#I've cried more in the past couple days than I have in like. Years

[selvepnea]

It's only tuesday, but god what a week

[bunnyhugs77]

I literally cried so much reading Angel Eyes but it's so beautifully writen i loved it! >.< Please tell me u have some happy scenes from them🥺

The Honeymoon

𓆩♡𓆪 Part of the angel eyes! au but can be read as a stand alone.

𓆩♡𓆪WC: 1.4k

𓆩♡𓆪In my head happy means smutty! lol enjoy

Content Warning: Smut! Honeymoons, fucking making love, jk can't last, oral sex (f! receiving), begging, desperate, dom! jk, making out, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex (newly weds smh), mentions of public sex, reader is a bit bratty (but jk kinda likes it), light teasing.

The moment the two of you return to your suite from your couple's massage you immediately jump face down onto the bed of rose petals that are redone for you and Jungkook every night of your stay at the all-inclusive resort.

Your honeymoon suite was simply stunning. It was your own little bungalow with an ocean-side view of the very private island the hotel was on with your neighbours being more than 50 yards away.

You couldn't believe you went from saving a view like this into your Pinterest board and now you were looking at it first hand, although it couldn't beat the sight of your handsome husband who groaned a sigh of relief as he walked into the room behind you, leaving his crutches against the wall.

Rubbing his neck he praises the service he'd just received, "Goddamn, I think that's the best massage I've ever had--and I've been doing physio for almost a year and a half."

You weren't listening to him.

His skin was absolutely glowing, it must've been the oil they used or maybe Jungkook was just naturally this radiant. Your husband is hot as fuck, you wouldn't put it past him.

"What's that face?" Jungkook looks down at you with an arched brow. Just when you thought he couldn't get any hotter. In his stupid tropical palm-tree-themed button-down that was left open over the white wife beater that hugged his buff chest a little too well.

Your thoughts had gone straight to a sinful place and you were going to make sure to take Jungkook down with you. There's no way he didn't know what he was doing.

It felt like he'd been teasing you all day, from the way he licked the syrup off his fingers at breakfast to the way he moaned softly every so often during the massage.

"Want you to fuck me." You say, on your back, legs spreading on their own accord letting the flimsy material of your sundress give him a brief sight of the black thong that left little to the imagination.

He clears his throat, suddenly fanning his face. You'd never been this bold before. Even with all the sneaky hospital hand jobs and the quickies in storage closets, he'd never seen you get like this before. So... desperate.

"Yeah? What am I supposed to do about that?" His voice was smooth like butter and oozing with confidence. You pout and he just wants to kiss you, "Fine. I'll do it myself." You quip, dropping your hand down between your legs, but before they could even make contact, a strong hand is gripping your wrist.

"What's your problem today? You've been short-tempered all day." He walks towards you, close enough to be standing between your open legs. "Oh, like you don't know." You scoff and suddenly there's a light spank to your outer thigh where your dress had rolled up.

A whorish whine rumbles from your throat, never wanting to admit how much that turned you on. "Be nice." He warns and you roll your eyes, taking a deep breath before your head turns to the side, facing out the window to the beautiful ocean that reflected the setting sun.

"You've been teasing me all day, licking your fingers this morning, then moaning during the massage." Jungkook had to laugh. You were just so cute when you got like this, he could get used to it.

Carefully working you out of your underwear as he spoke, "I had no idea you got so hot and bothered this easily. Is this all it takes?" Bunching up your dress in his hands and pushing it to pool around your stomach as he slowly drops to his knees.

"Let me make it up to you," He purrs, and you can feel the warm air from his lips hit your center sending chills to creep up your spine.

With such little time to react to the feeling of his tongue working skillfully along your wet pussy your hands reached down for his hair, tugging gently. "Oh fuck, that feels so good." Your voice was airy and breathless as your eyes closed, too caught up in the pleasure to keep them open.

Jungkook was a passionate pussy eater, always has been, and always will be. Some guys try to overplay the role of being a 'giver' in bed, thinking it makes them some kind of next-level gentleman who deserves to be praised, but Jungkook was different.

He'd once come untouched just from eating you out and he couldn't look you in the eyes for a good two hours after that.

His soft grunts send a soundwave through your body and add an extra flame into your burning core, flooding with arousal. "Yeah, j-just like that." You moan, grip tightening in his hair and he has to stop his hips from grinding in the air.

His cock was throbbing beneath his shorts and it wanted nothing more than to find solace in the warm walls of your cunt. Meanwhile, he kept himself busy with the brutal pace he'd set with the wet, flat muscle in his mouth.

Flicking your clit rigorously until your moans became higher and more rapid. "Jungkook!-" Your chest began to dampen with sweat as it raised and fell with shallow breaths as you came undone on his tongue, but he refused to pull away until he'd licked up every drop.

Collecting the last of it on his fingers before standing and making lustful eye contact with you, sucking it off his fingers just as you'd imagined he would at breakfast this morning.

With haste, he shimmies out of the rest of his clothes while you toss your dress off to the side and out of mind. Your brain is only able to focus on the swollen head of his cock prodding at your entrance.

"My wife just has the prettiest pussy doesn't she?" The question was rhetorical, but the official title did things to you. It made you want to do bad bad things to him. The kinds of things that could put him back in that wheelchair.

Pushing in slightly then pulling out, the sounds from this action alone left you scatterbrained. "Jungkook. Please!" You begged, pursing your lips with displeasure and he chuckles.

With his arms caging you in at the sides of your head he pushed in, letting his arms leverage him down to drop a wet kiss on your lips, one that you hardly responded to.

Mouth slightly agape as your walls stretched around his girth, "Shit." You curse, "Are you okay? Let me know when I-" Cutting him off with your lips, making a sound of approval that prompted Jungkook to slowly rock his hips forward.

Your cunt sucked in every last inch of him until he bottomed out. "You feel so good, baby." He pants, the strained tone of his words telling you all you need to know.

He wasn't going to last long at all. Jungkook always tried his best to hold out as long as he could when he was with you, and he's sure he would have been able to before the accident but he just couldn't seem to control himself, especially not with you moaning beneath him like this.

"fuck-" He curses, rolling his hips into you with a steady pace. With every thrust your mind goes blank and your nose scrunches. It was a cute habit Jungkook hadn't noticed till recently. The way your nose would scrunch when you were close to your orgasm.

"I'm-" You warn and he grunts, hips rutting into you, deeper, slower.

"Look at me, Y/n." The use of your name was able to have your eyes fluttering to meet his. The eye contact was all too much for you, to look at him while you finished was overstimulating in every sense of the word.

All it took was one glance and you were moaning his name at the top of your lungs and reaching your climax, suddenly thankful that your neighbours were so far away. With one last squeeze of your walls around him, he felt his composure crumble, shooting his hot cum inside you.

Toppling down beside you. The both of you stare up at the ceiling with laboured breaths before turning to face each other.

"What if I just got you pregnant?" You snort, "You just always have something to say don't you?" He smiles, "I'm serious, you never know." Inching towards him, never breaking eye contact, "I think we can handle whatever life throws our way."

After the last year the two of you had gone through, that was most certainly true.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Halo (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Howdy, folks! In my slow sift through and re-editing process of fics on my laptop and in my notebooks, I've re-come across this fic. It's probably been written for, what, a year and a half? Two years? and I've waffled on it because I didn't know if I should post it. It's a continuation of Angel, but if you've read it and want to stay sitting in the angst, you can. It's still angst, but, it might make you feel better? Idk. I cried writing it and then every time I've re-read it, and I think id I tried to write more, I'd be a vicious cycle of tears. Not my best editing, but. Enjoy!

Summary: Matt is grieving your loss hard even months after your death. It's like a non-stop film reel in his mind. He's wracked with despair, and ready to submit when his angel comes to his rescue.

Warnings: ANGST (dead dove, do not eat), talk of death, wounds (stab wound, gunshot wound, blood--canon typical violence), a lot of crying, hurt comfort?, Matt has a lot of self hatred in this from guilt

Other Characters: Father Lantom, Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 1,635

Everything is too loud and too quiet at once. It’s been like that for the last couple of months since you died. His surroundings have been simultaneously amplified and dampened. He doesn’t know how to function. He hasn’t been able to figure out what life means without you. He doesn't feel as if he's living anymore.

Matt can feel when Father Lantom sits down next to him. He's been coming to church more often, as if his desperate prayers will change the past and bring you back to him. He can feel every last bit of the polyblend fibers in Father Lantom's black clothes, but it just feels like static to him. An indistinct haze. But even for as hazy as it is, for as much sensation as it is, it just makes Matt feel more numb. He tunes out Father Lantom’s words, and only when he feels his hand on his back does Matt actually pay attention to what his priest is saying.

“I was playing pool with a man once—a unique fellow with an insightful mind,” the priest starts with a breath. “He imparted words to me that were so incredibly wise it made a priest speechless. It was a simple question: ‘What is grief, if not love preserving?' As I let that sink in, he continued. He said that all those feelings—the anger, the sadness, even the hollowness, everything that brings a person to tears—that is all the unspoken love that you still have for someone. It’s a good thing, Matthew. Love . . . Love isn’t something you switch on and off like a lamp. It’s shouldn’t be—if it is, it isn’t love.”

Matt sits in the pew, his heart heavy, hurting, and crumbling.

“I keep thinking I’m going to find her at home,” Matt finally sniffles, his voice trembling. “I keep hoping that this is a nightmare and I’m going to wake up and we’ll be in bed and she’ll hold me the way she does after I have a bad dream. That she’ll make every bad thing I’m feeling go away.”

Father Lantom puts a careful hand in Matt’s back, and it’s enough to have him break down. 

“I miss her so much,” Matt weeps in the empty church. “I-I can’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“Matthew . . .”

“She died in my arms,” he sobs. “I couldn’t—I should’ve—I need her. I’m lost without her.”

Father Lantom knows there’s nothing more to say as Matt lets his grief take center stage, feeling the pain course over him in violent wave after violent wave rather than pushing it down. 

This is it, he thinks. This is where he dies, on some random rooftop.

And you know what? He couldn’t care less. Being a lawyer, fighting this fight, day and night, it’s pointless. How can he try helping others when he couldn’t help the person he cared about most? When she, dying in his arms, was comforting him? This is what he deserves—it’s better than what he deserves, he thinks. This is a relatively clean death—a little bullet hole in his flesh. You were all but sliced in two. He deserves to be torn to bits for what he let happen to you . . . He deserves so much worse. But, as he lays there, bleeding out, all he can thing about is how he never deserved you. How you would have been so much better off without him.

How you’d be alive had the two of you never met.

“Matty?” he hears a gentle voice say. “Matty, I’m gonna help you sit up.”

No . . . This isn’t happening. The voice, he knows it. He thought he’d never hear it again. 

(Y/N). 

“God, you’re heavy,” you grunt as you help him sit upright, a careful, warm hand over where he was shot as the other is firm on his back. 

“Wha—Huh?” he starts to groan, panic quickly starting to bubble. 

“Matt, calm down, it’s okay,” you urge. “I’m here, angel, don’t worry. You’re okay.”

He sputters your name in disbelief. “Is that really you?”

He feels how your fingers run through his hair and down to a loving grip on his forearm. 

“Hey, Matty.”

“Sweetheart, wha—?”

“Matt, I know it’s a lot. I know. But it’s okay. I’m right here.”

“H-How?” he asks with tears in his eyes. “How?”

He listens to you let out a sigh, how your brows furrow, trying to find the best answer to his question. “Divine intervention?”

“Y-You died, (Y/N).” He smells the salt of your tears in the air. “You died in my arms. Why didn’t you hold on?” 

“I tried,” you tell him. “I wanted to. You were so scared Matt. God, I—.” You sniffle and bite your lip, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I would give anything to forget the pain on your face, Matty. But then I wouldn’t have been able to see my favorite person.” You wipe the tears away from his cheeks. “Matty, I’m not gone. I’m with you always, you know that, right?”

“I couldn’t save you.”

“You saved the city and the world from a frightening reality. You’ve done it so many times, angel.”

“That doesn’t change what I failed to do.”

“Forever the Catholic—full of guilt.” You cup his cheek with your hand. “Matty, look at me. You are the best thing in the world that ever happened to me, you understand that? You made me feel so loved, so cherished, so safe, and so valued. I never felt more myself than being with you. Everything that you made me feel . . . Matt, that’s love. That’s what love is, what it does, and what it feels like. And I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer to have you realize that and feel the same.”

“I did, sweetheart, I felt it.” 

“Then you need to remember that feeling and let it guide you. I want you to be happy, Matt. I don’t want you to be sad forever. I can’t have that.”

“I miss you so much. I don’t think that’s ever going to stop.”

“It’s only a beautiful thing. It’s all the unexpressed love. We never get enough time with each other, Matt. But the best part of it is, Matt? We’re going to see each other again. It’s gonna be a while, but when we do?” Matt can taste the salt in your tears. “Be there as much as possible for one another, Matt. Okay? Don’t shut people out, don’t push them away because you want to protect them or because you don’t feel like you deserve happiness, because you will mourn that time you lost. Open up your heart again. It’s one of the most beautiful things you can share.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he cries as he holds onto you. “I don’t want to go back.”

“You know you don’t mean that.”

“I can’t . . . I miss waking up next to you. It keeps getting harder. It’s all crushing in on me.” He sniffles. “The apartment is loosing your smell.”

Tears roll down your cheeks at his distress. “Matt . . .”  you soothe. “I miss you more than I can say. There are absolutely no words in any language to tell you how much my heart hurts that I’m not physically with you every day.”

“Then let me stay. Don’t make me go back. Please let me stay here with you.”

“I can’t make that decision. If . . . Matty, I know you know that you’re not finished on Earth.”

“Angel . . .”

“Matty?” you say softly. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Tears stream down his face as he looks at you, his pupils locking onto yours for the first time. His hand carefully cups your cheek, afraid to touch you—like you’ll disappear. He gently touches your hair next, tucking it behind your ear before his thumb traces over your nose and cheek, finally brushing against your lips.

“(Y/N)?” he croaks.

“Hi, Matty.”

Holding your face in his hands, he leans in for the kiss of a lifetime, pouring every ounce of love he has into in.

“H-How . . .? I don't . . . You’re more beautiful than I could have ever imagined,” he sniffles as he moves to rest his forehead against mine. “God . . . You’re just . . . You’re here. You’re perfect.”

“Those are some super senses, huh?” you joke with a wet chuckle as you rest your foreheads on one another.

“I love you so much, (Y/N). I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

“Pull through for me, Matt,” you plea. “You’re not done yet, my angel. I know you’re not.”

“You’re gonna be with me, huh?”

“Forever and always, every step of the way. And hey—I better not see you again until it’s your time. Actually your time.”

“Promise,” he says with a soft smile, holding your face in his hands as he looks at you with tears in his eyes, desperately trying to memorize every last detail in your face.

“Love you, angel.”

“Love you more.”

He feels the burning, piercing pain in his ribs before anything else. Then, it’s the dried blood on his skin. Foggy’s muttering to himself in the kitchen about how he needs to find better friends that don’t dress up and prance around at night in ways that bring them two steps away from death.

When Matt’s eyes flutter open into a darkness he’s become accustomed to, tears begin to sting at his eyes as a fresh, strong whiff of your scent hits his nose in his apartment as if you’re walking by him like you’d done so many times before.

