clearest example of how this narrative unreliability and reader interpretation comes into play within the text itself is when Frodo describes the fellowship's entrance into Lothlorien to Faramir. He is being blindfolded in order to be lead to Henneth Annun, and he recounts;

‘As you will,’ said Frodo. ‘Even the Elves do likewise at need, and blindfolded we crossed the borders of fair Lothlorien. Gimli the dwarf took it ill, but the hobbits endured it.’

But we, as readers of the previous book, know this is a gross mischaracterisation of Gimli. He did not take issue with being blindfolded, he took issue with being singled out as the only member of the fellowship who needed to be blindfolded.

‘As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf. The others may walk free for a while, until we come nearer to our dwellings, down in Egladil, in the Angle between the waters.’ This was not at all to the liking of Gimli. ‘The agreement was made without my consent,’ he said. ‘I will not walk blindfold, like a beggar or a prisoner. And I am no spy. My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions.’

In this one moment Frodo has taken what was a reaction of justified indignation against racial prejudice, and made it sound like a minor tantrum over a shared burden. He has also used it to further aggrandise his own people in Faramir's eyes. And it is up to YOU to notice this, to review it in your mind, to choose what it leads you to believe about all characters involved. The narrative certainly never helps you, or addresses it ever again. You have to wrestle with what it means in your mind.

I believe this is the reason I have observed that every person who reads LotR and loves it and keeps rereading it feels like they are excavating something. There is a narrative under the narrative for every new pair of eyes on the tale. And that narrative is you, it's who your experiences and sympathies lead you to listen too harder, it's the story of the experiences you understand. And in that excavation, you are also reclaiming a moment of control for yourself in conversation with the story and whatever you have chosen to excavate. One might say these are all aspects of every story, but LotR is unique in its investment and immersion into the concept.

Because, to me, when Tolkien says his story is about 'death and immortality', what I read is that it's about the ultimate lack of control we have (death) and trying to empathise and accept the unfairness of what will become our inherently false legacies (immortality). And then just the vast spectrum of experiences and emotions those things conjure. It's not just about those things, it is an attempted soothing of those fears and struggles, it is an offer of comfort or catharsis or applicability. It is also an acknowledgement of the love that drives you and that you will eventually grieve.

Frodo leaves the shire to save it because he loves it, but he knows the entire time he will never be able to fully return. He is frustrated, it hurts, but a piece of the Shire in Sam comes with him and whilst it cannot save him, Frodo is still comforted.

Sam leaves the Shire because he loves Frodo, and he loves the high beauty as embodied by elves and magic and history. He also knows implicitly that this is a task he cannot refuse, but these things comfort him. He is glad to be guided and strengthened to even greater feats the more he trusts in a higher power, but he has a life and a family in the end. And if that is what the Higher Beauty decrees for him, where it has doomed Frodo to incurable soulful wounds, are we surprised at either of their choices? Can we blame anyone for their hope OR despair in the face of powerlessness? Oh! Look at that! It’s that pin I mentioned quite literally last century ago. TOLD you it’d be back.

And that brings us back to the question, what do I think LotR is about.

We are all powerless in the face of death and in writing a book about death Tolkien’s work has an inherent universal applicability in this regard. Tolkien asks an unconscious question within lotr, how should we cope with being creatures that love the world but that are doomed to die and leave it? And then he leaves that question entirely unanswered. This is what sets lotr apart and truly creates a story in which people can read narratives therein that appear entirely separate from death or any other recognisable theme others might see, without losing the sense of universal appeal. He offers multiple perspectives, including that of the dominant religion’s prescriptive decrees of right and wrong, but there is no solution brought forth in the story that saves anyone from grief or death or regret in the end. Not even Aragorn or Arwen, who are in essence the most holy and faithful characters barring Gandalf within the story, end without heartbreak and despair!

‘‘I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men.’’ ‘‘Nay, dear lord,’’ she said, ‘‘that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Numenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive.’’ ‘‘So it seems,’’ he said.

There is no such comfort!! … Or is there?

To me, the appeal of Boromir is in the solution he offers; the comfort is in the wrestling!

Aragorn and Arwen did absolutely everything they were supposed to do, unquestioningly, to the point that Aragorn goes to the Silent Street and just lies down to die because it’s ‘the right time’ and he mustn’t become ‘unmanned and witless’. And then he dies and he makes a beautiful holy corpse that cannot comfort Arwen or his children or his people for even a moment.

