#its not new years for me yet but it will be by the time i post this lol

[jash-updates]

Most normal energy drink consumer

[sabotourist]

Some thoughts on season 19

This is probably going to be one of the most personal things I ever post on social media. But I have some thoughts.

Sarge and Doc died. Doc wasn't even killed on-screen. Was barely even mentioned until the end. He died having only saved two people in his entire career as a medic. Sarge died, and Donut wasn't even there to see it happen.

Was he off grieving Doc? Was he just doing other stuff? I don't know. But he was gone.

Why was he actually gone? Probably for budget reasons. Time constraints. Studio trouble and issues with the engine or model or whatever else. Writing constraints that forced Donut and Doc into such secondary roles. Into dying off screen. Into not even being there when two people you care so much about die.

But like, how much of that was actually in the narrative's control? They had these limitations to write around, and it put these characters in situations where they couldn't be in narratively satisfying roles.

In some ways, it's the most brutal depiction of what life is like.

When I was 14, I lost touch with my best friend. I just didn't keep my phone on me often at the time. He died. I think, if he had lived, he would have gone on to do some absolutely amazing things. He didn't get to. He called me a couple days before it happened. I didn't see it.

Death isn't fair. But it's not the end.

I think, if the story had had more time, these characters could have had better roles. But life isn't always so kind. Death isn't always so kind. We lose people when we're not looking. We blink and people are gone.

Doc, Sarge, Church, and Tex are dead. Wash was in an institution again. Tucker just went through all that. Grif went back to earth.

That's... that's brutal. Why don't I hate it? On paper, I'd hate it.

I think it might be because it doesn't feel like a goodbye, or even the end. There are loose ends. A lot of them. There's so much pain there, so much healing and moving on to be done. Just because Grif went back to earth doesn't mean he and Simmons don't call all the time. Just because Donut wasn't here to maybe save Sarge doesn't mean he won't be there eventually.

Just because Doc only saved two people doesn't mean it didn't matter.

Life is brutal. Death is brutal. Shit happens. Shit that isn't fair. Whether it's people we love dying, or just studio drama fucking a show.

But... that doesn't mean it's the end.

Doesn't mean Simmons is going to be alone, doesn't mean Doc died for nothing, doesn't mean Sarge's sacrifice meant nothing, doesn't mean Wash or Tucker's lives are ruined, or that Caboose can't have a new best friend.

I like to imagine Donut taking up medical studies after this. Doc saved him. He's going to make damn sure that matters. Maybe Blood Gulch becomes something of a boot camp for some future loser rejects in need of a home that Simmons can guide.

Church, in all his forms, may be gone. But that doesn't mean they're going to be so quick to forget. Leave the past in the past. But still look back from time-to-time. It got you where you were.

Sometimes we pass memories down through stories. Sometimes, just in the choices we make throughout our lives.

But just... unfair things happened. To the show, and to the characters in it. To the people running it. My best friend died when he was 14. Monty Oum died in his prime. Life is tragic. But hey, it's not the end. It's just the start of something new.

Maybe it isn't perfect. Maybe it isn't ideal. Maybe it hurts. Maybe it'll never stop hurting. But it can still be beautiful. it still has meaning.

It may just be a silly show about Halo dudes, but it matters.

Tl;dr: Raven is stupidly sentimental right now

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Bad Boy

A few meta-type thoughts about Bad Boy, now the dust has started to settle.  There could hardly have been more hype in the run up to the release of Shingeki FLY, but Bad Boy certainly delivered.  It’s classic Isayama; for such a short chapter it really packs an emotional punch, blending real pathos and tragedy with shockingly graphic violence and body horror.  It doesn't really add anything to the over all plot, which is to be expected, but it does provide insight into Levi’s character and answers one question that fans have been speculating about for years.

The story of why Levi holds his tea cup in such a peculiar way isn’t new. Isayama mentioned this in a magazine interview (I think?) way back in 2014

Q: …why he has such way of holding cup? Isayama: About that, I was thinking of drawing this one day. When he was a kid, Levi was living in slums and poverty. He was yearning for a life in clean & neat environment (not rich life). When he finally obtained the tea and tea set those he has been desperately wanted, he was rejoicing that finally he can drink it. But when he started to grip on the handle and lift up the cup, the handle came off and his cup was shattered. He was so traumatised by this experience and that’s why he changed his way of holding cups to not using the handle.

However we now know that the cup belonged to his mother and the extraordinary lengths Levi went to recover it. What is new is that we finally have confirmation of when Levi’s Ackerpowers were awakened.  Fans have been arguing about this for years; some thought it was when he killed the man with the knife immediately before Kenny left, others suggested it was when Farlan and Isabel were killed. Now we finally have an answer.  It’s not exactly clear how much time has lapsed between Kenny taking Levi in, his powers awakening, and Kenny leaving, however the fact that Kuchel’s tea set hadn’t yet made its way to the surface suggests that not much time had passed at all. 

Levi’s description of his powers awakening is fascinating;  

“Strangely enough I didn’t doubt what was happening to me at that moment. The pain had vanished, my head was calm, as if it had been immersed in water. Clear instructions on what to do came to my mind. I simply followed them one by one.”

This is the most information we’ve ever had about the famous Ackerpowers and goes some way to explaining Levi and Mikasa’s preternatural calm and focus when they're fighting.   They really only succumb to panic and despair when their loved ones are threatened.  Think of Mikasa in Shiganshina and at Fort Salta, and Levi when Farlan and Isabel die and when he allows Zeke to escape after Erwin rode out to his death. 

The panel illustrating Levi’s powers awakening is also interesting as it looks very like a Titan transformation. This suggests there is more than a grain of truth in what the Yeagers said about Ackermans being a by-product of Titan science, who were able to access the power of the Titans without becoming Titans themselves.   

It’s not difficult to draw a direct line between the abuse and persecution Levi suffered as a child, with his determination to use his power to protect those in need.  Initially he used his strength to protect the vulnerable people of the Underground, such as Isabel, however once he met Erwin he was able to exert his power to serve an even higher goal - saving humanity. Isayama discussed this in the Answers Guidebook way back in 2006 and I think his comments are worth repeating here. 

Isayama With the heroes of American comics, conflicts dealing with the situation “with great power, comes great responsibility” have been depicted. In Levi’s case, if he had no power, he would probably have been an ordinary person with no responsibilities but, as a consequence of having power, that he became a person excessively burdened with responsibility. Kenny talked about “everyone… was a slave to something…”, when he put the question to Levi “what is yours!?”, Levi himself too perceived it. That he himself too was a slave in regard to his own strength. The sense of duty that “I must become a hero”. …the same thing can be said of Mikasa too but…, for the Ackerman family, in the service of their master, there are many people who are able to manifest their power to its maximum.

[Translation by @tsuki-no-ura]

I think it's also very in keeping with Levi's character that he remained devoted to saving humanity after the Rumbling; providing succour to the children in the refugee camp, and working to renew the environment destroyed by Eren's genocide, despite his injuries and regardless of whether he retained his Ackerpowers.

The title of the chapter, Bad Boy, is also interesting. No one actually calls Levi a “bad boy” in the chapter (though he is called worse) which suggests that this is how Levi sees himself.  It makes me wonder how much he internalised the thug’s insinuation that his mother would have been disappointed in him, and it also recalls Levi’s speech to Historia and the 104th, where he says he’s fine playing the role of the violent lunatic.  Poor baby.

Another point the chapter clarifies is the origin of Levi’s belief that Kenny was his father.  To be honest, it’s hardly surprising that Levi assumed this considering Kenny clearly had some kind of relationship with his mother and took him in without question. Still, knowing that the seed of that belief was planted by a thug who was willing to torture and kill a child, or sell him into sexual slavery, really twists the knife. 

[Translation by krtk.]

I am a little sad that we didn’t see more of Kenny in the chapter, but his presence certainly looms large.

I had expected to see more of Kuchel but at the same time I’m almost glad we didn’t.  Her life was brutal beyond measure and we’ve already seen her tragic death. Several fans have suggested that the reason we only see Kuchel in partial profile is because Levi’s memories of her are so hazy, all he really recalls is her grace 😢

It’s remarkable that Kuchel was able to retain such poise and grace despite living in such desperate squalor.  @momtaku has made the point that Kuchel appears to have been born into at least modest comfort, judging from Grandpa Ackermans’ home, which would explain where her elegance and also her fancy china came from.  It’s heartbreaking that both she and Levi clung on to this small memento of a better life. 

Levi’s devotion to his mother, his desire to emulate her grace and cling on to her belongings is devastating, is very much in keeping with everything we know about his character.  Levi has boundless compassion, is deeply loyal, and never forgets those he loves, whether it’s Farlan and Isabel, Erwin, or his squad.  He’s also very sentimental; saving his mother’s tea set, and drinking tea evokes a direct connection to Kuchel and the only good thing he remembers from the squalor and cruelty of his childhood. This makes Erwin’s willingness to indulge his sentimentality and bend the rules to procure a steady supply of high quality tea for Levi all the more poignant. 

There's been some debate about Gabi's reaction to Levi's story in the final panel...

Some people have interpreted her expression as holding back tears, while others have suggested she's trying not to laugh. I'm definitely in the stifled laughter camp. It just seems so very typical of Gabi and her relationship with Levi...

Gabi: - winds Levi up - Levi: - trauma dumps - Gabi: - stifled laughter / more wind up - Falco: - actually upset - "Would you guys stop??" Onyankopon: - shade -

It's also very typical of Isayama to poke fun at his characters like this, and it stops the story from tipping over into bathos.

There is one burning question that Bad Boy doesn’t answer and it’s this - what tf was kid Levi doing in Mr Smith’s classroom?? 

Despite hoping against hope, I never really expected Isayama to answer this, because he does love to troll his readers.  Is it too much to hope that sometime down the line he’ll reappear with another chapter called School Boy?? 

[amirasainz]

can you do more of baby!sainz crushing on lando and lando really likes it and flirt with her any time ++ carlos’s reaction

Of coure I can. This is a Part 2 story, so I would recommend reading the first part. My stories are usually seperate stories, however it was quiet fitting in this case. Btw, Carlos ec gf is mentioned, Isa I love writing requests for you guys and hope you enjoy reading my work. Let me know if you have any whishes! -XoXo

Three times when....Part 2

4. The Quadrant video

Ah, the delicate dance of family dynamics and romantic getaways—the kind that unfolds against the backdrop of sun-kissed beaches and whispered secrets. Carlos Sainz, the Ferrari sensation, had planned a romantic vacation with his girlfriend, seeking moments of stolen kisses and moonlit walks. And what better place than Bali to weave their love story?

But life, ever the mischievous storyteller, had other plans. A new Quadrant video emerged, casting its spotlight on the youngest Sainz sister. There stood Amira, flanked by Lando’s friends, Max and Keegan, her eyes fixed on Lando as he explained the rules of their karting challenge. Karting—a miniature ballet of speed and precision—would be their canvas.

Lando, the showman, draped his arm over Amira’s shoulder. His friend Keegan would take the wheel, aiming to beat Lando’s time. But first, Lando had to set the benchmark. As he zipped around the track, Amira’s gaze never wavered. Her words flowed like a river of admiration: “He is an amazing driver. It won’t take long before he takes his first win. Look how easy he makes it look.” Her grin was infectious, like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds.

And then, in a hushed whisper, she added, “Como un profesional.” Keegan and Max exchanged puzzled glances, their linguistic compass spinning in confusion. But Amira knew. She’d witnessed her friends’s journey—the sweat, the sacrifice, the hunger for victory. In that quiet moment, she held a secret: Lando Norris, the boy who’d captured her heart, was destined for greatness.

When Lando finally finished his run, he sprinted toward her. “And, what do you think, darling?" he teased. “Maybe I’ll be able to take you on a ride one day.” His flirtatious tone hung in the air, and apparently, it was working—because Amira was giggling.

Throughout the video, Lando would sweetly explain things to her while she had her whole attention on him. At the end, Max had to do the outro, because Lando was sitting in a kart with Amira on his lap. He clearly showed her things on the wheel, so he moved her hair aside and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"What the fuck did I just watch" thought Carlos to himself

5. The Spa crash

Carlos Sainz found himself in the midst of an interview when his eyes caught sight of his friend sliding across the treacherous Spa track. The Belgian circuit had claimed its share of lives over the years, and the rain only intensified its danger.

In that heart-stopping moment, Carlos’s mind painted worst-case scenarios. But then, relief flooded through him as Lando Norris responded to Sebastian Vettel’s thumbs-up signal and was soon escorted back to the safety of the team garages. Carlos wasted no time, ending the interview abruptly to ensure Lando’s well-being.

Yet, what awaited him upon his arrival was unexpected—a scene that tugged at his heartstrings. Lando stood in the rain, his little sister, Amira, by his side. Tears streamed down her face, and Carlos heard Lando’s soothing words: “I’m fine, darling. Nothing happened. It was just a little jump-scare. I promise, I’ll always come back to you.”

But Amira’s worry persisted. “How can you be so sure about that, Lando? What if—” she began, her voice trembling. Lando cut her off, determination in his eyes. “Hey, none of that, okay? It will take a thousand armies to keep me away from you, okay?” He waited for her nod, their bond unbreakable.

Carlos watched the scene unfold, touched by the depth of their friendship. He approached them, pulling them into a group hug, seeking solace in their shared connection. Together, they retreated into the warmth of the Ferrari garage, a sanctuary against the rain-soaked night.

Later, as Carlos settled into bed with his girlfriend, Isa, he recounted the events. “I didn’t know the two of them were such good friends,”he mused. Isa sighed, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You truly know nothing, Carlos Sainz.”

6. DJ Lando

Ah, the nightlife—the pulsing heartbeat of music, neon lights, and secrets whispered in the dark. Lando Norris, the McLaren sensation, was no stranger to the DJ booth, spinning beats that made the crowd sway and lose themselves. Clubs welcomed him like an old friend, and this weekend was no exception.

But amidst the thumping bass and swirling lights, something shifted. A new presence graced the scene: Amira, Carlos little sister. Her usual decline to join club outings had become a predictable pattern, making Carlos’s job as the protective older brother straightforward. Yet this time, she stood there, defying expectations.

And what a sight she was—dressed in a short dress, high heels elongating her legs. Lando kept her close, his arm around her waist or fingers tucked under her hairtie. Carlos’s attention zeroed in on them—the way Lando leaned in, whispering things in Amira’s ear. Her cheeks flushed crimson, embarrassment or amusement dancing across her face. What secrets did they share? Carlos couldn’t fathom, and it gnawed at him.

