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definitelynotafurinasimp · 3 months

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“There’s nothing we can do”

Characters: Furina x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for Fontaine, angst/no comfort

a/n: This started as a joke between me and a friend which eventually lead us to make a small competition abt writing Furina angst. I've kept this in my WIP since the end of November, but considering it's been 7 months and no sign of them finishing theirs I'll just post it.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Furina

The first one hundred years were the hardest. Before the realization she was going to outlive everyone around her had time to truly settle in, before her hopes this whole affair might resolve somewhat quickly were crushed over and over again until they were more akin to sand than the dreams she once had, and most importantly, before she had lost you.

No matter how many nights passed, new faces burst into her life only to slowly change and eventually disappear or years rolled by, one person’s face was never buried too deep in her memories. Whenever Furina closed her eyes for even a fraction of second you were there to greet her, whenever she walked past the building on that unremarkable street corner you had always so proudly claimed to be your home, she could see you standing there, greeting her with a smile radiant enough that she was scared of looking at it for too long, lest she go blind.

The house no longer stood there of course, having long been torn down only for a dozen shops to spring up in its place… not like that made her memories any less vivid.

You had been introduced to her as Neuvillette’s assistant. It felt weird for her at the time to see him hire a human considering how little he cared for them, so it was no surprise when it quickly became clear he wouldn’t trust you with any of his actual work, reducing your job as his assistant to nothing more than a title. By the time you officially gave up your role however, you had already sunken your claws into her, slowly becoming a part of her life without her even realizing it until it was too late.

You were charming, eager to help and too smart for your own good, having to have Furina bail you out of trouble more than once, your tendency to quickly get into heated discussions with some of the scientists trying to find a way to stop the prophecy landing you unpleasant experiences more than once. Yet, while some of your coworkers may have waited for the day you finally quit, you never left Furina’s side, serving her loyally day in and out.

At first, she thought nothing of it. She was supposed to act as your archon so having you dutifully serve her was basically part of the script, but while she knew better, the need to have someone, anyone she could rely on eventually led to her walls lowering around you. There was nothing wrong with finding a friend in you after all, as long as she didn’t confess her secrets to you, everything was fine…

It was supposed to be just a normal tea party as always, the two of you chatting about whatever came to your mind as you feasted on the desserts specifically provided by the Archon’s most trusted chefs, and yet you refused to eat anything but the bare minimum, stabbing your fork into your slice of cake and playing with the small piece you cut off a thousand times before taking a small bite.

You were nervous. Furina didn’t need to be a master detective to figure that out, considering how troubled you looked. What were you going to say once you eventually opened your mouth? Should she help you out by starting the conversation? Maybe you had developed a crush on her? You were spending a lot of time together, so it wouldn’t surprise her too much… although she would have to let you down gently if that was the case, considering how she had to keep her perfect image as an Archon in front of her people… that being said, she could still keep you close if that was the case, even if you weren’t an official item.

“Furina”, your voice eventually cut her thoughts off, causing her gaze to shoot towards you as she awaited what you were about to say, happy and hopeful at first, only for her mood to sour when she saw your serious expression.

“I know you’re keeping something from me. I don’t know what or why, but I know it has something to do with your powers as an Archon”, you continued, your words cutting into her deeper than what she was prepared for. Chest suddenly feeling a lot tighter as each breath became more arduous than the last, Furina quickly taking one last sip of her drink to cover up her nervousness before putting her cup down and giving you an innocent smile.

“Pardon? What did you say?”

Yet, no matter how long she kept smiled at you, your face didn’t soften, your frown only growing more intense as you took a step forward.

“Stop trying to lie to me, please. If there’s just the slightest chance what you’re keeping a secret might help to avert the prophecy, then you have to tell me, I’m begging you”, you ignored her attempts at playing it off, your voice growing more shaky as you kneeled down in front of her, instinctively taking her hand into yours while trying to look her into the eyes, only for Furina to avert your every attempt. Her free hand clenched into a fist as she tried her best to keep up appearances.

“The future of Fontaine may depend on it, please”, you begged one last time, your eyes becoming slightly watery as you gave her hands one more soft squeeze, forcing Furina to try her hardest not to break down right in front of you.

“Haha, you are aware that slandering an Archon counts as a crime, aren’t you? Let’s end this conversation before you accidentally say something you might regret”, she suggested, trying to sound as confident and cheerful as ever, her eyes closing as her smile grew wider, all the while praying you’d just let it be and forget the whole thing before you grew too close to figuring out her secret.

Instead of budging however, your grip on her hand grew tighter, as you looked at her with an expression that grew more resolute by the second. “If you can’t find it in yourself to trust me after all these years, then you leave me no choice. I won’t let you go until you tell me”, you put forward your ultimatum… it was admittedly a weak one, your desperation seeping through your every action, and still you didn’t let go no matter how pleadingly Furina looked at you.

Don’t make me do this. Please forget it before it’s too late. Her thoughts screamed inside of her, wishing to break free as she remained completely silent, only for her mouth to open one last time.

“You will let me go. I am your Archon, you would do well to remember your place. No matter how close we seemed”, Furina stated immediately after standing up from her seat, looking down at you with as brave of an expression as she could muster, only to take one final breath before continuing, fighting the tears threatening to well up in her eyes as she felt her voice threaten to be reduced to a whimper. And yet, no matter how much it hurt, she pressed onwards, not wanting to leave any chance of you figuring it out. “You will leave this room and pack your office. I shall arrange your final paycheck and a farewell bonus for all your hard work and that shall be it. Farewell.”

For a moment, it looked as if you wanted to object, only to stop yourself when you saw the determination in her eyes, swallowing your final words before slowly standing up as well and marching to the door without saying anything, your shaky hand grabbing the doorknob before you opened it.

She almost called out to you then and there, telling you that she was sorry and didn’t mean it, and yet, the words never left her mouth and soon after you were gone. The moment the sound of the closing door echoed through the halls, Furina collapsed onto her seat, tears streaming down her cheeks as the empty room was filled with her silent sobbing, one word leaving her mouth over and over again until it eventually became one with her cries.

Sorry.

Even though Furina knew after what she had done she had no right to expect to hear anything from you, she still hoped to get passing news on how you were living a happy life, fulfilling whatever goals you set for yourself after the two of you parted… and yet she never heard anything about you again. Just like that you were gone, vanishing into nothingness. Maybe you left Fontaine for another nation or maybe you chose to live an uneventful life, but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. You were gone, almost certainly having died centuries ago without Furina ever getting the chance to apologize and tell you the truth…

Maybe, she’d get the chance to meet you again one day, when her time was up and she left for a final journey, but until then, there was nothing she could do.

#furina #furina x you #furina x y/n #furina x reader

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katerina-marie · 4 months

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Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 2

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 5.0k

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff later, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho), SFW (may change in later chapters idk), no use of y/n. More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes:

A bit of a transitive chapter before we get into more of the "meat and potatoes" of this fic.

Also, content warning just in case: a funeral, and a brief mention of Suguru's dead body, but not in anyway that's graphic or overly descriptive.

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Chapter 2: Give Up What Cannot Be Gotten Over (The Pain of Outliving)

You couldn’t be sure, but it was either ignorance or privilege that kept the idea of a little black dress as something sacred and beguiling in your head. While maybe it was remnants from the excitement of girlhood, when years of age started ending in ‘teen’ and appearances were suddenly much bigger of a deal than they had been before, but the prospect of wearing one was always gleefully anticipated. It was meant to be done in effervescent fun, as a young teenager when the “little” dress fell closer to your knees and never saw a curfew farther than 11:00, or once you were older and the fabric could travel further up the expanse of your thighs as youthful exuberance was swapped out for sensuality.

Whatever it was, however, faded in light of what purpose that little black dress would serve today. You had smoothed the fabric down over your torso, patting and pinching at where it snagged over the black tights you had shimmied on before it. The dress couldn’t be considered daring, so much as it was simply meant for a different occasion, but you had no other, and as you learned in the last few days, death did not wait for one to be prepared. So you twisted in front of your mirror, ensuring all angles were covered, and reached for the paired black shawl to drape over your shoulders. It was a touch unnecessary, with the weather mild and your skin not overly exposed, but it would serve its purpose in drying any stray tears since no one had told you growing up that the little black dress seldom came with pockets.

You had just finished slipping on your shoes when a knock at your door sounded through your room. There was enough time to call out to whoever was behind it before it opened and Suguru stepped through it. Dressed in black and unfairly handsome, he smiled at you, though it was faint and not nearly as wide as normal. He closed the door behind him and walked over to where you had been perched on the edge of the bed to buckle the strap of your shoe. When he reached you, he pulled you up to stand and wrapped you in his arms, exhaling hard enough to ruffle the hair at your temple and you squeezed him tighter in return.

“How’s Nanami?” Suguru asked, stroking a hand down your back and then tugging it back gently when one of his fingers got caught in the small gap of the lace pattern on your shawl. You laughed softly and felt the weight of him as he leaned further over your shoulder to inspect the disruption, only needing a moment to untangle his finger and come before you again.

“He’s as expected,” You told him, thinking back to your blonde-haired friend just a couple rooms down as he too was dressing himself in black. “I sat with him for a little while this morning, and he was just as quiet as usual. But surely sad and missing Haibara. He let me hug him.”

Your boyfriend’s features fell and you could sense the stinging in your nose that warned you of the impending tears that would tickle your eyes momentarily. You blinked them away, adamant that you wouldn’t leave your room already pink-eyed and tear stained, lest you prompt Shoko into crying as well and push Nanami farther into his discomfort.

“Pretty dress. It’s a shame this is how I see it first,” Suguru said, clearing his throat as his thumb brushed under your eye to whisk away a tear before dropping to pull at the hem of said dress. You half-heartedly batted his fingers away, minding their penchant for getting into places they didn’t always belong.

“It’s a funeral dress now, I suppose. Appropriate, given our line of work, don’t you think?” You peered up at him to await whatever was to come out of his mouth, and you were startled when you realized how tired Suguru looked. His hair was limp and only halfway tied up into its normal bun. The rest lay unkempt down his shoulders, and you assumed he couldn’t have been bothered to do much else with it. There were pale shadows under his eyes and you wondered if he had spent the night talking with Satoru, catching up with his best friend who came back as quickly as he left it seemed nowadays. You reached out your hand to sweep back the strands of hair that still fell over his temple and Suguru leaned his cheek into your palm.

“Appropriate?” He murmured, glancing back down at the dress before looking back at you with sadness in his eyes. “Sure, but unfortunate, really. Considering the likelihood that you’ll have to wear it again.”

As you stared down at the same black dress laid out on your bed years later, you found yourself echoing Suguru’s sentiment about it.

Unfortunate for sure, if it could be summed up into one word.

Maybe if you ignored the irony of it, it wouldn’t make you laugh. Though maybe that was preferable to crying—you couldn’t decide. You ran your finger along the side of the dress and willed yourself to slip the fabric over your head and down your arms. But that felt like a monumental task, since the last time it had brushed over your skin was after Haibara’s funeral when Suguru had helped you peel it off. It was done perfectly tame and demure, neither of you in any kind of mood that would allow for any other behavior, and he had thrown it into your pile of growing laundry before the two of you had slipped under the blankets on your bed and sought out the unconscious bliss of a grief induced nap.