But Boromir dies with a smile. Aragorn promises that Minas Tirith will not fall, and that does comfort him, because that was the wrestling he chose, the love he decided to hold, the meaning he decided to find and fight for beyond all his powerlessness to protect it. So that’s the answer I find and it might be different from yours, but it’s in LotR to be read because the story is about the wrestling as much as (if not more than) it is about the end. The road DOES go ever on and on, after all!

So ye das wat lotr was about I fink thanks 4 askin 👍I REALLY hope it makes sense. I also really hope Anon manages to see it after it took so goddamn long to respond 😂

#chats #Anonymous #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #erran vs tolkien #boromir #long post

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scatterbrainedart · 1 year

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I know I've literally talked about this before already but I need to do it again more in depth because I'm deeply ill. Anyhow.

Crowley was there at the creation of the universe. He was there as nebulae sprung into existence and time came to be. He slipped the switch of existence itself. And upon hearing how it all would shut down in just a few thousand years he was really upset. Because the universe was precious to him, and he wanted to see it flourish to its full potential.

Even then, Crowley wanted to fight for its right to exist. To be. He cared about the world to point of falling. He spent 6000 years on Earth, learning about and cherishing all it had to offer. The world is morally gray by default, and it's the only place in Crowley's existence that is. Therefore, it suits him, I think. Much more than either heaven or hell ever have or will, at least.

But, in the end of season 1, all of that was about to be lost. And what got him to act in order to salvage it? Aziraphale threatening to never talk to him ever again.

Let me say this again. The world was ending. The thing he cared enough about to had fallen for was all about to be destroyed forever. But the worst thing to Crowley in that moment, the highest stake and the worst possible loss, was the loss of Aziraphale's companionship. Not even "we will all die or stop existing and therefore won't be able to see each other anymore" but "I will just refuse to talk to you for the rest of time". That was the threat. And it worked. It raised the stakes. Stakes that were already about as high as they come, and quite awfully personal.

Crowley care more about Aziraphale than he cares about anything else. And Aziraphale knows that, otherwise he wouldn't have trusted that the threat would work. But he did. And it did.

Crowley is also desperately lonely. Just inherently so, in his very existence. There is no one else like him, in the way he's so gray in a world so black and white. I literally have a whole other post planned for that rant though, so I'll spare you it for now. But yeah, I'd imagine he has felt like the loneliest being in existence for the fast majority of it. His loneliness comes across a LOT, but it's most apparent in those moments of desperation. Where he is risking losing that one connection he managed to make. Like a last ditch effort kiss, harsh and unpleasant. It hurts to have it taken away, on such a deep level. Just like there is no one like Crowley, there is no one like Aziraphale. At least not to Crowley, not by a mile.

Crowley's desperation to keep Aziraphale in his life is not only because of his love for him, but also because of how if it's not Aziraphale, it's no one. And just like that scene where Aziraphale eats food for the first time and reacts as if he's just realized he's been starving his entire life, Crowley now knows what it's like to have someone by your side. To be a team, a pair. And he clings to that like the famished cling to their first and last warm meal.

#good omens 2 #good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #gomens #crowley #good omens analysis #crowley analysis #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley and aziraphale #scatterbrained rambles #meta #good omens meta

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dyns33 · 3 months

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Only wastelands 4

Annnnnd here's part 4 !! I will be honest, I will need some time to finish this series. I know where I'm going, but I can't find the time or energy to write it.

Tag : @one-of-thewalkingdead @coolrobloxkid28 @thebumbqueen @rachmari @ilyvia @justme12200 @honeybunhottie @savanahc @gobbodoggo @bisasterbisexual @killingboredom @bonafideyapper @i-simp-for-mha-men @pixelatedprofilepic @ultimatreality @chattersstuff @harmfulb1tch @hellolettuce444 @miketastic25 @darkangel4121 @avidreadee123 @kaitttttttt @nullx1ety

It would have been a lie to say that Y/N hadn't prayed that Janey would be a better traveling companion to Lucy. The vaultie was not bad, but far too naive, talkative, not listening to advices.

Maybe she had been heard, or Cooper had been a great father, but the little girl was a true angel.

Obviously very clever for her age, she didn't need long explanations to see that the world had changed, that it was dangerous, and that it was a good idea to follow Y/N without asking too many questions.

Of course Janey still had some questions. This was perfectly normal. But she waited until they were safe, often before sleeping, to look at Y/N with her big, innocent eyes.

“Are we going to see dad soon ?”