Forever and always.

While it hurts, Matt knows from that point on things will start to get a little easier. You're here with him, after all.

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[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

10 Jikook Fanfictions Part 1

I said I'd make a list before the end of the year and I kept my promise. Now, it's difficult to choose, especially when I have more than 300 bookmarks and unfortunately I also started doing that some year and a half ago. Safe to say, there's probably plenty of good fics I read that are now lost. Anyway, enough with the boring chit chat, here's 10 random jikook fics in no particular order and most likely, several other parts will follow, probably next year 😉

1. Dead in the Water

It's been a couple of years since I read this and honestly, I barely remember much, but what I do know it's that it had an impact on me. Usually fics that have death as a central theme end up resonating with me, but perhaps it's because I've always been attracted to more darker fiction. This one is gritty and there's a lot of pain and I must have cried a lot (those tend to stick in my head)

2. we're holding hands beneath the silver screen

I think this story is taking place in the 90s (you'll see that a lot of the fics I recommend are taking place in the past). I think I ended up reading everything ChimneyCricket wrote, but this one remained a favorite. Coming of age during a summer in Jeju in the 90s. Apart from the theme, it's the writing that made me stick with it.

I'm not the biggest fan of young adult stories. Or better yet, it's not something that I'd go to as a preference. When I do, it's more of an indulgence and thankfully, I found some writers (like this one) who can do a really good job with the genre.

3. Stockwell

Another writer that I've become a big fan of after reading one fic of theirs. And I think it might have been Stockwell that did it for me. I like that it's fanfiction with adult themes for an adult audience. And I also resonate with a lot of the cultural references and themes. I will also admit that this fic leaning into the enemies to lovers trope was a selling point because I'm a sucker for it. I can't help myself.

4. Burn for You

This is a complete self indulgence for me and I embrace it. Just like watching Bridgerton is a guilty pleasure for which I don't actually feel guilty (and the inspo for this fic). This story has everything and I must say the combination of lust, fear of revealing feelings, rumors, proper behavior and hidden romance is a lethal combination!

5. Light of a century

I might have recommended this story before, but it being inspired by Up on Poppy Hill is not just due to the plot, but the writing is able to evoke that studio Ghibli mood. This fic is to be read on a hot weekend afternoon.

6. Map of the Soul

This might be one of the most complex fanfictions I read due to the amount of research needed, but also in the depiction of political contexts and identity politics. Most of all, I like it because as much as relationships are a vital part of the story, there is an entire world surrounding the main characters. Events and other people that have also room to develop and not just remain props that advance the story.

7. Proceed with Caution

I don't know what snatchim did with this fic, but it's the only one I ever reread multiple times and I'll probably do it again in the future. I don't even reread books from my library, let alone fanfics. But Proceed with Caution did it for me. Perhaps it's because of the process of Jungkook inevitably falling for Jimin and even though it's a bad thing considering the context, it's so good. Maybe it's the image of Jimin with a bellybutton ring or maybe because the picture of hot Californian days in the 70s is so vivid, it feels like a nostalgic Paul Thomas Anderson movie.

8. Dishwater World They Said Was Lemonade

The description does not do this story justice because it's so much more than that. It's a canon compliant thriller with really complicated and complex characters and once again, a story meant for adults who understand that it's fiction. Unfortunately, judging by the comment section, a lot of people cannot distinguish betweem real people and characters. For those of you who might be fans of Korean thrillers, this story might be the one for you. It's also one of my favorite jikook fics as well.

9. souvlaki

Need I say more, considering the description? This is a self indulgence as well, but of a different kind. If I happily read tropey fics, I also like the ones that can sound like a uni course. Set during the 1997 FMI crisis in SK, any reader will get familiar with a socioeconomic and political perspective of that time through the eyes of the main characters. If you're only looking for romance, this one is not for you.

10. you wouldn't remember

I think littleflumes might be currently my favorite writer of canon compliant jikook. I think the author really captured their dynamic in its essence and the room left for fiction perfectly fills in the holes left in the last 2 years and up until the present. But what did it for me, not only with this story, but the others in the series as well, is that it's concentrated almost entirely on the two main characters, almost living in a bubble of their own in which their relationship can be explored.

[gildeddlily]

I need more content about Chuuya. like, Soukoku is the bsd couple with more works on Ao3, the most loved of the whole fandom, there are over 20 thousand fanfictions. there are tons of edits and AMV about him on tiktok and youtube, tons of x reader and fanarts. but it's (almost) always the sweet and a little dumb Chuuya.

Chuuya who's in love with Dazai and is begging him not to leave, who's mad at him for leaving the fricking mafia and "abandoning him", who's crying about being the second choice for everyone (fuck that, especially the "kouyou chose kyouka over chuuya"- you're telling me she chose to protect a 14ys girl over a 22ys man who's a mafia executive? oh sorry she should have left the child alone my bad), who is constantly manipulated by Dazai and betrayed (and content like this is made by people who love Dazai but don't understand him one bit- like yeah he manipulated the Sheep into betraying Chuuya but the Sheep were fucking assholes who didn't deserve Chuuya, and Dazai treated him fucking better than them- don't let me get started ab them or I'll never stop), feminized Chuuya, short and skinny Chuuya who likes to be the little spoon cause Dazai is the big strong man, lonely Chuuya who doesn't have anyone and basically dumb Chuuya who doesn't understand Dazai and cries to his sleep ab him.

fuck no, and I've been reposting every post that talks ab this. we want more Stormbringer Chuuya, and we don't have him 'cause not everyone has access to the novel or wants to read it. but Stormbringer is my Bible and should be everyone's.

We want more 15 years old Chuuya who carried on his shoulder a whole organization, the same organization that treated him like a damned dog, who got betrayed by the people he was sacrificing himself for the moment he tried to do something for himself, who was tricked into joining the Port Mafia (an organization he hated), who's easily read and manipulated and is aware of it, who never gave up on his humanity and worked hard and became important and strong for his new organization in a year as a teenager, who was able to made Dazai survive, giving him some sort of will to live, after like days of knowing him.

We want constantly dehumanized 16 Chuuya that got tortured for hours, that found out about his terrible origins and past, who sacrificed fondamental information about himself to save Yokohama, that almost got himself killed protecting the same person who betrayed him and fought his "brother" in order to do so, that lose the friends he called family and the only chance he had to have a life outside the mafia. Desperate because of his family's death Chuuya, in his painful corrupted form Chuuya, putting his life in Dazai's hands Chuuya, the one who beated the King of Assassins Chuuya, the one who was able to destroy an entire organization with his partner Chuuya. Port Mafia Executive Chuuya, who became who he was because of himself and with Dazai's help, who was able to become stronger even without him. Chuuya who suffered because of Dazai's deflection but understood it.

22 Chuuya who met his ex-partner after four years, stronger than how Dazai remembered him and still able to surprise (Dazai's "how fast!" when Chuuya punched him was hilarious and empowering, especially after his "I know all your moves" talk- and no, we "heard" his thoughts, so it wasn't an act stop saying that he had predicted that too when chuuya's like one of the only ppl able to surprise him) one of the smartest people in their country, who made sure things didn't change between them and made said smart and manipulative man cry from laughing over his damned rich girl impression. Chuuya who is the best martial artist and probably strongest ability user (Q is a child, and his "fight" with Steinbeck said a lot about his strength- crazy yes, but Chuuya could still beat almost everyone even without his ability) in the mafia, who could probably smash a wall with and without For The Tainted Sorrow. The Chuuya who's able to survive in a world surrounded by geniuses who constantly try to manipulate him (Dazai's manipulation is different than Fyodor's shut up), and able to be one of the most influential man in Yokohama without being a freaking genius.

Chuuya who has one of the best character developments I've ever read. Chuuya who has about him a lot of information (more than anyone else, we know you love him Asagiri) (please don't love him the way you loved Odasaku) and still gets mischaracterized again and again. this is an infodump ab what Chuuya means to me.

send ao3 links ty

[asgardian--angels]

Talking on the phone with my mom I finally broke down and cried thoroughly about the cancellation. I think I'd been holding it in for the last two days, or two months. And honestly I've been wondering all along why this show means so much to me. I am not queer, I am not neurodivergent, I am not POC or disabled or any of the groups that this show has been so important for in terms of representation and being treated with respect and dignity. I understand and completely empathize with all of you, and fight for this show and your rights worldwide alongside you, but it still left me wondering why I myself have latched onto Our Flag Means Death. I suppose part of it is that despite being white and cishet and the privileges that have always come with that, I have been treated like an outsider and ostracized my entire childhood and teenage years, for being ugly and having "disgusting" interests (primarily liking insects, reptiles, other creepy-crawlies - aka the thing I literally do for my career now). I was bullied relentlessly from preschool through early college and became a very lonely introverted person - I still am. Undoubtedly Our Flag Means Death gave me renewed hope that I haven't missed some key window for finding love or relationships of any kind that matter, as I sit here typing this at age 28 having never dated anyone.

But it had to be more than that. And with everything that's happened the past couple of months, and the last few days, I think it finally clicked for me.

Followers of my blog may or may not know that I am a conservation biologist, or pollinator ecologist, whichever hat fits best on a given day, they're quite close. I don't make many original posts like this anymore on here because my job is so busy. Basically, I do a variety of things - academic research, habitat management & restoration, and public outreach - to try and preserve biodiversity and ecosystems on our planet. I'm just going to say it: it's a thankless job. Nothing we do ever feels like it's enough, and burnout is common in our field because we sit with the guilt of feeling like we are the only thing between survival and utter destruction of planet Earth, and work ourselves to exhaustion. It's one of those jobs where your work is your life, and your passion is your work, and it's inseparable from who you are on a molecular level. We are often faced, on a large scale, with hostility, from people that don't believe in science and are more than happy to pull a shotgun on us, or rich old men in power who are content to watch the world burn for another penny in their bank account. There are days when sometimes it sinks in just how bad things are, and it's terrifying, and I feel like we will never be able to do enough, to change enough, before it gets catastrophic. It's paralyzing.

My ability to do my job is dependent on hope. Unwavering, unrelenting hope. Hope beyond hope. We have to believe what we're doing matters, otherwise we'd fall down and never get back up again. I'm no big-shot, I give talks to a few hundred people at a time, and make urban pollinator habitat on a local scale. Is any of that going to make a difference compared to the ramifications of a single oil mogul deciding to cut corners and cause an oil spill that kills millions of seabirds and damages ocean food chains for decades to come? If people in my field let thoughts like that linger, we'd be paralyzed to inaction. I have to hope that the people I teach choose to do something good with that knowledge, and go on to inspire others, or that the patch of habitat I make allows a declining species to maintain a foothold instead of going locally extinct. You just have to keep going.

And Our Flag Means Death got wrapped up in that for me. The Stede Bonnet effect, if you will. He set out to do pirating differently, treating his crew with respect and helping them grow. In return, they internalized that mindset, and it spread to how they interacted with others. It changed the trajectory of individual lives, and also at least began to change how the society of pirates operated as a whole. It was a beacon of hope that choosing small acts of kindness did matter, even if you yourself could not see the ripples it made. It renewed my faith that love persevered and would win. That we could all make life a little better for each other and ourselves through kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and mutual support. I think a good chunk of that is from Taika - these are running themes in his projects, and his films move me deeply for that. This show became in some, perhaps subconscious way, a source of strength for me to keep putting myself out there in my line of work to do whatever I was capable of to help the cause.

The cancellation was devastating, but the second cancellation (turbohell cancelation?) was even more so. Because now it's so clear that this is largely the work of David Zaslav and the regime he's built. It's petty, it's greedy, and more than anything, it's cruel. Indifferently, indiscriminately cruel, when one person at the top can have such power to make or break the lives of thousands, millions, beneath them, and though it would have been barely a drop in the bucket, a hand wave, to renew our show or let it pass to another streamer, he actively chose to shackle it to this sinking Titanic of a company WBD has become. I have always operated on the belief that you can do anything if you work hard enough at it, and believed deep down that there was some order, some justice in the universe, atheist though I be. We as a fandom did everything we possibly could, we loved this show harder than anything. The numbers were there, the awards nominations were there, the critic praise was there, and we were loud and loyal every single day. I felt like we could do this - how could we not win when we've done so much, and the show deserves it so much? Surely cause and effect will prevail.

This fight seemed small, though really it wasn't; we fought for the right of artists and creators to make quality, original stories and have them told to their natural end, we fought for diversity representation to be more than a token character - OFMD raised the bar so much higher on all fronts, we fought to shed light on the chaos and impending collapse of this industry silencing art and exploiting writers, actors, and all manner of production workers. It was a small fight from the outside, one that I really felt we could win. And I put my heart and soul into it, because if we could win this, if we could save this simple, kind love story about two guys on a boat, then maybe there was hope for the bigger, badder stuff too. It shouldn't seem an insurmountable task for several thousand fans to convince a streaming service that they'd turn a tidy profit to give our show one more season.

Yet we lost - through no fault of our own. I am so proud of us. But that really struck deep for me. If one peabrained CEO of a media company wouldn't budge on greenlighting a show that was in his every best interest business-wise - perhaps enough to even save Max from going under in the not-too-distant future - my god, what hope was there for changing anything bigger? The 'real' problems of the world? When no amount of ethos, logos, or pathos can penetrate these men at the top, where's that hope to fight? Lately the world seems like it's just going belly up all over. If we gave everything we could, and it still wasn't enough - if it could never be enough - what hope is there? It's like chaining yourself to a tree and the bulldozer plowing right on ahead. And I think that broke something in me. It shook me to my foundations because it broke my rules of how things are supposed to work. We believed hard enough, we worked tirelessly, and we deserved it for how important this show was to so many people. And it didn't matter. Our best wasn't enough. And that caused an avalanche of all of the horrible, scary things piled on my shoulders - we're losing the Amazon rainforest too fast to save, climate change is going to turn the corn belt into a dustbowl by mid-century, a border wall is going to devastate imperiled wildlife in Texas, deforestation and hurricanes on songbird wintering grounds could lead to entire species extinctions, saltmarshes are our lifeline and they're shrinking and we're still building stupid concrete stormwalls, invasive diseases will completely alter the composition of our forests to be unrecognizable to our children, and if you don't make every slide of this powerpoint utterly perfect and you fail to convince every single person in attendance to get rid of their lawn then you've failed and the world is doomed.

I've struggled with being a perfectionist my whole life. This didn't help.

That's where I was a couple hours ago. But I took some deep breaths. I know the world isn't fair. But I really thought if we could win this one battle, then we could win the war.