The memory stole your breath when you struggled to recall if that had been the last time Suguru was in your bed. It drove you nearly to the point of throwing yourself back into the plush pile of blankets where you had spent the last week since his death. You yearned to find any trace of him left; a scant strand of black hair, the lingering smell of his body wash on the pillow case, or even the warmth he always left behind in the indentation on his side of the mattress. But there would be none, as you already confirmed in your days of wallowing, because his last time there had been years ago and any evidence of him was long since washed away by time.

A sharp patting to your cheeks brought you out of whatever thoughts of Suguru lingered in your mind before you could spiral deeper into them, and you gave yourself no more time to think of it before you maneuvered the dress over your head and finished dressing yourself. You pulled the same shawl off a hanger in your closet and threw it around your shoulders before stepping into a different pair of shoes—a small mercy, but you’d take it—when someone knocked at your door.

There had been many instances of that over the last few days. Nanami appeared every morning at a routine time to ensure that you ate breakfast and brushed your teeth. Shoko drifted in after lunch to recline back against your headboard with you and watch mindless TV. Even Okkotsu had wandered in on the third day, nervousness bleeding out from him in the way that he knocked hesitantly and how his hands trembled when he sheepishly held up a tray of dinner, though that slowly dissipated as the two of you sat chatting over a hot meal. Nothing was said about what happened, because how were you supposed to say that you were proud of the bravery and strength he had shown in protecting his friends, but sickened at the thought that he had injured Suguru to the extent he did. Perhaps you could say just that, but you doubted it would make either of you feel any better, so all you did was press a hand to his arm and ruffle his hair before he left with a tiny grin on his face.

And then yesterday evening, when darkness had just started to dim the edges of your room and you had snuggled yourself away in bed did you hear three rapid knocks done firmly against your door. You were quick to leap from your bed and twist the doorknob in the same moment you began to pull it open, but the space in front of you was empty. The halls were silent and footsteps didn’t quicken around a corner, but a small plastic bag sat lonely at the tips of your toes. When you opened it and recognized the same sweets Satoru would bring for the three of you to snack on under the big tree in the corner of the school’s training grounds, you helped yourself to one or two of them—even if you had already brushed your teeth.

So now, when another knock echoed through your room, you expected any of the four of them to be standing outside your door, though some seemed more likely than others. If you were relieved or disappointed when you opened the door to see Nanami standing there in a suit exactly the same as his others except for its shade of black, you hoped you didn’t let it show. Instead, you placed your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him lead you to wherever it was you all were to go.

——————————————

In a couple minutes walk from campus, up a slightly inclined hill and after a bend in the trail, a tall stone monument inscribed with Suguru’s name sat nestled against a cluster of trees. It wasn’t secluded enough that the coolness of the wind couldn’t flutter the grass growing near the bottom or that errant beams of sun would never flash over the letters in his name, but the area was quiet and slightly further than the beaten path. You supposed it was fitting. Suguru didn’t belong anywhere else. Certainly not in a field of endless headstones, but neither to be simply found when roaming the nature surrounding the school. Obscured, but not forgotten. Maybe later discovered by a stray ball thrown or a small pebble kicked.

The soil shifted slightly under your feet as you switched your weight from one hip to the other, and you watched as Principal Yaga walked to stand close to the stone bearing Suguru’s name. He cleared his throat and you let your eyes wander as he opened his mouth to give whatever brief speech he had prepared. You heard Shoko sniffle behind you, and from the corner of your eye you saw Nanami reach back to hand her a tissue he pulled from his pocket. Around them others gathered, some friends, some classmates, some you didn’t recognize. Whether they were all there to show their support to you and Satoru or actually intended to pay their respects to the dead who may or may not deserve it was debatable at best. You didn’t care to know.

“Time and time again we will all be reminded of the pain of outliving. I urge you to find what drives you forward, otherwise the ceaselessness of it all will surely make a mess of you.”

You expected nothing less than blunt and dismal from Principal Yaga, and as he left his spot by the stone pillar to return to the crowd, you suddenly found yourself unable to move forward. There was nothing for you to leave on Suguru’s grave except for the possibility of a few missed tears that might run down your nose and fall to the dirt. You had nothing to say to him, at least not like this, when he lay six feet under and would never respond. If he could hear you wail at him and reply back in any meaningful way then maybe your mind could be swayed, but he hadn’t given you that opportunity in life, so you were hard pressed to return the favor to him in death. With that, you figured your mind was made up enough that you could turn and start the walk back to your room, but a hand suddenly trailed down your arm and tangled with your fingers to tug you forward before you had the chance. You were ready to scold Nanami for forcing you into something you barely wanted to do, but a glimpse of white hair ripped the words from your mouth.

“You looked like you needed some encouragement,” Satoru said, his tone teasing but no evidence of such on his face. You gaped at him, taken aback by how he seemed to appear out of nowhere and touch you so easily. The racing of your heart told you that maybe five days apart wasn’t yet enough to ease the impact of his presence, but you did your best to swallow away the thickness in your throat and do something other than stumble along next to him.

“I would’ve moved eventually,” you grumbled, coming to a stop next to Suguru’s grave with Satoru to your left. You couldn't bear to look at it up close, so you turned your head to focus on Satoru’s appearance. You were left surprised when you realized that a thick black band wrapped the entirety of his head to hide his eyes and part of you was grateful. The blue of them was unnerving on the best of days, and you were afraid that right now, when you could just hardly keep your voice from shaking at the sight of him, they would overwhelm you completely.

“Besides,” you continued, blowing out a shuddered breath as you tilted your head to rest it against the bulk of his shoulder, “I’m not even sure what the point of standing here is.” Undecided by you, the hand that wasn’t being squeezed by Satoru’s drifted to the stone so you could trace the lines of Suguru’s name with the tip of your finger.

“We’re mourning, aren’t we?” He asked.

You shrugged, shifting your view downwards to peer at the grass and rock below your feet. “I guess, though I suspect most of my mourning will be done out in the world. Maybe on a random street or grocery store when the memory of him hits hard enough on some unassuming Tuesday. But not here, not when a dozen eyes are watching me and I don’t have a word to be shared with him.” You might have imagined it, but Satoru’s body seemed to coil tight with tension.

“No last words?”

You had never heard Satoru sound so strained. “Suguru couldn’t do me the honor, so I don’t see why I should waste my breath.”

He said nothing, and you bit down on your lip when the thought crossed your mind that maybe you had offended him in the slightest. “I’m not going to be bitter for the rest of my life, I swear.” You tightened your grasp on his hand briefly as you tried to reassure him. “Maybe for just a little while.”

Satoru’s answering laugh was devoid of all its usual charm and fullness, and for the first time ever, it made you uneasy. With nothing else for you to do or say, you turned away from Suguru’s grave and dragged Satoru along with you, allowing space for Nanami to escort Shoko to her chance to say goodbye. You pondered gathering back with the rest of the crowd but truly saw no purpose in it, and instead you made your way back to the trail leading to campus.

The speed at which Satoru flicked your hand from his once the two of you left the coverage of the trees stung your pride and allowed for a swell of anger to heat your cheeks. He may not like how you chose to cope with the loss of one-so-dear to the both of you, nor was he supposed to grieve in any way similar to you, but he should at least respect what you did to keep yourself standing at any given moment.

So as disappointing as it was to see how hastily he retreated from you, maybe more time was necessary for you and Satoru to find the pattern in which the two of you would operate without Suguru being in his place between you. You never really quite learned how to be alone with your boyfriend’s best friend (you figured it was time to remove that qualifier since Suguru was no longer alive to keep the role occupied), not that it was done intentionally or with any amount of concern, but more a simple byproduct of the established dynamic. Suguru and Satoru had been friends years before you had arrived at Jujutsu High, and when you finally immersed yourself fully into Suguru’s life as his partner, Satoru had been the most challenging part to accommodate. Where he was seemingly boundless in his energy and demonstrative with his emotions, you remained relatively even-keeled and reserved. Satoru was borderline obnoxious in his confidence, but you were overtly aware of your own faults, though stubbornly determined in all your endeavors. Suguru had his hands full the first few months in maintaining equitable peace between you two, and you were afraid that now that he was gone there would be considerable more growing pains between you and your friend as you learned how to accommodate for the other without someone there to offer mediation.

Perhaps absence or distance could make a heart less callous, so in an effort to reach that point, you didn’t urge your legs to move faster as Satoru’s longer ones created more and more space between the two of you in your descent back home.

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“Are you sure you’d like to come back to work already? I was prepared to give you more than just a week.”

Principal Yaga’s office wasn’t a place you were used to being. The chairs across his desk had been previously reserved for the frequent reprimanding of a particular twosome, but they had long since sat empty and you only deigned yourself there to beg your principal for an assignment.

“While appreciative of the offer, I can no longer be unproductive.” You hoped you came across firm and confident in your request, but you were afraid you simply looked well worn and desperate. Yaga observed you a minute longer before looking back down at the paperwork strewn across his desk and let out a long sigh. If he’d spare you the indignity of having to explain that you could no longer spend hours at a time crying in your room, you’d never again let out the smallest complaint when Satoru’s unfinished reports landed in your own ever-growing pile.

“Very well. I’ll get back to you soon.” Elation had you already up and out of your chair, a ‘thank you’ on your lips when he continued, “I don’t know what it is with you two. Satoru was here only an hour ago asking for the very same thing.”

Your back had been to your principal and his desk, so you couldn’t see the suspicion on his face, but you heard it in his voice nonetheless. “Restlessness, I suppose.”

Yaga hummed low in his throat. “Possibly.”

You chose not to dwell on Satoru’s peculiarities and had just nearly made it to the door of Yaga’s office when you remembered what else you came for. “Thank you, by the way,” You started, turning just slightly to offer your sincerity, “I appreciate what you did with Suguru’s grave.”

Principal Yaga’s expression was perplexed and somewhat concerned. “I cannot take credit for that. Satoru was the one who decided where to place the stone. He came to me with instructions for the funeral.”

You weren’t exactly stunned into silence, but you had to stop and think for a moment before it occurred to you that you hadn’t once considered that it was Satoru who had prepared the funerary process for Suguru. It didn’t bother you that he did and never once consulted you about what preparations were to be made—you had zero faith in your ability to muster the courage for such a task—but the idea he had done it alone was a decidedly unpleasant image to add to your repertoire of self-inflicted torment.

When had he scouted a location for his best friend to forever rest? Had he stumbled upon it accidentally or had he always known of the little patch of sun and seclusion in the midst of a forested trail? Were you on his mind when he thought of how the curve of the trees would offer the privacy you craved for when you eventually made the trek there? Had he wept over that same spot the two of you had looked down on? Was is done out of obligation to you or an attempt at repentance for a deed he deemed punishable. Did he—,

“Please,” You begged Yaga, too exhausted to be embarrassed by the weakness of your voice, “send me somewhere far away from here.”