"… Yes. He's not far away." the woman said as she checked her pitboy.

If the information was correct, Lucy was only a few days' walk away, and if Coop was still with her, then he would be reunited with his daughter soon. 219 years without seeing her, without any news, no clue on her location, and the almost evaporated hope of finding her still alive.

Of the things Y/N hadn't yet explained to Janey, the time that had passed since her forced separation from her father was one of the most complicated. The child probably thought she would find the man in the picture, smiling and with pink skin.

She nervously repeated that Cooper had been ill, but couldn't elaborate. Each time, Janey responded that her daddy was strong, and that he would get better soon, especially if they helped him.

Impossible to contradict this adorable child.

If she wanted to lie again, Y/N would have said that she wasn't walking as fast as she could because she wasn't sure what would happen when Janey saw her father. That would probably be a shock. Was she going to scream ? Cry ? Be afraid of him ?

It would break Cooper's heart. And she could repeat that she hated him, that she didn't care at all about his fate, Y/N didn't want to hurt him like that. Anyhow, but not like that.

There was also the possibility that he would react badly to seeing her. Vault Tech was so monstrous, they would have been able to clone Janey, or create a robot that looked like her, or even brainwash her at her mother's request.

He could also think that he had become too monstrous to approach such a pure being without harming her.

Maybe he had abandoned Y/N, thinking only of himself, but he would never do that to his own daughter. She couldn't believe it. The problem was that he would want the best for her, and he might think that was keeping his distance.

Y/N had imagined all these possibilities, but in reality, she knew perfectly well that they would just be happy to have each other again. If she was afraid, it was mainly for herself. For them.

She had been running from him for three years. Not that he seemed to be looking for her, but she had promised herself that their paths would never cross again or it would end badly.

She was not thinking of killing him. First because she had no chance against this cowboy, but above all because Y/N may have hated him for what he had done, she still loved him too much to really want his misfortune.

That was probably why everything was still very painful.

When the Pitboy beeped to indicate that they had arrived at their destination, Y/N observed the ruined building, Janey's hand still holding hers, awaiting orders.

Although fear kept one alive in the wastelands, one should never hesitate. Never.

Cautiously, motioning to the little girl not to make any noise, they approached what was obviously Lucy and the Ghoul's hiding place for the night.

With another gesture, Y/N indicated to Janey to stay at the end of the corridor, while she checked the place, until she found what they were looking for. And if necessary, she should flee.

As none of her reactions were normal, the vaultie seemed happy to see her, greeting her with a huge smile.

Sitting in a corner, hand on his rifle, Cooper didn't look so happy. Surprised, yes, nervous too. With a mixture of sadness and anger. Not really open to a reunion.

But he had celebrated their separation, he had no reason to want to see her again.

Y/N stared at his gun, wondering if he was going to shoot. No movement showed he intended to harm her, but he kept his hand on the trigger. Maybe he thought she was going to try something.

Slowly, so as not to rush him, and ignoring Lucy's long tirades about everything that had happened to them in New Vegas where they had not found her father, Y/N made Janey understand that she could come.

The weapon fell to the floor as she walked through the door. The hatred completely disappeared from Cooper Howard's eyes.

He just sat there, petrified by this vision of his past.

The poor kid shook a little, clinging to Y/N, not understanding what they were doing with these people. So Y/N got down on her level.

"This is Lucy, she was in a shelter like you and me. And… Janey. Janey, here's your father." she whispered with an uncertain voice.

The child looked at her, searching for a lie or joke on her face, before turning back to the Ghoul, who still hadn't moved.

It may have been instinct, the call of blood, or the great intelligence of this kid, but then she found her smile again, finally recognizing the man who was standing there.

"Daddy !"

While he had been stuck since their arrival, Cooper didn't hesitate for a second when Janey ran towards him. He opened his arms to welcome her, lifting her to embrace her tenderly, breathing a sigh of relief that he had been hoping for for two centuries.

Lucy didn't understand everything that was happening, but she placed a hand on her heart in front of this scene, knowing that she had to keep quiet for once. Nothing should spoil this moment.

"Janey… My lil cowgirl…" sobbed Cooper. "You're okay. You're here."

"I missed you, dad. Why didn't you come with me in the car ?"

"He… I told you, there was no more room. I was supposed to join you later, but there were problems. I'm sorry, my angel. I wanted to come."

“Mom said you left me.”

"Your mother… Your mother will have had bad information. I would never have left you. I would always come for you."