But here's what I realized. Everything we did mattered. It mattered so much. Because there's the show, and then there's everything that was birthed out of that show. The community, so many of us around the world who have been uplifted by Our Flag Means Death in a real and lasting way that we will take with us and spread to affect those around us. The Stede Bonnet effect goes global. We raised thousands and thousands of dollars for charities around the world, real people whose lives have been improved, or maybe even saved, because of us and this silly pirate show. We brought a hell of a lot of attention to WBD and their shitty practices, keeping the momentum going in a way that I think is only going to build - and I sure hope it leads to Zaslav getting deposed. We have demanded more queer stories, more BIPOC stories, more disabled and autistic and middle-aged stories, stories with exquisite costumes and award-worthy wigs, dear lord, and we are being heard. We have expressed such love and support for the cast and crew, showing them that we appreciate their hard work and that we will be behind them in their future projects. So many of them have told us how the show and its fans have changed their lives. We convinced Rhys that his career isn't winding down but winding up, and to be unapologetic about his wonderful weirdness - we've proven to everyone through this show that your weirdness is what someone out there is going to love you for, not in spite of. We rallied to help writers and actors during the strikes in a way that was taken to heart and remembered. We have been out here talking it through as a crew, and turning poison into positivity, for over two years now, and that impact is permanent. They can cancel our show, they can try and slap copyright notices on our fan merch, and spew bullshit excuses about the numbers not being there. But Our Flag Means Death sparked a movement, the biggest pirate crew the world has ever seen, using our power for good.

We may not have any more new material for our show for a while, or ever. But I maintain hope that when the dust has settled and streaming has entered its 'new era' that they'll remember us and throw us a lifeline. Because hope is a part of my genetic makeup, and even in cancellation my hope has been renewed that the fight is worth fighting, that our individual choices of kindness are having an effect, and making the world a little easier to live in bit by bit. No one can take from us what we have built out of this show. And thanks to pirating, they can't take the actual show from us either. Despite this, no matter the outcome, I am so happy we got two seasons of this wonderful series. That was more than almost anyone expected. The story belongs to all of us, and it will always live on. We did not truly lose this battle, because in the process we gained more than we could have ever imagined. And I know there's still so much more to come. That gives me the strength to keep doing what I do, every day.

To me, Our Flag Means Hope.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #9

(An idea I had late last night when I should have been sleeping)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas

✦

Lost Children Saved by the Lost

After being rejected by his parents and almost captured for experimentation, Danny escapes into the Ghost Zone. He wanders listlessly for nobody knows how long. It could have been days, months, years, but he wouldn't know how much time had actually passed.

He missed his friends, his sister, hell even his bully. However, the longer he wandered, the more he began to forget their voices, their facial features. Everything. He couldn't even remember what his obsession was. He wandered so long that the only thing he remembered was the aching and devastating feeling of his parents rejection of half of himself.

Eventually growing bored of the neverending expanse of the Ghost Zone, he takes a random portal and winds up in the DC Universe. Although, not in modern times. He finds himself hundreds of years in the past but couldn't find it in himself to care.

At least until he hears the cries of a child in distress. He goes searching and finds a little boy, weeping while curled up on the filthy ground, begging for his parents. The boy was emaciated, clearly not having had food in a very long time. His core jolted and ached at the pitiful cries. Was this his obsession? What was he supposed to do?

He only hesitates for a moment before he approaches the crying boy.(1) The boy flinches at the movement of shadows before looking up to meet the aurora green eyes of a man made of starlight.

"Hello, little one." He greets softly, automatically speaking the boy's language he heard only moments before. (2) "What's wrong?"

The boy is quiet as he wearily examines the man before him. Long hair the color of snow illuminated by moonlight. Olive skin that seemed to have a blue tint to it. The pointed ears and the loose, black clothes that seemed to have the cosmos playing across them. The most striking of all the man's features, however, were the rays of blue-green light flowing from his back like the tails of comets racing across the night sky. Despite the light they exuded, the wings seemed to absorb the heat from the air, letting off a cool but pleasant temperature. (3) The boy gazed cautiously into the man’s eyes, looking past his odd features, and found only kindness as well as a strange, deep-seated sadness. No matter how his mind said no one can be trusted, his gut said the man meant no harm. He decided to respond to the strange man's question.

"My parents," he began, stopping to wet his painfully dry lips. "They don't have money for food. They left me here because I am too much of a burden to keep."

The boy looked down, avoiding the man's eyes as if ashamed. His words made the man's core ache even more than before, vague and foggy memories flashing briefly behind his eyes. His core pulsed in his chest, urging him to do something. He didn't know what exactly, so he simply said the first thing that came to mind.

"Now that won't do. How about we look for others who would take care of you instead?" He said as he gently picked up the small boy and carried him cradled in his arms. The boy stares up at him as the man walked with his head held high and looking forward.

"Who are you, mister?"

The man's eyes became clouded as he mulled over the question before answering, carefully measuring his words.

"I've long forgotten what my name was. It's been so long since anyone's called me by it." He said, with sadness coloring his tone. They walked in silence for a couple of seconds before the man seemed to brightened a little. He looked at the little boy with soft, green eyes and a smile. "Why don't you choose a name for me, little one?"

The boy gained a look of concentration as he took the request seriously. The man continued walking in silence as he let the boy think, eyes forward as he searched for a family to take the boy in. His core was tugging him towards one particular house, practically singing as he came to a stop in front of the door. (4) He leaned down to gently set the boy on his feet before he himself kneeled to the boy's level.

Hands on either side of the boy's face, he kissed the child's forehead. Silently, he placed a blessing on the boy, a faint glow that went unseen to mortal eyes. He wished for the boy to know true love and happiness. For his parent's abandonment to leave no scars on his mind or in his heart. With that, he stood up once again and knocked on the door.

"Goodbye, little one. I've done what I can." He said as he turned to walk away.

"Wait!" The boy called out. The man stopped and looked back with a curious light in his eyes, the stars on his clothes seeming to briefly brighten as well. Once the boy saw he had his attention again, he continued.

"I thought of a name for you. If you'd like to hear it?" He askes hopefully.

The starlit man smiled, before nodding. "I'd be happy to hear what you've come up with."

The boy brightened up before opening his mouth to speak once more, hurrying as he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.

"What do you think of..." (5)

✦

Whelp. That was interesting.

Notes:

(1) Should the boy be an actual character that's established in the DC Universe or just a random child?

(2) When I thought of this, I was thinking Danny wound up somewhere in Ancient Rome. So, I think he'd be speaking Latin here.

(3) Comets are made of stardust and ice, which means they are also cold instead of hot. At least until they're warmed by the sun. I thought it was quite fitting, honestly. They also are often seen to give off a blue-green color! How cool it that? Ha!

(4) Danny's obsession is so ragged and starved after wandering for so long that it latches onto the first thing it could to give it a jumpstart. Protecting lost children (lost in one way or another) and leading them to families who would actually care for them. He is the one who urged Martha and Johnathan Kent to adopt Clark. He helps Billy Batson eventually find a forever home. This even plays a role in how Bruce meets each of the Robins. Jason will be the first and only child Danny ever fails to give a permanent home to because of Jason's feelings towards Bruce over his death. Danny adopt Jason?

(5) When I was thinking of what the boy would name him, I immediately gravitated to the names of stars, which seems pretty obvious considering how I described Danny here. Anyway, what I chose was Regulus because it's a blue-white star and the brightest one in the constellation Leo, also called the Lion's Heart. Not only that, but the Latin meaning of Regulus translates to "little king" or "prince". Not to mention it's also a common name among Saints. You don't have to use the name Regulus tho! Come up with anything you want to call him!

(*) Should Danny just be an immortal patron saint of orphans and lost children, or should he be upgraded to a patron God?

[leafyaa]

The Time He Lied

"Kuni.. Are you okay?" You asked as you noticed his distant face. He had been like this for the last few days, just suddenly!

He looked tired too as you could see eyebags forming under his eyelids. He sometimes dozed off during lunch time, leaning against your shoulder as you looked worryingly at him.

"I'm.. Fine.. Don't worry about it." He spoke, it was clear he wasn't being truthful to you and you weren't going to let it slide. He was your boyfriend after all and you were supposed to care for him like a real girlfriend!

You pulled him closer towards you, locking him into your arms and burying your face into his neck.

"I know you aren't telling the truth. You can't just say you're fine while looking like this.. I know you've been feeling bad the last couple of weeks but you look worse now.. I'm worried.." You spoke softly, you almost wanted to cry. You weren't enough to console him. He needed his mom. But his mom was unavailable. She was still mourning Shogun's death.

And you too. Not as much as Kuni's mom or Kuni himself but still you thought about it every night. About how you couldn't see the signs.. How you were not being a good enough friend to her.. How you couldn't safe her..

Those thoughts of your dear friend made you cry.. Kunikuzushi felt your tears staining his skin and he turned around, removing the arms from his body.

It was time for him to comfort you and he pulled you onto his chest and laid back on his bed.

"Don't cry N/n.. I don't want you to cry.." He spoke softly and rubbed circles on your back.

"S-sorry.. I'm s-sorry.." You cried out. You felt extremely guilty. You failed your friend. You were failing your boyfriend..

"I meant it earlier. I'm really fine. I was pulling a couple of all-nighters.. That's all." He lied. But you didn't know that. He sounded so sincere, tricking you into believing he was just exhausted from studying and insufficient sleep.

When in reality the last couple of nights he snuck out to a hidden Fatui lab that was established a couple of years ago..

All night long a particular doctor tested his concoctions on his body, mixing and matching until he got his desirable result.

He still had bandages wrapped around his torso but well hidden for no one to suspect.

Not even you. He didn't want you to see that side of him. So he lied. The first time he lied to you.

Did he like lying to you? Of course not! He hated it, he despised lying to you but he couldn't involve you.

So this was the start of multiple lies.. Lies that made him shelter himself from everyone little by little...

⇠ previous ⭒ masterlist ⭒ next ⇢

Notes:

First Memory Bubble!! This is set in 2046 as I've put on too of the chapter so that was back when Y/n was 15 and Kunikuzushi was 16. If you have any questions feel free to ask and maybe I can answer them (depending on if I have to reveal more than I want to).

Summary:

You've dated Scaramouche in your high school and college years but just as you wanted to announce your pregnancy to him he broke up with you without any reason. He left you to be a single mom for 7 years. But now that your daughter has been missing and abducted for a year and you've not been doing well and out of a sudden he showed up into your life again trying to apologize for his past mistakes..?

Taglist:

@swivy123 @kichiyosh1 @wwwrizchan @k1t0 @killumeow @pinkdreamerbailifflawyer-blog @samarill @xiaotopia @aqualesha @eattingshits @omoriaddict @mave-in @sketcheeee @xiaossocksniffer @elernity @ohmyfinggod @luvkvni @kunikissr @meadowofdarts @kaoriie @scaramochies @ekriis @rizakari @xxrexx @lovingveliona @magica-ren @lilybythevalley @theflatdoorkicker @lazy-sanns @reixtsu @fullw0rld @kunikuzushis-darling @childesgingerhair

[takerfoxx]

(After)Life: Why the Evangelion Pilots Should Be Left Alone

Hey, throwing this up here before I officially publish it in a couple days as both of a sort of preview and also for feedback. This is the first installment of that Evangelion story that I've been talking about, a sort of in-universe opinion piece to introduce the premise and themes and whatnot. But basically, here's the general idea: it takes place over the course of about a century and a half after End of Evangelion, where Third Impact turned everyone into orange juice (LCL, whatever) and made humanity into a hivemind. Shinji and Asuka emerge onto that beach in a post-apocalyptic landscape like in the movie, Rei herself later returns under very odd circumstances, and after many trials and tribulations they eventually form a throuple. However, as more and more people also emerge from Instrumentality and society begins to rebuild, they find themselves needing someone to blame, and the Eva pilots seem the perfect fit. And since Shinji, Asuka, and Rei are afflicted with a somewhat modified version of the Eva's curse from the Rebuild films (basically, can't age, can't die), they're stuck with it for a long time.

So, basically the idea is for it to be a series of short stories released out-of-order, each of them taking place at a random point of time and touching in with how the trio are doing at that particular moment and keeping track of how society is reacting to them, and vice-versa. So, this will be very different than the more serialized stuff I've done in the past, and a lot more manageable as a result. Any installments will come out whenever I feel like working on this. Anyway, here's the first installment. Let me know what you think.

Why the Evangelion Pilots Should Be Left Alone, by Alice Glocke

One-hundred and twelve years ago, the world died, and ever since then, we have been seeking someone to blame.

A world still reeling from the horrors of Second Impact. A world under constant invasion by extraterrestrial monsters beyond comprehension. A world fighting desperately against increasingly hopeless odds not just to recover, but to survive, to not go quietly into that good night, to plant its feet and declare into the face of God himself that it not only existed, but would continue to exist, and woe be to all that would seek its destruction.

In this, it failed, and the world died.

In many ways, the horrors of Third Impact are less of a scar and more of an open wound, one bleeding LCL into our waters. Yes, we continue to rebuild, and life continues to repopulate and flourish. But though the brief moment in which humanity ceased to exist was now over a century ago, we still have those among us who were forced to take part in Instrumentality, only regaining their thoughts, bodies, and sense of personal identity through sheer force of will, and who had to eke out any means of survival that they could on a dead planet.

In the years following Third Impact, as society finally began to reconstruct itself and climb out of the muck into something that was at least functional, humanity has had to grapple with how to respond to the collective trauma that every person on the planet now shared. There was a great deal of righteous anger and a cry for justice, but with the entire SEELE Council still out of reach within Instrumentality, those cries went unfulfilled. Yes, a small number of NERV employees were found and taken into custody, but those were found to have nothing to do with Third Impact, with only that organization’s highest-ranking members working in cohorts with SEELE. And those individuals also remained out of reach.

And then, everything changed. Fourteen years after Third Impact, we finally had someone to blame. The surviving Evangelion Pilots had been found.

In a way, finding them had been a relief. So much bottled-up anger, so much unresolved pain, and those responsible were beyond justice. Now, humanity had the perfect scapegoats. Essential key components of SEELE’s Instrumentality Project, masquerading as fearless defenders of Earth while working the whole time to destroy it. Shinji Ikari, known as the Third Child, and son of NERV’s infamous commander Gendo Ikari, the man perhaps the most responsible for enacting Third Impact. And Asuka Soryu Langley, Second Child, daughter of one of the Human Instrumentality Project’s designers. And while there had been many to decry pinning the blame on those two, that it was unfair to place the sins of the parents on their hapless children, all of those protests faded away when Shinji Ikari made his fateful confession. It had been he that had been given the choice whether or not to allow Third Impact to take place. And it had been he who had made the decision to end the world.

Everyone knows that image of two young teenagers being led from the UN Council by their lawyers and bodyguards, being pelted with garbage from an angry crowd. Whether they saw it in textbooks, had it sent to them by friends as a meme, or even were one of those that watched it live, this is perhaps the most infamous image of the New World. And for a time, most felt that the anger directed at those two was fully justified. Certainly, the UN Council seemed to agree, finding them both guilty of aiding and abetting in SEELE’s schemes to end the world, Shinji intentionally and Asuka unintentionally. The two were then incarcerated in a “secure facility,” and that was that.

Since then, the condition of the two pilots has mostly fallen out of the public’s consciousness. No appeals, no interviews, no word as to what they were up to or how they were doing. Every single “Where are they now?” op-ed has always ended up as a rewritten version of the same events, with each one ending with “Shinji and Asuka: still locked up,” with the only significant change being the number of years between the trial and the newest article’s publication.

Which isn’t to say that they’ve disappeared completely, but rather they seemed to have ceased to become actual public figures and become more of caricatures. They appear in comic strips and cartoons as grossly exaggerated versions of themselves, usually with the destruction of the world as the punchline. They’ve become symbols, memes, representations of the guilt laid upon their shoulders, little more than villains straight out of a children’s story.