Lando’s proximity to his sister grated on Carlos’s nerves. Why was he so close? What did he want from Amira? The frustration simmered, and Carlos’s annoyance grew. Why hadn’t anyone clued him in? The club’s rhythm pulsed around them, but Carlos’s mind spun with questions. Perhaps it was time to confront Lando, to unravel the mystery that danced between them.

[astralis-ortus]

game for two

✱ husband!bc × gn!reader

— guess who just got his old yearbook in the mail?

w.count → 0.8k genre → fluff, married life!au, non-idol!chan warnings → minor cussing (light hearted context), chan referred to as chris

coming home from work, you’re usually greeted with one of the following­—an empty house, a soft reverberating beat from the small, cozy studio located at one end of your home, or a soft snore while some romance movie thickens its plot on the screen of your neatly mounted tv.

a view of your husband with a stack of books on his lap, however, was not exactly something you would ever have in your bingo card.

“whatcha up to?” became your follow up question after chris’ quick how-was-your-day debrief. it didn’t take you long before promptly securing the spot next to your husband, where he—judging from the way your ivory-colored couch emanates heat—had been hanging around on for quite some time now. “i don’t think i’ve seen those books before.”

“mm, just got them in the mail today,” chris hummed, an arm swiftly encaged your figure as he attempts wrap you in his warmth, “mum and dad found these in the attic while they were clearing out the house. thought would be better to keep these here than to fill up space in their new home.”

it only took you a second to realize what kind of book your husband has been flipping through when a familiar-yet-way-younger-looking dimpled smile came into view, eternally captured in the printed sheet. “oh! baby chris!”

“good lord,” a chuckle ignited from the depth of his chest, ones that always pair with the soft crinkles near his eyes and sometimes a nuzzle to your hair when he couldn’t stand the adoration bubbling in his heart, “i was an angsty, moody teenager there, not a baby.”

“sure, whatever you say, baby,” you teased, emphasizing the word as you stole the perfectly conditioned yearbook from his hands. you’ve seen countless of chris’ teenager years' pictures, sure, but what harm could it bring to have a peek at more?

chris comically let out a sigh as he rolled his eyes—a signature telltale of his attempt to ‘look’ annoyed. “you’d really be in a huge trouble if you call an angsty teenager a baby, you know.”

“i don’t, actually,” eyeing the faint playful glint in chris’ eyes, you decided to lure him into a game. after all, what’s a more fun way to spend your evening than to bicker with your husband? “what would this-” you pointed at his half-heartedly grinning self of the past, “-angsty teenager do if teenager me called him a baby?”

another set of chuckles escapes him—ones louder, which, more often than not, indicates his approval of the arena you’ve built.

he’s in the game.

“well, for starters,” chris tilted his head, quite obviously setting himself to get a full view of your reaction just by gauging the godawfully attractive smirk he got etched on his lips, “i’d probably…”

“…probably?”

his way of building suspense will one day definitely be the death of you. really. if you were honest to yourself, you would actually rather kiss that damned smirk off his face right now—but the game has just started, and you’d hate to lose to your husband on your own little trick.

only… would he even let you win?

“well…” shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, chris continued,

”i’d probably tell you to fuck off.”

the way your grin transformed into a face of utter disbelief was enough of a trigger to fill the room with echoes of chris’ laugh, filling the space with the kind of warmth you’ve only known after you met him. for now, however, you feel like you’ve been betrayed.

“that’s rude!” you huffed, incredulous. though arms are now completely folded in front of your chest, chris knew you’d still let him push more of your buttons; otherwise, why would you still melt into him?

“i’m your future wife! how could you tell me to fuck off?”

“in his defense, he didn’t know that!” he countered, wiping a stray tear which had involuntarily escaped while he was celebrating his first strike. "he was just a kid who thought the world in general was a mean ol' crone, so he just, you know, returned the energy."

"meeting you, however," setting his yearbooks aside, chris then took the chance to entrap you in his arms, "has changed my view about the world—for the better—and i owe you my life for that."

you've been speculating that there's something going on about chris' voice—is he a siren? or is he actually a highly skilled mage? how is it that his voice alone has never failed to untangle every single jumbled up knots under your skin?

or maybe, just maybe, the problem is you—because unknowingly, somewhere along the way, chris had long become your achilles heels.

"...shut up, christopher."

"aw- look at your ear! they're burning!"

"shut up!"

"heh- i love you too, baby."

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 6

Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?

Previous part

Part 6: sweet nothings

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I let out a groan as I stretched my arms out. My eyes snapped open to see Alastor still here and sitting in a chair by the empty fireplace. The evening sun was streaming through the large window and making his red pop out all the more.

His eyes were already on me when I looked him over. He placed his book on the side table and stood, his shadow lifting his cane for him to take. It took two strides to cross the room to kneel beside the couch.

I rolled over on my back as a red claw gently caressed my cheek and unstuck a strand of hair on the side of my face. When had he put a blanket over me? I pulled it off most of the way from being overheated.

"How did you sleep, dear?" he asked, voice crackling like his radio. His cane rested on his thigh.

"Not bad." I ran my hand up his sleeve to cover his hand, our fingers shifting so they could half interlace against my face. It was satisfying to stare up at his face.

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss on my forehead.

Beautiful darling, I heard him say.

He moved lower and pressed his lips onto mine. I leaned further into the pillow and found the back of his head with my other hand. His hair tickled my cheeks where it fell.

A string of fear pulsed through my mind at the thought of him leaving. I wanted so badly to keep him at a safe distance yet that had proven futile in the end. I couldn't resist him. Not now, and not when I first developed feelings for him. He somehow always managed to rope me back in.

I wasn't so sure I wanted to untangle myself.

****

Alastor spent the next few days doting on his soulmate. It felt like he was basking in warm sunlight on a breezy summer afternoon every time you were in the room together. Your magic melded so perfectly where it had been jagged before. It was comforting.

Though it was bittersweet.

Now that the bond had connected fully again, he was able to hear the little doubts that plagued your mind. You weren't shielding him in the way he was shielding you. His...other...feelings were still hidden safely behind a wall. You didn't need to see those.

You were highly skeptical of his affections but you never stopped him. He noticed the little devils making more frequent appearances around you. If he left you alone, they were at your side by the time he came back. If he barely turned his head, one of them was appearing from underfoot to grip at your pant leg.

Nym was the more intriguing one. She had a tough, rowdy spirit and seemed to drag her brother with her wherever she went. The boy was smaller than her and ran to his adoptive mother if he feared Nym would bring him somewhere muddy or had a small creature in her palms.

Reagan still hated him. He never cared for her to begin with but she lived under the same roof and caused plenty of problems. If it wasn't for his soulmate, Alastor would've corrected her bad manners long ago.

All three devils were in the kitchen while you made dinner. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before excusing himself outside through the back door. He stood at the corner of the house furthest from the haven — a place no one would ever be looking — then leaned against the wood grasping at his chest.

He pulled his bow tie loose and gripped his microphone until it bent under his strength. His breathing was erratic, his legs felt numb, and his claws were frozen in whatever position they were currently in. He tried to force his heart to slow its beating but his magic was difficult to reign in.

He had been suffering from these random panic attacks for days. They came on without warning. Horrid memories and anxieties resurfaced, along with bad possible scenarios. He had to get a hold of this panic. Every time he grew more panicked, his magic would slip away from his fingers—the one thing he relied on for centuries, the one thing that made him feel safe and in control.

A thought came to mind and his panic flew away. You had managed to regain control of your magic with a magic-restraining headband on; back when Blackwater was still alive. Alastor had been yanked into the darkness too soon for him to properly search your mind for how you did it. Maybe you would allow him to look back in that memory.

Dinner was awkward, as expected. The two of you sat on the long ends of the table with the devils in between. Nym sat on the chair adjacent to Alastor while Thatcher and Reagan sat closest to you.

Thatcher liked to talk—whenever his sister wasn't talking over him—and Nym liked to stare. She looked away whenever Alastor caught her observing him.

Reagan was silent unless you asked her a direct question. After the first two, you left her alone and listened to the younger pairs' wild adventures in the haven.

After dinner, Alastor watched from the corner of the kitchen as you and the tiny children cleaned up. Reagan was quick to retreat to her room for the night. Alastor would make a comment about that later.

He focused his attention on you as you stood behind the pair washing and drying the dishes. Thatcher liked to play with the water and soap while Nym preferred to dry, probably from her love for mud and anything dirty.

He was surprised to see Thatcher placed a cluster of soap bubbles on her arm. She tried flicking them off but when that didn't work, she angrily took a towel to it. You laughed and placed a gentle kiss on both of their heads.

Something moved in Alastor.

He wasn't sure what exactly. Was it love? Jealousy? Adoration? What he did know was that it made his shoulders less tense, made the edges of panic fade away. His smile was genuine when you glanced over your shoulder at him.

After the dishes had been cleaned, dried, and stored away, you sent the two to their bedroom. He wrapped an arm around your waist and basked in your warmth when you returned the gesture, leaning in so your bodies were comfortably against each other. It felt so good to be able to touch you again.

"I need to speak with Reagan first." You said after a quick kiss. He grimaced at the name but unstuck his claw from your waist. The sooner you spoke to the insolent child, the sooner he would have you for the rest of the night.

He waited in the bedroom, coat off, and glasses on as he read through the abstracts you had made in his absence. Your handwriting was difficult to read but the farther he read in a book, the better it looked.

His foot tapped the floor repeatedly and his eyes kept jumping up to the clock on the mantle. How long did it take to speak to Reagan? It had been thirty minutes already.

He glanced at his cane resting against his leg to ensure it was still there.

Footsteps creaked on the floorboards. His eyes snapped up to the door in anticipation. Upon seeing your head poke through the door, he sprung to his feet and glided over to meet you.

His mind touched yours as his arms wrapped around your back. You let his mind pass through the shields and he shoved away the uneasy feelings Reagan had caused. He felt amusement and annoyance from you at his action.

When you tried to push further past his walls, he placed a firm kiss on your lips as a distraction. He didn't want you to see the building anxieties and tension he had been hiding for weeks since his return. He knew that if you felt him shielding from you too firmly that you would grow upset with him and ask questions.

He threaded his claws through your hair, practically bending you backwards from the effort to be physically close, and searched your mind. It took all of three seconds for you to notice what he was doing and broke the kiss. You pushed him out of your mind and unhooked his arms from your back.

"Tell me what's going on." You crossed your arms.

"What do you mean?" His distractions had failed. How did you even feel he was searching her mind? He had been painstakingly light.

"You keep trying to go deep in my mind but you won't let me into yours."

Ah, so he hadn't been doing a good job at hiding it. Your magic perception must've gotten stronger in his absence. He felt both pride and disappointment knowing he wouldn't be able to hide much from you soon.

"I have allowed you in my mind," he argued gently. He glanced over to see his cane still resting on the chair.

"Not deep. Not as deep as I allow you. So why?"

His eyes left yours as he claws closed around nothing. He summoned his cane into his hand and tried to find the proper words. He felt your mind moving softly around his, not yet trying to push through the barrier. It was something he had done to you so many times before.

He was waiting, expecting you, to say something more to move the conversation along but you didn't. You waited in silence, eyes pinned on him and nowhere else. It was as if he was on a dark stage with a single spotlight on him. Usually he didn't mind it but tonight was different.

"You have your fears, I have my own," he finally said. General, not too specific, but still revealing in a way.

"What fears do you have?" Your question was genuine and not at all accusatory. Everyone had fears. Yet you truly thought he had none.

"Leaving you." His red eyes flicked up to yours for your reaction. Your ears perked up on the sides of your head. Your mouth hung open and a single hand was hovering over your stomach, as if you were debating on touching something, on touching him.

He wanted you to touch him.

"But...why won't you let me in?" you asked next.

"I do not want you to be fearful of my absence again. If I fear it, you will too."

You let out a sigh and took a step closer. Your gentle claw laid carefully on top of the one on his cane while the other gently grabbed his other arm. His hand came up to rest lightly on your back.

"I'm not as fragile as I once was," you said, your eyes scanning his body from his waist to his antlers. They settled down to meet his eyes, "You don't need to protect me from everything."

For a while nothing was said. Your eyes never parted, drinking in each other's gaze after such a long time apart. He noticed then that you were right. You were looking at him differently. Before, you always had a look of anxious anticipation or fear. Now, you looked at him with curiosity and even a fan of confidence. You had grown in the past eight years.

You retracted your hands from his body and he instinctively pulled you against him, afraid to lose you a second time. You let out a small laugh and patted his chest lightly. "I'm just doing something. I'll be right back."

You pushed off his unwillingly arm and walked over to the dresser where a radio sat. You switched it on and turned the dial until you found the station you were looking for. Soft, slow jazz music filled the red room (Unforgettable- Nat King Cole). You kept it at a decent level where you could both hear it but not disturb the children across the hall.

The low piano tunes danced overhead as you sauntered back over to him. You gripped his red staff and lightly pulled his wrist up, successfully peeling off his tight claw from his crutch. You placed his hand at his side and moved to lean the cane against one of the chairs.

You returned to him a moment later, his hands moving instinctively into a waltz position. Your claws were so thin and small compared to his thick, red, sturdy ones. But that didn't lessen your comforting grip. He noticed the way your gaze lingered on your intertwined fingers.

He also noticed the way your pupils widened when they finally looked up at him. His other hand was comfortably on your waist, your own resting on his shoulder. Had you grown taller? He could vaguely remembering stretching his arm more to touch your back when you first learned to dance with him.

He noticed the shadows mimicking the dancing movements along the wall.

He felt a small spike of nervousness from you as you took the first few steps of the waltz. He could feel that it had been some time since you last danced like this with anyone. It was both a sadness and comfort.

He had been stuck in darkness but you had to live on, remaining loyal without an explanation to his disappearance. You had chosen him as he had chosen you. From the big actions like killing Blackwater to the small things like never dancing with someone in his absence, you had chosen him.

His smile grew. His lips were closed as he stared lovingly into your soft eyes. They were the only ones he ever wanted to look at him. They were the only ones that deserved to look at him.

He drunk in your presence, your stare, your love, your touch, your everything. He waited for so long to experience another dance with you. Why had he been so stubborn with you before?

The song ended and you both came to a slow stop. Another song came on, one just as soft and slow as the first, and you continued the gentle waltz (moonlight serenade - glen miller).

Nothing was needed to be said. You basked in each other's mind, unable and unwilling to pull away. You threaded your souls together like stitching a quilt, careful and slow and methodical. No rush. Just peace. Just warmth. Just love.

At one point you laid your head on his chest. Love and adoration swelled inside. He felt like a cup overflowing with something. He was utterly shocked to find himself coming close to the feeling of crying.