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Satoru couldn’t be sure of when he last slept. A full night’s rest had probably occurred in the days leading up to Suguru’s death, but in the time following he couldn’t recall anything more than twenty or thirty minutes of restless dozing at a time. Wakefulness was as painful as he expected, but the landscape of his dreams provided no relief from the events of the last week. At this point, he was convinced the latter was worse than the former.

He was only marginally chagrined to admit that he was avoiding you. A dutiful upbringing told him that meeting you in your place of grief to offer his support and share of the weight was the proper way to do things. The way you terrorized him in his sleep had him believing otherwise. When Satoru did finally succumb to the beckoning of exhaustion and rested his eyes in the comfort of a luxe city apartment across town from Jujutsu High, you were there in his subconscious to appear as everything he feared.

Maybe this time you did throw yourself at him. Your face was wild in its anguish and fury. Your nails raked down his cheek and if they tore the skin to shreds it was because he let you. Suguru’s name left your mouth in relentless screams that rang his ears and Satoru couldn’t pull you close like he wanted to, because as quickly as you came upon him you removed yourself with the same swiftness, eyes cutting and full of distrust. You spat your disapproval and scorned the day of his birth, and when you told him that you would never hope to lay your eyes on him again he nodded in agreement. Your reproach would always best any barrier he could lay over himself, landing true to bury deep in his chest, and he’d let you do it over and over again if that’s all he’d ever be good for—a target for your outpoured suffering.

Or the inverse where—a horrible manifestation of his best friend’s dying words—you were his. In some similarity to his memory, you did offer whatever comfort you could manage while you were also falling apart in the garden with him. You reacted the same as you did and Satoru watched you walk away with the same sense of foreboding lingering in your absence. But later, in the privacy of his home, you found your way to him. He gathered you into his arms so he could rest his cheek on top of your head and you slithered your hands up and under the jacket of his uniform to steal the heat of his skin. In the steam of the shower you wiped away a droplet of dried blood from under his ear, rinsing it away under a stream of water before Satoru could get a glimpse of it. When he broke down into strangled sobs under the blankets of his bed, you were there to pull his head to your breast and rake your fingers through his hair. In the quiet stillness before sleep he could remember exactly the feel of the dead weight that wore his best friend’s face. It would never leave him, a deep scar that had no outward appearance, but the softness of your skin and the way it would give under the pressure of his fingers would tempt his mind into forgetting.

Each version of his dreams would awaken Satoru with a panicked need to escape, to prowl the edges of his apartment until the comfort of familiarity wore off and he would seek solace in the openness of the night sky and empty streets. Yet, to his utter embarrassment and shame, one of those dreams would drive him to lie back into the plushness of his bed and bury his head into his pillow to chase a warmth that was never there. Satoru never wanted to covet Suguru’s beloved partner, but in sleep deprived grief he was weak to desire any shred of alleviation and assurance, even if that came in a hypothetical version of yourself. However, he would still eventually anathematize his own self when he couldn’t pull his eyes from their sockets and wrench his soul from his body all because the torture of outliving was compounding on his shoulders and he couldn’t understand how he could so fiercely hate his best friend in fleeting moments of despair.

So Satoru wandered and abstained, using every drop of the senses he was born with to make sure he was always moving in a direction away from you (not that it was difficult since you seldom left your bedroom), but he still found himself preoccupied with the thought of you. On the first night after Suguru’s death as he walked mindlessly through the school grounds, he came across a hidden alcove of soft grass and towering trees and immediately knew that this was the place where Suguru had to be. It wasn’t for his own sake or in consideration of the sensibilities of anyone else at Jujutsu High, but for you and the way he knew you would be in need of privacy when you came to cry or scream or bargain with the dirt over Suguru’s grave. He hadn’t waited until morning to let Principal Yaga know of his plans. Later, when Satoru passed by a familiar shop the night before Suguru’s funeral and spotted the sweets the three of you often indulged in together, he was powerless to do anything other than return with them to the school and leave a bag full at your doorstep because he knew you would like the taste of them—and maybe the memories attached to them as well.

Satoru broke the physical boundary he placed around you at Suguru’s funeral. He watched you from the back of the crowd as you stared at a point over and miles beyond Principal Yaga’s shoulder. He intervened when minutes had passed since Yaga’s speech and you still hadn’t moved from your spot beside Nanami. His skin came alight when he interlaced your fingers with his and led you to stand right next to the stone monument of Suguru’s grave, and he told himself that the pressure he exerted in his hold was as much for your own sake as it was his.

The buzz of familiarity that came with your touch vanished from his body as he heard the bitterness in your voice when you declared to him that Suguru wasn’t entitled to any of your final words since he hadn’t offered any to you. An overwhelming sense of great dread formed in the pit of his stomach and Satoru could hear the ticking of the metaphorical clock hanging above his head that was counting down to some unknown time when the biggest lie of his life would most likely ruin it. If a bead of sweat dripped down his cheek, he hoped you’d confuse it for a tear. Satoru would have stayed rooted to his place in front of Suguru’s grave had you not forced him to walk back with you to the main trail down the hill, and it took those first couple steps to jolt him back into awareness. The warmth of your hand ultimately became too much for him to bear. It felt so much like the hand that soothed his flesh in the middle of his dreams. It reminded him too much of how you seemed to depend on his comfort with trust he hadn’t earned, and he couldn’t stand to have you in contact with himself a moment longer. He didn’t stick around to see if there was any reaction to his abrupt departure on your face. He didn’t hear you quicken your strides to catch up with him and Satoru made the assumption that maybe you were in need of space too.

He continued that way for another week, slinking around the school to avoid being seen or spotting you from afar, and it was then Satoru could take it no longer. He demanded from Principal Yaga for something to take his mind off the turmoil. Surely the underclassmen needed training, some curse was waiting to be exorcized, or even a random closet was needing to be organized. Anything would do and no task was below him.

So that’s how he found himself staring at you two days later from behind the corner of a building at the front of Jujutsu High, observing as you loaded luggage into the back of a black sedan and took an orange file of paperwork from Principal Yaga. The underclassmen were waiting at a small cafe a ten minutes drive away and Satoru was already twenty late, but he couldn’t help watching as you slid into the backseat, shut the door, and drove off through the gates without so much as a look back. He had thought that distance would ease the sting of…. whatever was hanging between you two, but under the initial feeling of relief was a simmering hurt that came from the fact you were leaving without a goodbye.

What’s one more when the wounds are still fresh?

————————————————

The following chapters will have more dialogue and interaction between Satoru and Reader. I needed this chapter to offer a bit more background/insight in order to build onto what's coming.

Things will feel a bit lighter and happier before they get angsty again, but I do promise everything will end well <3

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x you #gojo x reader #geto x you #geto x reader

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dullgecko · 9 days

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Some moments between the bad kids and the other parents

(Freshman) Sklonda seeing Fig sitting on the curb at like 11am and offering to take her home, but Fig doesn’t want to go so she lets her spend the night. Sklonda did end up calling Sandralynn and found out what was going on at home. Fig was allowed to come over whenever she wanted after that.

Sandralynn taking Gorgug with her to see some griffins that have been resting in the mountains it was a long hike and Gorgug let it slip that he wanted to be Druid at one point, Sandralynn was so supportive. The griffins were probably the coolest thing Gorgug’s seen.

Hallerial and Adaine having an elvish dinner together, it gets really deep and they start talking about existential stuff, like how they’re both gonna outlive their friends and family, Hallerial lets it slip that she’s not ready for Fabian die because she wasn’t there for a lot of his childhood.

(Freshman year) Kristen asking Gorthalax a lot of religious stuff. Like did he think falling was worth or if he knows any deities that he thinks would accept her. Gorthalax want to get emotional because he used to be angel questions stuff divinity.

Riz going to the Thistlesprings to help him modify some of gadgets and he leaves with things like smoke bombs, poisonous bullets, and coming to realization that the Thistlesprings are bad ass as fuck.

Fig doesnt want to go back into the appartment with Gilear, and she doesnt want to go home to her mom, so she just sits outside of the Strongtower appartments in the middle of the day on a Sunday with nowhere to go. Sklonda is on her way to work, spots this kid that she knows is in her sons adventuring party (which only three weeks ago got attacked by a horrific corn monster at school), and offers to drive her home on the way to the station.

Fig is clearly upset about something but she refuses the ride so Sklonda gives her her house keys and says to at least stay inside her apartment if she has nowhere else to go. Riz is in there passed out asleep on the couch anyway so its not like she'd be left to her own devices in her apartment while she's at work it's fine. Coincidentally this is also the first time any of the bad kids see Riz actually asleep so when the conspiracy theories start up among the rest of the bad kids later that goblins dont sleep Fig is able to refute the claims. With proof. She took pictures. Mostly because it was also the first time she saw him wearing anything other than his suit (he had actual pajamas on).

She eventually goes back to Gilears appartment to get her stuff when Sklonda comes home later that night, and her and Riz have their first sleepover (even though Riz was asleep most of the day already).

--------------------------------

Sandra Lynn agrees that Gorgug should look into being a druid. Baxter clearly likes him so he has a bit of an affinity for animals, and their party really needs one if they're going to be doing any sort of adventuring in the wilderness. She gives him so many pamphlets when they get home. She's a bit disappointed when he ends up multi-classing as an artificer because thats two strikes she's had trying to help a kid be a ranger (Fig is so terrible at it she's banned from using projectile weapons). Oh well, she still has four other bad kids she could try converting... maybe she'll try the goblin next time.

-----------------------

Fabian is there for the beginning of the dinner but his mother and Adaine start getting so philosophical that he ends up excusing himself. Honestly he can't stand the whole you're dying so fast talk full elves tend to devolve into whenever talking about him. It makes his chest hurt in a way that he cant quite work out why. Its probably the fact that his mother and grandfather seem to have both been mourning his death from the moment he was born (his mothers favorite coping mechanism being drinking herself senselees) rather than enjoying the time they still have with him.

---------------------

Kristen has a lot of questions, and is constantly doubting herself, so having Gortholax there to get at least SOME answers is very comforting. Gortholax does get a little quiet with a far off look in his eyes when she asks him if he ever doubted the convictions that lead him to falling, and he can only ever give her half answers. He doesnt doubt that what he did was right now because he likes how his life has finally panned out.

----------------------

Riz really likes visiting the Thistlesprings. Other than the fact that Gorgug is there the Thistlesprings are so nice, and their house is full of furniture actually scaled for a creature his size (his apartment and office are furnished with human-sized furniture simply because its cheaper to buy second hand). There's still a lot of furniture for Gorgug too of course, they wouldnt force him to sit in gnomish sized chairs, but its nice getting to just sit and chill in a world thats his size while his friends parents tinker with his weaponry. He's pretty sure half the stuff they give him isnt stricktly legal, but they just pat his head and tell him not to let anyone find out about it and he'll be fine.

Plus, they seem to be on a mission to overfeed the hell out of him every time he visits which is always awesome.