Which isn’t to say there haven’t been voices of support over the years. Asuka especially seems to have garnered a small but vocal following, pointing out that she actually had nothing to do with the implementation of Third Impact, and so forcing her to share Shinji’s fate was perhaps unfair. The phrase “Asuka did nothing wrong” has come in and out of vogue, and in time it seems that she has become something of a symbol of the unjustly persecuted. Even Shinji himself, who for so long shouldered the majority of the blame for Third Impact, has seen a turnaround in how the public has treated him, pointing out that perhaps placing the full blame for what had happened upon a child soldier indoctrinated by an evil organization of adult men is a bit unfair.

However, none of these voices ever gained much traction. Once the trial was over, most of humanity’s attention was directed toward just trying to heal, and there was little room for the Evangelion Pilots.

But then, nine months ago, all of that changed.

The hacking of the UN security files and the subsequent leaks of not only their own data on the pilots, but also all of the files that they had managed to recover from NERV, has been nothing less than earth-shaking. Granted, little had been revealed about the Human Instrumentality Project and SEELE’s designs that the public didn’t already know, though the full extent of their machinations had been troubling. However, it was the data on the pilots that had been the most troubling, and revealed how little we truly understood about the Earth’s murderers.

For decades, Shinji Ikari had been painted as a willing participant in his father’s schemes, Gendo Ikari’s heir anointed and trusted lieutenant. But now we knew the truth. He was little more than a child forced into taking part in a war that he wanted no part in and suffered greatly for. We listened to the recordings of his screams of agony, his enraged curses and threats, and his pleas for help on behalf of himself and his fellow pilots. We read the psychological evaluations of his frequent depressive states, his attempts to run away, and the lack of support that he received. We learned of his own father’s cold treatment of him, and how Gendo Ikari would psychologically torture his son to get him back into the cockpit of his Evangelion.

And with all of this came the truth. Shinji and the other pilots were deliberately abused. Evangelions were at their most effective when bonded with a broken soul. The pilots were traumatized time and time again in order to increase their effectiveness in combat and denied help afterward. In light of this new information, we ourselves were forced to confront an uncomfortable truth. Shinji Ikari’s decision to cause Third Impact was less the act of megalomaniac enacting his father’s master scheme as it was that of a suffering child drowning in a sea of rage and torment, desperate to escape the Hell that his life had become.

Who among us as children has not wished that the world would end at one time or another? Shinji was simply unfortunate enough to have the means to do so thrust into his hands when at his lowest, and he had far more reason to do so than anyone ever could have imagined. And by all accounts, he regretted it immediately afterward.

There is no justifying what he did, no taking back the suffering that he caused. But at least now, people have come to understand why, and feel that he had been unfairly mischaracterized by history.

But that was far from the biggest bombshell to come out of that leak. Just as everyone was coming to terms with what we had learned about someone so long believed to be a monster, we discovered something that pushed almost all discussion of Shinji Ikari out of everyone’s minds.

Rei Ayanami had survived.

If there is anyone among the Evangelion Pilots subject to more discussion, demonization, and blame for what had happened, it is her. And why wouldn’t she be? An artificial human, created by a combination of human DNA and genetic material gathered from Lilith, the secretly imprisoned second Angel, literally created to serve as Lilith’s resurrection and the one to carry out the Third Impact.

Rei had fulfilled her purpose. She had bonded with Adam, the first Angel, and transformed into an abomination. Those who witnessed Third Impact spoke of a monster, an enormous pale-skinned woman embracing the Earth. And there was little reason to doubt this, as her gigantic corpse had been found just offshore of the ruins of Tokyo-3 and sits in the Human Instrumentality Research Center to this day, alongside the recovered remains of the Evangelions themselves, the corpses of the Angels, and the last remaining pool of LCL, containing the souls of those who decided to remain in Instrumentality. Surely, if anyone deserves to be painted as a monster, it is her. And it wasn’t as if she were around to protest how the history books characterized her, as she had perished immediately after destroying the world.

Except she hadn’t, at least not permanently. She had come back, and had been found alongside Shinji Ikari and Asuka Langley. The whole time when the UN had been making scapegoats of those poor children, the actual monster had been in their hands, and they said nothing.

However, calling even Rei a monster had proven to be more complicated than anyone could have expected.

The topic of Rei Ayanami’s rebirth is woven into the enigma of her existence. Much has been made of her reincarnation as Lilith, while next to nothing has ever been discussed about Rei Ayanami the person, Rei Ayanami the human. And why would there be? All accounts of her painted her as a cold, emotionless being, as befitting her alien origins. What more is there to discuss?

As it turns out, there is plenty.

We have long known of NERV’s barbaric and, dare I say, downright blasphemous experiments involving the human soul, how each of the Evangelions literally had the soul of a person close to its chosen pilot embedded into its neural network. For Shinji and Asuka, it was their mothers. But what of Rei? What of this artificial person, created from a test tube, born from a vat? What person could possibly fill that role?

As it turns out, it was herself.

Three years after her creation, Rei was accidentally killed by Dr. Akagi, one of the scientists working on the Human Instrumentality Project. Her soul was preserved, thanks to its artificial nature. However, with her death, NERV saw an opportunity. Only half of her soul was implanted within a fresh clone body, while the other served as the core of Unit 00, the first of the Evangelions.

With only half a human soul, Rei’s capacity to experience normal emotions and form human connections was severely stunted, resulting in the passive, almost robotic individual described by those who knew her. She was likewise groomed to be utterly obedient, valuing little for her own life while carrying out her orders with no hesitation. And yet, despite these handicaps, connections did form. Notes from her handlers speak of a growing friendship between herself and Shinji Ikari, one that had NERV’s command concerned. After all, should she somehow break free from their programming, it could threaten all of their carefully laid plans.

This was further complicated by her second death, when Eva 00 became infected by Armisael, the Sixteenth Angel, and was forced to self-destruct before the infection could spread. Again, Rei’s soul was retrieved, but with no Eva to implant half of it into, the entire thing was placed within her new body. And unwilling to risk having a Rei Ayanami suddenly experiencing the full range of human emotions with no prior experience controlling them in such a critical stage, NERV using psychiatric drugs, tranquilizers, and mental conditioning to keep her confined within her customary passive and pliable state, right up until the end.

The topic of Rei’s latest resurrection has also been heavily debated. Certainly, her own recounting of the event has been less than helpful. We know that NERV had a number of clone bodies in reserve should she die in battle, but they were all destroyed leading up to Third Impact. According to Rei herself, a new body was formed by a “her,” presumably Lilith. Another time she claimed to have created the new body herself. But regardless of the body’s origin, following Lilith’s death, her human soul somehow found its way back into the final clone body, where she was later found by Shinji and Asuka, and remained with them for the next fourteen.

Part of the reason that the outrage against the UN has found it difficult to be sustained is that there is a lack of agreement on what exactly to be outraged about, as so much was revealed that turned everything that we thought to be true on its head, causing more confusion than anger. But perhaps the most revealing aspect of the leaks were what has since been dubbed the Pilot Interviews, recordings of the interrogations of the Evangelion Pilots following their capture.

Shinji Ikari’s were certainly eye-opening. Throughout his questioning, he was revealed to be a man haunted by his actions, someone who spent years drowning in guilt and who had only just begun to break the surface. He spoke of his many failed suicide attempts, of begging both Rei and Asuka to put him out of his misery, and seemed completely resigned to whatever justice he was to be sentenced to, though at times a passive-aggressive streak would surface, especially whenever the topic of his infamous father came up. Still, if anything, it was these series of tapes that did the most to rehabilitate his image.

Asuka’s, on the other hand, were anything but passive. If anything, she was downright hostile. It was clear that she did not feel that her and her companion’s capture was in any way justified, and felt compelled to explain her disdain to her interrogators in full, and often very colorful, detail. Nor did she feel the slightest bit remorseful for any part that she had to play in NERV’s atrocities.

There has been some debate if her attitude was warranted, with her defenders pointing out that she was correct, that she hadn’t actually had anything to do directly with Third Impact, while others claim that given the circumstances, her behavior reeked of haughty entitlement.

However, all of that was completely overshadowed by the third set of interview sessions, that of Rei Ayanami.

If Shinji’s were regretful and Asuka’s volatile, then Rei’s were downright unhinged. A far cry from the serene, almost emotionless person that she was said to be, this Rei was fully out of control, at times exploding with anger, screaming curses and profanities and death threats so detailed that they seemed less threats as they were expressed intentions that she would have carried out were she able. Other times she would collapse into a blubbering mess, wailing and pleading for forgiveness. Other times she would enter into a catatonic state, seeming to retreat within herself and not respond to any stimuli whatsoever. And still others times she would sink into a full depressive state, unable to respond with anything more than a few whispered, one-word answers, while frequently asking for death.

Certainly, the tapes of Rei’s sessions were disturbing, and to this day no one seems to know what to make of them. Is she truly the monster that she’s made out to be? An innocent victim? Nothing on those tapes seemed to indicate either way.

However, Dr. Anno of London-2 University seems to have what I feel to be the most likely answer. Rei was someone who grew up as an incomplete person. With half of her soul locked away in a gigantic bio-mechanical abomination, she was kept from experiencing the full range of human emotions, and thus never learned how to control her feelings when those emotions were returned to her. She then spent the next fourteen years thrust into a harrowing survival situation, where her only two points of human contact weren’t exactly the finest examples of emotional stability either.

However, as different as the three pilots’ reactions to their interrogators were, there is one thing that united all three: a fervent, almost desperate concern for the well-being of the other two. Rei was the most overt, with her episodes of rage especially largely spent demanding to see Shinji and Asuka and making graphic threats should any harm befall them, but Shinji and Asuka also frequently pleaded to be reunited with each other and Rei. It is clear that whatever their relationship had been during their time actually piloting the Evangelions, the fourteen years that they had spent together had formed an extremely close bond.

What followed next, we all know. Shinji and Asuka’s capture was made public, with no mention of Rei. Those two were then put on trial before the UN Council and found guilty, with the last time that the world saw them was them being led through a jeering crowd toward the waiting transports. And from there, they were to be taken away, never to see the light of day again.

However, we now know that the trial was, at least in part, a façade. An act. Almost a stage play. A deal had been struck with Shinji Ikari and Asuka Langley: take the fall for the Third Impact, and you will be reunited with Rei. And then the three of you will be taken somewhere safe to live out your days in peace. The world needed a scapegoat, and it was to be them. Naturally, they agreed.

At this point, the tide had fully turned in favor of the unfairly maligned Evangelion Pilots. Even Rei was starting to be treated with some measure of sympathy. But it was what happened next that fully won over people’s hearts.

As I said, we all have the image of Shinji and Asuka being led away from the trial burned into our minds. The sorrow on Shinji’s face and the resentment on Asuka’s. The featureless helmets of their bodyguards. The trash flying through the air, hurled by the angry crowd. But what nobody knew until now was what happened when they reached their destination, and when they were finally reunited with Rei.

The nature of the relationship between Shinji Ikari and Asuka Langley has, like everything else about them, been hotly debated, though it has been commonly accepted that they were lovers. And it was this moment that definitively proved that assertion, but with a new wrinkle: not only were Shinji and Asuka romantically tied, but Rei was equally involved with both of them.

It feels horribly gauche to comment on such an intimate moment, especially since it was no doubt intended to be private, but I feel that it was this moment that the world fully realized how cruel those grossly exaggerated portrayals in our media have been. These were not monsters. These were not villainous masterminds. These were people. People that loved one another, people that were willing to shoulder the blame for history’s greatest tragedy in order to protect one another, people that gave up everything just to be with each other. Yes, they had done terrible things, and yes, they should bear that responsibility. However, it is now clear that they are far from the monsters that history has deliberately painted them out to be.

But of course, it was not enough to completely upend everything that we had thought that we had known the Eva Pilots. It was not enough to smack us with the truth of Rei’s existence or her humanity. We were then confronted with perhaps the strangest revelations of them all.

And that was that the Evangelion Pilots were almost certainly still alive.

One hundred and twelve years have passed since Third Impact, and though people living past a hundred is not unheard of, it is still exceptionally rare. However, even before the leaks, people have pointed that despite the fourteen-year gap between Third Impact and the pilots’ capture, Shinji and Asuka still looked fourteen, when they ought to be in their late twenties. Was this the result of piloting an Evangelion? Some Faustian deal made with Lilith? A result of NERV’s experiments, perhaps?

Whatever it was that kept their youth, it persisted even after their incarceration. Shinji, Asuka, and Rei lived on under the watch of the United Nations for another eight years, and none of them so much as aged a day. What is more, tests ran on the pilots showed that their cells lacked any sort of molecular decay. Quite the contrary, their bodies stalwartly resisted any sort of damage at all. Any wounds were swiftly healed, any diseases immediately snuffed out, with even complete brain death being nothing more than a temporary inconvenience. A rather disturbing but revealing file revealed that all three pilots had attempted suicide a number of different times during the first few years following Third Impact, with Rei Ayanami especially taking painstaking notes on the various methods that she employed and their effectiveness, which was none. There was some speculation as to whether this strange regeneration would persist in the face of total disintegration, but no one was willing to give the go-ahead to check.

Regardless, the case was clear. Whether it be an undeserved blessing or an ironic curse, the three Eva pilots had been afflicted with some sort of immortality, frozen forever in time from the moment of Third Impact. As such, despite the decades since, they are no doubt living today, unchanged from those historical photos.

Unfortunately, there seems no way to actually check, as they are very much gone. As stated before, eight years into their incarceration, they simply vanished without a trace. A thorough, yet discrete investigation into the matter took place, during which a conspiracy sympathetic to the pilots’ plight was uncovered, with a number of UN staffers close to the pilots found to be complicit. However, no one could say where the pilots were now, as their point of release was known only to a small few, and deliberate effort was made not to keep track of them after they had been released.

Which means that Shinji Ikari, Asuka Soryu Langley, and, perhaps most unsettling, Rei Ayanami, the three most controversial figures of the last century, are currently loose somewhere in the world. Perhaps they are wandering the forests of the Americas, the deserts of Africa, or perhaps even returned home to Japan. Perhaps they took on new names, disguised their appearances, and are now living in some suburban home somewhere, or returned their old life from before incarceration and joined one of the many refugee camps in one of the cities slow to recover. They could be in a small Swedish village, in a cabin in the Australian outback, in a treehouse in the Amazon jungle, or any one of the literally millions of other points on the map.

Naturally, there has been much talk about finding them again, some wishing to make amends and publicly make up for the blame that they had been forced to shoulder, others feeling that they still had not repaid their debt to society and should be returned to imprisonment. And there are still others that do not care for either side, but instead insist that they remain a clear and present danger, that more was changed about them than granting them eternal life, that they are inhuman monsters fully capable of ending the world again and need to be stopped. But whatever the motive, something almost everyone agrees on is that they do need to be found.

And I am here to offer up a dissenting opinion. Regardless of whether you love them, hate them, feel bad for them, or feel threatened by them, the Evangelion Pilots should be left alone. This, I feel, would be best for everyone.