He had done plenty of that in the darkness but out here? Why was such a happy moment making him want to cry? It seemed counterintuitive.

You rubbed your head against the red fabric and let out a heavy sigh. He slowly let your hand down and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, allowing you enough room to wrap your own around his waist.

You swayed from side to side now, no stepping required to break your concentration on him. Your mind filled him to every inch and centimeter of his being. He could feel you in his fingers, in his cloved toes, in his wretched tail, in his ears, and every mind space he had.

There was you and only you.

Until your glow dulled as you nearly fell asleep standing up. He hummed a laugh and felt another spike of something strong coming from you. You pushed your face further into his chest.

"Come love," he whispered. He leaned down and lifted your legs, his other hand holding your back securely. He brought you over to the bed and, before placing you down, snapped his fingers to switch you into your usual night attire.

He pulled the covers over your shoulders and moved to get himself ready for bed. Your hand grabbed his and he gently tapped it. "I'll be right back."

He noticed your watchful gaze never left him as he walked to the other side of the room. He snapped his fingers again to adorn himself in different clothes. His cloved feet touched the soft carpet underneath.

He slipped under the covers and you attached yourself to his side instantaneously. He wrapped his arms securely around your back and nuzzled his face into your soft hair. He sucked in your sweet, earthy scent and let out a heavy, relieving sigh. You followed suit.

"Goodnight my dear," he placed a kiss on your head.

"Goodnight," you mumbled. He began to hum a familiar tune and felt your conscious fighting to stay awake to enjoy the feeling of his chest vibrating against your touch.

I love you.

I love you too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

It's been a long time coming...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 3

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Lucifer makes a choice he is likely to regret.

The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs. But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor's worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter's dream. Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor's soul from the brink of destruction. In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.

[AO3 LINK]

Hi! here's the latest chapter of my radioapple fic!! things are gettin crazy!! Im very excited about this chapter so I attempted a drawing to accompany it as well ❤️ As always next chapter will be posted in 1 week. 📻🍎

Chapter preview below!

Charlie is still a little girl on the night of the first extermination. When the screaming starts, Lucifer is in her room, curled around her tiny body, his wings a cocoon around them –– he sings softly in her ear, even as she cries and bangs her tiny fists against his chest. 

“Daddy,” she sobs. “Help them –– please!”

I can’t, he doesn’t say. She hasn’t learned, yet, that there are no correct moves in this game –– that he is a pawn locked in Heaven’s trap, always three steps behind. 

It is Lilith who oversees the exterminations. In those years, she often returns with a scrape or two from an angelic weapon. These are a joy to heal –– her soul is made of Lucifer’s most treasured memories. It feels less like a curse, then, to crawl into her arms –– to press his forehead to hers and dive back into Eden. 

When he touches her, it is easy to forget that Eden was an age ago.

When Charlie is thirteen, the Exorcists arrive six hours early; the denizens of Hell are unprepared, still out drinking to their own impending doom. It is a massacre. 

When the rift opens, he is at Lu Lu World with Charlie. He brought her there to cheer her up before the extermination. The Exorcists swarm the park in seconds — Lucifer pulls Charlie against his chest to whisk her away, but not before she catches sight of a ticket-taker with an angelic arrow in his heart.

She struggles in Lucifer’s grip, her hand outstretched, as if there were anything she could do — and then they both dissolve in a red shimmer of light. 

They materialize in the parlor.

Charlie snarls — her horns sprout from her forehead. “Let me go!” she yells.

Lucifer releases her instantly. She stumbles forward; Lucifer reaches out a hand to steady her, but she rounds on him and bats it away. 

“I can’t believe you!” She says. “I know you heal Mom when she comes back from the exterminations. If I had that power, I’d be out there right now, trying to save as many lives as I could. They’re our people, dad!” 

Lucifer frowns, removes his hat, and runs a hand through his hair. “Come on, Charlie. You know I can’t do that.”

Charlie squares her shoulders in defiance. “Why not?” 

Lucifer sighs. He crosses into the dining room and sits at the table. He’s tempted to tell her the entire truth –– but of the host of indignities that come with his sentence, the worst has always been explaining each punishment to his daughter. Her naïve confusion when she learned he once lived in Heaven still haunts his nightmares. 

He drops his head in his hands. 

Charlie’s soft footsteps –– she pulls out the chair next to his and sits down.

Lucifer sighs and settles for a partial truth. “You and I are very alike,” he says. “It is sometimes more natural for us to … care.” 

Charlie’s hand lands on Lucifer’s back. He looks up at her.

“One day you’ll understand that caring is part of our punishment here,” Lucifer says. “The more you care for these sinners, the more it hurts.”

[AO3 LINK]

[leafyaa]

Chapter 17

"Heizou hurry up! Just bring Maple and blanket and leave the rest in the trunk."

"Okay okay! But Maple is being fuzzy about me carrying him!" Heizou exclaimed while Maple was trying to get out of his grip by trying to scratch his face.

"Ugh I'll carry her just hurry up and open the door!" Sara yelled as she grabbed the blanket and quickly wrapped the cat inside only for its head to stick out.

They both rushed inside the hospital looking for your room.

You just sat there on the bed facing the blank white wall, not saying a single word. Your head was carefully wrapped with bandages.

Kunikuzushi went to buy some water on your request but hadn't returned yet.

You just felt empty.

That letter...

You didn't want to think about it but it kept appearing in your mind as if to taunt you.

It was her exact handwriting too.

Sure she was just a 6 year old girl and sure it had been a while since you’ve seen her write anything. So this was just all a set up... Right?

Okay so if it was faked it still couldn't explain the other thing...

On the bottom of the letter you found another line saying

'She lost her first tooth, aren’t you proud?' It was definitely not written by Hikari, but by someone else.

Right under those words were some red liquid splatters of something you didn't even want to guess..

But the tooth..

The tooth surely was real right? It felt real.. Like a real tooth... Like a kid's tooth..

The tooth was still inside the pocket of your kimono. You had shoved it in there before the police came which was probably breaking the law but whatever you would hand it in later.

But surely everything must have been a prank, right?

More uneasy thoughts filled your head and you felt as if you were about to throw up.

But before that could happen Sara and Heizou stormed inside the room, scaring the shit out of you and your cat out of their grip. She immediately jumped onto your bed and curled into your arms while you looked at your friends.

"Y/n we're so sorry we couldn't be there on time-" Heizou began and Sara continued his sentence.

"They didn't allow us to enter and it took a while to convince them to allow us to pick up Maple." Sara finished with a sigh. The both of them walked over to your hospital bed, sitting on the chair placed next to you and held your hand.

"Y/n, how are you doing..? We've received the news and the investigation has been reopened.." She spoke with a calm voice and watched your blank expression at Maple nuzzling her face into your hands.

"I.. Don't know.." You replied with honesty. Just a minute ago you were interrupted by the both of them bursting inside your hospital room, but now you were staring mindlessly at Maple.

Sara looked hesitant at what to say. She was never good at comforting you about Hikari, after all she never lost a kid before.

Heizou on the hand was somewhat better but still, both of them never had a child they loved. They never felt the feeling of losing complete hope in continuing to live on. And you kept that in mind of course.

"Let's pray for her, okay?" He spoke, trying to break the awkward silence.

You nodded slowly and silently prayed for your daughter to be okay as Heizou took your other hand. You loved her with your whole heart, a heart that could be shattered in seconds if you would receive the news she wasn't here anymore.. You still held hope that she lived even though all the evidence reduced the odds of finding her..

"I want more information." Kunikzushi stated as he sat beside a man dressed in black. He was outside with a plastic bag with two drinks standing next to a bench while talking to the person beside him who read a newspaper.

"Unfortunately it's confidential information, my friend. I can't just give it away." He spoke calmly, turning the page and continuing to read.

"Then why are you here? Just to mock me??" Kunikuzushi became more agitated with every second passing. What was Ayato doing here if not to tell him about what was going on with you?

"Until my investigation is completed I can not reveal anything. Best is, if Y/n tells it herself." He spoke and stood up, dusting the imaginary dust off his clothes.

"Now then I'll take my leave. Make sure to take good care of her." He spoke as if he too felt a sense of responsibility.

"Wait what if.. I give you more intel? Anything, I'll give you anything you want.. Money if you so desperately need it…" Kunikuzushi spoke with desperation, trying to convince Ayato into giving him information while Ayato walked without turning back or stopping.

"Apologies, unfortunately this time, I can not accept it. You have to ask her yourself about her situation. After all, you still love her even if she does not reciprocate it." Kunikuzushi clenched his fist and angrily glared at Ayato as he walked further away in the parking lot. How dared he to just dismiss him?

There was no way he could ask you about the situation. So he had to come up with something else.

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Notes:

It's safe to say I nearly failed every subject but okay. My update is way too late bc I was too lazy to continue to write this chapter so apologies for that. I hope you enjoyed this and I think I'll have another chapter ready in an hour, day or another week

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 @kaorieee @scaramochies @ekriis @rizakari @xxrexx @lovingveliona @magica-ren @lilybythevalley @theflatdoorkicker @lazy-sanns @reixtsu @fullw0rld @kunikuzushis-darling @childesgingerhair @kochothehoe @mercy-not-merci @ash1

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” [10/…]

OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"You're the one, You're all I ever wanted. I think I'll regret this."

-Mitski, "Your Best American Girl"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (live action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.

The past echoes behind you, as does the uncertain future that lies ahead. Where you go from this point on, you'll have to be quick about making your decision. There is unrest in the waters, and not everyone knows how to swim.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, Buggy being a simp, flashbacks

A/N: .... Half a year later, and an update. As I've mentioned several times already, I'm sorry for the delay. A lot of things have happened these past couple of months, work has been hella hectic, and I'm moving into a house next month. This chapter is not too long, but I hope it'll do until the finale. If you notice any grammar mistakes, no you didn't.

It's tough to have so much love in your heart but nowhere to put it. It festers in your body, churning until it sours and rots into something unspeakably ugly.

You try not to remember, but sometimes your mind possesses a will of its own; sadistic in nature, taunting you with images of events you wish would leave you be. 

You recall that day. You see images of it flash through the synapses in your brain on more than a few occasions; twisting and knotting until they form an enlarged image of what you have dubbed the day you were acquainted with true pain.

It was a rainy day, not even a month after Rogers departed from the world of the living. The winds were picking up, the ship was rocking like she intended to knock you off balance and leave you at the mercy of the waves. 

Even still, you refused to let go.

The tension between Shanks and Buggy was palpable through your fingertips for a while by then, the reasons behind which were entirely unknown to you. The way they looked at each other was vehemently acrimonious, yet you had no clue as to what had detonated this rift. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think about it?

Maybe you were so desperately naive as to believe that things would stay the same, even when it was plain to see that they wouldn’t.

Buggy and Shanks had always been … at odds with one another, but never in a way that struck you strange before. They were simply like that, for as long as you’d known them. Their rivalry was benevolent in nature, just boys being boys, pirates being pirates.

Not that day.

You had been talking to Shanks on deck, moments before it happened. The subject of your conversation has long since evaded your memory, but that’s all you did. Conversing.

Then, Buggy was there, only that he wasn’t there either. There was something different about the bright blue eyes you used to hold in such high regard. They were cold, inexplicably hostile. 

Foul.

There was rage in his irises, and that had been beyond the kind you were acquainted with. It was scorching, tenfold sharper than the kind you received from your foes. 

Only that he wasn’t one of your foes.

It was Buggy.

Your Buggy.

And you were on the receiving end.

“You’re going with him, aren’t you?!” He demanded in such a way that you felt like it wasn’t him at all. An impostor.

Whether it was the surprise or the shock that ensnared you, you didn’t answer at first.

“ANSWER ME, DAMNIT!”

“Buggy…” your voice was hushed, scarcely making your vocal cords vibrate with each syllable. “What are you—?”

“I saw it, so don’t bother denying it!” 

He stomped over to you, and it felt like the planks beneath his feet were about to break. “Just tell me! Tell me that’s what you’re going to do! Just get it over with!”

You tried to reach for him, intertwine his fingers with your own; a safety line amidst a storm. He never rejected the gesture before, but when your digits fell upon his soft skin, he yanked them off like your touch was molten lava.

His limbs were quivering, hands knotted to fists, burning with heat yet trembling with cold at the same time.

Then, he said three words. 

Three words that would come to haunt you for the next two decades to come.

“I hate you,” he snarled. “I wish we’d never even met. Be with him if that’s what you fucking want! What do I care?”

“Buggy—“

For a moment, you didn’t know how to breathe. 

How to blink. 

How to feel. 

You had been stabbed before. Burnt. Slapped. Stabbed. Whipped. Tortured. 

Long before Rogers brought you with him, you thought yourself well-acquainted with all the pain the world could provide. It marred your bones, painted your flesh, scarred your skin. The indents still stained your arms and legs, your face, yet nothing could compare to the agony that followed Buggy’s words.

Your heart felt hollow; submerged in neck-deep waters with no bottom in sight.

“Buggy,” the corners of your eyes were stinging, yet you could not recall if you were crying or not. The feeling was a foreign one, so much so that you had no way of recognizing the sensation. 

He left after that; turned his back and walked away, and it was the last time you ever saw him in the flesh.

The next couple of years following that incident were blurry, you can’t remember much of it. It was as though your brain decided to dismiss those memories in an act of self-preservation.

You remember staying with Shanks for a time, whether loyalty or self-preservation, it didn’t matter. You stayed until just the mere sight of him rendered your guts to stones. 

You had no reason to resent him. He was good, among the best, but he could not provide a cure for your affliction, so you decided to leave the Red-Haired Pirates.

Shanks never begrudged you.

After parting ways with him, it didn’t take you long enough to establish a crew of your own, and a name. “Cross-Hairs”, the moniker you replaced with your real one. It’s been so long since anyone acknowledged your actual one, it’s as if it never existed. 

Some people saw a strong woman with enough broken bones on her record to know she would ensure their survival just as much as she could guarantee their demise, yet they still placed their bets on it.

Thus, the Cross-Haired Pirates came to fruition. Escaped convicts, thieves, general rogues, but efficient people in their own rights.

They feared you as much as they respected you. Your crew was among the most loyal people you’ve ever met. 

If you told them to bark, they’d bite. 

If you commanded them to kill, they’d do so without question, but they’d still leave their lives in your hands. They were your pack of loyal hounds, but you were a wolf in their ranks. Your say was the last of theirs.

You don’t regret letting them go. You had nothing more to offer them after you’d found a reason to stay in Foosha Village. Whatever violence remained in the world; they could find it in your absence. 

Some of them chose to disagree with your decision, demand that you remain their Captain; their checks would never run empty, but they were silenced quickly enough with the swing of your blade.