#fantasy high #riz gukgak #bad kids #fabian seacaster #fig faeth #gorgug thistlespring #adaine abernant #kristen applebees

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imunderthegoddamnwater · 2 months

Text

I missed the Dreamtale twins....well, my version of them atleast

Honestly I redesigned Nightmare and Dream because I hate the creator and since she throws a tantrum like a baby whenever someone makes a change in her au I use it to make her mad :]

Anyways here is a bit of lore about them:

-Dream and Nightmare arent really "a version of sans", they never been one

-Dream has some plant features in his sans form just like his Mother (he hates it lol)

-Dream uses a sans look like appearance because he doesnt wants to scare people he helps, after all, Both Dream and Nightmare are the sons of an Angel (Yes they do technicaly have a dad), and looking at an Angel like creature is hard and kind of disturbing for mortals, its not hard for their friends to look at them since their eyes have got used to it, but someone Who just met Dream or Nightmare wont be that okay with it

-Nightmare and Dream can be called she, it, he or anything else, they dont label things, That also counts for sexualities, races, genders and more, they are whatever you call them, they wont really care

-Dream and Nightmare has an older brother called "Savior" (Who looks like a papyrus)

-Dream and Nightmare hates their mom, Nim ruined Nightmare by manipulating him to do shit she's not able to do herself and also was one of the reasons for the Apple incident, Dream was neglected a lot by Nim since she was more focused on Nightmare, she was manipulative towards him as well

-Nightmare and Dream made a truce almost a decade ago, they are mostly okay with eachother (they both technicaly are good guys in their own way)

-The only thing Dream and Nightmare has in common with a sans is their love for junk food and bad puns

-Nightmare turning Dream into stone bit might not be in this au (Im not sure yet)

-Nightmare usually doesnt uses a sans disguise since he has trauma related to the incident with it, he usually uses an Undyne disguise if he needs to, Also her second favorite disguise is Asgore

-Nightmare can have a disguise but he cant hide what happened to his eye, that part stays the same

-Sometimes flowers blooms on top of Dream’s head if he's happy or frustered

-Nightmare sees his team as his kids (and talks about them like they are his kids) while Dream sees his team as friends

-Dream's best friend is İnk

-Nightmare and Dream are in good terms

-Dream and Nightmare shares a similiar hate towards mortals like their mom, but ofcourse they have expections

-Nightmare's best friends are Ccino and Abby/Abolitionist Chara

-Dream dates Fresh while Nightmare is with Reaper Sans 🤭

-Nightmare likes reading and tea

-Both Dream and Nightmare will outlive their teams :(

-Dream keeps forgetting that his friends are mortals and they need stuff like sleep and eating at times, meanwhile Nightmare was forced to learn since everyone in his castle are insane and ignores their own needs, meaning Nightmare had to learn to take care of them

-Both Nightmare and Dream are physicaly very strong

-Both Dream and Nightmare can consume rotten food without any issue, they are literal gods of Negativity and Positivity, they cant get sick that easily

-Dream is nice but he isnt weak or dumb, he also does NOT has the mind set of a child, he will kick ass if he needs to

-Both Dream and Nightmare has issues with the english launguage since some words were very different, as an example, the word gay meant "joyful" and "happy" in the past....I dont think I need to explain what kind of train wrack this cauzed

-Savior is a good older brother so both Dream and Nightmare loves him

-Both of the guardians teams did several tests behind Dream and Nightmare's backs to see if they are plants or not, neither of them find the answer yet...

-Dream and Nightmare suspects they might turn into a tree when they become older, they dont like the idea :(

Thats all that I can remember

#undertale multiverse #Dreamtale #my au #my design #nightmare #passive nightmare sans #Dream #dream sans #gacha life 2 #Nim #Bad sanses #star sanses #undertale au #nightmare sans

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gracefulsunflower · 11 days

Text

ANGEL - SETH CLEARWATER X READER

PREVOUS Prologue

THIRD PERSON'S POV

Seth sat with the pack and the imprints after telling them about you — The little he knew anyways. He was still hung up on the fact that you would only be here for two months.

"Why don't you, I don't know, show up in the same places she is?" Embry suggested, throwing a baseball to Quil as they sat down, albeit carefully — Sam would kill them if they broke something.

Emily wouldn’t mind, but since she bought half of the stuff in the house Sam would break their fingers if they scratched even one thing.

"He's not a mind reader, Embry, God," Leah snarked, throwing an arm around her not so little brother's shoulders, pulling him slightly closer to her.

She smelled like home, so he nestled in a little closer, needing the comfort.

"But the little Cullen is, maybe Jake can ask them for some help," Embry shot back, and Seth looked elated, but then his face dropped.

"But I don't want her to think I'm a stalker or anything," Seth murmured defeatedly, and it was back to the drawing board.

The room went silent, Seth dragging the slightly good mood down with him.

"Adopt a dog," Quil suggested, and everyone looked at him.

"You said she has a dog — If you get one then you can take it for walks when she takes hers for walks. That's not that stalkerish. You have an excuse to be in the same place at the same time," Quil elaborated as he fumbled an extra hard throw from Embry, and Seth grinned so bright that it made everyone else crack a small smile.

"Quil, you're a genius! Now all I need to do is find a dog." Seth replied, his mind running wild as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, wondering who to message.

Adopting dogs from the local shelter was really expensive, and he was saving for a new dirt bike. He only had $200 to go, and he really didn’t want to waste money on a new dog. Not when he could nearly taste the dirt bike.

"Rez dogs are having puppies all of the time man, but if you're that keen Miss Postoak is trying to get rid of her bitch since she can't afford her right now, she’s only a companion dog and the others are working dogs," Jared supplied before taking another bite of his blueberry muffin, courtesy of Emily, and Seth felt victorious as he clicked onto his Mom’s contact and called her, asking if he could get a dog for his birthday.

"You're picking up its’ crap, buying its’ dog food and leashes, and it is getting neutered, we have enough strays on the reservation as is, young man — and I'll help you set up the yard for it when you get it," She replied, then said 'love you' and hung up the phone.

Seth whooped, then calmed back down, looking around the room at his expectant friends.

"What the fuck do I need for a dog?"

Leah pinched her brother’s ear for his foul language, making everyone laugh.

•••

Thankfully, Old Quil owned many a dog in his lifetime, used for hunting, mainly, but most of them were now companions in their old age, the man hesitant to get another in case it outlived him. Young Quil helped Seth buy the needed supplies like leashes, a crate for inside, dishes for the food, a dog bed, and a vet appointment was set for Monday so the bitch that Seth adopted — named Missy, a Rottweiler Shar Pei cross (Rott Pei, Quil had helpfully given him the proper name for the breed of the mutt) could be checked up, seeing as she was due for one.

Seth and Quil now at the store, buying some dog food. The smell was still overwhelming, and mixed in with how all of the other store goers smelled it was nearly unbearable. He could even still smell the products they mopped the floors with. He put the last thing in the cart when he heard a familiar voice. You.

"Quil, shit man, that's her!" Seth whispered excitedly, then listened as you made your way through the aisles, talking about dog food for Cujo.

Quil watched his younger pack mate bounce on his heels as you approached, and tried not to laugh at how excited Seth was getting. The boy turned to face you as soon as you turned the corner, dragging your dad by his hand, a basket in your other hand.

"Oh! It's little Seth!" Alexander pointed out, making you look away from the tins of dog food on the shelf, and give him a friendly grin, dropping your dad’s hand in the process.

"Hello, hello," You greeted, and nodded towards his full trolley, "Stocking up for a vacation?"

Seth turned back at the groups of haphazardly stacked dry kibble bags and wet food cans, and numerous treat packets. Maybe he was going a tiny bit overboard.

"Uh, no," Seth admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a chuckle, "I'm getting my first dog and I think I got overexcited."

"Oh! Such a spoiled little puppy that will be! Maybe you and miss (Y/N) could take your dogs for walks sometimes! I think she gets sick of her old man slowing her down," Alexander offered, and nudged (Y/N)'s shoulder, "If you need help with the dog too, (Y/N) could teach you a few tricks. Should help her keep herself busy for the next two months."

Seth tried not to smile too hard as he agreed, but noticed that you looked less than pleased, but give him a tight lipped smile nonetheless.

"Dad, grab two dry bags of dog food," You commanded, and your father did your bidding as you somewhat aggressively threw some dog food cans into a basket, managing to dent one of them.

Your father suddenly looked less than pleased with your behaviour as you threw the last can and turned on your heel, shoulder checking him as you walked past him. Alexander looked back at the pair of boys and gave them a tight lipped smile and a small wave before leaving behind his daughter.

Seth cocked his head to the side, trying to drown out the rest of the store goers to listen to you. Quil immediately did the same.

“What in the Gods was that? Ridiculous behaviour for what?” Your father said gruffly, but not unkindly.

"Dadda, I don't want to go for walks with him!" Was the first thing Seth heard you say, which made his heart drop, but he kept on listening anyway.

"Nonsense, he seems nice! A friend wouldn't hurt," Your father tried to reason with you, but you huffed.

"If a friend wouldn't hurt we'd actually live in one place and not move around like nomads." You then let out a soft 'fuck!', most likely stubbing your toe on the stupid boxes near the mouth of aisle 2.

"Well, I'm sure this place is the place. Trust me, tiny child. If it isn't, I'll buy you your dream Dodge Challenger for a late birthday gift." Your father reasoned.

"Don't bullshit me," You snapped back, sounding like you were nearer to the doors.

"I'm not! Matte black Dodge Challenger with red under glow for your birthday, or we live here, I swear it on Cujo's life." Your father pleaded, and you sighed.

"Fine. I'll see if one of the workers knows how to get into contact with him. I'll try to find him on MySpace or Twitter or something." You relented, then the doors opened to the front of the store, and your scent was gone.

Your Father cheered and Quil put Seth into a headlock playfully, messing up his hair, making Seth laugh as he did so.

•••

You sat on your new bed, your dog Cujo, a black Cane Corso who was getting on in his years, shown by the grey fur on his muzzle, resting on the floor next to your bed, not being allowed on any furniture. Your father was doing research in his room.

You picked up a piece of mango and popped it into your mouth as you looked up the name of the place you were staying at on Facebook. You found the profile, and clicked into it, then went straight to followers. You couldn't find any followers with Seth's profile picture, so you went and looked up the name of the school, finding their profile and looking through the followings for Seth. No luck. Even searching his name up you discovered nothing. You stalked his school until you found his name on an old post where he had won an award for a spelling bee, also discovering his last name. Clearwater. Seth Clearwater.

You logged into your MySpace account, and looked for him, and surprisingly found him. His profile picture was a photo of him with a man, standing side by side, grinning.

You found it, and let held your arms up above your head in a victorious manner, looking around the room as if expecting someone to cheer for you, then focussing on your dog.

"See how fucking amazing I am, Cujo? The FBI needs to hire me as a detective," You said, then started scrolling through his profile.

Nothing overly fancy. Just some pictures of him, people you assumed to be his family, and some of nature around the area, alongside some photos of his adventures. You clicked the 'Add Friend' button, and decided to make a new friendship bracelet while you watched movies, heading off to your dad's room to go and ask him to start the bracelet for you.