Whenever the exploits, positive or negative, of the pilots are brought up, there seems to be a sort of hierarchy to the degree each one is discussed. Shinji seems to be the one brought up the most, as he is still unquestionably the trigger-man of Third Impact. Asuka comes next, given everyone’s complicated feelings toward her and her swaths of supporters. After that is Rei, who, even before her survival was discovered, still occupied a very contentious place in history as the monster who directly ended the world. And then there is Kaworu Nagisa, perhaps the greatest enigma of them all, a half-Angel/half-human artificial being like Rei, created specifically by SEELE as a countermeasure to any possible treachery on NERV’s part, but was killed by Shinji Ikari before his plans could come about, and yet seems to have played as vital a part in Third Impact as Rei, but by the same token, apparently did not see resurrection like she did.

But there is a fifth name that is often forgotten in those discussions, a fifth Evangelion Pilot. And that is none other than Touji Suzuhara the Fourth Child.

It is not that Touji is totally unknown, but he exists in the public consciousness as a sort of footnote, a trivia question at best. Though he was selected as a pilot and given an Evangelion of his own, his Evangelion became possessed by Bardiel, the Thirteenth Angel, during its first test run, leading to its destruction. And though he survived, Touji was critically injured in the process, and with no Evangelion to pilot, he quietly left the program to fade out of history.

In a way, Touji was perhaps the luckiest one of them all. The early destruction of his Evangelion protected him from having to participate in the mentally harrowing battles against the Angels, and he was spared of being an active participant in Third Impact. Even afterward, he was part of the first wave of people to emerge from Instrumentality, even reuniting with most of his family and many of his friends, going on to live about as full of a life as one could in those desolate circumstances. And while the tides of history have mostly washed over him, some effort was made to locate him. During Shinji and Asuka’s trials, once it was discovered that he was among the refugees recovered from Tokyo-3, there were multiple news outlets attempting to seek him out for interviews. However, they were far too late, as he and his family were long gone.

And I know all of this, as Touji Suzuhara was my great-grandfather.

I have very little memory of Touji. Though he lived much longer than most, he at least was spared the immortality that afflicted the other pilots and passed away when I was six, and what little I do recall about him paints a picture of a quiet, reserved old man. However, in interviewing various members of my family, I was told of someone who made every effort to flee his past but was unable to fully shake its shadow. I heard stories of bullying and harassment in those early refugee camps, of the other survivors trying to blame him and his family for what had happened, much as Shinji and Asuka would be publicly blamed later. It got to the point that as soon as they were rescued and carried away from Tokyo-3, his whole family changed their names and fled, disappearing into a still-chaotic world to find a place where nobody knew them.

In time, they succeeded, eventually settling in Austria. Though they had nothing and did not even know the language, that mattered little as very few of their neighbors had much either, and they were far from the only immigrants wandering in. There, they were able to blend in, carving out a niche for themselves and building something resembling a life, and no one ever discovered their connection to history’s so-called greatest monsters.

But even so, my great-grandfather never forgot. Though he never neglected his family and tried his best to provide for them, everyone that I spoke to made him out to be a broken man, someone who had lost the light in his eyes, who would smile very little and always seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. It was forbidden to speak to him of the time before Third Impact, and the very few times he did talk of it, it was from the viewpoint of someone who never truly left Tokyo-3, haunted by ghosts.

Touji might have been forgotten by history, but he bore his scars. Unfair blame was placed upon my family’s shoulders for what had happened, and we know all too well what it is like to be made scapegoats by the those who need someone to blame for their suffering. And though I have never met Shinji Ikari, Asuka Soryu Langley, or Rei Ayanami, and know about as much about them as everyone else, I at least have some measure of understanding of how unfairly they’ve been characterized. And I am sure that they desire validation about as much as they deserve further condemnation, which is to say, not at all. As such, I feel that the kindest thing to do would be to just let them be. Wherever they are, leave them alone to seek their own peace. Because I assure you, they have paid for their sins in full. They pay every day, remembering their part in the previous world’s death.

And to those who still think them a threat, who still believe that they possess the power to once again end the world despite no evidence to back that up, consider this: they have had ample opportunity and reason to wield that power, and yet never have. As such, perhaps it would be best not to provoke them?

No matter how you feel about the Evangelion Pilots, I see little that can be gained by seeking them out. They have taken more than their fair punishment, and would likely shun any reward. And as the descendant of one of their number, I say, let my great-grandfather’s companions be and move on. We have all suffered enough.

[hollandsfavbabe]

Where Do We Go Now

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis: in which the death of y/n's father leaves her determined to bring him back and her boyfriend peter determined to save her

warnings: endgame aftermath, death, parental loss, isolation, suicide attempt (but magical?), it gets better - I promise

word count: 7.1k

masterlist

a/n: Hey guys. This is going to be a bit longer than my usual notes, but I feel like I should explain why I've been gone for so long and why this story is a lot sadder than my usual ones. My community has been riddled with tragedy recently as we've lost a lot of people to suicide this past year, some of which have been as young as middle school age. One of my friends died by suicide a couple months ago. I can't express to you guys how hard it's been trying to deal with the pain and the guilt his death has caused me and my loved ones. So many days have passed where I wish I could've been a better friend for him while he was here. It hurts more knowing that other people are hurting too. Writing this was the best way for me to cope for many reasons. I wanted to write about how I'm feeling and honor my friend in some way even if it's through a silly little fanfiction. I know I'm late, but I also wanted to honor one of my favorite characters, Tony Stark as he canonically died this past October. That being said, if you are struggling please, I implore you, talk to someone. There are so many people on this planet who would be so torn without you. My dms are always a safe space if you need anything at all <3

Also I'd like to thank Gracie Abrams for her music that I had on repeat the entire time I was writing this. I hope you like it!

“I am Iron Man.”

The words replayed in your head, over and over like a broken record with no one to turn it to a new tune. That’s exactly how you felt. So alone in your grief that even if miraculously every wish you'd ever made in the whole of your existence had been granted, it still wouldn’t be enough to make you happy again. To make you feel anything besides the constant regret and incessant grief that anchored you down as you wasted away in your bed.

It had been exactly a week since the passing of the great Tony Stark. Everyone else in the compound had mourned their coworker, riddled by a somewhat lesser version of your sadness for only a few days after his death. It’s not as if their grief had been washed away as if it never stained their cheeks with tears or weighed down their hearts with sorrow, but it eased much quicker than yours and before long they could continue their duties. Everything was so much harder for you because Tony hadn’t just been a coworker. He was your father.

You relieved every memory you had of him like bittersweet torture. You remembered when he held you as a little girl, wiping up a bloodied knee. When he discovered you had powers and helped you control them. Later on when he banned you from joining in on the Avenger’s Civil War and afterwards when he thanked you for sneaking in to help anyway. You could almost feel his comforting embrace as if it was only yesterday that he was assuring you before a failed battle against the mad Titan Thanos, the same one that left you dusted and missing your father’s last five years on Earth. And finally, of course, you remember his last moments all too well. It played out before you like the tragic ending of a stage play. 

“Let me do it,” you shouted over the sound of war cries and carnage that surrounded you on the packed battlefield. “I can take it!”

You were almost certain that your power, your immeasurable magic, could handle the debilitating strength of the Infinity Stones making you the most reasonable choice for snapping Thanos and his army out of existence, but your father refused to risk losing his eldest.

“No,” he breathed, the metal plate shielding his chest rising and falling from the heat of the action. There was only one way to succeed, only one way to put a stop to the destruction of the universe. It had to be him. “I won’t risk losing you, not while you’re still so young. You have so much life ahead of you.”

“Not without you!” you cried, a tear streaming from your eye.

There wasn’t much time for your conversation as the world was moments away from being wiped of its human history, but despite the odds your father pulled you into a tight hug, as if he knew it would be the last. You both did.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever known and I’m so proud of what you’ve become already.” he smiled when you finally pulled apart.

“I need you dad,” you sobbed, still reluctant to let him leave you. With the threat of his death, suddenly Thanos’ defeat didn’t matter anymore. Not nearly as much as having your father by your side. “I’m not ready.”

Your dad looked down on you with the saddest of smiles, but if any part of him was upset about his decision, he made no other hint toward it. He just held you close for as long as possible and comforted you in the way that you could always count on him for. In the way, it hit you, that you could never count on him for again. But yet, in the face of death, he cradled you close and spoke in his signature fatherly tone: assertive yet on the edge of softness.

“No one’s ever ready -,” he answered truthfully. “- but I know you can handle it. You always do.”

You looked up at him as he finally pulled away and headed towards the purple giant, but not before turning to you for one final declaration.

“I love you, junior, to the edge and back again.”

And then he was gone. You never got the chance to say it back.

Yours was the last name he uttered before his heart stopped beating and the light on his suit went out. By then Pepper had already said her goodbyes and you both were huddled close to his body, weeping as the other Avengers knelt around you in honor of your father. Peter was hunched behind you, one hand on your shoulder while the other worked to wipe away his own tears. Oh Peter, you had your father to thank for him.

It was Tony who was credited with setting you up with your long term boyfriend, Peter Parker, even if it was a complete accident. You two had gotten acquainted on a fateful plane ride to Germany and eventually ended up together after many failed attempts at confessing your feelings. There was something about him that had you smitten with him from your first encounter, your liking only strengthened when you learned that your father approved. He’d been with you through thick and thin and even now, Peter was the only person who could even remotely share your pain besides Pepper. Tony was like his father too.

He’d taken care of you ever since the incident. Brought you food and water, helped you dress in your black attire for the funeral, laid with you in your bed each night to calm you whenever you awoke in a nightmarish terror. He showed his love for you prevailing over his grief in the most selfless of ways and yet all you had managed to do since you father’s funeral was stand to use the restroom every once in a while. It piled on more weight that your poor soul could already take. You were nothing, but a miserable burden now.

The door to your room opened with squealing hinges as Peter stepped in, returning from school where he had spent the morning reuniting with your shared friends and finding out when the official return date was. You were supposed to join him, but instead you hadn’t moved an inch since he left. It wasn’t as if you wanted to waste the entire day in your lonely sheets again. You yearned for everything to go back to how it was; when Peter was happy and you could share it with him. When your father used to smile upon the two teens he didn’t mean to bring together. When your father was alive.

“Hey,” he said, softly as if not to startle you from your endless torturous pondering. He set something down on your dresser, a small stack of papers he must have gathered from the school, and removed his fall coat before sauntering over to you. The bed creaked and shifted under his weight as he took a seat next to you. “Good news, we don’t have to go back until the next semester so we get a break until January. Ned was asking about you. He wants to know how you’re doing.”

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes red-rimmed from all of your crying and your lips cracked and dry.

“What did you tell him?” you croaked, your voice hoarse from under use. There was little to talk about and no one else to talk to whenever Peter wasn’t around. Pepper had visited you once, but with Morgan to look after, she couldn’t spare much time for her late husband’s grieving daughter. You’d seen Happy a couple times as well, but he needed his own time to recover and reflect on his past time with his best friend.

Peter was gentle as he tucked some of the hair strands snot cemented to your jaw behind your ear and cupped your cheek in his palm. He was cold from the autumn chill outside, but his hand ignited the same soothing heat that his touch always brought forth.

“I said you were recovering,” he answered truthfully. “And that it’s different for everyone. And no matter how long it takes, I’m here for you every step of the way.”

The ghost of a smile graced your lips and had it not felt like it stopped beating after losing your father, your heart may have fluttered in its cavity in your chest.

“Thanks Peter,” you curled closer to him in the most sincere of ways. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be a while before I can get up to see Ned again. Give him my best.”

“Take your time. I’m sure he understands.” Peter assured before pulling off his flannel and laying down beside you to wrap you in his arms, allowing you to tuck your face in his chest. As unhappy as you were, all the swirling emotions of suffering were always suppressed by the sound of Peter’s heart and the feel of his body around yours. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before Peter broke the silence as it neared time for your midday meal.

“I think you should come with me today,” Peter suggested, rising to run his daily lunch retrieval before running a loving hand through your hair. You couldn’t understand how he hadn’t gotten sick of you yet. You hadn’t been able to wash in over a week. “It’s not good for you to stay here all day long. You need to start moving.”

His voice was full of worry, though he wasn’t overbearing. He wanted the best for you, it’s all he ever wanted really.

“I don’t know Peter, I don’t think I can.” you sighed as tears started to fill your eyes again. How could anyone stand to be around you when you were being so pathetic. You wished there was a way to erase your pain, anything to bring you to your normal self again.

“It's okay baby,” Peter hugged you into a tight embrace, kissing your tears as they fell in slow salty streams. “I know it hurts, I feel it too. But I read somewhere that the best thing to do is keep a consistent routine. Maybe you should start today. Come get lunch with me.”

You wanted to agree, but there was no part of you that could move from the weight of your grief. It pressed you down, gravity multiplied by the mass of your sadness as it consumed you. It felt as if only a miracle could save you now.

“I’m so sorry.” you stated with remorse, but Peter made no move to share his disappointment if he had any at all. Instead he leaned down from his seated position and placed his lips on your forehead, a gesture as if to say that all was alright.

“Please don’t cry, y/n. It’s okay.” he assured you before standing to leave and get you something that you figured you probably wouldn’t even eat very much of.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, turning the handle of your door to leave before looking back at you sprawled on your bed. Suddenly, as if he had recalled the cure to the rainiest of days, he expression shifted to one of great excitement as he stopped back into your room.

“I almost forgot,” he began. “Doctor Strange was here earlier. He wanted me to tell you he’s offering some meditation sessions for you if you’re interested. He said they’d be good for your powers and that they might help you feel better if you want to think about it. He’s free at 8 tomorrow.”

You nearly perked up at the sound of the man’s name, picking up your head to cast a last longing glance at Peter as he waited for a parting word.

“Thanks,” you managed. “I’ll let you know.”

And off Peter went to get you both something to eat.

You weren’t sure if he knew how dangerous it was for you to be left with your thoughts, how the mention of the magic doctor sprouted a myriad of mystical ideas all aimed at the same goal that would erase your eternal lonesome aching. How to bring your father back. By the time Peter returned with his hands full of two homemade sandwiches and more sweets than the two of you could ever finish in one sitting, your mind had been made up and you were ready to set the plan in motion.

The following evening was your first time out of the confines of your rooms for days. Peter had helped you greatly with all the tasks you did not have the mental power to do all on your own. He had brushed your hair and made your bed and before you left in one of the less expensive cars held on Avenger’s campus, he sent you off adorned with one of his favorite sweatshirts, a peck on the forehead and enough I love you’s to last more than a lifetime.

You pulled the sleeve of Peter’s sweatshirt over your palm as you drove off, using the cloth to wipe away fresh tears that had fallen after you left your boyfriend’s loving gaze. You’d always been an overthinker, but your bad habits crept up on you worse in your unbreakable stage of sadness. Especially in your father’s favorite car.

You didn’t understand why he hadn’t left you already. Maybe he would. Peter had offered to join you at Strange’s, but after you insisted you had to go alone, he made plans to go help his Aunt May figure out their apartment situation as the pair had been inadvertently kicked out after being gone for so many years. You’d almost forgotten he used to split his nights between the compound and his own bedroom. Recently he’d only stay with you.

He promised to be back before dinner so that the two of you could keep up your progress, but an unsolicited voice within you convinced you that he wouldn’t want to return. You weren’t good enough for him anymore, not like you used to be. Your plan was better for the both of you and as you pulled up to the familiar building on Bleecker Street, all the pieces started to fall into place.