You’re not proud of the person you were, yet you could credit your survival to her. 

Blood, bones, tears, and pain, it never mattered to you, yet it granted you a superior seat on the food chain.

You became the beast haunting everyone’s dreams. The shadow in their path.

Even so, the pain of other people could not relinquish your own. 

You burned every day and every second for twenty years, so you turned the world to ashes in kind.

———

Long ago, Cabaji found his captain on deck one night with a bottle nursed against his sternum, his back against the railing, and his knee propped up to rest his head on. He was drunk, and although it wasn’t an unusual occurrence on its own, it was still unnerving.

“Captain, you alright?”

“‘m fine,” Buggy answered tightly, lolling his head back and forth. It was dark outside, no moon, yet the first mate could spot the redness across the Captain’s cheeks. “What t- time is it?”

“Just past midnight.” Cabaji frowned at the pathetic display, and with some hesitance, crouched down so he could put a finger on the clown’s forehead. Holy shit, what a fever. “Captain… You’re burning.”

“Burning?!” Buggy wheezed, as if he’d been told the world’s funniest joke. He threw his arm out, bottle raised high, and repeated: “Burning? Oh, that’s just great! I never took you for a jester, Cabaji! That title’s usually reserved for yours flashy truly! You tryin’ to upstage your captain or something?”

“No, Captain.” His right-hand man lightly put his fingers on the clown’s forehead again, mindful of not letting them linger lest he wanted to lose them. “You’re seriously burning up. How long have you been out here?”

“Five minutes, an hour, fuck, twenty years perhaps!” Buggy took another sip of the half-empty bottle in his hold. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it did wonders for his mind. His troubled, asymmetrical library of a brain whose caretaker had long since abandoned their charge.

The jester leaned the back of his head against the hard surface of the railings, tipping the bottle carelessly to the side so that its content could spill onto the wooden floor without any concern. It stained his pants; he'd reek for days, but there was no urgency in ridding himself of the splotch. “How can I burn when there is no sun out, Cabaji? Answer me that.”

“I don’t understand… it’s the middle of the night, the sun will be back tomorrow.”

“MEH! WRONG!” He continued to laugh with no sense of humor. No joy. No nothing. Just hollow breaths meant to mimic his trademark sound. With no short amount of effort on his part, he almost tripped himself trying to get up to his feet. 

His next words almost struck the first mate as … hollow somehow.

“The sun stopped shining long ago.”

———

You can’t sleep, but it has nothing to do with the added weight on your abdomen. 

Buggy, even with his entity body stripped from him, feels heavy and sleeps soundly, and he snores. You can't help but marvel at the view, mindful of your movements as you do. 

He looks to be at peace, completely so. Content. You'd think that he'd be a bit more wary considering he's currently stuck on a ship with people who want nothing more than to throw him overboard, yet here he is.

He's here.

With gentle hands unbeknownst to you, you carefully pry him off of you and settle him back down once your body’s out of the hammock. 

He can rest, you think, and he does so like a newborn.

Even with your body no longer attached to him, you can’t help but marvel at the sight. His eyes are closed, breathing even, as though he’s completely at ease with the world. Light as a feather, you tug a strand of hair away from his eyes and resign yourself to a night of wandering to ease your nerves.

The air on deck is cold. You find Ussop leaned across the steering wheel, sound asleep. You have half a mind to scold him for his negligence, but the other half remind you that in essence, he’s still just a kid. He should rest as well.

So, you find a blanket and carefully pull it over him, hoping that the cold won’t catch him as easily as Arlong’s men probably will at one point.

The waters are calm as you lean over the railings to observe them. The moon isn’t full, but it still dons a soft light across the waters. You relish in the ambience the night sky grants, finding serenity in it all. 

“What’re you doing up?”

You snap your head down to find Buggy’s head poised next to your arms, having hopped over to you on the railing. He must’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, or maybe you had been uncharacteristically caught off-guard. 

He looks tired, but not disoriented as he props himself closer to you. If he’s moody from the lack of sleep, he doesn’t voice it.

“You’ll fall off,” you warn him.

“You can still swim, can’t you?” He points out. 

“What makes you think I’ll jump after you?”

“Won’t you?”

You glance back down at him, and you can vaguely spot an ounce of sincerity in his eyes; a genuine question that conceals the deep-rooted vulnerability underneath. It’s a rare look on him, or maybe it’s the hole of light in the sky playing tricks on your brain.

The two of you say nothing to each other for a while, but your eyes never shy away from each other. To be honest, you have no idea where this … this is headed. You’re not sure what to do about it either. Twenty years has left a gaping hole in your chest, akin to a supernova that swallows everything around it.

Turns out it will still consume any scraps of your youthful affection too, and you can’t tell if it fills the hole up or further deepens the void. You’re not sure you want to know.

“You should head back inside,” you finally say. “It’s cold outside.”

“So what?”

“Being a head surely leaves you at a disadvantage against the elements, does it not?”

If he had shoulders, he’d shrug, but he makes a pretty good imitation of it with just his head alone. “Dunno, but I don’t care.”

“You don’t want to catch pneumonia and die or something, do you?” I

t wasn’t meant as a joke at first, but the moment he hears it, a snnnrrrrrk develops into full-blown laughter that’s a hair width away from waking your crew members.

You don’t know what possesses you, but hearing him laugh like this, so genuinely, conjures a laugh of your own. It’s more hushed and subtle in comparison to your companion, but it’s there and it feels so strange to have it erupt from your chest. 

When was the last time you laughed? 

After a while, your combined laughter gradually quietens and when you look at Buggy next, you see him with eyes the size of plates, like he couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. Not in an alarming way, but in … adoration. Just unadulterated, complete awe.

For some reason, it pains you to have him look at you like this. After all this time. So, you turn your head back to the sea and let your gaze linger there again. You’re reminded that, like the waves, you can’t go back to how it used to be.

“When you’ve retrieved your body, you can go.”

Buggy freezes. "... What?"

"Once you get your body back, you can leave. I'll tell the crew you disappeared." 

It'll be easier for the both of you, you justify. He can get back to being Captain Buggy, and you can go back to being ... someone. 

You're no longer a captain, and you have no interest in playing the part again. He'll have his freedom, and you'll have your contentment in knowing that you have once more gotten to look him in the eyes.

It’ll hurt, but pain is an old friend.

He doesn't say anything for the longest time, but you can hear the cogs churning in his brain. "You mean ... You don't want to go with me, after all this time?"

You glance over your shoulder to the door to the kitchen area. "I ... Care much for the boy, and I know you tend to carry grudges. I don't intend to be involved with that."

"You don't have to be!" Buggy insists, almost urgently, like he's afraid you'll leave on the dot. "You can stay with me, and whatever business I have with the rubbery pri-... I- I mean, the kid, I'll keep it to myself."

You spend a second looking down at him, scrutinizing him of any signs that he's being false, before you avert your gaze back to the waves. Truth be told, you've never thought much of what to do once you left Luffy's crew. 

As far as you're concerned, you don't have anywhere to go back to. Maybe you'll return to Foosha village, pay Makino a visit, or maybe you'll become a wayward at sea. Make coin where you can, visit Shanks sometime?

But joining Buggy?

Now that's a thought you never believed would cross your head for a long time.

"I won't be a good circus performer," you admit.

He makes a pfsssssh sound, tongue waggling out of his mouth. "'Course you'd be! The strongest woman in all of East-Blue! People will bankrupt themselves just to see you in action! C'mon, just think about it!"

You bury the urge to remind him that if anyone will commit any bankrupting, it'll be him. Joining Buggy's crew, after so long? A part of you thinks that it can open a window of opportunity to provide closure. Grant him a chance to make up for his misdeeds.

Another part reminds you that the pain he once brought caused you two decades of misery, so why give him the opportunity to attempt the same once more? In all your life, only he’s ever possessed the power to render you so small. 

You might be among the strongest pirates across the seas, but someone always held you by a leash; dragged you, pulled you into every direction, and demanded your obedience. Rogers freed you from the leash altogether, but Buggy remains the only person you freely gave your leash to. You gave it to him, and he let it go.

Are you willing to hand it back to him, knowing what happened last time?

How does the saying go? 

Bite you once and twice, shame and all that.

"We should head back inside."

———

Coco Village, you think, is a lonely place; void of life; desolate. It reminds you of where you originally came from before Rogers brought you onto his crew all those years ago. A hollow replica of how it used to be.

A feeling of cold stretches across your skin at the memory of it all, like a layer of frost having come back to torment you. 

You glance around at the halfway-demolished huts, and you see its denizens with nothing behind their eyes. Whatever hope once resided in their hearts abandoned them long ago. It brings you no joy, but it doesn’t necessarily bring you any melancholy either.

It is not your sorrow to bear.

Nojiko’s cabin, on the other hand, seems like a pleasant reprieve. It’s not much, but judging by the delicate way she handles herself and her equipment, it’s a home.

A home hanging on a thread from Arlong’s pointy nose.

While Sanji’s helping Nojiko clean the plates, you’re seated across from Usopp, with Buggy’s head poised between you on top of the table. Wherever Luffy and Zoro are outside, you’re certain they’re concocting some sort of plan to get Nami out. 

It’ll be the first time he’ll have to make up a thorough plan, rather than making it up as he goes as he’s done so far.

You’re curious as to how it’ll go, though you’ll follow nonetheless. Your presence here with them depends on whether he’ll make it, and if he does, you’ll finally part ways.

You love Luffy, almost more than you’ve loved anyone else in your entire life. You were there to watch him grow, you were there to patch him up, to make sure he had food when Makino couldn’t afford to spare any. 

You love his hair, his eyes, the way his smile all but brightens up any dark corner in any room. You love him so much so that you’ll leave the moment you know he doesn’t need you anymore.

The thought, while maintaining a rooted spot in your brain, lessens your appetite and causes you to play with the food on your plate. It’s long since grown cold in your negligence.

Suddenly, a loud "BOOM!!" promptly snaps you out of your mindscape and back to reality. Buggy cackles, and although you're not the intended target of his joke, it still irks you to some limited extent.

"Can you just be quiet?"

"Aw, come on. Where's the fun in that?" There's a malicious glint in the clown's eye. "Do you really think your little toys can get through the skin of a fish-man?"

You have to commend Usopp for his resilience. "These are smoke bombs."

"Smoke. That's rich..." Trailing off, Buggy eyes your meal with the subtlety of a puppy looking for scraps, licking his chapped lips. "Makes me think of how long it's been since I've had any smoked fish." 

You spare him a wayward glance, fork ceasing its massacre of the flesh on your plate. Usopp notices the change almost instantaneously as he tinkers with his makeshift bomb.

The reply from the slingshot is quick. “Don’t give it to him.”

“As opposed to what?” You quirk an unbothered eyebrow. “Let Sanji’s meal go to waste?”

“Eat it yourself, then! You’ve hardly had any!”

“I’m not particularly hungry at the moment, and it’s either the trash or the clown.”

Usopp scoffs. “Like there’s a difference.”

“HEY! I’M RIGHT HERE, ASSHAT!”

Sanji perks up at the commotion and looks at you from over his shoulder, hands still wet from the washing. “I do hope you’re not discussing the possibility of discarding my food. Not when Nojiko has been so lenient as to lend us the necessary ingredients?”

Usopp shakes his head. “It’s worse! She wants to give it to the fucking clown!”

Sanji glances at you, and he speaks in that soft tone he primarily reserves for the women in his company. “Was my meal not to your satisfaction, Madam?” 

You incline your head to him in a way that’s meant to convey approval. “It was, make no mistake of it, but I’m afraid that my appetite is rather lacking at the moment.”

Buggy looks between the two of you, and his mood sours considerably. It’s as though a fire is burning in the back of the room, and the scorch threatens to incinerate the furniture and all the people inside. He halfway hopes it will, but although his Devil Fruit has granted him a plethora of powers people can only hope to dream of, prokinetics are evidently out of his reach.

No one notices, however.

Then, a minute goes by, and Sanji finally shrugs. “As much as I can’t condone Usopp’s anger, I can’t condone a good meal being wasted. Do with it as you please, my lady.”

Buggy guffaws while Usopp pales, but your face stays the way it’s always done. If anyone were to notice the way you discreetly inch the plate towards Buggy, they keep their opinions to themselves. 

If Buggy stares at you like you hung the moon and the sun in the sky, you keep your observations to yourself.

You don’t say a word, but you want to say a lot. 

You wish to say more than you've ever said before.

But you don’t.

———

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23, @neenieweenie, @kassandrasowl, @matthewjstarling, @fisshil

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[shastafirecracker]

Trigun Fic Appreciation Week, Throwback Style: TiggyMalvern

I love all the folks active in the fandom right now, the amazing stories currently percolating or being written or being posted, keeping this incredible fandom alive and thriving. But I want to take a sec to highlight someone whose Trigun fics are from ye olden days, who is buried at the back of the archive, and who maybe not enough new fans have heard of.

@tiggymalvern was writing Trigun fic back in ye olden days of LiveJournal, the early naughts, when the first anime was out and the manga was only half-finished and when a new issue came out we all waited with bated breath for someone to post scans of the original Japanese or for "Make A Little Lightbulb In Your Soul" to translate what pages they could. We didn't know how this story was going to end; there was a time when Wolfwood had died in the 98 anime but not yet in the manga, the canon that really counts, and the realists expected he would probably die there too, but we didn't know when or how or if. It was a small fandom, smaller if you were into the manga and not just the anime that had been on Adult Swim.

Tiggy wrote Vashwood fics that changed my brain chemistry forever. Tiggy's were the first stories I ever read that made sex scenes fascinating. In hindsight I know I was a baby ace who sort of skimmed a lot of tab A/slot B sex scenes in fics and that the simple mechanics weren't titillating to me. But I was also a baby writer, and I knew that it was weird for something as emotionally weighted as sex to be... just kind of boring? And then I read some of Tiggy's fics, the Balance and Evolving Arrangement stories, and The Loneliness of the Long Distance Traveler, and suddenly I was hit over the head with how emotionally complex and character-revealing sex scenes in fic could be.

I've been chasing how Tiggy's fics made me feel as a teenager for as long as I've been writing. Those stories felt like endlessly unfolding origami in my brain when I was younger. I attribute 100% to Tiggy my habit of writing kink into my ships as a way of exploring more convoluted emotions than just lust - I think that my VWL stories are basically a culmination of 20 years of writing practice that got its first kick in the ass from Tiggy's Balance & Asymmetry.