•••

Seth was currently scrolling through Twitter at his desk as his Xbox 360 started up, Leah lounging on his bed playing Mario on his DS. Technically, he and Leah shared the Xbox, but he just kept it in his room as she didn’t really play it much these days, instead choosing to play his DS. He didn’t mind. Just as long as she stayed in his room so he knew it was safe. Missy was laying halfway under his bed, gnawing at a new chew toy Quil had picked out.

His phone beeped, and a new notification popped up. He walked over and slid onto the bed next to his sister. A new friend request. He looked, and his heart started speeding up as he looked at the profile.

“What?” Leah inquired, hearing the thrumming, looking over his shoulder.

“She added me on MySpace!” Seth told his sister excitedly, showing her the profile picture of you and a black dog, along with your Dad and a woman who looked a bit like you, and accepted your friend request, then started looking through your profile.

There were photos from all around the world. Australia, Sweden, Italy, France. Your father and you were the main focus of your photos, but your nature shots were a sight to behold. There were also some with people that weren’t your father, so maybe friends and relatives. The photos of the woman in your profile picture stopped around a year ago, he noted. Your newest photo was the Welcome to Forks sign, you and a huge black dog posing in front of it, the same one from your profile picture.

A message notification popped up. He opened it, and there was a message from you.

Y/N:

Hey

“Oh my goodness, she messaged me!” Seth nearly squealed, and Leah bit back a laugh at her little brother, knowing that laughing would probably result in him attacking her with a pillow covered in a Spider-Man case.

“Well don’t just ignore it, reply!” Leah urged, and Seth looked at his sister, eyes as wide as saucers.

“What do I say!” Seth panicked, and Leah rolled her eyes, grabbing the iPhone covered in a Spider-Man case and messaging her back.

Seth:

Hey

•••

You blinked at your laptop screen, your friendship bracelet forgotten. You didn’t expect him to reply so fast. You went down to the vending machine just outside of the office about ten minutes ago and he wasn’t there, instead there was a girl at the counter, talking on the phone as she painted her nails. Maybe his shift was over, and he was at home? You didn’t think on it much.

Your fingertips ghosted over the keys, then stopped, instead picking up your phone and logging into MySpace there.

“Dad?” You called out, and he ambled into your room, a sandwich with a bite taken out of it, jerking his head upwards slightly as he chewed.

“Seth messaged me and I don’t know how to reply,” You admitted, and your father chuckled as he came over and sat next to you, trying not to get any crumbs on the bed.

Cujo immediately came over and sat expectantly next to him on the floor, but your father shooed him away. Your baby walked over and laid in his crate, looking offended.

“What do you want to say?” He asked, pulling your phone into his hand, getting ready to type a message for you.

You leaned against his muscly arm, and shrugged. You weren’t very good at holding conversations.

“Why don’t you ask him about his new dog?” Your father suggested and you grinned victoriously, taking back the phone and sending him a message.

Y/N:

How’s things going with preparing for ur dog?

You hummed, feeling content, then sent the message. Seth started typing immediately.

Seth:

She’s good! We picked her up like an hour ago and she’s currently harassing my sister, lol

A photo came through of a dog that looked like a Rottweiler, but was wrinkly, and the tail curved upwards, sitting on the lap of a girl that looked a couple years older than you, playing a DS.

“Oh! Looks like a little Rott Pei! They’re stubborn little fucks,” Your father commented, still eating his sandwich, making you giggle.

Your aunty Lara had one, over in Italy. He tended to chew any shoes left outside, and didn’t like Cujo much.

Seth:

Her name is Missy :)

Y/N:

She’s so cute! Is she a Rott Pei? Dad says they’re stubborn lol

Seth:

Yeah, she is. I’m gonna try and take her for a walk tomorrow. She’s really good on lead, and well socialised. My sister Leah’s coming too, wanna come with?

Before you could type ‘no’, your father snatched your phone and sent a message.

Y/N:

That sounds good, when & where?

“Dad!” You hissed, picking up your stuffed Elmo doll from beside you and assaulting your father with it, making him drop his sandwich.

Cujo wasted no time in scrabbling over and eating it, making you laugh, but you quickly stopped as your phone beeped again, leaning over and grabbing it from your dad’s hand.

Seth:

Tomorrow, like 11am?

We can take out a picnic!

Me and Leah can come pick you up :)

You quickly positioned yourself so you could see Cujo in the background, your dad deciding to hop into the photo as well, holding up both of his thumbs and giving the biggest smile you’d ever seen.

Y/N:

Cujo & I are keen, so’s Dad apparently. See you then!

•••

Leah pinched her little brother’s cheek as he put the phone down, tittering at the way he blushed, the colour in his cheeks and ears becoming more noticeable with the red undertone of his blood rushing to them.

“My baby, all grown up! Going on a date with a girl-”

“-It’s not a date, Leah,” Seth said exasperatedly as he grabbed his phone and messaged Jacob, wanting to let him know first.

Seth:

(Y/N) and I are walking our dogs together tomorrow.

Jacob:

Good job bro :)

You should see if she wants to come to your birthday party tomorrow

Seth blinked. Tomorrow was his birthday. He’d be fifteen, and in two months he’d be starting tenth grade.

Seth:

I forgot about that haha

Are you and Ness coming?

Jacob

Wouldn’t miss it for the world man

I picked out a cool gift but Ness said hers is ‘practical’, or whatever

You know how she is

Seth laughed and sent back a thumbs up emoji, then leaned over and scritched Missy behind her ears, making her wag her tail contentedly. Today was a good day. Tomorrow was going to be even better.

•••

Alexander stood out on the porch of the cabin, facing the sea as he puffed on his Marlboro, the cigarette being his only source of light other than the moon, full and low over the sea.

A movement in the distance, over near some rocks, only just visible in the corner of his eye. His head snapped in the direction of it, his blue eyes nearly glowing in the dark.

Something was staring right back at him, its eyes shining green like a cat’s in the dark. A stare off ensued. Alexander moved ever so slightly, reaching for his crossbow, but the creature then spread its’ wings and took flight, the huge wing span nearly blocking out the moon as it ascended.

Alexander growled and put out his cigarette, dropping it into the metal trash can near his feet. He found what he was looking for. Now it was time to complete the rest of his mission.

•••

Mary Postoak stared at the moon through her kitchen window, opting to watch it as the sink filled up in front of her.

There was a flash of darkness in front of the moon, looking like a huge bird. She gasped, a hand going to her chest. It was bigger than any bird she saw, ever. And the last time she checked; birds didn’t have legs like humans.

A thud was heard in her backyard, and her dogs started barking, making her head for her back door, but a yelp cut her off. She instead turned on her heel, running towards her bedroom and grabbed her rifle, then ran through the hallway, throwing open the back door and loading the rifle.

She grabbed the flashlight from her deck table, and turned it on, shining it toward the scene, and gasped.

Something was hunkered over her dog, feeding from it. Upon hearing her, it looked up, blood covering its lower lip. It was hideous. Pale skin, and two enormous wings. It stood up at its full height, nearly ten feet, and stepped forward, making her drop her torch and point her rifle at it.

She fired it once, hitting it square in the chest. It growled, then lunged for the woman, attacking her before she could even scream.

§§§

Fun fact lol, Missy & Cujo are based on dogs I've owned. Again, not proofread so please kindly point out any mistakes!

#seth clearwater x you #seth clearwater x reader #seth clearwater #leah clearwater #paul lahote #embry call #quil ateara #wolf pack #twilight wolfpack #twilight wolves #twilight saga #twilight #jared cameron #sam uley

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puffyducks · 2 months

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DCRC Week #8 (Part 1)

ODIN WEEK! ODIN WEEK! ODIN WEEK!!! It's PKNA #5: Portrait of the Hero as a Young Duck btw. Please enjoy my epic edit- I mean real panel I mean totally real screenshotted and unedited comic panel.

Also, I try to put spoilers for the comics I'm reading about as they happen in the story, but this time I couldn't help myself so beware of reading this if you haven't read the whole chapter yet.

I already have this panel saved in my folder, it's so iconic in my head. He wanna be Batman sooooo bad.

Gotta love these military guys opening fire like their lives depend on it and PK is just behind them making silly little jokes like :D

Wow this guy seems interesting I wonder what his opinions on AI art are

Gorgeous panel and some gorgeous one-point perspective here. Sorry for being an art student but we made a lot of drawings like this and it made me learn that drawing buildings makes me want to die. So this is even more impressive to me in that regard.

Lowkey cute asf for Odin to just put a whimsical little garden in place of where Ducklair tower used to be

Donald is so SAD it breaka my heart 💔 RIP Uno who is totally super dead 💔💔💔

Donald is SO SMALL. Shoutout to the PKNA writers for pushing the entire main Duckverse cast to the side so that they could create an all-new roster of characters that all fucking TOWER over Donald in height. Lyla, Angus, Xadhoom, Styvesant, soon to be Odin in like a few pages. If you need to know anything it's that Paperinik is a little SHRIMP and he is so tiny and small and the most specialest boy ever.

haha..... yeah..................

DEFEND UNO'S LEGACY DONALD!!!!! Also Lyla... okay and I guess Geena cause she's the ACTUAL robot he's defending-

This is the part where I look at the camera like it's an episode of The Office btw. If you know you know.

babygirl

OOOOH SHIT IT'S YA BOI!!! I forgot about him trying to meet Donald by just slamming his ship into theirs. Like I GUESS that's a surefire method to speak to someone...

Cheeky son of a-

GEENA YOU FUCKING NARC

Snitches get stitches Geena... (imagine a little text pops up on screen like in a video game and says "Geena will remember that")

Hmmmm where have I seen this shot before.... *flashback to issue #0.1 which I put a filter over to make sure you know it's a flashback to an earlier chapter*

oh right.

Crying over this shot they BOTH wanna be Batman man 😭 two dumdums that were made for each other

He's so cheeky I hate him (affectionate)

So obviously they bring up that Odin just means "One" (or Uno) but it's also worth pointing out what an Eidolon is. Eidolon is a Greek term, meaning "a spirit-image of a living or dead person; a shade or phantom look-alike of the human form" (at least according to Wikipedia).

"ODIN EIDOLON" LITERALLY TRANSLATES TO "UNO'S GHOST" I FUCKING HATE HIM. I'M SMASHING HIM WITH HAMMERS. AFFECTIONATELY.

Anyways to wrap up with some final thoughts-

Something that doesn't really get addressed in this comic (probably for plot reasons, it's not super relevant) is just how comforting it must be for Donald to travel to the future and see that the Evronian Empire is all but wiped out, a shell of its former self. Obviously timelines can still change, we saw that in Day of the Cold Sun, but it still must be nice to see that all the fighting he does is going to pay off in a big way.