You stepped up to the door, raising your fist to knock only for the door to crack open by itself as if to invite you in. You waited for the familiar sternness of Doctor Strange’s voice to greet you once you were past the stone floored foyer, but only wisps of the autumn breeze caught your ear. 

“Strange?” you called, your voice still not stable enough to be louder than a whispery dialogue. You were met with no response. It was just like you had planned. The wizard wasn’t home.

You felt a strong tug towards the room of your desires, the forbidden library. It was as if fate was leading you or some other force from above, another sign that you were meant to do it.

Your steps were more sure than they had been in days as you made your way to the self, passing any magical fire walls with the sheer unfiltered strength of your powers. Strange once told you that they were guided by your emotion, the quintessential essence of every magic holder even to people like you and Wanda Maximoff who were outside of his world protecting wizard cult. It was easier than it should have been, like slicing paper with a katana, you broke each enchantment until all that was left was the cool leather cover of the book you were looking for. The book with every answer you needed inside its ancient yellowing pages, but you only needed the spell that would revive your father. Locating it near the middle of the book, your tore out the page and turned back to your car, leaving the Sanctum with the same unhurried pace you had entered it with. There was no stopping you now.

Peter was only an half an hour late for your agreed meet up time when he arrived at the campus. He expected you’d be in your room as per usual and as he made his way to your door, the excitement of getting to hold you and talk about your first day out of the campus since the funeral built up in his chest. He wasn’t sure if any accomplishment in the world could make him as proud as he was of you. With two brown paper bags of groceries in his hand, he couldn’t wait to shower you in the affection that you deserved with all of your favorite snacks, enough to share of course.

“Y/n,” he smiled, using his webbing to open your door handle only to find, much to his disappointment, that you were nowhere to be found.

He checked all over campus, leaving the bags by your bed. No one had seen you since you’d left and the spot where the car you’d taken was still empty, the normally pristine concrete covered in fallen crisp maroon leaves. It didn’t make any sense. Where could you possibly have gone?

“Y/n!” he called, circling the perimeter of the campus looking for you. There was still no sign of your reappearance. “Y/n- oh. Hi Ms. Maximoff.” Peter forced a strained smile as he nearly bumped into the woman.

“Peter, we’ve been over this,” Wanda answered, her voice calm. “You can call me Wanda.”

Like you, the witch hadn’t been doing the best in recent days as she had lost something just as valuable as a father: her partner. While she occasionally had days where the ground would’ve been lucky to feel the grace of her step, her superhero duties had kept her from spending each day hidden from society. She had a different way of coping, but like others, she seemed to start getting back into routine again.

“Right, sorry Wanda.” Peter apologized.

“What are you doing out here?” inquired the witch in her native Sokovian accent, always intuitive. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s y/n. I can’t find her anywhere and we agreed to meet back here nearly - an hour ago!” Peter pulled up his coat sleeve to check the time on his watch, the face of which bore a picture of him and your father from only a few months before the snap. It had been a birthday gift, one of his favorites in fact, though it couldn't top what you had given him the same year: a lego set and your first kiss.

“I didn’t know that she got out of bed. That’s a big step!” 

“Yes it is and we were going to celebrate tonight, but she hasn’t come back yet which is really not like her.” worried Peter.

“Where did she go?”

“Strange’s. He was going to give her a meditation lesson for her powers.”

Confused, Wanda's eyebrow furrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Doesn’t she know how to use them already?”

“Yes, but he thought it would help her manage her grief. Working out is a pretty common method, but she hates going to the gym so he figured some meditation would be better for her and -“

“Wait, hold on. Did she go to him this morning?”

“Yes and she was supposed to be back around noon, but it’s nearly six and she’s still gone.” Peter explained.

“Peter!” Wanda chided. She couldn't believe he could make such a grave mistake.

“What?”

“Strange hasn’t been at the Sanctum all day!”

“What?! Where is he?”

“Do I look like a wizard to you?" the witch gestured to her casual leggings and cardigan pairing that drastically differed from Strange's usual eccentric costumes. "How should I know?”

As if summoned by the topic of conversation, a figure appeared in the distant grass, hovering over the blades until he was close enough to be able to walk. His cape that flowed in the breeze like a blood red stream with a mind of its own was a dead give away. Doctor Strange had indeed arrived in the flesh.

“Parker,” he greeted, though he did not smile. “Is Ms. Stark ready for our lesson?”

Peter’s eyes went wide as he realized his mistake.

“Oh no.” he muttered, shaking his head in defeat. He was met with confusion from the wizard.

“No?” Strange repeated. “We agreed upon 8 didn't we? I know I'm a little early, but I assumed she wouldn't be busy. Didn’t you let her know I was coming?”

“Yes,” Peter confirmed. “I told her to be ready and then I sent her off to your place at 8… am.”

“What?!” Strange exclaimed as he summoned a portal to appear leading directly to his found home on Bleecker Street. He stepped through the fiery ring, a silent invitation for the others to follow as he hurried passed your car, up the steps, and into the door which did not part of him the same way it had earlier. Inside he was met with the most frightful of discovers accompanied by the looming feeling of doom as the situation became clear.

The Sanctum, unguarded with his absence, lay littered with books that had fallen from their homes on his shelf’s yet one stood out from all the others. It laid on the floor open with its pages to the ground while every other book was shut. Levitating it with the simple flick of his wrist, a horrifying sight awaited Strange as he turned it over. One of the pages in the sacred book was missing.

“Do you know how serious this is?!” Strange exclaimed and although Peter at first took it as a barbed criticism aimed directly at him, he was able to distinguish Strange’s tone from when he was reprimanding. This was a separate kind of worry, the sort of tone that he had used heavily on the fated spaceship you three had been stuck in until you landed on Titan, Thanos’ home world, nearly five years ago. Treachery was afoot and if your powers were involved, the whole fabric of your current reality could change.

“Which one did she take?” Wanda pointed to the book, clearly noticing the giant tear in its center.

Strange’s voice answered, heavy with concern. “The revival spell.”

“You don’t think she knows, do you? She can’t possibly know how to conjure it.” asked Wanda, the same concern for their future written all over her face.

“That’s exactly what I think.” Strange confirmed.

“What?” Peter asked. “What are you guys talking about?”

“There are many types of magic, Parker, and the Sanctum, the building where you sent your girlfriend, is full of all of them, good and bad alike. Every spell comes with a price, the bigger the spell, the bigger the price and the spell she took comes with one of the biggest prices there is to pay.”

“Think about it, Peter,” Wanda paled. “What does y/n want most in the world right now?”

It hit Peter harder than fresh fallen hail. You were going to try to bring your father back.

“We have to find her. Now.”

Strange tried to use his sling ring to appear wherever you were, but in your grief, the extent of your powers had grown massively. Intentionally or not, you managed to prevent even the most powerful of wizards from using his Sling Ring to access your location.

“She's blocked me out.” Strange frowned. “We’re going to have to track her on foot.”

“She can’t be far,” Peter agreed. “She always takes the shortest path whenever she wants something.” It was one of the many things he loved about you: your ability to turn any taxing task into something much simpler. You were one of the cleverest people he knew. He just hoped it didn’t work in your favor this time.

It was Wanda who had the idea of tracking your magic. She led them to the nearest withering woodland area, where trees with bare branches and dying leaves sprawled endlessly. It was the perfect place to perform dark magic, away from the unyielding eyes of society. The trio didn’t hesitate to run in.

The further they got, the closer you felt especially to Peter despite the fact that he was the only one without his own source of magic. If he lost you tonight, he feared he’d never feel any sort of magic ever again.

They were only half an acre in when Wanda and Strange called out in anguish, the witch falling to her knees while Strange stayed standing, pounding the air with his fist as his trying to break through an invisible barrier though it was to no avail. Whatever was holding him back, it wasn’t fading anytime soon.

“Keep going, Parker!” he shouted, urging Peter forward. “You’re the only one who can stop her. The spell will only allow that which she loves.”

“How do I do it?” Peter shouted. “How do I stop the spell?”

“The page,” Wanda replied, quicker than Strange could as his reply was easy for her to access. “You have to tear it apart.”

Without wasting a second more, Peter sprung back towards where he could feel you, running without fatigue as his superhuman endurance supplied him with plenty of energy.

It was only a minute later that he caught his first sign of you. There was a break in the tree line out of which a bright amber glow poured like an incandescent warning. It was a dramatic contrast from the normal comforting emerald greens of your magic, but it was you nonetheless and Peter didn’t stop until he was so close he had to shade his eyes from the light.

If it weren’t for the dark nature of what you were doing, Peter would’ve considered it one of the most beautiful events he’d ever seen take place. He wasn’t sure if the circle of trees that surrounded you had been a natural formation or one you made for the sake of the spell, but he was sure the way they seemed to bend to your will, despite the hard wood of their birch trunks, had to be because of your power. In the center of it all was you and the page you had stolen atop a pile of purple and golden leaves. You stood before it, eyes closed as you whispered some sort of incantation. Your powers spread above you in orange flickering flames as you outstretched your arms and summoned what looked like the beginnings of a portal, though it was hard to peer through like a bride covered in a veil of night black.

Peter shouted your name, screaming for you to stop, but you didn’t so much as flinch as the portal grew. You couldn’t hear him over the force of your will. He could start to feel what Wanda and Strange were trapped behind. There was some sort of invisible wall that threatened to push him back from you, but he couldn’t be defeated. He had to stop you. Step by step, he got closer and closer to you, watching in horror as your body was lifted from the ground and floated in midair. A new energy started weeping through the fabric that covered your chest, soft and white like a sheer glittering fabric. It drifted towards the portal and as Peter neared you he could make out the outline of a face forming from it in the black center of it. It started to take shape, growing a neck and a body and becoming more concrete than a fragmented part of your energy. He became more unmistakable as the color grew back into his face. Tony Stark, in the flesh. Peter hurried towards the page.

You opened your eyes to gaze into the face of your father, tears flowing down your face partially from the exhaustion of bringing him back and from being able to see him again.

You tried to say something, tell him how much you had missed him, but you were left rendered without a voice. Your words came out as mouthed nonsense, though it seemed he had regained his voice.

“Y/n,” he uttered, though it seemed more like a warning than a greeting after being torn from you for so long.

You mouthed something you knew he’d understand. I love you too, dad.

Some other force called your name, but you ignored it. You couldn’t focus on anything else, but the father you had lost regaining life right in front of you. With every part that he gained, you felt a part of your fade. It wasn’t painful, more numbing than anything like the final dose to end all your sadness. You couldn’t help but relish in it. You were bringing back one of the greatest men to ever live.

You were so distracted, you missed the web that landed on the page below you and pulled it away.

“Y/n,” your dad said again, nearly having enough of one of his legs to step out of the portal when suddenly, the inky blackness swallowed him whole again and dissolved in the forest light, taking back the only thing you ever wanted.

“NO!” you cried as your voice returned to you and you fell back down to the dry grass and dead leaves, crumpled on the forest floor as all of the magic you had summoned faded away save for the glittering cloud that returned to your chest with such force it made you cough. You had failed.

“Y/n!” someone called and you shuddered away from their hand on your shoulder as loud sobs erupted from you. 

“Leave me!” you begged. “Just leave!” Peter refused to leave your side, tossing behind him the page he had shredded into tiny scraps of paper as he knelt beside you, careful not to touch you again. “Why did you have to do that? Why did you take him from me?”

“You were going to die! I couldn’t let you di-“

“I WANTED TO DIE!”

Peter froze as you whimpered, the truth spreading above the both of you in the cold air like storm clouds as you cried to him.

“I want him back. Everyone wants him back. No one cares about his depressed daughter and I don’t want to hurt anymore, Peter.” you paused to take a deep breath. “It- it hurts so much.” you could barely get the words out as you were choked by your sobs. “It hurts knowing I could’ve saved him. It hurts knowing it should’ve been me that snapped those stupid stones. And I don’t want to live with that anymore. I had to try to bring him back for the world. It needs him more than it needs me.”

You brought a hand to your face, wiping away some of your tears, though it was no use as more came pouring out.

“I need you.” uttered Peter, looking into your glossy eyes. The sight of your tears and the echo of your screams couldn’t deter him from you. You can’t be repelled from the ones that you love.

“But you miss him, don’t you,” you argued as hot tears coated your face. “You want him back too.”

Peter nodded in agreement.

“I think about him everyday. Our moments together. Like this one time he saved me from drowning in a lake. Or-“ Peter grinned. “- remember when he caught us making out that one time before we told him we were together. He was so mad.” Peter smiled to himself, looking fondly on the memory until he began again.

“I miss him so much and it makes me so sad that I'll never see him again. But I wouldn’t trade you for him. I wouldn't trade you for anyone. You’re worth more to me than anyone else in the universe.”

Your sobs slowed yet the tears did not cease as they still cascaded down your face.

“It hurts me so much.” you restated.

Peter opened his arms. “May I?” he asked. You nodded and before you knew it, you were engulfed by a warmth unlike any other as Peter hugged you tight enough to make sure you wouldn’t try to leave him again.

“I know you do,” he related. "And I wish I could take it away. I wish I could just bag all your pain and throw it all away. But it doesn't work like that. It's going to hurt. It's going to be painful, so much so that you won't move from bed for days and days. You haven't." 

"But I feel like everyone else has already moved on. Why can't I?" you shivered.

"No one else was as close to him as you. Everyone else lost a friend. You lost a father. There's a big difference. You can't expect yourself to move on from it. That's not healthy. It's just like I said, I'm here for you no matter how long it takes. You have to take your time with it, don’t rush the process." Peter pressed the lightest of kisses to one of your dampened cheeks.

"I just don't know what to do."

"Breathe."

As silly as it sounded in its simplicity you did as he instructed and inhaled deeply, allowing the air to coat your lungs that hadn’t been exposed to so much fresh air in a week. As you exhaled, you let out another sob in his arms, but somehow it felt better than all the others. You were not rid of your pain by any means and sadness still corroded your core, but for the first time in so long, you didn’t feel so hopeless. Peter placed another gentle kiss on your cheek, encouraging you as you took several more slow breaths and quiet cries until you found the strength to speak again.

“Was it like this for you when your parents died?” you wondered aloud as you pulled away from Peter to look into his chocolate brown eyes that you almost forgot you loved so much, yet not so far that he couldn't keep his arms around your frame that was still bearing his sweatshirt. You hadn’t spoken much about them before and while you weren’t sure where the question had arisen from, it felt like the right thing to ask.

“I was so young when they passed, sometimes I feel like they were never mine to begin with,” he admitted. “I took a couple days off school when it happened, but I don’t remember crying all that much. It’s tragic and sometimes it makes me sad that they’re gone, but I’m glad that it does. It’s a reminder that they were there for me in the first place, that I knew them enough to miss them. The grief is proof that I loved them while they were here.”

You were both silent for a moment as you thought about his words in relation to your situation. All your pain was put into perspective. Everything you had been through since he died, all the days you wasted away in bed, it was all the proof that you had loved him so much when he was alive and that you were still carrying the love you had left for him. You missed your father so much you were willing to die to get him back and for a moment, you almost did.