So please please please if you're a fan who hasn't dipped back into the old school fic, or who searches in the Trigun Stampede tag and misses the gems in the Trigun (Anime & Manga 1995-2008) tag (which used to be simply "Trigun"), go check out TiggyMalvern on AO3. Their stories are pretty heavily manga-based, but worth the read even if you aren't intimately familiar with the manga.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Angel seeing Husk hold the twins for the first time!!

You honestly give me the best prompts, thank you so much <3

I also posted this over on Ao3, all comments are appreciated!

tw: male presenting pregnancy

------

Angel Dust opened his eyes and immediately felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Not a new sensation for him, exactly, but it still sucked.

He probably wouldn’t even qualify as awake by any definition of the word, head full of fog, his vision blurred, but his pain receptors were sure on duty. He knew the deep ache in his muscles, so fierce that he was actually trembling slightly, the rawness in his throat from crying out, louder and louder to the point where it became a pain all its own. He knew where that sickly feeling in his stomach was coming from, exhaustion only skimmed by not enough sleep to do anything more than expose more raw edges. 

Angel was awake enough to feel the pain but not awake enough to remember where or when he was, every other time he’d woken up feeling so broken crowding his mind at once. What did I say to Father? What the fuck did I take last night? How long did I last on the wagon this time? How did I piss off Valentino this bad? 

Already his eyes began to burn and acid rose in his throat, certain that whatever the reason was, it was only going to bring more pain with it.

“Angel?”

The voice was rough, raspy, almost as exhausted as Angel felt, but it broke through his rising panic like the sun through clouds. He swam towards it through his fractured scraps of thought, relief blunting the edges of his pain, just the thought that whatever he’d taken, whatever had been done to him, whatever bad decisions recent and ancient had landed him in this sorry state, Husk was here. Husk would forgive him, Husk would kiss it better, Husk would help him remember that things could be good. Husk was here.

“Easy, baby, easy, I got you…” Angel felt an arm slide around his shoulders, holding him up when his muscles seized painfully as he tried to rise.

Angel made a rough noise that was really several curse words trying to tumble out of his mouth at once, groping for and finding Husk’s hand. Something about that action sparked a memory, more recent, the kind he could follow back to the here and now. He practically felt indentations pressed into Husk’s palm, fitting his grasp exactly. 

He felt strangely unbalanced as the other demon helped him lean against the pillows, as upright as he was going to manage in this state. His body didn’t just hurt, it felt wrong for some reason, like he was a puzzle piece with a gap right in the middle. 

Like they were trying to fill that space, words he didn’t understand yet rose in his throat. He didn’t know why he asked but the words burned a little, like he’d never cared about anything so much in his life.

“Where are they?”

He could see Husk now, he got to watch the expression on his face become pure adoration. Suddenly he didn’t look so tired, he seemed to brighten from the inside out, like the answer itself was something glowing and golden. 

“They’re right here, baby. Safe and sound, thanks to you.”

It was like slipping into a dream and having your brain suddenly decide it was falling, tumbling you right back out again. Dizzying freefall, sudden impact, instant relief so strong it was almost painful. That's how it felt when Husk’s words brought all of Angel’s memories flooding back. 

It was because he’d said it back then too, last night, though it felt like years ago. It didn’t even feel correct to say it happened last night, to pin the moment so firmly in time when there had been no such thing. It had just been a sea of hurt and fear that threatened to swallow Angel completely but moments of love had jutted up like rocks from that raging surf, giving him something to swim towards, a way to keep going, five seconds to catch his breath. This one had come right at the end, just when the storm had spat him out and left him broken on some shore he didn’t recognise. Those same words, they’re here, safe and sound, thanks to you. 

Angel remembered what happened. They had happened. 

He recognised his bedroom now but it was the one difference that drew his eye, the bassinet sat next to the bed. He was pulled towards it by a force almost magnetic, his pounding heart only slowing down when he saw them there, pressed up against the soft divider between them like they were trying to reach each other. One little girl, one little boy. Two goddamn miracles. 

“See?” Husk rubbed small circles on Angel’s bare shoulder, “They’re sleeping. Have been for hours now, you’d think they did all the work today.”

Angel’s initial panic fell away, leaving a kind of exhausted joy to well up in its place. The little newborns were still strangers to him, he hadn’t quite memorized their faces yet, but knowing they were there, close by and safe, filled that place inside him. 

“Must be exhausting being that adorable,” Angel murmured, his voice a rasping wheeze like there was a leak in his engine. 

“Well you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Husk purred so hard it would be difficult to hear his voice if he wasn’t nuzzling Angel as he spoke, the words pressed right against his skin. 

“Shut up, I look like shit,” Angel scoffed, though he was suddenly grinning. 

“Not to me, baby…”

Husk had a way of saying things like that, a way that made it impossible to not believe him, even when Angel could feel the bags under his red rimmed eyes, his hair stiff with dried sweat, his still rounded stomach and stiff, awkward movements as he tried to remember how to pilot his own body. But Husk said it with a showman’s conviction, reminding Angel of the moment he really did honestly believe that he’d pulled that card from thin air or that coin from behind his ear. 

So Angel just tucked away those words, that smile Husk had given him, adding it to the long list of ways his husband had brought him through the last nine months when it would have been impossible without him, “Well. I feel like shit, even if I’m real good at hiding it.”

“No wonder,” Husk murmured, running his fingers gently down Angel’s spine, “You pulled off a goddamn miracle, baby. Feel like I should be on my knees worshiping you or something.”

“Maybe after I've recovered, huh?” Angel smirked, finally pulling his eyes off his babies and looking up at Husk, frowning a little, “Shit, Husky, have you slept at all?”

The guilty look the cat demon struggled to wipe off his face gave Angel all the answers he needed, “I mean…I’m okay, I was just spectating…”

“Bullshit,” Angel reached up, stroking back Husk’s whiskers, all bent out of shape from where he’d fussed with them, “You did a hell of a lot more than that. Charlie told us both to get rest, dumbass, need me to set her on you?”

Husk’s ears went back a little. Their princess had shown just how forceful she could be when she was making sure Angel stuck to the list of pregnancy do’s and don’ts. Sure, those recommendations had come from books smuggled from the mortal realm that were probably out of date and, even if they weren’t, had never meant to apply to spider demons. But Charlie had gotten to be a very scary nurse. 

“I know, I know…” Husk’s eyes moved over to their two little bundles of blanket and dark fur, their four ears twitching in sleep, “I just…I can’t take my eyes off them, y’know? They’re so small and so perfect and…and I just need to protect them.”

More of the last night was coming back to Angel, as he cataloged the aches and pains that accompanied each moment. He remembered the first time he’d held Bella, the little girl and the first one to make her appearance, and the rush of emotions that had struck him, Joy, yes, enough that it outpaced any high he’d ever had, but fear too. 

She’d been so small and delicate in his hands, all wet fur and high, keening cries and eyes she couldn’t open yet. As she’d laid on Angel’s chest and curled into him, somehow seeing him as safety and comfort, he’d realized how fragile she really was, now someone didn’t have to go through Angel to hurt her. He’d known then, with a heavy certainty, that if anything happened to her, it would break him beyond repair. 

And then Howie, their son, had been born not breathing. It was like life was making sure he’d taken the hint, forcing Angel to live through those sickening minutes of silence and know that these fragile little things were part of him and without them, the whole thing would come down. Of course it had only been moments, thanks to a quick intervention from Charlie and Lucifer, but it was enough. Angel had survived so much, even kept on surviving after it had killed him, even when he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep going. But he wouldn’t survive losing them. 

“I know how you feel,” was all he could say, groping for Husk’s hand again and holding on tight. 

“It’s crazy, right?” Husk’s laugh was weak, a thin coating over a sob, “I keep thinking someone’s going to come in and take you and them away. Because an asshole like me was never meant to catch a break this lucky, someone two floors up filled out a form wrong and I got this life I never deserved. So I keep my eyes on them so…so I can remember how happy I felt when it’s gone.”

“Husk…” Angel scrambled to promise that he wasn’t going anywhere, that nothing in heaven or hell or anything in between was going to be able to take them away, to do something about the deep chasm of hurt he heard in his love’s voice. 

But before he could even try, one of the swaddled lumps in the bassinet stirred, an eye opening for the very first time, a tiny golden coin dropped into their hands. It was Howie, wrapped in the little green blanket, now looking about ninety percent mouth as he cracked an enormous yawn, showing rows of tiny needle teeth. For a brief moment, Angel’s exhausted brain was glad he’d gotten rid of his tits a while back, these spiky little spiderlings would be strictly bottle fed. 

“Oh,” Husk sounded more than a little relieved at the interruption of their new reality, moving towards the bassinet, “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll…”

Both his voice and his hands seemed to run out of steam in the same moment, stalling into nothing, like they knew what came next but something wouldn’t resolve. Like he’d reached the end of a chain around his neck, no more slack to pull on, 

Howie blinked his gold and black eyes, pulling towards his daddy as much as he could while wrapped in a blanket and with no idea how to pilot his own limbs. When Husk didn’t get any closer, his sooty little form shuddered, breath hitching, gearing up towards a piercing cry. 

“Husk…” Angel murmured, feeling like he wanted to cry himself, “Have you not held them yet?”

He knew the answer, he could remember now. It was Lucifer who’d caught them both, Charlie who’d held Bella while they’d waited for her brother, Angel himself who’d cradled them after that and wondered if this was why he’d been given two sets of arms. But Husk had just held him, surrounding their little family with his wings, giving them their own safe little world. Protecting, watching, adoring but leaving that distance. 

Angel knew that fear reflected in Husk’s eyes, the same one he’d tasted when Lucifer handed him this tiny, terrified and terrifying ball of wet fur that now represented the possibility he’d carried inside himself for nine months. 

The words came hard, like they scraped his throat raw on the way out, “I…I don’t know how. Every time I think about trying, I just see myself hurting them…”

Angel’s eyes followed Husk’s, to his long white fingers and the sharp points they ended in. Things that looked like they were made to kill, to threaten penniless rubes into one more hand that would take the last penny in their pocket, to grip a bottle of cheap whiskey. The two of them must be quite the sight, Angel thought. They sure as fuck didn’t look like parents, people fit to guard two miracles. They looked like exactly what they were, a porn star junkie and a washed up huckster, out of their depth and lost before they’d even really begun. 

But they were parents. Neither of them had asked for this but Angel had chosen to see it through, Husk had chosen to stay by his side. And more than that, he’d carried him through so many of the roughest parts. Now it was time for Angel to repay the favor. 

“Well, let’s figure it out together then?”

It felt like such a small thing, easing forward and resting his hand on Husk’s shoulder, a handful of words. But the look his husband gave him was everything. 

It did take a bit of maneuvering, Husk pressing the points of his talons down under Howie and cradling him within them but they managed, Angel’s hands hovering gently underneath. Immediately their son’s unhappy squeaking turned into delighted purring, curling in against Husk’s chest the second he was close enough. A tiny tail thrashed so joyfully it was in danger of tangling in the blanket, a tiny set of wings beat, four limbs grasped hold of Husk’s fur and clung tightly, like this was all he’d been waiting for. 

Husk’s expression said the same thing, tears already spilling down his narrow cheeks, “Damn…”

“See?” Angel’s voice was thick with his own tears, his smile so wide it hurt in the best way. He held Bella, who’d refused to be left out, stirring as soon as her brother was lifted up, “We just had to find our own way of doing it.”

“That’s the way it’s gonna be, huh?” Husk chuckled softly, thumb stroking the top of Howie’s head, “Figuring shit out as we go, hoping we can put out the fires we start?”

“Worked for us so fair, ain’t it?” Angel shrugged, grinning crookedly, “One foot in front of the other, try not to fuck it up and when we do…well, we just try and do better next time. Redemption and all that shit.”

Husk looked between Howie in his own arms and Bella in Angel’s, his voice softening, “I don’t know…all the good things in my afterlife have happened to me down here. If someone offered me redemption right now, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves. Nothing they got up there is better than this.”

Angel leaned in close until his head was resting against Husk’s shoulder, his free hand snaking around to rest over the paw that supported Howie’s back, wanting to be touching all of his family. 

“No…no, they sure as hell don’t,” he murmured, “And we do deserve this. I know it doesn’t feel like it but we really do. These kids, they’re not a reward or punishment or anyone else’s call. They were our decision. So we deserve this and we need to fight for it like we do.”

He felt Husk’s lips brush the top of his head, pressing a firm kiss there, “You got it, baby. Together?”

Angel grinned entwining their fingers, “Together.”

[crguang]

a lover’s goodbye kiss

Are we ever truly done with grief?

angst, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, ptsd. 6k words of mourning and bitter reunions

A/N: this really got away from me, i also cried while writing it so do with that what you will. not entirely satisfied with it, but it’s okay. hope someone enjoys it regardless

Grief is a part of you. It seeps into your pores, settles in your bloodstream like cancerous chemicals and forces you to live with it, to endure the brunt of it lest memories pull you under permanently. For long-life species, grief is ironically common. The belief that Xianzhou natives are unaccustomed to death is a false one; though it is slow to come, it envelops them regardless, often twice over. The Mara curse is first. Its inevitability leaves an imprint in people’s hearts, a sort of impression they are born with and cannot outgrow. To be a long-life species is to become Mara-struck, a shell of your former self driven by bloodlust and fragmented memories. That, in itself, is death. Your body is no longer your own and neither is your mind, you are a senseless abomination destined to roam the world until someone or something delivers the fatal, long-awaited blow needed to end your misery. Though this heavy subject is not often discussed among the people, accepting that fate is done with bloodied teeth and scorched fingertips, a personal battle with grief from which you come out only somewhat victorious. Knowing that you’ll eventually be stricken by Mara is one thing, accepting that your loved ones will walk the same path is another entirely. No one talks about the worst part. Nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do when the memories fade away, replaced by the acrid smell of sulfur and a chill in your bones that you can never shake.

Hundreds of years of memories— content smiles, sun rays onto sweaty skin, cold hands in pale locks of hair, unspoken devotion— are hidden behind mist requiring immense focus to see through. You are not Mara-struck yet. Your mind is still your own, as much as it can be, and you are still alive. You ask yourself why often. Why it was her, first, and not you. Why you’re stuck living with holes inside of you when maybe you should’ve died along with the hundred Cloud Knights that had the misfortune of crossing her path that night. Loss has made you ashamed, you can’t even speak her name. It’d been erased from history and forbidden after that night, out of social disappointment and shame, but that is not why you can’t bear to utter it. It’s unfair that this is what you remember most of her; the collapsed buildings, the unbearable smell, the frozen corpses… Her beloved blade through your stomach. The way her gaze softened after a few glasses of wine has been replaced by the flash of crimson you caught a glimpse of before her sword buried itself in your guts. You vaguely recall how endearingly tight her muscles always were, how you or Baiheng had to smooth the knots out of her body once in a while. The news of her breaking out of the Shackling Prison, however, along with the screams that followed form a clear image in your treacherous mind. What use are memories if they are so fickle, so easily supplanted by horrors that quicken your heartbeat on thought alone?