The sentence echoed in Y/N’s mind. A broken promise. Without really thinking about it, she touched the picture she always kept in her bag. If it had been of value to Cooper, it hadn't been enough for him to come get her.

Now that he had found Janey, that photo was forgotten. It was long forgotten, like Y/N, who no longer had any value.

At least this story would have a nice ending. Their paths had crossed so that she could bring back his little daughter. He had saved her, she had saved them. They were even now.

Still silent, she left the room, then the building, without attracting attention. Lucy was too busy crying, while Coop obviously only had eyes for his child.

By the time they realized she was gone, Y/N would already be far away.

Maybe the vaultie would want to follow her, thinking about using her pitboy, but there was no reason the cowboy would want the same thing. If his daughter wasn't enough, he would continue to search for the old MacLean, for Barbara, all those responsible for the end of the world.

But not Y/N. Even to thank her. He hadn't looked for her in 3 years, he had no reason to start now.

So it was a surprise when something passed around her at lightning speed, stopping her in her tracks as she was about to advance towards the desert.

It had been a long time, but she remembered that damn lasso and the habit of its owner perfectly.

“Leaving so soon, sweetheart ?”

Why wasn't he with Janey ? Why stop her ? Why not be happy to see her go, like last time ? He already had Lucy to annoy him, and even if he loved her, it wouldn't be easy to survive in this world with a child. Why make her suffer like this ? Why make her believe that she was important ?

She could ask him all these questions and finally get real answers, but Y/N was scared.

No sound came out of her mouth as she turned to face Cooper, who had regained his cold gaze. This blur between despair and hatred. As if he had a reason to be angry with her.

“Think we need to talk.” he said in a slow voice. “A real conversation, sugar.”

And from the man who hated idle chatter, long explanations, and really all human interaction, that was something.

#fall out #the ghoul #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard fanfiction

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artful-aries · 1 year

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How do they confess when the reader is oblivious?

For Dottore and Baizhu (seperetely)

Maybe reader is dark just like Dottore and accepts him for who he is. And for Baizhu reader is like hua Tao but just accident prone with a high pain tolerence,

Fluff plz

Hello hello!!! I hope you enjoy :3 I took a bit of creative liberty with the prompt, but the core principle is definitely there

Confessing To An Oblivious Crush (Dottore, Baizhu)

Dottore

He is an interesting one with an oblivious love interest

On the whole, it’s very hard for someone like him to even be with someone that oblivious; it would bring out his usual condescension. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, he would just genuinely see you inability to read between the lines as a lack of intelligence

Nevertheless, the feelings persist no matter what state he assumes your mind to be in

It’s hard for Dottore to think of a way to admit his fascination with you. He’s not scared by any means; he’s far too collected for that, but he is concerned that too subtle of an approach will be entirely missed, but too forward of an approach would chase you off entirely

Instead of confessing, he’s going to study you for a long time. For the purpose of collecting data of course

He watches the things that get you flustered, what makes you mad, disgusted, or utterly overwhelmed when it comes to social interactions, in particular, romantic interactions

Dottore goes as far as to slip you romance books or hire someone to pretend to flirt just to get the chance to study you under these conditions. All the data collected will go towards his own confession. He is a man of results; he won’t take action unless he’s sure that he’s going to get the desired outcome he wants

The data is…mildly concerning to him

He knew you were the oblivious type, but he never suspected the severity. It gives him the urge to dissect your brain to see if he can discover any anomalies between you and the average citizen of Teyvat, but he knows if he does this then he will sorely miss being able to collect other kinds of data that can only be observed while you’re alive

He comes to the conclusion that most traditional means will not work, and he cannot expect you to just “figure it out”. You won’t understand what he is saying unless he is painfully direct

He prefers this outcome anyhow; Dottore isn’t a very romantic man, and he would much rather get the troublesome part out of the way and open up the opportunity to study you more closely

So that’s exactly what he does; he finds the opportune moment under the right circumstances that he carefully determined through his research before giving a simple confession

“I would like to pursue a romantic relationship with you. Are you inclined to accept this proposal?”