You parted from Peter’s arms to stand though you still grasped onto his hands as you weren’t strong enough to be upright on your own. You closed your eyes again and listened to the sound of the forest, the swaying of the leaves that still clung to their branches, the faint twittering of birds, and the calm of the sky that was oddly cloudless for autumn. The sound of your name falling from your father’s reformed lips was still faint in the air and for a moment you felt as though you were with him again.

You remembered when he taught you how to ride a bike one evening when you were only four. You remembered the day he pulled you from public school and started teaching you at home. You remembered the look of shock on his face when you showed him your powers for the first time and even more, you remember his pride when you completed your first mission with the Avengers (that he'd approved ahead of time to avoid any more Germany -like surprises). He wasn’t there, but at the same time he was everywhere. And you missed him, but at the same time the absence he left in your life felt less empty.

The tears came out in slow smooth streams, flowing down in slow trickles as you finally sat back down. You didn’t say anything and neither did Peter, but you knew he could feel what you felt. He could feel your father too and minutes slipped by as you sat and cried together.

There was a sudden rustling in the distance and soon enough, Doctor Strange and Wanda had arrived at the scene, no longer held back by invisible barriers. They rushed to you bringing flooding guilt through your system as you began to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m so sorry.”

Strange opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say. You could tell by his expression that he was disappointed, but there was more to it. He had empathy.

It was Wanda that leaned down to place a friendly hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you home.”

The months following were some of the hardest of your life. Every battle you faced was uphill, but you no longer felt like you were fighting alone. You started going out again, first to visit Pepper and your half sister Morgan who lived in their cabin home. Peter joined you of course, but he played with Morgan for the most part while you and Pepper talked. You cried with her, but you laughed a lot too. She shared with you so many of her own memories, times when your father didn't know what to get you for your birthday, when he had managed to mess up cooking dinner in the strangest of ways, and when he’d accidentally burned your favorite stuffed animal in the drying machine all of which Pepper had to remedy. Though she hadn’t raised you, she was the mother you never had and through her stories you learned that your father had been just as good raising Morgan with her as he had been with you.

You hung out with Ned and MJ again shortly after that. While Peter had suggested a brief check-in at a cafe so you could go home quickly to rest, you surprised him with a much more time consuming idea: laser tag. The four of you had the best time targeting each other, you winning more rounds than any of the others. You ended the day with smoothies, talking as you drank and making plans for the next time you would all see each other. MJ made you promise you would text her if you ever needed anything and Ned gave you a whole plate of his Lola’s ensaymadas, your favorite dish of hers.

Finally, though he was locked up in his house and avoiding humanity, you visited Happy. Peter offered to join you like all the other times, but you assured him it would be best if he stayed home, promising you would return later. Happy was in a similar state of dismay to you when you saw him and while he was able to care for himself and continue with his personal routine, you could tell he was hurting.

You didn't say much when you first entered his apartment, but there was comfort within the silence. You sat with him on his sofa and watched whatever mind numbing program he had turned on to distract his thoughts until you had both worked up an appetite for lunch. It was there, in the middle of a random Burger King in Queens over a plate of cheeseburgers that you both broke down. You told him what you had nearly done, trusting him with the sensitive information as he was almost a second father to you. You took your time telling him the story of how you had nearly died to bring back your father.

Happy cried as you did and when you were finished, he told you how much you meant to him. He traded your story for one from your father after he returned from Afghanistan where he had famously been kidnapped.

"You could tell he was shaken," Happy began. "He told me he wasn't scared to die, but he was scared of losing time with you and leaving you alone. Pepper and I had been so busy trying to get him back, he was worried you had been neglected while he was gone. But when he came home and he saw your room clean, your toys put away, and a fridge full of leftovers from meals you prepared yourself, he was so proud. You inspired him to turn his life around. It was after that he told me that he knew you'd be okay if he was taken from us one day."

You both cried after that.

Long after you had finished your food, Happy drove you to the Parker's new apartment with the promise that he would be okay too, eventually. He also admitted that he was starting to develop quite the liking for your faithful boyfriend after hearing all that he had done for you, though he’d skin you alive if you ever told Peter.

It was that night in Peter's new bedroom that you knew you’d be okay. It still hurt to think of your father and you knew you’d never entirely recover and that the pain would never fully leave you, but there was a certain comfort in it now. You knew Peter felt it too as he snuggled half asleep into your side, his arm slung around your body in a protective manner, but also to keep from falling of the twin bed you shared as he let you sleep on the side with the wall. There were still days when you didn’t want to leave your bed, but there were also days when you felt more elated than ever. You could feel your father in those moments the most, like the shine of his smile took form in the light from the sun. You couldn’t see him nor could you speak with him, but you knew he wasn’t really gone. It was love that kept him around. And it was the love you carried for him that would suspend you for lifetimes, through light and dark until the end of time.

“I hope this grief stays with me because its all the unexpressed love” - Andrew Garfield 💙

[readychilledwine]

For Richer or Poor

Summary - Rhiannon and Rhys struggle with finding each other the perfect solstice gift

Warnings - smut, angst, virginity loss

A/n- this started as angst and fluff and kind of took on a mind of its own.. I apologize for the delay on getting it posted. Miss Sophia has had a mind of her own the past couple days so I've been a little busy forgetting to queue things ❤️ baby daddy's scheduling is now back in place, though.

Peep Requiem for a Dream here

“I don't understand why you are putting so much pressure on one gift,” Azriel stroked Rhiannon's back as she cried. “Rhys loves you, not any materialistic thing you could buy him.” Rhiannon broke down again, back shaking with each heavy sob.

That was the issue. She could not buy him anything. When her father had thrown her to Azriel's feet and abandoned her with her older Brother, he had left her with nothing but the clothing on her bloodied back.

She had no money.

No title.

Nothing she could gift Rhysand for their first Solstice together.

She couldn't even bake him anything nor cook him a dinner. Not unless the two young fae wanted to undergo a Mating Ceremony.

She had little to offer him while he gave her the world. Constsntly showering Her in gifts from Velaris and any court his father would force him to visit.

From teas and treats to lavish clothing, Rhiannon had it all, but she never had the ability to pay it back.

Rhys and his mother walked the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He was carrying the many bags she had accumulated as she shopped for him, Cassian, Azriel, his sister, and now Rhiannon.

Rhys was struggling with gifts for the latter. He had spoiled Rhiannon so much over the past year, and he was lost in what to get the female he'd hand the world.

“What about just something simple? A necklace? A bracelette?” His mother wrapped a Hand around his bicep. “She enjoys blankets. Perhaps a soft new blanket.”

Rhys stared straight ahead. “Nothing says I love you and want to spend the rest of my days with you like a shitty last minute blanket, mother.” He sighed, knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing his father would have his head.

He allowed his mom to pull him into the finest jeweler in the market. “Just do it, Rhysand. We will hide it until we can't anymore.”

Rhys held Rhiannon tight that night. Refusing to let Her go near the small tree his mother was placing presents under. They had been friends for 4 years now, knew they were mates for one year, and had spent that year courting. They had done nothing more but laid in his bed together, kissing and her hands slightly exploring at times while his roamed every inch of her frame like he was making a map.

He had never pushed her into sex, never asked for more than just her love and kisses, but he knew that small box under the tree would change everything. She had wanted to wait for marriage, a tradition drilled into her head through years of beatings from her step mother and Father.

And now, in just 12 short hours, after his Mother, Azriel, and Cassian left for the party being thrown in the Mead Hall, Rhysand would be asking her for her hand.

He placed a few soft kisses along her neck, smiling as she snuggled in closer to him with a small twitch of her lips. Just a few more hours, he told himself.

Solstice morning was filled with laughter and joy. The males having partook in yet another snowball fight as Rhiannon spent the morning in the kitchen helping with what little she could without triggering a mating frenzy.

She, Azriel, and Cassian had exchanged their homemade gifts without the presence of the High Lord's family, the three of them tucked into the boy's room as they exchanged homemade treats. They all couldn't afford much, so these small things had become their tradition. Something they could gather ingredients and supplies for a fairly cheap and make with love and effort.

They did the same for Rhysand's family, showing their gratitude for his mother's choice to pull the three of them into their home. Azriel and Cassian traded gifts with Rhysand while Rhiannon had to wait.

Anxiousness Had set into the pit of her stomach as she got dressed this morning. Rhysand's mother had taken gentle care, braiding her long dark hair, making sure her nails were trimmed and clean, that her hands were oiled and moisturized.

She had ensured Rhiannon had been gifted a fine set of oils and lotions along with a pretty lacy outfit she had hand made for “when the time felt right.”

The evening came quickly, prompting Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand's mother to leave the cabin, heading to the Mead Hall for celebrations and leaving the two mates completely alone.

Rhys had her between his legs, Tucked into his chest tight and placing small kisses along her temple and hairline. “I'm sorry I'm keeping you away from the camp party,” Rhys tilted her head up. “I just wanted time alone with you.”

Rhiannon smiled softly. “If you think I'd rather spend a single moment in that hall with those males, you truly underestimate my love for you.”

“I thought we could talk about that,” Rhysand began softly. “About love and us.” Rhys sat her up, hiding the small black box behind him. “You know I love you, right?”

The falling look on her face had Rhysand back pedaling Watching in horror as she moved away from him and sat down in the opposite couch.

He moved to her instantly, grabbing her soft small hands. “I already fucked that up,” he muttered taking a deep breath. “What I mean is, I do love you, and I hope I have made that clear and obvious.”

He took a deep breath, pausing to kiss her left hand. “I have loved you long before the Bond snapped, and I would love you regardless of it being in place. From the moment Azriel carried you in the doorway begging mother for help, I felt drawn to you.”

Another long pause came as he kissed each knuckle on her hand. “I knew I loved you the moment you took down a male, not knowing he was one of Devlon's bastard Sons and beat the shit out of him for grabbing you. I knew I loved you when I pulled you off of him and went back to fight. I knew I loved you as you sat holding Ice to your lip getting lectured by mother and simply said, “let the camp lord know I'll do it again.” I knew I loved you because of your spark, your fight.”

Rhiannon looked away, hiding her amusement. “So you knew You loved me when it turned out I was violent.”

“You are a violent, murderous, little creature,” Rhysand purred softly, trying to hide the lust in his tone. “And I stupidly love every single ounce of it. I love your eyes when you see something that makes you happy. I love how you pout when I don't give you whatever you want-”

“I do not pout,” Rhys smirked at her, thumb going to her pouty bottom lip.

“Oh yes you do, Darling.” He kissed her gently. “I want to spend my life with you. Learning all the other things I can love. Growing to love the things I already do more.”

Before Rhiannon could respond and process what was happening, Rhys was on one knee before her, an open ring box in hand. “It would be a long engagement, Rhiannon Darling, but will you marry me?”

All she could do was nod, crying as she threw herself Into his arms, holding him tight. “I presume that is a yes?”

Rhiannon nodded before pulling him to her and kissing him deeply. It did not take long for that kiss to become more passionate. Rhys was on top of her in an instant, resting between her legs as they wrapped around his waist, hairs tangling into her long dark hair.

Her own hands found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them quickly and pushing it down his shoulders. Once the material was no longer there, Rhiannon began to run her hands over every exposed piece of skin. Nails and fingertips gently brushing some areas while other areas were squeezed.

The second those legs, those damned legs, wrapped around his waist, Rhys knew her intentions. He pulled apart from her, almost chuckled as she whined softly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” her voice was breathy as she tried to get him closer, nodding eagerly in confirmation.

Rhys got off the couch, lifting her With him as he did and carried her to her room. “I refuse to let your first time be on a couch instead of a bed,” he laid her down, smiling ferally as he did.

It was teasingly slow, removing her from her clothing, smiling as she laid Naked below him, dark hair spread out around her head like a halo. “So beautiful, darling.” Rhys placed soft kisses along her jawline, whispering to her as his fingers trailed every curve.

Her skin was on fire from every pass, every gentle caress, every touch she'd never experienced before. The second his tongue flicked Her nipple, a whine she'd never heard from herself tumbled from plush parted lips. “So sensitive,” Rhys muttered before licking and sucking her breast while his hand played with the other one. Once he was satisfied, he freed her nipple with a soft pop Before switching sides.

Rhiannons' back arched more cries falling from her lips as her hands tangled in his soft hair. “Please,” she whimpered, thighs clenching together as wetness and heat pooled between them. “Rhysand, please.”

He tutted her softly, mouth returning to hers. “You'll take what I give you, when I give it to you,” another harsher kiss had her whimpering. “Understood, darling?”

“Yes, husband,” the word spurred something primal in Rhysand. Eyes going dark with lust and need.

Since that bond had snapped, all he had wanted was to be hers, for her to be his in return, and now he was taking it. He was stealing this opportunity. Rhys kissed down her body again, growling when he finally hit her core. “So fucking pretty.”

He gave her no warning, diving into her cunt like a man starved. Rhiannon quickly became a mess of moans and cries. The foreign feeling he was bringing her was unmatched to anything she had made herself feel before.

She knew Rhysand was a talented lover, having laid in bed late at night hearing him with the few females he would bring home before they had gotten together, before the Bond snapped, but this was unimaginable.

It was messy. Tongue spreading and taking slick as he lapped at her entrance and clit.

It was hot. Sweat forming on both of their bodies as the room grew warmer and warmer, as panting took the place of stable breaths.

It was raw passion. Each lick, nudge, moan a measurement moment. Each tightening of her core, of her stomach twisting causing more drive as she pushed it down the bond to him.

It took minutes that felt like seconds for her to fall apart on his tongue, that coil snapping as she screamed his name and stars took place of her vision.

Rhys kissed her clit before moving back up her body, hand replacing his tongue and fingers running through her folds. “You taste divine,” his lips found hers, tongue going into her mouth to share his new favorite wine with her. “I could spend days between your beautiful thighs, Rhiannon.”

He was distracting her, praising Her with soft kisses and words. When he finally felt his finger was wet enough, he slowly pushed it in, watching her face as her breath hitched and eyes rolled back.

“Relax, little mate,” he whispered. “I have you.” He moved agonizingly slow, forehead resting On hers as her breathing picked up again. He smiled as her walls relaxed, Welcoming his finger deeper into her warmth. “There we go. Doing such a good job, darling.”

Rhiannon had her eyes locked shut, mouth opened to a soft o as she felt that coil begin to wind itself up again. She could feel Rhysand's eyes on her, his spare hand tracing her cheekbone As a second finger entered her, stretching her out more to prepare her for him.

Rhys seemed to be on a mission. His fingers were curling, scissoring, searching. It was obvious when he found what he was looking for. He watched as his mate took a deep breath, back arched again, and then a Loud moan of his name fell from swollen lips. He felt his stomach stirring with male pride as he Began to aim over and over for that same spot, feeling wave after wave of her arousal and pleasure shooting down the bond.

He had her pulled apart within seconds again. The pride of it all shot straight to his ego.

His beautiful little mate.

Folding for him Over and over again.

Rhys kissed her deeply, deciding she was ready and pulled his fingers out. “Last Chance to tell me to stop, Rhiannon.” Rhys' forehead found hers again, going into her mind to find any doubt. Instead he found love, contentment, need, lust. Her thoughts were clouded and occupied by him. His scent, his intelligence, his voice. His own clothes were long forgotten, slick soaked hand moving to coat himself before lining up with her. “Tell me it hurts and we stop.” She nodded, hands going to his biceps as her hazel eyes met his.