Btw remember that bit in an earlier chapter about Uno finding Lyla attractive? Yeah well I should think so considering that YOU'RE THE ONE THAT BUILT HER- Okay well he's not the DESIGNER but still I think that connection is funny ok. I wonder if Uno scanned Odin's gun and was like "oh"

I like this comic, I think it's another really good one. I mean it's no Earthquake but still, between Day of the Cold Sun, Earthquake, and then this volume I feel like we've just had banger after banger after banger. I'm also super stoked to have Odin in the story now, even if thinking about Uno way outliving Donald and being excited to see him again after 200 years makes me really depressed if I think about it too hard. I'm happy that he got to escape the confines of Ducklair tower and even got a cunty green suit in the process though, good for him. Donald is REALLY gonna regret not accepting that explanation from Uno though, RIP 🙏 SUUURELY he'll figure it out one of these days guys. Like EVENTUALLY. Right???

#dcrc #dcrc week 8 #paperinik

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bloodgulchblog · 7 months

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Thanks for answering my ask! You just made me realize how interesting Halsey. I mean I always knew she was a complex character but I haven’t really read the founding halo books since middle school(?). Anyway you have now have me utterly fascinated with her and know I must consume all content relating to her (that’s written by nyland). Sooo thanks for that! Also the scene spartan ops where she learns John’s alive is the scene that has stuck with me the longest from that mode, that followed by the prison break or the warthog run mission.

You're welcome! God, she breaks my heart now. (This ask answer just turned into a fresh outpouring of Halsey thoughts/feelings and I hope they are interesting.)

Halsey is one of the characters that I sat down and was like I need to understand what their deal is when I started really getting back into Halo. It's really easy to just hate her because, you know, she's the architect of horrible things happening to children. But especially once I started understanding the food chain of exploitation that goes on within ONI it was like oh my god. Then going back through the diary and being like wait, how old was she when the Carver findings were being discussed? How old was she when ONI started to court her?

You realize that Halsey was also so young, and they groomed her and manipulated her and preyed on her and built her in the image they found most useful. And by the time she wanted out, she was too far in and they basically held those kids hostage by threatening to hand the reins over to someone who wouldn't have cared about whether they suffered more than "necessary."

Halsey was their useful monster and had to figure out how to keep living with herself, justifying the monstrosity, and just throwing herself headlong into her work. I'm still struck by how the diary shows her feelings about Keyes, it's not in-your-face but augh. Catherine Halsey, terrifying science witch of ONI, cold and ambitious and condescending, and Jacob Keyes was a gentleman to her and trustworthy with secrets.

On a related note: Something I've thought about a lot with Halsey is that, on its face, her having Miranda does not make sense. ...But then if you turn it in your mind, suddenly it does. Halsey is a doctor in the deep space future, if she did not want to have a child she would not have a child. What did she want by that? It was obviously not to tie Keyes to her, they never married and only occasionally saw one another (even though it's obvious how much they mattered to one another.)

Rampant speculation: I don't have a canon answer to that question, but the timing (during Spartan-II) maybe speaks to Halsey wanting to prove something to herself about her own humanity vs monstrousness. Maybe, if she could raise a child well, it would prove that what she did to those other children was not the whole of her.

And in the end, her work for ONI devoured her and she did fail Miranda. She tried for six years, and in the end she sent Miranda to live with her father because she knew she was not a good mother to that child. Halsey missed Miranda and even though her daughter took after Keyes so much more than her, even though Miranda wanted nothing to do with her, we know that Halsey used what influence she had in the UNSC to try to protect Miranda from a dangerous frontline posting that could kill her.

Even though the whole My-Spartans-are-the-next-step-of-humanity thing is bullshit to me, there are some things about her late-canon characterization that do make sense to me.

Imagine how bitter it must feel, how alone she is. Halsey believed, truly believed, she was sacrificing herself to protect other people. Halsey believed that great ability came with the responsibility to spend herself for what she thought was a good cause. So she did, and now here she is: alone and hated, with nothing to show for it but regret and isolation and death while she has outlived almost everyone she ever cared for.

#asks #catherine halsey

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persephoneggsy · 3 months

Text

I'm too excited about The Veilguard so I wrote a little fic trying to figure out my prospective Rook, Phryne. Tried to keep stuff re: the Mourn Watch vague since I'm sure we'll learn more about them in the game proper. This is mainly just me succumbing to the brainrot lolol

***

People often said that the dead looked like they were sleeping. All the tension and worries of the corporeal had vanished, leaving only an expression of peaceful repose.

Phryne had seen her fair share of dead faces – she’d been a mercenary for several years, and besides, she was Nevarran. Death was seeped into their very marrow.

Sometimes, it was true. Other times, she’d look down at see a face twisted with pain, shock, sometimes even sadness. She just never thought it mattered. Who cared what someone’s final expression was? Dead was dead; the mortal soul was gone, and if they found their bodies possessed, then the most expressive the corpse would be was dependent entirely on the spirit doing the possessing.

Now, though. Phryne looked down at her son and wished he looked like he was sleeping.

Rothe’s expression was much like it had been in life; hard and stern, his jaw stubbornly set and eyebrows furrowed as if he were in the middle of an inspection. Even in death, her eldest child was not able to relax, it seemed. She used to tease him for that, wondering how he and his sister had turned out so uptight. He’d always answer, “It’s obvious, Mother: we had to make up for your carefree nature.”

Even when his tone was light, his mouth would twitch into a short approximation of a smile before resuming its usual stoic state. And now, that was the face he would carry into eternity.

Phryne tore her eyes away from her son’s face – his too young face, he was barely thirty, why had she outlived her son – and focused on the rest of him. The Mortalitasi in charge of preparing his body had done a fine job of repairing… the damage. She’d been told his cause of death was a blade to his heart. It would have been quick, or at least quicker than bleeding out or starving or drowning. Small mercies, she supposed.

He was wearing his finest suit, the same he’d worn at his wedding, but with an added red-orange sash and emblem pin denoting the symbol of the Inquisition. His arms were crossed over his stomach, hands resting on the hilt of his trusted blade – it was broken in two when his body arrived from the Arbor Wilds, but Phryne had found a reliable craftsman able to repair it. One could hardly tell it was broken, now.

Rothe had left instructions for the sword. When he was old enough, and if he wanted it, it would go to his son, Quirin. It would be some time before that happened, thought Phryne. Quirin was barely five years old.

Maker. Phryne closed her eyes. Poor Quirin. Still a child, and both his parents gone. His mother was lost to fever just two short years ago, and now his father, lost to a cause halfway around the world. Her daughter, Elke, was going to take him in, raise him alongside her own son, Halig. She’d given Phryne a pointed look when she made that declaration, as if expecting her to argue. Of course, Phryne did not; Elke was a good mother.

Better than Phryne thought she had been, anyway.

A polite cough drew Phryne’s attention away from Rothe’s body. A man around her age was standing in the doorway of the funeral hall. Judging by the staff in his hands, topped with a skull, he was a mage, and he seemed vaguely familiar to her. Perhaps she’d crossed paths with him in the Watch.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t realize there were still mourners here.”

Phryne glanced at the candles illuminating Rothe’s still form. They’d nearly burnt to their ends. Had she been there that long? It seemed that just minutes ago, the hall was filled with mourners, Rothe’s friends and acquaintances. Elke and the children had been among the last to leave, but now, it seemed she’d been alone with her thoughts for some time.

“It’s… fine,” Phryne managed to say. She smoothed down her mourning dress and turned away from the corpse. “Are you here to administer his final rites?”

“Yes, but if you need more time…”

“No, thank you.” Phryne managed a weak smile, which the necromancer returned, though his was much more sincere. He was quite handsome, she noted distantly, and if the body on the altar had been anyone’s other than Rothe, she might have said so out loud. As it was, she merely gave her son one last look over her shoulder. “He’s as ready as he’s going to be. Me too, I think.”

The necromancer chuckled kindly. “A relative?”

“My son.”

“Ah. My condolences.”

He stepped forward, joining Phryne at the altar. Shrewd eyes scanned over Rothe’s body. Phryne found herself watching the mage. She was a part of the Mourn Watch, and she suspected he was as well – last rites were typically conducted by Watchers, especially in cases where it was another Watcher’s relatives that had died – though she never saw much of the mages that made up the bulk of the order. Most tended to stay in their studies, talking to skeletons and doing research long into the night.

“Inquisition, hm?” he murmured. “They’ve been doing good work. You must have been proud.”

“I suppose I was.”

“It’s in question?”

“I am proud. But no mother wants to outlive her children.”

He gave a sympathetic nod at that. “True enough. But it’s clear that you loved him. I’m sure his spirit sits well at the Maker’s side.”

“I hope so.”

They then lapsed into a contemplative silence, which Phryne took as her cue.

“I’ll leave you to your work, sir,” she said, straightening her back as if she were in uniform. To her surprise, he waved a hand at her.

“Oh, no, please not ‘sir’. Emmrich is just fine.”

She spared him another smile; this one smaller, still tinged with grief, but genuine nonetheless.

“Emmrich, then. Thank you.”

Emmrich inclined his head towards her, watching as she turned and left the funeral hall. Once she was out of the darkened room, she let out a long breath. Emmrich. The name was familiar, too. Perhaps he was one of the more famous Watchers… which meant, hopefully, that Rothe was in good hands.

Her heart already feeling lighter than it had been for weeks, Phryne started making her way home.

#my work #fic #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #dragon age rook #rook #idk i think it would be neat if they briefly met before the game starts #maybe she remembers him but he doesn't remember her #or vice versa #emmrich volkarin

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skyler10fic · 1 month

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Prodigal Daughter of the Milky Way

Summary: Agent Daisy Johnson is sent to space to find the long-lost Captain Marvel and discovers someone quite different than she had pictured.

Read on Ao3

--------------

Death seemed to follow her. Daisy had outlived her boyfriend, her sister, and many teams lost to the danger of traveling through space. She’d take on a companion or two every once in a while, but they always found what they needed or returned to their families. Though it was heavy with grief, she still visited Earth to see her adoptive father—at least, it was the android version of him, a life-model decoy. Between Daisy’s inhuman lifespan, inherited from her mother, and Phil’s life powered by technology that didn’t decay at the speed of natural organic matter, it was a shared experience, watching everyone they loved die, whether from age or disaster or disease.

Neither was properly immortal, not really, but they had ways of cheating death that their loved ones didn’t.

Now Daisy made a point to get home, from time to time, between using her powers for justice as a Saber agent. The woman in charge of Saber, Monica Rambeau, had a similar lifespan due to her own acquired powers. They both aged, but so slowly, they still looked and felt like they were in their late 30s. Daisy had lost track of the years on Earth, but Monica said they would be in their 90s.

Daisy lived with a lifetime of complex grief, but not like Monica’s. Monica had lost her mother, and she had never known her father, but the one that haunted her was the ambiguous loss of her superhero aunt, Carol Danvers. Daisy had never met the legendary Captain Marvel, but if she ever did, she swore to give her a piece of her mind. Daisy figured she must be the kind of Avenger who thrived on the glory, leaving Monica so many times to enact justice across the universe with not so much as a visit back to Earth, or even the Saber ship in the outer atmosphere. Daisy could just imagine the smirking blonde in the pictures reveling in the applause and idolization of her cosmic-sized incredible powers.