The bluntness certainly makes his advance unable to be missed or misconstrued, which works in both of your favors

Baizhu

Initially, Baizhu is definitely one to take a subtle approach in “confessing”. He basically will hint around the subject, saying things in a way that could indicate he has feelings, but has a certain level of deniability should you not want his advances

He wants you, but only if you want him too. He’s also got a bit of inner turmoil as to whether or not he wants a relationship with you to begin with. Certainly not for lack of feelings; he just worries that he will needlessly worry or frighten you with how ill he truly is because of his contract with Changsheng. He doesn’t want you spending your time anxious over him

However, Baizhu quickly realizes that his subtle approach just isn’t going to work. You’re completely oblivious to the fact that he has been subtly flirting with you this entire time. He wonders if he should take this as a sign to stop pursuing your affections, but Changsheng insists that he follow his heart

At the behest of his companion, he will work on being less subtle; buying you gifts, setting time aside for you after hours at Bubu Pharmacy, and complimenting you in more affectionate ways

Not that Baizhu wants you to be sick or injured, but he is thrilled to have you come to his pharmacy for all of your needs. He will personally apply healing salves himself, and wrap up any injury while explaining to you the best method of care.

All of this at the incredibly discounted price of free. He refuses to take a single mora from you for your treatment, reasoning that the world would be poorer without you in it, and that he would rather see you spend the mora on something else you enjoy

If this still doesn’t grab your attention, Baizhu will be a little exasperated. Do you really not know how he feels, or are you feigning ignorance to let him down easy? Either way, he doesn’t want to give up until he gets a definite answer from you

Though confident in most of his endeavors, he’s a little nervous to just come out and say he likes you. He is frail and rather sickly after all, how could anyone find that endearing, let alone attractive?

As time goes on, and he begins to run out of ways to traditional court you and get you to notice how he feels, he will finally break down and just come out and say it

“(Y/N), I hold a lot of affection for you, and I would like to have a relationship with you. Do you feel the same?”

Baizhu nearly coughs up blood during his confession because he’s so nervous about how you may receive it, or worse, you ask for further clarification

Thankfully the Archons bless you with a bit more awareness this night as you stand outside the Bubu Pharmacy, a little dazed at Baizhu’s confession. It’s clear to him that you finally registered his feelings

The tension in his body visibly leaves when you accept and return his feelings, and he will give you a small but warm smile

His desire to break the contract that binds him to an early grave only intensifies now that he has you. He can’t break your heart by leaving you too soon

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #reader insert #genshin imagine #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagine #dottore #dottore x reader #Baizhu #baizhu x reader

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thelordofgifs · 7 months

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Congrats on the milestone! How about Maglor or Maedhros and jewellery, from the worldbuilding prompt list?

Digging up this old prompt for @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3! Have both of them.

"You will jingle as you walk," says Maedhros, "they will hear you coming for miles."

Maglor laughs, and tosses his head so that the dangling silver earrings chime. "A poor minstrel I will make, if my jewellery plays more music than I! No, Nelyo, these will not do." He removes them carefully, and lays them aside in the growing pile of precious metal heaped upon the side-table.

Maedhros, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his chambers in Himring, watches him with a faint little frown. "You must choose something," he says; "you cannot go to the feast dressed as plainly as a Vanya monk."

"My songbird's voice is adornment enough," Maglor says blithely, "and anyhow I did not come here to pick out my own gems. We must make some progress on deciding what to bring as gifts."

From the chest Maedhros draws out a long string of pearls, meant to be draped three times around the neck for the full effect. A souvenir from a summer Maglor spent in Alqualondë, long before the light of the Trees went out, or indeed before their father took it into his mind to preserve it. Maglor chose the pearls himself, going up and down a hundred beachside stalls to pick out those most perfectly round and white, and had Finrod his cousin teach him how to string them on a thread of silk before presenting them to Maedhros. How lovely they had looked set against his brother's fair skin; they had seemed almost to glow.

"These – these stones," Maedhros says, hesitant, "we could gift them to the envoys of the Sindar, perhaps."

Maglor swallows. "They are pearls, Nelyo," he says, keeping his voice light. Maedhros blinks at him, and he explains, "They come from the sea, from oysters. We used to get them from the Teleri." He pauses, and then, when Maedhros still looks bewildered, adds, "I do not think it good politics to gift them to the kin of those we slaughtered, whether or not they know of it."

Maedhros' face darkens. "You are right – Nolofinwë's host will murmur to see them, besides." He gives the pearls another troubled look and then sets them aside.

No use, Maglor has learned, in dwelling on these missing spaces in his brother's memory. They frustrate Maedhros enough as it is: and it is nothing personal, Maglor knows, that he has forgotten the pearls were a gift from Maglor. Their Enemy has taken from Maedhros things far more precious than the recollection of a trinket. It does not sting, that Maedhros does not remember.