Rhys pushed in slowly, watching her like a hawk. Her nails dug into his arms, almost spurring him on As she whimpered softly underneath him. He stopped as she tensed up, gently stroking her hair, “You have to relax, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” Rhiannon, done with teasing and wanting this part over With, wrapped her legs Around his waist, forcing him in deeper with a gasp. Rhys growled, burying his head into her neck as his self control slowly began to disappear. He pushed in the rest of the way, groaning as her soft walls hugged him.

They sat like that for a few seconds, allowing her to relax further, to adapt to the intrusion. “Rhys, please,” she begged. “Gods please move.” He was lost in the haze of her, pulling out slowly before pushing back in and setting a soft rhythm. Their hands found each other, fingers lacing together as he made love to her, hitting that perfect spot every time he reentered her body. “I love you,” he whispered and smiled as she said it back.

“Faster,” she panted. Rhys felt his smile go feral. His speed picked up, watching as her breasts bounced. His free hand found her hip, squeezing the side of her ass as he took her.

Their joint pleasure was building quickly as they freely sent it to each other down the bond. Rhys could feel himself nearing that edge and brought his fingers to her clit. “Need you to cum, Rhi,” he almost begged her for it. His Fingers began to circle that bud, watching through heavy eyes as she began chanting his name over and over again, walls fluttering and clenching around him. “Need to feel you fall apart on my cock, little wife.”

That word.

That precious word.

The word that made this all okay in her mind was her undoing.

The idea of being his wife. His mate. His everything.

She shattered around him, crying for him and screaming his name as she came. She saw the heavens behind her eyes as she pulled him closer, mind lost in the feeling of him, the smell of him, the need for him.

Rhys tumbled over the edge seconds later, moaning her name loudly as did.

The room that had previously echoed with the sound of her slick, skin making contact, of their moans was now silent. Breathing the only thing indicating life was still there. Rhys pulled Out of her slowly, picking her up the second he was stable on his own feet and carrying her to the bathroom.

He bathed her as she slept in his arms, his own mind still processing that this had finally happened.

She woke up the next morning, ring on her finger to the sound of Cassian egging on a fight. Rolling her eyes, Rhiannon left her bed, Walking to the kitchen and joining Rhysand's mother at the table for coffee. “How long?” She asked.

Amara looked at Rhys and Azriel, watching as the shadowsinger landed another punch. “About 10 minutes. Should be done soon. Let's talk wedding dresses.”

Rhiannon smiled, leaning her head on Amara’s shoulder. “Happy solstice, mom.”

“Happy solstice, Rhi.”

[pumpkinspiie]

arguments..

(warnings. arguments. cursing. angst. sad life.)

BREAKING NEWS, ELVIS PRESLEY HAS JUST ANNOUNCED THAT HE'S ENGAGED TO HIS LONG-TERM GIRLFRIEND PRISCILLA.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Tasha thought. Fuck this shit. sighing hard she cut off her TV and walked to her bedroom slamming it shut. Good thing her family wasn't home, she knew she wouldn't be able to answer any questions without breaking down.

Elvis and Tasha had been together for over 10 years. 10 years of her life she gave to that man just to be a side chick. Tasha knew what she was getting into when they first started dating but she didn't care. She loved him. She worshiped him. She adored him. In her eyes he couldn't do any wrong.

Tasha was 27 years old, journalist who was born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee. When she first met Elvis, it was at one of his shows at the International. The way he moved on that stage and sung those songs, it was immaculate, it pulled her in without letting her go for breath. The icing on the cake was when Elvis started going around kissing the girls. Long story short, that night was filled with much, much more euphoria.

Tasha cried herself to sleep that night. While the next couple of days were terribly unbearable. Elvis called multiple times, but she never picked up. Tasha was in her room reading when the doorbell rang. Setting her book down, she walked out of her room and went downstairs towards the door. There stood Elvis in his wearing his sunglasses. Tasha rolled her eyes and sighed. "What?" she questioned. This surprised Elvis, in their 10 years of knowing each other she never spoken to him like this. Yeah, they had small arguments but nothing like this. "What the hell do you mean 'what'? I've been calling you for the past two days and you haven't picked up not once." Tasha rolled her eyes once more before going to close the door, however, Elvis was faster and pushed through into her house.

"You wanna' tell me what that was about?" He stood to left of the couch where Tasha was sat staring wall with a pout. Elvis huffed "Goddamn it woman! Don't you hear me speaking to you ?!" his baritone voice now pushing out his southern accent. "YOU WANNA KNOW WHATS WRONG ELVIS?!" standing up she walked over to the table grabbing the newspaper then walking back and throwing it in his face. "THIS! THIS IS WHATS WRONG ELVIS!" Elvis didn't speak he just read the newspaper, not one emotion shown at all. "I-I-I don't know what to say." he stuttered.

"Do you love her?" she spoke quietly, Tasha knew the answer, she just needed confirmation. Elvis looked everywhere but her. That was all she needed.

"Get out." she spoke in barely a whisper. Elvis looked up at her in shock. "What?" Elvis stood up, walking over to try and grab her hand but Tasha pulled her hand away looking anywhere but his eyes. "Baby please don't do this, I love you." Tasha cringed, she knew he was only saying this so she didn't leave him. She took another step back. "if you loved me you wouldn't have married her." Elvis at this point was in tears. He feared this would happen someday, he hopped it would've been later rather than sooner. "Baby, you’re the one that I love."

"but she has your mornings, your nights, Shes the one you go home to at the end of the day!" Tasha broke down. She couldn't handle all pf this. She wanted nothing more than to go into her room and cry the rest of the night away. "That doesn't mean anything." he fought back. "THAT MEANS EVERYTHING!" Tasha picked up a empty glass bottle and threw it at Elvis, thankfully he dodged it.

"If you love me so much, then pick. Me or Her." Tasha knew she was crossing a line she shouldn't have but she didn't care. Blindsided by rage and sadness, she realized she had nothing left to loose.

"I ain't leaving my fiancé." he spoke silently. There was her answer. The thing her sadness was craving to hear. It hurt worse than anything she had experienced in her 27 years of living. This was something she didn't know of she would comeback from. "Then get the fuck out of my house."

elvis presley x reader

[x-bee-x]

I wanna talk about Jacksepticeye for a minute.

I've mentioned this before on my previous blog, but not really in detail, and it's been a while since I've talked about him on here other than the occasional post. I don't know how many of you followed or remember, I don't know if I would consider myself as one of the like big blogs, but I did talk about him quite a bit.

I had heard of him kind of and seen him in a couple videos, but I truly started watching Jack I believe right before he dyed his hair for the first time, so that was like 2016? And I watched other people and content but Jack became my number one pretty quickly. I have some merch still today, I went to the How Did We Get Here show when he came to my state and stayed an hour and a half after it ended in the chance to meet him (which did happen, and it was everything and more, and then I cried walking to the car afterwards because I realized what happened), my first tattoo I got is something in his handwriting etc.

And I still adore Seán, I respect and appreciate him so much. I'm still subscribed and have notifications and watch the occasional new upload, I go back sometimes for videos or series I really enjoyed, he's still my guy, just not as much as of the past three or so years. Which is fine, hyperfixations come and go and things like that, and I will have a place in my heart for him regardless of where my interest is.

Then he posted Am I Retiring From YouTube. Spoiler alert, the answer is no, not yet at least. And thinking about him say things like "not yet" and hear him share his thoughts on things right now and just being very honest with us actually made me tear up a bit.

I know he, and everyone I watch, will retire someday, and no matter how long it's been since he's been a mega interest, he was still a massive part of my life, and I'll probably cry when the day does come. I'm so unbelievably proud of Seán for so many reasons. And I'm grateful for his existence and the change he's given so many of us to be part of his journey.

Even if you guys don't watch or know much about Jack, I highly recommend that video, he made some incredible points and it's very interesting to listen to.

[pomefioredove]

Tbh I was reading the matchup info and now I have an idea for a fic 😂😂😂

But Seriously I really love your writings. I've been having a shitty time and when I read your stuff it gets better and mellows me out ❤️

Personality wise: I can be pretty calm, but I also have my exciting/ manic moments. Like cleaning my room at 3am (cries in bd sleeping schedule). People say I'm nice, and have a good energy. But if someone pushes me (metaphorically) I will push back. I can be petty if I get fed up enough. I get depressed easily and sometimes have trouble expressing myself. Which is weird because I kind of am the therapist friend. I don't talk about my feelings or self often. Sometimes I scare my friends unintentionally, like dropping random tidbits of my life that might sound or be a little traumatic. (I.e. that reminds me of the time my mom told me she would beat my ass if I cleaned her room wring again.) I can be pretty lazy, I sleep A LOT. I am a feminist, who is pretty used to red flags in people.

Interests/ Hobbies: I love reading and trying new art stuff. I am an English major and like learning about the dirty and scary sides of History. My favorite books to read right now are classical literature and disturbing horror books. Art wise I've been trying to get into air dry sculptures. I love to crochet. And when I feel like it I can cook and bake. Sometimes I roller skate, like once in a blue moon. I have trouble with homework sometimes, I can get really distracted. When I'm really tired I won't eat. I have body issues too (thanks mom 🥲). I used to be a vegetarian for almost 10 years. I stopped a couple years ago.

Relationship wise: I like people who are competent. Like, someone who knows their way around the house or are willing to learn. I like feminists. I don't like people who yell at me. When I get into a relationship, love bombing and honeymoon phase stuff kinda turn me off ngl. (Like why r you so free on a regular Tuesday afternoon. I give you butterflies? Digest them, want some pesto bismol? Here.) Ngl, it's like why should I have to come back from a full day of work/school and clean up after you and/or make dinner.

Lifestyle wise: No lie I have depression and anxiety and it can get pretty bad. There are times where I can't take care of myself as well as I wish. I will cry, if someone makes fun of me for it. I try to keep my area clean, when I get back from work/school I clean up a little then crash. I try to deep clean on weekends if I'm not swamped from school.

Specifics: No first or second years pls

Ty 💖💖💖

I match you with 𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

The First Impression:

One might assume that the first thing Vil notices in a person is their style, or their physical features, or even their body language.

Not really.

Vil absolutely judges people based on their competency, their skill, their dedication to themselves and their passions. And he can absolutely see that in you.

Why He Fell:

What initially attracts Vil is the challenge. He's always looking for new potential, and he can tell that you're both skilled and committed enough to meet his standards- but there's something holding you back. You're quite different from his past potatoes, and he's more than capable of taking a different approach to your case, one without the need for harshness.

Vil isn't one to pry, though he's able to piece together your situation from the random tidbits you drop on him, and soon, his pet project becomes more of a mission. Can't take care of yourself right now? That's fine, he'll do it for you. He'll find a way to create a perfectly manageable routine, fix your sleep schedule, help you with homework, and slowly ease you into a healthier lifestyle with him by your side.

Though he'd never admit it, Vil really likes the feeling of being needed, not just wanted. And, in time, he finds himself needing you and your company just as much.

The Relationship:

You cannot get more competent than Vil Schoenheit. Experience or not, he's a master at navigating relationships, and is more than willing to help you in that regard, as well. He's there at your best and worst, as you are for him- Vil considers the partnership very equal, and would never in a million years dream of upsetting that balance.

(Quite honestly, Vil doesn't want to be treated like an incompetent manchild who can't do anything for himself and he's glad you're on the same page)

He very much appreciates and admires your skillset, interest in learning new things, and your dedication to your passions (one isn't just vegetarian for ten years without some commitment, after all), and sees you as compatible in that regard.

It's a very mature and balanced relationship, one in which you don't even have to imagine him lovebombing or taking you for granted or acting childish. He certainly has his moments, but such is being human.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for returning a dog after only a couple days of owning him?

Some context, my partner (I'll call him Greg, 24m) and I (21 he/she) came to an agreement 3 months ago. The agreement was that if I got myself out of a depressive slump that had been straining our relationship for the past couple years, he'd get me a dog. I was overjoyed at this because I've wanted a dog ever since I was a kid, and it was probably the best motivation he could give.

I'm proud to say that I made a lot of progress, and I'm doing much better now. So, as promised, Greg agreed that I could get the dog. Maybe a little under a week after that, Greg found an adorable little chihuahua/dachshund mix online and we both excitedly prepared to adopt him. We arranged to meet him almost immediately, and he was adopted within 2 days.

I will admit, after Greg agreed to get the dog, I was having some doubts. I knew dogs were a lot of work and I didn't think we were ready to take on such a big responsibility, especially since we already had two cats to take care of. Greg was just so excited to find a dog for me, and I agreed to adopt the dog, but only because I couldnt think fast enough to stop and discuss my concerns. I was under the impression that this was what I wanted, so my doubts could just be chalked up to "new pet anxiety", so my brain went on autopilot and said "yes".

He was a perfect little guy, well behaved save for some anxiety, didn't bark at all, house trained, just a super sweet dog. However, it soon became apparent to us that he was SO much more work to take care of than we anticipated. We had to keep an eye on him all the time so he wouldn't chew or eat anything he wasn't supposed to, plus he had separation anxiety so he had to be in the same room as us at all times. One of our cats hated him, so we had to be sure the two of them were separated. Playing with him and walking him was easy and fun, but we had to do it every couple hours because chiweenies are a very energetic breed.

There was no time for me and Greg to have time to ourselves and each other, and the stress built up and I started to get cranky at little things. I even lashed out at Greg once, which is exactly something I had tried to work on during those 3 months. To add onto all this, a huge storm hit us and our living room flooded, and we're still in the process of undoing the damage. The stress since adopting him went on for a total of 4 days, but it felt like so much longer. I haven't cried so hard for so long in a really long time. Somewhere in that time I had made my doubts about adopting him known, which I still feel stupid for admitting them too late.

Greg says he feels incredibly guilty for the whole situation since he's the one who was so quick to pick out and adopt the dog. I said it was fine, and I should have forced myself to express my doubts earlier despite whatever anxieties were in the way. He said he had just wanted to give me something I'd always wanted and assumed that everything would be fine.

I want to make it clear that we're well aware that this has nothing to do with the dog, nor do we hate him or mistreat him. We've been taking good care of him and he's been having the time of his tiny life with us so far, which is why I'm so reluctant to give him back to the shelter. Maybe we could be good dog owners, but on the other hand, all the stress haopened so quickly and forcefully, and it was too much to ignore. Sometimes I couldn't even be in the same room with the dog because it hurt too much.

Me and Greg are returning him to repair our relationship, focus on ourselves and get us in a stable place, financially. We figure giving him back to the shelter will give him a chance to go to a better, nicer home that's actually ready for him, but I can't shake the feeling that maybe I should've given him a chance. I feel like ultimately this was the right choice but at the same time, I'm super unsure about how we handled the whole thing. AITA? Should we have kept the dog?

What are these acronyms?

[trans-axolotl]

i have almost cried with happiness so many times today because things have really gotten so bad these past couple months. like i've needed a custom wheelchair for over a year at this point but especially last few months things just kept deteriorating and i am SO excited to have my life back. to be able to leave the house without it absolutely wrecking my body, to be able to leave without someone pushing me in my chair, to be able to do more than just go to school and work and come home and crash for so many hours and spend all my weekends and days off stuck in bed, to be able to cook and bake again, just. i am so so so so so fucking happy i am SO happy