If anything, you do not shoulder this immense grief alone. Jing Yuan was a scrawny, eager boy when you first met him, almost half your height and always trailing behind her like the dutiful apprentice he was. His enthusiasm lit up the training yard and his youthful determination quickly earned him a place amongst your most cherished. He would seek you out after hours of conditioning, sweat still clinging to his bushy brows, and request a friendly spar to show you what he’s learned, how fast he was getting, how swift he could slash his sword. Your position as a Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights made him look at you with naked admiration, he’d hang onto your every word with a seriousness unfit of his age and at times offered insight only a boy who had never known war could come up with. You think you remember a figure in the shade of a growing tree standing several feet away from where you and Jing Yuan sparred. Quiet as a golden eagle, diligent gaze making note of every sloppy thrust and slow retreat she would reproach her retainer afterwards, his master only revealed herself when the tip of your blade against his neck announced his defeat.

Jing Yuan was the one to rescue you on the ice. His quick intervention allowed for healers from the Alchemy Commission to reach you in time and tend to your injuries. He was also the one to end her. It had to be him, you know, but you regret your own weakness, your faltering steps and half-hearted parries— it’s a burden you wish he never carried. He bears it with a solemn glint in his eyes and an impeccable posture but he’s not General of the Xianzhou Luofu to you, and so he lets you keep him close whenever he visits your empty home. His appreciation for the comfort goes unsaid, though his shoulders stand inches lower once he sets out the door. After all, he lost her too.

You get déjà vu when Jing Yuan walks across the training yard with a skinny blonde boy in tow and introduces him as his retainer, Yanqing. His apprentice is just as eager and energetic as he was, and it’s easy to fall back into old habits when the boy eventually nags you into sparring with him. He’s talented, determined to achieve his goals, but a little too proud and overconfident. His arrogance reminds you of an old friend who once forged the sword you still wield like an extension of your arm. It’s somewhat endearing, and not entirely unearned. A part of you vaguely recalls the annoyed purse of the Sword Champion’s lips whenever your mutual friend would go on another spiel about mastering the way of the sword. Your fingertips trace the sheath of your blade at the thought.

The Stellaron crisis plunges the Luofu into disarray. It brings destruction and death to the Xianzhou on a scale that reminds you of her, of the illuminated moon in the night sky and the blood on your hands. You can’t allow the memories to paralyze you like they often do, however, so you work with Jing Yuan and the Master Diviner in order to eliminate the internal threat that pose the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. The Mara-struck fall twice under your steel and the rest of the Abundance’s abominations quickly become light work for someone as experienced as you are. Since the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, they’ve been gathering in Stargazer Navalia the most, forcing an evacuation of all civilians to safer areas of the Luofu.

Though he has plenty of work on his hands, this is where Yanqing likes to disappear for an hour each day— additional training, he says. You trust his abilities, but today he is needed at the Alchemy Commission and is currently unreachable. No one has seen him for a while. You have an idea of his whereabouts, so you offer to look for him and relay the General’s message.

Two Cloud Knights stand guard as you enter Stargazer Navalia. Their posture straightens when they see you and they nod once in greeting.

“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Yanqing come through here, by any chance?”

One of them replies, “He was there an hour ago on an official investigation. Passed through here and went further into the docks.”

You don’t know about any official investigations but you offer a thankful nod anyway before walking past the Knights. The large shipping containers and crates create paths that workers use during the day but you figure it’d be easier to look for Yanqing if you had a better view of the area. You jump on top of a container and carefully skim the place ahead. As expected, abominations and Mara-struck lay on the floor, strewn about like discarded clothings. You follow their trail further inside Stargazer Navalia, between growing starskiffs and through already opened doors. It takes a little over ten minutes to catch up with the freshly cut-down enemies laying about as you hop from container to container. Shards of rock hard ice glimmer in the sun near the bodies, no doubt Yanqing’s doing. Honestly, that boy…

You can see his blonde hair when you advance a little further. He’s turning a corner, so you take a shortcut running above a long, empty container and land on the one behind him with a thud. The sudden noise alerts him and he swirls around with a hand on his sword, ready to attack, but you’re not looking at him. The ghost of a woman long gone stands beside him, her back to you, with a stillness that indicates she’s been aware of you before you made your presence known. The sight of her pale locks burns into your brain. The intricate design of the familiar attire she dons chokes you like firm hands around your throat, and you falter. The blues and whites and reds mix together as you blink to regain your footing.

“Lieutenant!” Yanqing straightens up, sheathing his blade. “What are you doing here?”

You taste ash on the roof of your mouth. Your fingers curl around the handle of your sword. Falling buildings, frozen corpses, sulfur burning your nostrils. Her blade through your stomach. (Hesitant fingertips against your cheeks, implied confessions, oiled palms on tense muscles.) A feeling that has been dormant for centuries stirs in your guts, snakes around your intestines and tightens your stomach. It travels through your ribcage and up your bobbing throat, forcing you to swallow it back down. There’s the slow ascent of the moon behind your eyelids with each blink and the stutter of your chest with each breath— a chill spreads over your limbs and they tense as if frozen in place. It paralyzes you; you feel mocked by the way your feet are glued to the metal under them. You are reminded of your previous weakness, of your blood on the ice and its frigidity seeping into your skin. You grit your teeth.

“Jingliu…” Her name is forced past your lips, evicted after uncomfortably sitting on your tongue for hundreds of years.

She does not move, except for the flicker of recognition that goes through her fingertips. A mirage, she has to be— a nasty trick of your fractured mind because she cannot be here, breathing, when Jing Yuan assured you of her demise.

“Huh? You know her?” Yanqing asks, oblivious to your struggle as he glances back to the woman next to him. His query confirms that she is flesh and blood but leaves no hint as to her state of mind. If she is the same as she was centuries ago, then he and the Luofu are in great danger.

“…Yanqing. The General is looking for you. Alchemy Commission.”

The boy frowns. “Did something happen? There’s something I have to finish up before—“

“Yanqing.”

He stops in his tracks with furrowed brows, displeased at having been interrupted. You finally tear your gaze away from Jingliu’s tense posture to look at him. He sees your hardened eyes and hesitates, turning towards his new acquaintance for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and nodding once. You outrank him, and though it often pains him to do so, Yanqing knows to respect the Cloud Knights hierarchy. He walks away without a word and disappears between the various shipping containers.

You stand above her, a hand on your blade, and breathe in the smell of the docks to loosen the pressure in your guts. It’s the middle of the day, the weather is warm, your skin is uncut. Blurry images of grasping hands sinking into bed sheets and locking lips fill your mind until you can’t see anything but the way her asymmetric bangs frame her face as she hovers over you, breathless. The crimson of her irises are dulled to a lustful cherry and she looks at you like she doesn’t believe you’re real. A fragment of her one-track mind and hateful heart made tangible for one night, to appease the disgusting yearning for closeness that lingers in her bones. She is not a weapon used against the Abundance and you are more than the fellow Cloud Knight that joined the ranks before she was thrusted into them. As her knuckle trails down your cheekbone to the corner of your parted lips, you are a new constant in her future, an immovable force that she cannot plan around, and she is just a woman. Not a survivor, not a fighter, she is a woman who longs for another’s recognition and gentle hands. And as she leans down to graze her bottom lip against your top one, you feel the searing pain of her blade piercing your flesh.

Blood trickles on your tongue and you realize it is from how hard you are biting the inside of your cheek. The visions are gone, replaced by Jingliu turning around to face you, her free hands limp at her sides. Her chin tilts slightly upward. She’s wearing a dark blindfold over her eyes— some part of you is grateful to be hidden from her sight— but you know it wouldn’t alter any of her abilities.

“Lieutenant…” She only says a word, trails off as if it leaves a strange sensation in her mouth. It’s not a question or a tentative statement; she utters your title with an infuriating fondness, like you’re an old friend she hasn’t seen in a while. It makes you sick.

“…...You are not dead,” you state blankly.

Jingliu takes a short breath. “Not yet, no.”

There’s a sluggishness to her words and a rasp more prominent than you recall it to be. Her voice is raw and breathy like every sentence comes at a price, and you are reminded of the curse that plagues her. You don’t understand how she’s standing here, seemingly sane, when the Mara had overcome her the last time you laid eyes on her. Still, the hand on your sword tightens its hold. There’s a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you wish to convey through touch alone, but you cannot trust her.

You wonder if she remembers almost ending your life. You wonder if she is haunted by regret and grief the same way you are. You wonder if some part of her still clings to that stricken body.

“You can let go of your sword,” Jingliu says, “I mean the Luofu no harm.”

“And me?”

“...You?”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your toes tingle with sudden restlessness and it thaws the rest of your limbs, allowing you to take a measured step forward. “And me, Jingliu? Will you draw your blade against me once more?”

She is silent for some time, tense, and her fingers slightly curl inward in a momentary loss of composure. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t recall ever doing that or because she does and the thought brings her pain. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You are not my enemy.”

“I wasn’t your enemy back then, was I?”

“…Your trust in me is inconsequential. I came to the Luofu to atone for my sins and surrender myself to the Alliance.”

Your jaw clenches. Past the initial confusion, you feel cheated. Angry. Hundreds of years of broken memories, lasting grief and paralyzing terror have eroded you, flayed you until you are nothing but bones and ligaments. You are walking the earth as less than half a person for no other reason than this is the destiny of all long-life species. Your closest friends have either fallen or withered around you, and that loneliness has debilitated you. How utterly unfair. You have dedicated most of your life to the Xianzhou Alliance and its people, you have been selfless, understanding, devoted, and you are rewarded with injustice. The person who you once called your strength has become the main character in your nightmares, and here she stands, ready to give up the pieces that are left of her to the same people who have ostracized her out of shame for centuries. For all the unbearable pain she caused you, she came back for them. You are the one she has a history with, you are the one whose life is intricately woven with hers. You are who she should be seeking atonement from, not the Ten-Lords Commission and the Arbiter Generals.

You don’t notice how pale your knuckles are from the grip on your weapon or the heaviness of your chest quickening your breath. You stare her down with gritted teeth and Jingliu doesn’t shy away from the growing fury in your gaze.

“Inconsequential,” you repeat in disbelief, your voice a little louder. “Inconsequential, me!”

“This is what I have to do. It is bigger than you, bigger than me.”

You jump down the container to land in front of her. She simply adjusts the inclination of her head.

“Do you remember, Jingliu? What you did to me?”

Her lips form a thin line. Her lack of response angers you further. You unsheath your sword and point the tip to her own weapon resting against her hip, then to her chest.

“Draw it.”

Jingliu makes no move to obey. “I will only unsheath my blade against my enemies, and you are not one of them.”

“You are cursed to forget, but I cannot. It is in every blink, in every pause; the destruction you caused, my—” you swallow, features twisting in a pained grimace, “my blood on your sword.”

Jingliu doesn’t reply, though her fingers twitch with restraint. Her chest rises and falls a beat faster, the only indication that your words are getting to her. You know this is unfair, that you’re only contributing to the injustice you have to face as a long-life species, but anger clouds your judgment and incites this hostile behavior.

“Draw it!” You exclaim in frustration. “Unsheath your blade and face me!”

You lunge forward in an instant, your weapon raised in a practiced arc towards her neck, forcing her to move out of the way. Her body instinctively bends into a defensive stance, but she makes no move to use her sword. You repeat the motion, over and over, and Jingliu evades each strike with an expertise only she possesses. She still refuses to fight you, to revert to the mindless abomination she was that night. You force her into a corner and as your blade descends at an angle to make contact with her bare shoulder, she leaps high over your head and lands gracefully behind you.

“Must we do this?” She sounds mentally exhausted, each word is spoken through pursed lips and a quiver goes through her sword-wielding hand.

You swirl around, molars grinding in anger. “Yes! You have haunted every part of me and replaced every cherished memory in my mind! You are what I see when I lay down at night, standing over me as I choke on my own blood!”

Jingliu brings a clawed hand to her temple and utters, “Enough…”

“You are the face of my nightmares, Jingliu.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “It ends today.”

When your weapon comes down to strike her this time, its steel meets Jingliu’s specially crafted blade. She uses the momentum of her parry and pushes you back with so much force it sends you flying, your back colliding into the side of a shipping container. You rise to your feet with a shaky breath.

The clash of swords rings in the air as you move between incubating starskiffs and metal crates in an emotional dance. Street lamps fall, stationed starskiffs are cut in two, jade wheels are damaged and incubators break. Jets of their liquid explode everywhere Jingliu returns your strikes with stronger ones, and soon you’re crashing into yet another door. Blood trickles down your nose. There’s a nasty cut on your hip that will require medical attention. You stand, unwavering, and pounce towards the other woman once more. Jingliu grits her teeth as her parry brings your face close to hers. The distinct melody of her blade in movement fills her ears and the ground shakes under her feet. All around you structures are falling, narrowly missing you.

Your muscles strain with exertion but with the feeling comes a strange sort of relief that only intensifies when Jingliu has you pinned to the pavement, swords previously discarded some feet away with an experienced flick of her hand. You’re both breathless for a long moment and for the first time since her reappearance in your life, you don’t taste smoke in the back of your throat.

The pink of her parted lips is the same shade it was almost a millennia ago. The world blurs and you see a flash of a moment long passed of the two of you in the same position; Jingliu’s smug smile hides the sun from view and the bustle of the training yard resumes the minute her victory is announced. When you blink your way back to reality, only a few seconds have gone by. You stare up into the blindfold, chest heaving. Your fingers hesitantly lift to graze the apple of her cheek. One of them slides under her veil and her hand wraps around your wrist to stop you from going further.

Her name is a breathy exhale past your lips. Her shoulders suddenly tense and her head tilts away from you. The moment breaks as she separates from you, rises to her feet and takes a couple steps back. Almost immediately, Cloud Knights rush to the scene in formation, followed closely by the General and his retainer. You let out a sigh, gaze raising to the clear sky. You lose yourself in its endless blue, a heaviness in your chest, until Jing Yuan’s outstretched hand appears in your vision. Jingliu is gone when you accept his help and stand with difficulty, along with Yanqing and the squad of Knights. Jing Yuan wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, and you make your way back in silence.

He doesn’t leave your side even as you step into your home and make a beeline for the bathroom. His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans on the doorframe as you rummage through your cupboards for bandages and disinfectant. You find what you’re looking for after a couple minutes and sit on the toilet seat, lifting your armor over your head and discarding the bloodied shirt underneath. The cut on your left hip stings when you gently inspect it. It’s deep enough that it won’t be able to close on its own but not life threatening. You softly apply disinfectant so it doesn’t get infected, clenching your jaw at the pain.