Maedhros has turned his attention back to the chest before him. These are all his personal jewels, salvaged from their father's house in Tirion in the brief hours they had to pack before setting out on their ill-fated march. In the years of his captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother's baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros' laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie?

Maedhros does not much like to wear jewellery, these days. He says that it chafes against his skin, and on darker days that it puts him in mind of chains; occasionally he will consent to Maglor pinning back his hair with a bejewelled clip, or to an unobtrusive pair of earrings, but all his fine gold necklaces and ornate jewel-encrusted bracelets are useless now.

"Too few gemstones," he says now with a frown; "they were more marvellous than the metalwork, and would be better received."

Maglor thinks with some regret of a fine set of rubies his father had made him for his two hundredth begetting-day. Like all the house of Fëanor's best jewels, they were locked in the vault at Formenos, and stolen by Morgoth when he ransacked it.

"I know not how things are done in Doriath," he says, "but in any case the Mithrim Sindar are not over-fond of jewels, much like their Falmari kin. I do not think we need worry that our gifts will seem poor to them; in truth they will know not what to do with them. They wear flowers in their hair oftener than gems."

"It may be different in Doriath," Maedhros argues. "Findaráto says of Menegroth that the very walls are studded with jewels. Perhaps a gift of our own best would go some way towards earning Elwë's favour."

Maglor frowns. "Think you he will come himself, then?"

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, "but even if he does not we must not seem to be ungenerous. Many of those in Nolofinwë's host will be searching for any excuse to name us so." He passes his hand over his eyes, looking tired. Maglor only arrived yesterday, but he has his suspicions about how long his brother had gone without sleep before that. "We must choose presents for them too—"

"You gave Nolofinwë a crown," says Maglor; "surely he will be sated with that!"

The jest makes Maedhros laugh, as it would not coming from any of their other brothers, edged as it would be with resentment or mockery. Maglor is awfully, selfishly glad of that.

"Come here," says Maedhros, "you are distracting me. Help me choose what to give our own kin, at least."

Maglor settles on the floor beside him. "This for Findaráto," he says, picking out a necklace of sapphires that Maedhros never much liked in the first place, "it will go well with his eyes."

Maedhros favours him with a smile. "Well chosen," he says. Then he finds a very fine emerald, set into the front of a copper circlet but easily prised free, and examines it thoughtfully. This, Maglor remembers, is a relic of their father's first experiments with the art of capturing light; it does not shine with a light of its own as do the Silmarils, but catches and magnifies all the daylight coming through the window in a most pleasing manner, reflecting them back in every shade of green imaginable. Maedhros sets it aside, and when Maglor casts him a questioning look blushes and says only, "For Finno."

The next piece Maedhros draws out of the chest is a golden bangle, from Fëanor's filigree phase: the metal worked into the shapes of trees and flowers and leaping horses, studded all over with tiny gems in a multitude of colours. Their father was in a good mood, when he made this, Maglor recalls. The precision of the work appealed to him. Perhaps it was that more than the loveliness of the finished product that made Maedhros fond of it.

"You always liked this one," says Maedhros, his eyes warm now with recollection. "The number of times it turned up on your dressing-table, after I had spent hours searching for it! Here." And he slips the bangle onto Maglor's wrist.

Maglor tenses, forces himself to relax, and takes it off again. "I do not want it," he says, "thank you, Nelyo."

Maedhros blinks at him. "I cannot wear it," he says, "not a bangle, it will be – too tight." He shudders briefly and then masters himself. "You might as well take it, and then someone can have use of it."

You do not want him back, Celegorm spat once; all your mourning is performance only. You are quite content to sit here wearing his crown and playing dress-up with his jewels, in truth.

"I do not want it," Maglor says again.

"Káno," Maedhros says, very gently. He tilts Maglor's chin up to examine his face. "What troubles you?"

But how can Maglor tell him, I am not now the child you knew in Valinor, the little magpie who so loved to be adorned? How can he say, I too was sated with a crown? He cannot unburden himself to Maedhros, who so depends on him to be merry and bright and unruffled. He has lost the right to do so.

"It will get in the way," he says, "when I play my harp." Then he summons up a smile and says, cheerfully, "Five cousins yet to choose gifts for, and then you promised you would let me practice my new Sindarin songs after we dine! We had better hurry." And he turns back to the chest before Maedhros can object.

#asks #silmarillion #my fic #maedhros #maglor #echo-bleu #maedhrosmaglorweek #maglor is fine he's fine he's SO FINE ok

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