One day, in an officers’ meeting on the Saber ship, Monica said it had been 10 years since she’d seen her aunt. It was time to bring Carol home again. Saber needed her. Carol’s knowledge of the galaxy alone could triple the information Saber had in its databases, and there were missions only she could complete. Daisy could tell the reasons were only the logical part of the story for the official record: Monica needed her aunt too.

Daisy expressed her sympathies to her friend and commander, accepted her assignment folder, and promised to bring good news the next time they saw each other. Daisy would bring Carol back and make her see just how much she was missing while out there alone playing goddess.

—-------------------

Death seemed to follow her. Carol had outlived her closest friend and partner long ago, but since then, the years had taken more and more from her. Not that it mattered. She leaned her head back on the dark wall of her prison cell. Once, she had flown above planets, bringing empires to their knees. Now, the boundaries of her world were a desk, a small bed, three dark walls inhibiting her powers, and a fourth barred with plasma that hummed at a pitch that sapped any remaining hope. Instead of a supersuit, she wore her white ribbed tank top under a navy jumpsuit. She still tied the sleeves around her waist the way she used to with her suit when she was on her ship. All that had been lost too, ages ago when she’d been captured on a planet ruled by a mafia-turned-empire.

She was getting too old for this work anyway. She had lost track of the years stuck in here. Without her powers, she’d resumed aging, noting the fine wrinkles in her reflection. Even if she got out, what would she do if her powers didn’t come back? She would just be an ordinary woman. She’d catch a ride back to Earth, but surely even that old yellow house in Louisiana had been torn down by now. Maybe she’d be turned into some sort of mascot for Shield, or a ghost for Saber to wheel out for new recruits to gawk at as a living history exhibit. No. She loved Monica and Kamala, but they had moved on without her long ago, and her presence would just remind them of all the grief and trauma they had suffered.

Carol realized she still pictured them as they had been the first time their powers had gotten entangled. Kamala was still a teenager back then. Her hope had brought them together. Carol hummed a self-deprecating laugh. Nostalgia was a mind’s trick.

But then they lost Monica for a long time. And she came back as part of another team of superheroes, from another universe, with the help of a woman who wasn’t her mom. Just a parallel version. Who wasn’t Carol’s soulmate. Who had none of the same memories or friendship or love. Just Maria’s same face.

Carol had been called away to help friends on other planets over and over, Kamala had risen within Shield’s ranks, and Monica had inherited her mother’s legacy and Fury had become her surrogate father until he finally passed (for real this time) at an extraordinary age.

None of them were properly immortal, not really. But they realized as the years past that none of them were reaching the outward signs of middle age. The Shield doctors explained that while they could be killed, they were far more resilient to disease and their cells weren’t dying off at the rate an aging woman’s normally would.

But eventually, Carol hadn’t been so lucky. She’d always traveled through space, and a companion or two would come along, but they always found what they needed or went home to their families.

Even Goose had succumbed to time. Carol had laid her to rest on Earth, at the little yellow house, with a headstone declaring her by far the oldest cat who ever lived. Thinking of the disbelief of the engraver brought a bitter smile to Carol’s lips again.

One day (or night, Carol didn’t really know which was which in here), a parade of officials showed up at her cell door, inky black tentacles flowing behind them like sinister capes.

“Captain Carol Danvers,” a uniformed officer addressed, via a universal translator device. She rose from her prison bed and stood at attention. “Gather your belongings.”

The gaggle of officials left, save for three guards and the large shackles they carried. The guards watched as she pocketed what little she had, and as soon as the plasma barrier was off, they tased her until she fell to her knees in agony.

Bound in handcuffs that inhibited her powers and charged wire around her waist and legs, they marched her down the hall and to the prisoner loading dock. They shoved her into the cargo hold of a dark vehicle, sort of a cross between a hovercar and a sketchy van, from the brief view she’d gotten on the way in. They drove, with no regard for bumping Carol into the walls of the van, and stopped suddenly.

The back doors opened to a blinding light, but her eyes didn’t have time to adjust before she was shoved out of the van onto the ground. Then the beating began. Over and over until a whistle-chirp from the ringleader commanded them back. She spit blood and metallic dirt and struggled to sit up without the use of her hands, but all she saw when she did was the backside of the van as it sped away.

She took stock of her surroundings: She was in a field of red flowers. Poppies, a distant memory told her. Here she was, a prisoner of war, bloodied and abandoned in a gorgeous field of poppies. The people on this planet probably had no idea of the symbolism.

“Here, let me help.” A kind voice came from a woman who ran over and stood above her, a blur haloed in the late afternoon sunlight. She pressed a button on a homemade-looking remote and deactivated the wires. The woman pressed another button and the restraints all fell away.

Carol scrambled away from them and stood on shaky legs. “Thank you.”

Now that she had a better view, the woman was humanoid, stern but gorgeous in her uniform of some sort. Wait.

“Is that..? Are you…?” Carol barely dared to hope as she caught sight of the logo on the woman’s uniform.

“Daisy Johnson,” the woman announced. “Agent of Shield and Saber. You’re coming back to Earth with me. Any trouble and I can put these right back on, but I prefer to work without them.”

Carol watched as Agent Johnson kicked the handcuffs on the ground in emphasis, and the last light on them flickered off. The warmth of Carol’s power flooded back in a rush, making her gasp in surprise, but it burned hotter and hotter until she was levitating, radiant from her extremities to her core to her eyes to her hair.

“Captain, power down. That’s an order,” Daisy commanded.

But Carol couldn’t help it. A decade of restrained power unleashed at once and Carol shot up to the stratosphere of this small planet, a shooting star in her own right.

What Carol didn’t expect was that Agent Johnson would join her.

On the ground, Daisy swore under her breath and sent a mental apology to the flowers as she blasted off with her powers, destroying a good patch of the field. She jumped as high as she could and sent a blast of her quake powers at Carol, intending to knock her back down to a restrainable distance.

“Power down!” Daisy commanded again.

“I’m trying!” Carol shouted back. The quake hit her square on, but what would have taken down a normal powered person was just the shake that Carol needed to get control of her power again. In relief, she called, “Thanks!”

Carol floated back down to Earth, landing with grace, and observed Daisy’s impact as she crushed a deeper hole into the field than when she’d taken off.

“What the hell?!” Daisy shouted.

Carol held up a no-longer-glowing hand in a calming gesture and Daisy misinterpreted it as a combative one and stretched her arm out for more blasts.

“No, no, sorry. I didn’t mean to. You just turned off the inhibitor and all my power from the last decade came back. You’re powered too? You know how that feels?”

Daisy relaxed. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. But you still have to come with me.”

Carol nodded. “Home.”

Daisy shrugged and uncloaked her Saber ship with a swipe to her smartwatch. “We’ll see. There’s a very angry Saber commander who wants a word with you. But it seems like you have a better explanation for your absence than she assumed.”

Carol’s sad smile reappeared as they began walking to the ship. “Monica? So she is okay. She’s still…”

“Director? Yeah. No help from you, though.”

Carol’s voice came out hollow and haunted as she corrected Daisy’s assumption: “Alive. I meant alive. It probably says a lot about my work that I have to ask. The longer I’m out here, death tends to beat me to the punch. But yes. That’s true too. Not much I could do in there to help Saber or anyone else.” She nodded to the city with the prison on the horizon as they boarded the ship.

Daisy settled into the pilot seat, and to her surprise, Carol took the seat of the copilot, seeming just as comfortable joining her in the cockpit as she was soaring through the air on her own power.

When they were in the air, Carol broke the silence. “Thank you. For whatever you did back there to get them to release me.”

Daisy shrugged. “Right place, right time. May have shaken things up a bit at the Hall of Justice.” She winked and returned to piloting them out of the planet’s atmosphere.

Daisy set the autopilot when they were in space and beckoned Carol to the back of the ship to sit on a metal countertop. “Your powers seem to have healed your injuries, but you’ve still got some blood…” She opened a first aid kit and dabbed at Carol’s forehead and cheek.

Carol’s heart skipped at Daisy’s beauty so close to her, drawing her in like a magnet. Daisy’s earlier attitude of hostility and professional formality softened as she washed the dirt and blood away.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Daisy said in a new, quiet, gentle tone. “But if you want to, I’m here. I may have judged you without knowing the whole story earlier. Monica thought you were just too busy for us or that you thought you were too important or something took priority.”

Carol shook her head and sighed. “Inside every powerful commander is a little girl left alone on Earth. Monica has a good reason for that assumption. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’ve read your file.” It was a simple statement of fact, no judgment in Daisy’s tone.

Carol hopped off the counter as she continued. “I’ve made some mistakes, and I haven’t really been there for her when she needed me. But this wasn’t one of those times. I would have done anything to be there with her instead of here. Fury always told me that one day there would be a situation I couldn’t punch my way out of. But I couldn’t manipulate or secret agent my way out either. No Shield training or superpowers could have saved me from that hell. It was… I’ve never been scared to die before, not in battle anyway. But that, just losing myself a little more every day…”

Daisy set the cloth aside and soothed her hand down Carol’s shoulder. She brushed a tear off Carol’s cheek that Carol hadn’t even realized was falling. “I’m so sorry. If we would have known, we would have come sooner. When I found out you were there, I was afraid it was too late. It’s no secret that death follows me too. But we won this time. You’re safe now.”

Carol nodded and the emotions she hadn’t been able to let show for a decade spilled out as suddenly as her powers had earlier. Carol wondered if this was part of Daisy’s power when Daisy hugged her and Carol melted into her embrace.

“Sorry, hugger.” Daisy backed away when she realized she was hugging a near-stranger.

“No, no apologies.” Carol loosened her embrace but didn’t let go completely to emphasize her words. “Thank you, that was healing. Is that a superhero thing you do too? The quakes and the hugging?”

Daisy’s lip corner turned up and she pulled away, packing up the first aid kit. “Not officially, but my dad would say so. Oh! You know him! Or well, the old him.”

Carol furrowed her brow.

“Phil Coulson,” Daisy explained. “He’s not really my dad. I mean, he is, but not, like, my birth father. And now he’s an LMD anyway.”

“What’s an LMD? Wait, didn’t Phil Coulson die, like a long time ago with the original Avengers team?”

Daisy laughed for real. “We’ve got to catch you up. Yeah, several times, but the Avengers were only told about the first. That’s a long story, trust me. But he’s still with us, just different. But the same in the ways that count.”

Carol accepted this information. “Okay. Well, I definitely know what it’s like to come back from the dead different than I was before.”

Daisy walked back to the cockpit and Carol followed. They settled in, and when a screen on the console beeped, Daisy brought them out of hyperdrive into ordinary space, revealing a classic breathtaking view. “Never gets old, does it?”

“Wow, there it is,” Carol exhaled at the sight in front of them: a sleek, white space station hovered above the pale blue dot. They approached and Daisy radioed in to announce their arrival and that her mission had been a success. She didn’t say more to the control room, except to let Commander Rambeau know.

“Sooo,” Carol said when Daisy had signed off. “You’re going to help me explain where I was, right?”

Daisy sent her an amused look as she prepared their landing. “You’re still scared of her.”

“I’m not scared of her,” Carol said primly. “I simply want to be clear I wasn’t intentionally away. And it was never because I thought I was too important. It wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah?” Daisy’s soft tone again and open expression left the conversation open.