“You should let the Dragon Lady take a look,” Jing Yuan finally speaks up, “or the Alchemy Commission have other experienced healers. They’ll treat you in minutes.”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been patching up wounds before he could hold a sword.

“Pass me the stitches.”

He complies, tossing you the plastic box on the counter. You catch it with a hand. Another silence settles between you as you sink the needle into your skin and tighten the thread, occasionally sucking in a breath. The space lingers with tension but neither of you acknowledges it until you break the thread of the stitches and apply a large bandage over the wound. You sigh tiredly and raise your head to meet his guarded gaze.

“Why did you lie, Jing Yuan?”

He takes a moment to reply. There’s a hint of guilt in his golden irises. “…I thought it to be the best course of action at the time.”

You don’t blame him. The days following Jingliu’s departure from the Luofu are a blur, hidden behind a smoke screen so thick you might as well have forgotten them. You only recall the sting in your throat, raw from how much you cried, and the darkness of your bedroom. Jing Yuan was there, as much as he was able to, so he must remember those days better than you; how shattered you were, like fractured shards of glass swept under the carpet. You can’t fault him for wanting to bring you closure.

You rise from your seat and put back the supplies in their rightful place. Jing Yuan steps aside as you walk out the door and watches you disappear in the bedroom for a change of clothes. You grab the first top you see and shrug it on. You don’t bother fixing your hair, you just make your way back to the living area to put on your boots and grab your discarded sword near the door. Jingliu should have been brought to the Shackling Prison after her arrest, so this is where you’ll go.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jing Yuan says from behind you, making you pause. “We don’t know how stable she is.”

“She seemed stable enough.”

“For now.”

You turn to face him. “Then, why are you here? We both know bars can’t hold her.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“...I need to do this.”

Jing Yuan only shuts his eyes in defeat and nods once. He doesn’t follow you when you leave the house and shut the door behind you.

You have no issue getting into the Shackling Prison and acquiring Jingliu’s cell number. It’s not a place you visit often despite your position, the memories it holds have a way of consuming you and leaving you clenching your throbbing head. You navigate its somber hallways and silent cell blocks with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your steps are swift, determined. You don’t stop to think about what you’re going to say once you’re face to face with her again. Jingliu is being held in a special containment chamber only used for dangerous criminals, with two Cloud Knights standing guard in front of the reinforced steel door. They look at each other when you plant yourself before them.

“No one gets in, General’s orders,” one of them says.

Your relationship with Jing Yuan is not a secret and often opens a lot of doors for you but encountering soldiers eager to please is a common occurrence. You have a few dozens under your command, they’re usually easy to deal with. However, the day has been long and you’re lacking the required patience to do so.

“Take it up with Jing Yuan, then.”

You push past them and they hesitate to stop you, glancing at each other. They grip their lances tighter when you open the door but don’t move as you enter the cell and close it after you.

The chamber is big enough to hold a single bed and a toilet in the corner, though its grey walls make it seem smaller than it is. The room would be casted in total darkness if not for the dim glow of the singular lightbulb on the ceiling. Jingliu is seated on the untouched mattress, legs crossed and palms flat on her knees. Her back is straight, her blindfold in place even in the low lighting, and you seem to have caught her in the middle of a meditation. She doesn’t speak as you stand awkwardly near the door, a hand curling around the handle of your sword in search of familiarity.

A couple minutes pass in tense silence with only the gentle buzzing of the electricity crackling through the lightbulb. You take that time to observe Jingliu for any sign of Mara. The even movements of her chest indicate her calm state of mind. Apart from the veil, she looks exactly the same as she did centuries ago; there’s no trace of the curse on her, and you are suddenly reminded of the first time you noticed her— you were the previous Lieutenant’s apprentice and she was a thin, pale girl haunted by nightmares of burning planets and suffocating fumes. That day, she crossed the training yard with a limp and cuts over her body, shattered sword held tight in one hand. You hadn’t gone out onto the field yet, your master didn’t think you were ready, but Jingliu had and you remember thinking that despite her poor state, she must be stronger than you. She would walk back at the end of each day with splintered and bruised skin and you would sneak her a glance, wondering what enemy she could have encountered this time. She was forced to survive and grew on the battlefield long before you did.

While you both learned the way of the sword, you did it to protect and she did it to cut down the object of her nightmares. Together, you climbed the ranks of the Cloud Knights and surpassed your masters. The burden of war brought you closer and your relationship transformed over the centuries; from comrades, to friends, to the one she went to whenever she craved peace from the visions plaguing her, to something more. You are deeply embedded in each other, her life story is yours and your mind is hers. The Mara curse might twist your perceived memories of her but it could never erase the affection you hold for her. It’s precisely because she means so much to you that thoughts of her have been tormenting you so.

Jingliu raises her head in acknowledgement and you’re brought back to the present with a blink.

“Sending you to interrogate me,” she says with a short exhale, words slow and raw, “how cruel.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You swallow the emotion in your throat.

“I’m here for closure.”

You take your eyes off her and turn away, facing the blank wall with a hand in your hair. You take in a slow breath and exhale through your mouth as fatigue begins to take over your limbs.

“You don’t get to come back,” you start. “After all those years, you don’t get to reappear and trail all those memories along with you. You said you were seeking atonement from the Alliance. So you remember, then.”

Jingliu is silent for a moment. Your back makes contact with the wall as you sit on the floor with your legs limp before you. You don’t look at her, instead staring at your covered toes.

“…I remember the voices,” Jingliu says softly, “so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I remember people, the ice… you.” She takes a breath and shakes her head. “I am aware of the hurt I’ve caused, of the sins that cannot be erased. They will follow me until the end, but I cannot let them hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From cutting the heart of a star.”

The turn of phrase transports you back to a drunken evening and Baiheng’s contagious laughter, to the sweet aftertones of fruit in red wine and the flush in Jingliu’s cheeks as she stares at the setting sun. Flashes of that day appear in your mind; Baiheng’s ridiculous dares, your shared competitiveness, Jingliu’s tipsy kisses as consolation prizes. The unexpected memory warms you.

“Revenge, then. Even stricken with Mara, this is what you hold on to.”

“I was never satisfied with letting our enemies come to us.”

That much is true. Jingliu only ever plays the offensive.

Your head turns to face her. “Do you remember us? Even I only recall bits and pieces, now.”

Jingliu’s pointer finger taps her knee for some time. Then her chin tilts to the left, towards you.

“Bits and pieces, yes…” she repeats pensively. You wish you could see the pinch of her eyebrows. “You used to hate losing to me in duels.”

“Of course you’d remember that.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Jingliu’s lips. A light silence descends between you. It’s strange, being in a confined space with someone who you thought long dead; even stranger conversing with Jingliu after everything that went down with Yingxing and Imbibitor Lunae, with Baiheng, and the Luofu’s growth that she didn’t get to witness. You never thought you’d have a chance to see her again, let alone hear her voice speak back to you. Your fingertips twitch with the desire to hold her close.

“I forgot to ask, earlier,” you say, “about the blindfold.”

“It keeps me from seeing that which pulls me under the influence of the Mara. I have pushed past the limits of my mind a long time ago, but… the reprieve it gives me is welcomed.”

“Your will is admirable. Always was.” You think for a few seconds, then speak up hesitantly, “Will my touch be a trigger?”

Jingliu is slow to respond. You see her lips part to let out a sharp exhale and notice the new tension in her shoulders. You feel selfish for needing a semblance of the intimacy you once shared when her mind is so fractured and fickle. The feeling tightens your throat.

“…It shouldn’t.”

Your emotions threaten to consume you as you stand and wipe your palms on your thighs. You take some steps forward, hesitating when you reach the bed. Her head tilts backward as if staring at you through the cloth over her eyes. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, Jingliu uncrosses her legs and outstretches her hand. Your fingertips touch hers and with a flick of her wrist, slowly lace with hers. She pulls you into her, your knees on each side of her hips and your nose in her shoulder; her freezing hands travel over the expanse of your back and her head dips to breathe in the smell of your hair. You pinch your trembling lips and squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use when you can feel the empty sockets that loss has dug inside of you over the years fill up with tenderness. A quiver runs through you. You feel Jingliu’s shaky breath near your ear as she pulls you tighter into her. Your arms wrap around her with as much emotion and warm tears roll down your cheeks over her frigid skin. Her touch makes you whole again, if only for a moment— she is tangible against you and not a fragment of the darkest recesses of your mind. It would seem unreal if you couldn’t feel the softness of her flesh beneath your fingertips.

“How lonely you must have been,” Jingliu mutters into your hair. You know she relates.

“I mourned you,” you manage to say, voice tight. “I’ve accepted that you’re gone. I won’t grieve any more.”

“Good. Then allow me a proper goodbye.”

You cry into her for a long time. Jingliu simply holds you closer with a hand on your back and fingers buried in your hair. You won’t see her again, she will be tried and judged on the Xuling and will go back to being a ghost of your past years. You only hope that this time the memories will be softer, full of her touch as she cleans your cuts; the curve of her mouth when you whisper good morning into her shoulder; the exhilarating sensation of her lips on yours after an exhausting day of wielding the sword. She remains your strength even as your tears dampen her clothes, with the scent of her around you and her breath in your ears, you feel strong enough to let her go. You lost her to the curse of the Abundance once, but she won’t slip through your fingers now. Regret and shame fade away, replaced by this new warm memory of you in each other’s arms. Her unnatural coldness expands your heart instead of constricting it and you let go of the collapsed buildings and acrid sulfur in the air; there’s only Jingliu’s lingering fondness and her calloused palms on your body. In this confinement cell, you say goodbye to a part of you.

[saber-monet]

Kissing Lessons: A Tale of Captain America and Bucky Barnes

teaching Steve and Bucky how to make out lol

"Oh, come on, guys. You can't be that bad," I said as I sat down on the couch, looking at Steve and Bucky who were sitting across from me.

They had just confessed to me that they hadn't perfected kissing yet. For years, they had been busy with missions and protecting the world so they didn't have time for relationships or even getting to know themselves. But now that the world was safe, and there were no dangerous criminals to attack and stop, they had some downtime to finally get to know themselves.

"So what you're saying is that you've never really made out with anyone before?" I asked in disbelief. They just shook their heads sheepishly.

"Well then," I said with a smirk as an idea came into my mind. "I guess it's my job to teach you two how to kiss."

The two super soldiers looked at each other in surprise but also excitement.

"Really? You would do that?" Steve asked earnestly.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not? We all have some downtime so we might as well make use of it."

Both men were grinning like kids in a candy store as they got up from the couch and walked towards me.

"Alright then. Show us what you got," Bucky said as he sat next to me while Steve sat on the other side.

I chuckled lightly at their enthusiasm before leaning in closer to Bucky's face. Placing one hand on his cheek, I brought his face closer until our lips met in a soft kiss. His lips were warm and pliant against mine, moving slowly at first until he copied my movements when I started deepening the kiss.

Steve watched intently as his best friend kissed me like it was the most fascinating thing he has ever seen which made me chuckle inwardly.

After a few minutes of making out with Bucky, I pulled away gently and turned towards Steve. He looked nervous for some reason which was strange considering his friend just kissed me.

I reached out and took his hand in mine. "Don't worry, Steve. You'll do great," I reassured him with a smile which seemed to relax him a bit.

Leaning closer, I lightly pecked his lips before pressing them more firmly against his. Like Bucky, Steve's lips moved slowly against mine but he quickly caught on when I deepened the kiss.

While we were making out, I felt one of Steve's hands on my thigh and then slowly stroking the inside of it which caused shivers to run down my spine. Breaking the kiss, I turned toward him with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked teasingly which made both men chuckle softly.

"Sorry," Steve apologized sheepishly as he removed his hand from my thigh and placed it back on the couch next to him.

I smirked at him before placing a hand on his cheek and bringing his face closer to mine again. This time, I straddled him and wrapped my arms around his neck while kissing him deeply. As we made out, I could feel Steve's hands on my waist before they slowly crept upwards towards my back.

Bucky watched us intently with darkened eyes but he didn't say anything as he knew that it was still Steve's turn. But when he saw how eager his friend was getting, he decided to join in by gently kissing my legs and rubbing the inside of my thighs which surprised a moan from me.

Steve pulled away from the kiss and looked at me worriedly but I just gave him an encouraging smile before going back to kissing him deeply. His hands started roaming all over my body like an explorer discovering new land for the first time until one of them found its way underneath my shirt, caressing the bare skin of my lower back.

Meanwhile, Bucky had moved from my legs to my neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin which made me moan loudly. I could feel the heat pooling between my legs as my body became more and more aroused by their touches.

As we continued to make out, it became a game of who can give me the most pleasure. Steve's hand was gradually moving upwards until he cupped one of my breasts through the fabric of my bra while his other hand was still caressing my lower back.

Bucky's hands were also busy as he unbuttoned and removed my shirt, revealing a lacy black bra that matched the panties I was wearing. His hands immediately went to cup and squeeze my breasts before he leaned forward to kiss and suck on them through the thin material.

I moaned loudly at the sensation of having two super soldiers worshipping my body with their lips and hands. I could feel myself getting wetter by the second as desire pooled in my lower abdomen.

"Bedroom," I managed to gasp out between kisses as I desperately needed some alone time with these two handsome men.

They nodded in agreement before helping me up from Steve's lap and leading me towards the bedroom. But just when we were about to enter through the door, they both stopped and turned towards each other with a smirk on their faces before looking back at me.

"It seems like we forgot something," Bucky said teasingly as if he didn't know exactly what he was doing.

Steve nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I think we need some kissing lessons too."

My eyes widened in surprise before narrowing suspiciously at them. "You guys just want an excuse to make out with each other, don't you?"

Both men looked guilty for a split second before shrugging nonchalantly. "Well... maybe," Bucky admitted sheepishly which made Steve chuckle softly.

I rolled my eyes playfully at their shameless behavior but couldn't help the fond smile that tugged at my lips.

"Alright then. Show me what you got," I said with a teasing smirk before walking into the bedroom and lying down on the bed, waiting for them to join me.

And so, we spent the rest of the day making out and exploring each other's bodies until none of us could take it anymore and gave in to our desires.

[averageludwig]

TF2 VAMP AU LORE ???? WHERE CAN I FIND IT ?? I NEED IT NOW .

hi I’m very normal about the au and your work I promise (lore drop pretty please??)

Hiii.... Thats me (I got this super late last night and got really nervous and happy and didnt reply sorry woops).... Its not a huge thing, at least not yet, Its a work in progress But I can tell you what I have currently :3

Basically, The Vampire Mercs (RED) (Demo, Medic, Sniper and Spy) aren't mercs but are working different Night jobs. So Demo owns a Tavern (still a demoman, just on the side), Medic is a nurse, Spy is, well, a Spy and Snipers a hitman. They all use their jobs in different ways to get blood !

Medics been a vampire for the longest, He somewhat turned himself by experimenting with vampire dna and he is a few hundred years old.

Spy is the second oldest, naturally Half a vampire, he is still immortal, can turn into a bat and suck blood for strength but physically ages a little faster. Made him a very good spy throughout the years.

Sniper is the third oldest. He was a Monster hunter who travelled around trying to get Medic but ended up dying in the chase, which made Medic bring him back and subsequently turning him into a vampire (He thinks they are friends :]) Snipers fine with it (new powers and such plus loving the taste of blood) but not too keen on the immortal part.

Demos the youngest one, He's been turned recently aftering being offered to get his eye curse reversed by Medic. But the only way to reverse, WITHOUT turning his eye into a monster every Halloween, was to turn him completely into one, a vampire. He still doesn't have his eye but he doesnt have to worry about the curse or going completely blind by his 40s.

This is already alot but I am gonna keep the rest of the guys brief. The rest of the mercs (BLU) (Heavy, Pyro, Engineer, Scout and Soldier) are all workers at a church which suspects vampire activity around the town (RED fucking with them for funsies lol) but it slowly spirals into them practically being friends and more. Engineer, Heavy and Soldier are all Priests whilst Pyro is a Youth pastor and Scout is just a volunteer (his mom dragged him there). The other mercs from from red team are also human but are minor characters (Like Red Soldier and Zhanna are a married couple next door lol) There is alot of pairs which WILL change over time, depending on what I like currently, But the current ones are DemoSolly, Spoovy, Science party and Flash fire + sniper (no idea what ship name for them is !!). And Also Yes, Blu Scout is a quarter vampire. He only gets some powers like speed and living a little longer, but doesn't need blood. OKAY THATS ALL IF YOU WANT ANY MORE YOU CAN ASK ANYTIME !!!

[pikahlua]

I've been in the dkbk fandom for 3 years and my husband is an anime only. We just watched the new episode and he was disappointed. He predicted that Star will die and the plot won't really move forward. He's a sci-fi fan and he's seen many a series fall apart after more characters, complexity, and a war are introduced. I've been avoiding spoling the manga for him but since he's lost interest, I spoiled him and confirmed that the manga has been in a holding pattern for 2-3 years with this final arc. I told him what you said about Bk's death and Deku losing his arms as being symbolic but he said those actions being reversed lowers the stakes and it's hard to maintain emotional investment if you know that major plot points will just get reversed. I wanna believe in Hori but I'm waiting for payoff instead of enjoying the story. Is what's happening really good storytelling if this final battle has been dragging on so long and Deku's characterization has come to a halt?

I’m hesitant to answer this. I said I wouldn't answer any asks that were looking to me for reasons to keep liking MHA, and I really don't want to encourage more asks like this--and yes OP, I don't know if you realize it but that's basically what you're asking. You've framed this question around your husband's opinions, but you're couching your own thoughts inside.

If your issue is that you and your husband like different media, then that's a marital issue to resolve; accept that you shouldn't always watch all media together, particularly if doing so isn't fun for both of you. But your husband doesn't like what's going on in MHA, and this is enough to make you doubt whether or not MHA is written well? Despite the fact that many, many people like MHA in its current form? That sounds more to me like you agree with your husband. It certainly doesn't sound like you tried to sell this story arc to him.

I decided I'll answer a question like this this one time because it'll help me summarize my feelings on these topics, though I'm sorry to say the topics I address may not be what you expect.

"We just watched the new episode and he was disappointed. He predicted that Star will die and the plot won't really move forward."

Is this really a surprise? I don't remember anyone being all that into this arc when it first came out. Everyone was saying Star would die, and yet most people did not correctly predict the actual outcome of this fight--that Star's quirk would be eliminated and Tomura would be weakened. Most guessed Tomura would steal Star's quirk and become overpowered.

"He's a sci-fi fan and he's seen many a series fall apart after more characters, complexity, and a war are introduced."

You mention sci-fi but uh, has your husband watched like...any other anime? Ever? At all? MHA is far from the first shounen anime to do this. You can't really make your husband like MHA if his problem is that he came to an anime restaurant and got upset when there was nothing but anime on the menu.

Seriously, MHA is not doing all that much different with its ending than what Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood did, and that's one of the most critically acclaimed shounen anime of all time. If he's predisposed to dislike the stuff anime does, that's not a writing problem. That's a mismatch of anime with his tastes.

It strikes a nerve with me because I grew up loving anime and was bullied for it by people with opinions such as your husband's. Now, the mainstream-ification of anime has drawn those same sorts of people to anime for whatever reason, and all they seem to wanna do is complain about anime being anime. Take sci-fi for example: I typically hate outerspace-themed media and the concepts such media often explore, and you know what I do? Not watch it. I've decided such media is not for me. Honestly, the same is true for a lot of anime too. I am very picky about anime because there are some tropes or themes I'm just sick of.

"I've been avoiding spoling the manga for him but since he's lost interest, I spoiled him and confirmed that the manga has been in a holding pattern for 2-3 years with this final arc."

This is where it sounds like you primed him with your own feelings, because it certainly doesn't sound like you were selling him. I don't even know what this means. "A holding pattern"? Do you mean the arc has just been going on a long time (see: welcome to anime being anime)? Or do you mean not much has happened with Izuku? Because I am getting a bit of a sense that your issue is you're an Izuku fan and his growth has been slow because the arc has had to wrap up all the other characters' arcs first. Because a lot HAS been happening with all the other characters (and we recently got some Izuku progression too).

The only other thing I can think of is an opinion I've had for a long time. I think a lot of anime fans don't realize they're not actually manga people. You watch an anime you like a lot and you wanna get up to speed, so you go to the manga not understanding that the manga is different from the anime. The pacing is different, as is the presentation and focus on details. The manga presents one or two story points per chapter, whereas anime episodes are 2-3 chapters compressed into one sitting. The anime's major selling point is its fast pacing, but this is not a selling point of the manga--of ANY weekly manga. "2-3 years" means very little in the context of a 15-page-a-week-AT-BEST manga.

"I told him what you said about Bk's death and Deku losing his arms as being symbolic"

The symbolism angle is one thing. I've never really understood why people like any media without symbolism--that's what gives a story its flavor, isn't it? If we're talking about tropes and familiar story structures, the artist's approach to familiar items is precisely what makes it unique and interesting to me. I wouldn't become invested enough to care about Katsuki's death if all that mattered to me was the surface-level event.

But are you saying you spoiled the fact that Izuku lost his arms? That's...not that big of a plot point to spoil if you ask me. Certainly not one I'd bring up as one of the greatest hits of this arc. This is another detail that makes me feel like you're particularly focused on Izuku, which is not a bad thing nor is there anything wrong with that, but Izuku doesn't actually feature very much in this anime season all things considered. It's hard to sell anyone on what's currently happening with Izuku in the manga since we just got to his stuff and it's not complete.

Again, this was what happened with Fullmetal Alchemist. The last arc covered the events of one day that ended the final war. The main characters were only occasionally featured and didn't do all that much in the season until the very end, as one would expect. When it was coming out in manga form, the pacing was admittedly very weird because of this storytelling choice, albeit it felt a bit different from MHA since it was a monthly manga and covered more ground per chapter. But when the same arc was adapted to anime, the feeling and pacing were very different, and a lot of iffy elements improved on me as a result.

"he said those actions being reversed lowers the stakes and it's hard to maintain emotional investment if you know that major plot points will just get reversed."

Is your husband someone who watches things only once and then can't rewatch and enjoy them ever again? Does he only watch stories for plot twists and once he knows the twist he stops liking it?

I don't understand this general obsession with consequences and stakes a lot of people have. Sure, they are elements that can contribute to a mood or feeling in a story, but they're far from the make-or-break linchpins so many people make them out to be. The "reversals" are major plot points too. I find much more enjoyment in trying to follow why a writer would do such things and what they're trying to say than wondering how likely some character is to die or how many people will be brutalized.

I'm in the camp that believes spoilers should not make a difference in whether or not I find a series "good" or whether or not I can invest in it. I personally have played video games specifically BECAUSE they were spoiled for me and it sounded like I would like them, and having those major things spoiled for me did not detract from my enjoyment at all. I'm not saying everyone has to be like me, but I do certainly think a story's ability to persist as an impactful and memorable work has very little to do with its stakes and everything to do with how it handles its story and characters. Was Star Wars memorable and beloved because of how many people were at risk of dying in it? Was something taken away from the story when Luke got a robotic replacement for the hand he lost?

Goodness, didn't the MHA fandom predict for years that Dabi was Touya Todoroki? And wasn't everyone just waiting for the reveal to fucking happen already so we could get it over with? And wasn't the entire fandom surprised and enthralled when the Touya reveal did happen precisely because it was handled in such a unique and cool way with Horikoshi's flair? Did predicting that twist really ruin anything for the story?

A good story is a good story.

"I'm waiting for payoff instead of enjoying the story."

I can't know what payoff you're waiting for. I've enjoyed all the events and details along the way, even if there were some expected dips here and there. When I went back and reread the entire arc in one go, the pacing really hit me differently and I got a lot out of it. If you're not enjoying the story, that's not about whether or not the story is employing "good storytelling." I've enjoyed plenty of stories that were told poorly and sloppily because there were other redeeming features that appealed to me. This is about preference. You and your husband have your own personal preferences, and that's okay! But you both have to manage your preferences with respect to each other and to yourselves.

"Is what's happening really good storytelling if this final battle has been dragging on so long and Deku's characterization has come to a halt?"

If you're actually interested in whether or not MHA has "good storytelling," I'd suggest you take a creative writing class or otherwise learn about the way stories are told in different media i.e. novels vs comics vs TV shows vs movies vs video games. But I honestly don't think that's what you mean. I think you're looking for permission to keep liking MHA even if you personally don't like its storytelling or how Izuku's character is currently being handled. I can tell you from experience that yeah, you can. Plenty of people do it all the time. Some people get so frustrated with the stories they like they write fix-it fanfiction. Some people appreciate the way a story is so perfectly written that they cannot build a fandom around it because they can't come up with anything to add. It's going to depend on you and how you want to approach the situation, and while I'm happy to talk about what I like about MHA and which writing choices I think are well made, that's not going to get us very far if you don't like the same things.

I do often find media that I personally think is not written that well, and like I said, sometimes I like it and sometimes I hate it, but if it's a piece of media with a large fanbase like MHA, I have a hard time calling its writing universally "bad." If it speaks to that many people in some way, clearly there's something about it that reaches people effectively, and who am I to judge? I'm certainly no expert in quality of writing. All I have are what I've taken away from my education in literature/writing, my years of experience with many anime that came before MHA, and my thoughts on all the other media I've enjoyed. My experiences will lead to different conclusions than others'. I know I don't like a lot of what's popular with most people, so I certainly can't hold myself out as some paragon of good taste.

It's okay to like or dislike whatever for whatever reason. I don't always stay with the same fandom. I move around when I find new and good things. I sometimes come back to old things I loved and like it anew or find it underwhelming as I currently am. As of right now, I'm actually willing to say something I never was before, which is that MHA might be one of the best-written manga if not the best manga I've ever read. While FMA is top-tier, its themes are a lot safer than MHA's ambitious goals. MHA was always going to be controversial in some ways just because of what it attempts to do, such as telling its story through comic book-themed superheroes. It also says a lot of political things that risk alienating readers. The levels of risk MHA takes are part of what makes it amazing to me and what makes it a worthwhile piece of art to enjoy. I'm so happy it exists, flaws and all. No story will be universally loved, and that's something I accepted a long time ago when I decided I wouldn't let the bullying stop me from liking anime. All I can hope to do is have the courage to love the things I love and the grace to leave alone the things I dislike for others to enjoy.

[themissakat]

ALOY ON THEMISSAKAT’S BLOG, THIS IS NOT A DRILL

i fuckin love horizon. seeing aloy in your style is something i didnt expect to see but it’s amazing

did you pick up zero dawn recently and then forbidden west right after? or have you played zero dawn a while ago and then played forbidden west recently?

please share any and all thoughts you want to share abt the games cause it’d be cool to hear what you think abt the games.

horizon cool games

I had zero dawn sitting in my steam library for maaaybe the better part of 2 years?? (i got it on sale ages ago) some friends were playing hfw and it inspired me to finally pick up hzd. I beat hzd a few months ago, mayyybe 2 or 3 months before forbidden west dropped on Steam?

I can't say any other series has gut punched me so many times and so well. I think overall I liked the first game better, just for the impact of the reveals (the data point talking about the Faro machines and the dolphins haunts me) but the addition of new characters in the second game plus expansion of the world and just MORE of aloy and her friends is so good.

gonna do a read more for hfw spoilers through the end of the game and maybe some burning shores?(hi kami dont look)

I can no longer live without Beta she is wonderful and my beloved and I want to replay hzd but the fact that Beta wont be there makes me SAD. The compare/contrast between Aloy and Beta is such an interesting concept and expands upon their relationship to Elizabet (in particular the pressure of her legacy) in such a fun way. I love taking a nature/nurture look at how they are as people and how they were raised, so similarly isolated and yet SO DIFFERENT because of their environment and the few people that were present.

I've been contemplating writing a character study drabble/ficlet from Beta-pov about Aloy throughout the game. I was screaming SISTERS at them during every interaction and then the ending with the PAYOFf just AHH.

I wish burning shores had a "chat with beta" option, I can only headcanon that Aloy and Beta chat or watch Beta's media in the evening when Aloy's resting.

The character development of Aloy learning how to interact with and trust other people is good soup. I could wax poetic about my head canons for her particular flavor of queer (given the time to organize my thoughts). I'm incredibly curious to see how they handle Seyka/Aloy going forward into the second game, in part because Aloy is such a goal-driven person, I can see her struggling to reconcile her own "selfish" motivations with the looming threat of the end of the world. (because like. girl if the world is ending you need to cherish every second you have with the people who matter to you. but also yall need time to figure out if you can beat nemesis. do be a tough dilemma there.)

I want to roll around in the brainrot more but its a struggle bc i'm a very au-centric fanartist/writer and the world of horizon is so good on its own i cant even put myself in the au mindset. for now i have to be happy with drawing aloy's amazing hair. its so beautiful i love it so much

but yeah. overall. horizon cool games.