Carol stared at the green and blue of their home planet out the front window. “I thought for a long time that I had to earn it. Her love. Coming home. I had unfinished business, and even when we reconnected—”

“Literally, from what she told me,” Daisy interjected, referencing their power entanglement.

Carol nodded. “I tried to do the right thing, over and over, but it always came back to haunt me in the end. But I am sorry. And I’m being completely honest when I say I was not in that prison on purpose.”

Daisy laughed with her. “I believe you. And yes, I will help you tell her the real story.”

“Thanks. You know, Agent Johnson…”

“Call me Daisy.”

“Daisy. I think we could work well together. Maybe you could show me around Saber, tell me what everyone’s been up to? Maybe even catch me up on Earth news?”

Daisy flicked a few switches and turned to Carol. “I’ll do better than that. After we check in here, I’ll take you back to Earth myself. It’s been a while since I’ve been home, and Kamala would never forgive me if I didn’t bring you back with me.”

“Understood,” Carol laughed, remembering the teenager who had once covered her room in fanart of her idol, then learned Carol was only an imperfect human and somehow loved her more. Kamala’s family of origin was gone now, too, but they had taught Carol more about love than her own birth family ever had.

Daisy visibly checked out Carol, still in her white tank top, with her navy prison jumpsuit tied around her waist. “Plus, we have to take you shopping.”

Carol grimaced. “I’d appreciate it. And I need pretty much everything.”

“We can handle that.” Daisy initiated the landing sequence and surprised Carol by taking her hand as the space station docking bay welcomed them in automatically. “You’ve been through a lot. But you’ve got me. I mean, all of us. But also, specifically, me. If you want.” Daisy ended her ramble and returned to her final steps of piloting.

They landed with a thunk and Carol caught Daisy’s hand as she was about to stand. “I do. Want you. I mean, your help.”

“Good.” Daisy smiled in satisfaction. “But first, you have a commander to convince.”

—---------------

Monica, of course, was overwhelmed and overjoyed to have Carol home, and even more so when she realized what Carol had been through while she had been away: not being valorized and deified by far-off planets but in prison for helping to free captives and enslaved people. Treason against oppressive galactic powers made Carol’s criminal record practically a book by now. But Monica still insisted that Carol join Saber officially so she could have backup when she needed it and keep a clear comms line open. Carol agreed and was introduced or reintroduced to the other key players of Saber, hearing all about their work to explore space and protect Earth.

Nick Fury had once dubbed Carol “the prodigal daughter of the Milky Way,” and it was never more true than the banquet and celebrations at the Saber station that night. The prodigal daughter returned home.

Daisy was right beside her, too. The lone ranger no more. The one who finally found the missing Captain Marvel, but also someone who would be there for the long years to come as well. Not as a niece or a little sister, but as a friend, peer, and fellow enhanced agent.

And, if their exchanged looks of attraction and little touches of desire were anything to go by, much, much more.

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jessicanjpa · 5 months

Text

cottage

An excerpt from this chapter of 2003. The Cullens have just moved to Forks and Edward is exploring the woods behind the house.

I was surprised to find the remnants of an old trail not far from the river. It hadn't been used in a long time; for most of its length, the only sign was a winding track of evergreens that were significantly shorter than their neighbors. A rusted tin can was the only other evidence that a human had ever passed this way. Maybe this path led to an old deer stand or something like that.

I explored here and there, finally taking to the treetops so I could follow the "path" more easily. I was finally rewarded with the sight of a big rectangle so regular that it had to be manmade. It was partially obscured by the overgrowth and the rotted branches that had fallen on it in recent years, but it was definitely a building. I swung back down to the forest floor, surprised to see not a deer stand or a spartan hunting shack, but an adorable little stone cottage.

It was like stepping into a fairy tale. I had landed just far enough away to use the little path of flat stones that led the way home to the front door. The decaying, broken roof was an eyesore, but everything else was perfect... in a crumbling, half-reclaimed-by-nature sort of way. Wild, meandering honeysuckle had completely taken over one wall. Nearly every stone was outlined and softened with moss. The arched door wasn't in the best shape, but it was made of sturdy oak that had easily outlived the roof.

I walked a wide circle around the whole thing. A stone chimney crowned the southern corner, and there was a little door in the back that opened directly into what probably used to be a garden. Now, it was just a little outline of rotted miniature fencing, completely overrun by natural growth. Only a single climbing rose plant had survived to tell the story of the former inhabitants, clinging to the mossy stones as if to escape the encroaching wilderness.

I reached out and gently touched its petals. Stubborn rose, I thought with a smile. It was a good omen; Rosalie and Emmett were going to love it out here. It'd been a while since they'd really needed four walls of their own to knock down as they pleased, but it wasn't every day we found a house that came complete with a fairy tale cottage, either. I was almost jealous.

I carefully inspected the rest of the exterior before easing the door open. Esme would want to know every detail, though of course she would soon be out here to see it for herself. I stretched my gift back toward the main house to her mind abuzz with renovation plans. She might not be able to get to the cottage right away. I grimaced around the tiny living room. The beehive fireplace was in good enough condition, but the wallpaper was an affront to all that was good and holy. Hopefully the smell would get thrown out with it.

The kitchen was little more than a camper's stove and a sink, which was just as well. Two rickety chairs crowded up to a tiny breakfast table that had seen better days. I was far more interested in the old piano that took up the wall across from the fireplace. I didn't expect much, what with the exposure and the humidity it must have suffered over the years, but I still let out a disappointed sigh when the keys refused to be pushed, much less make any sound. I took a peek inside; the strings actually didn't look too bad. I already had the Steinway baby grand anyway, but it would be a shame to send it to a junkyard. Maybe I could find a local piano repair shop that enjoyed restoring hard luck cases.

Just like the main house, the cottage seemed bigger inside than out. I followed a little hallway—it was arched like the front door, as though I had wandered into a tiny castle—and found a generous bedroom matched against two smaller rooms. No signs of plumbing ever having been installed: that would give Esme a pleasant challenge.

The whole thing was perfect. Maybe if Rosalie and Emmett spent enough time out here, they would even agree to switch bedrooms with me. I didn't exactly need a full suite, but I wouldn't say no to my own shower and enough room for all my books to come out of their boxes. They were getting the better deal by far; this place was a jewel. And it felt right, somehow; it had been a shame to see the hunting cottage back at our old Hoquiam place fall into disrepair. Having this little find on our new property seemed to make up for it.

I headed back to the main house, wondering who had lived out at the cottage once upon a time, and why. I supposed it might be as old as the house, or even older; there could have been a whole line of occupants. The cottage had its own little story to tell. Perhaps it had been used as a mother-in-law unit once: a whimsical grandmother with plenty of cats and plenty of time to tend her roses. Then a little honeymoon retreat for a blushing couple who had set up house with a second-hand breakfast table, then a brooding pianist who needed solitude to work on his compositions.

And now it would house a pair of lovesick vampires who would hopefully leave it in one piece and pass it on to continue the story. The older we all got, the more distanced we felt from stories like these, no matter how picturesque the setting or how vivid an imprint our renovations left behind. But I supposed we were just stewards like the rest: here for a day, then nothing more than a fading memory.

#Edward #Cottage #Tale of Years Teasers #2003 stuff #Fanfiction #Foreboding

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nitewrighter · 2 years

Note

Are you still taking asks from the Pliny the Elders posts? More on Cindy's faerie godmother, either her response to the wedding or the other godmothers' responses to what she's done in the story itself?

For anyone not familiar with Cindy, here’s the masterpost!!

Sorry this has been sitting in my drafts a while. If you guys want to read other Cindy-matic Universe stuff you can check out Smoky Tea and Ball’s in Your Court!

---

"So. Out of juice, huh?" A scraggly old fairy with drought-browned foxtails for hair chewed at her pipe as Hazel hugged her knees, huddled against the roots of the Mother Tree. Hazel said nothing. She barely heard her. God, she really had just thrown that kid into the deep end. And what would happen after? Memory spell or not, they ran from the freakin' cops, that wasn't something that just went away. Granted sometimes it did if you pulled it off the right way, but for legal reasons neither Hazel nor the author could go into that. Quiet. Focus. Just breathe. Magic adapts to its environment and if you're a ball of furious nerves regretfully stumbling through the events of the previous hours, you're stuck with nervous wreck magic, which sucks.

"Hey--Orphan Tears. I'm talking to you," The scraggly fairy spoke up again. Hazel missed that part as well. Or at least mixed it up with the memory of Cindy asking if she should cry on the tree more.

"Oh I get it, you barely squeak by on your ass into Godmother Rank and suddenly you're too good for the rest of us--too good for old Foxtail--but it's not like the good fairies'll ever think you're one of them anyhow. Old Foxtail hears what they say about you. Lemme tell ya, once you switch from sourin' milk to sparkles, something takes root in you--those of us with the rot and the earth, that's magic that can be trusted, that's--"

"Wh--?" Hazel glanced up, "Oh. You were talking to me."

"Fucking hell--it's always the same with you young lot--a few hours in the human world and you leave half your wits there," Foxtail flopped back against the Mother Tree, "Yes, I'm talking to you."

"Sorry, I just..." Hazel's brow crinkled and she turned her gaze upward to the lattice of branches-that-were-also-roots that wove about the high underground ceiling of Faerie, "It's... harder than I thought it would be... I-I scared the shit out of her when I first showed up, and--and I think I helped her, but if she gets in trouble because of me...." Hazel felt at her horns, grimacing, before exhaling.

“Sounds like you really care about this one,” Foxtail rested her chin on her knuckles.

“Enough to use up all my juice,” Hazel snorted.

“God, humans are so much simpler when you’re just... threatening to kill a priest if he don’t ask the dying old man he’s performing last rites for if you’ll get into heaven on judgment day,” Foxtail huffed.

“They really are...” Hazel sighed. She perked up slightly. “Will we--?”

“Oh no, we won’t. Not really our bag, as it were,” Foxtail shrugged, “Good for scaring priests though.”

“Mm,” Hazel turned her gaze forward.

“It’s interesting, what you’re doing, I’ll give you that,” Foxtail took this opportunity to finally light her pipe and the scent of burning ground-up children’s teeth drifted around the base of the Mother Tree, “Shakes things up down here, for sure.”

“I’m not doing it to shake things up--”

“I know, why d’you think I call you ‘Orphan Tears’ anyway? Of course you’re stuck to that human--but you know you’re going to outlive her. So long as that tree of yours is up. But humans are always trouble--we have the godmothers to try and keep things all...” Foxtail huffed smoke out through her pointed teeth, “Diplomatic, but mark me, mortals are trouble. And if any of us good neighbors is going to prove that...”

“Mm...” Hazel readjusted herself to a cross-legged position, resigning herself to letting Foxtail rant some more. It was a comfort, in its own bitter, brittle way. Being born from a tree, and not the Mother Tree at that, she didn’t really have a concept of family--not a lot of common fairies like her did--but she had seen how some humans interacted with each other. They were flawed beings stuck together, and just having to deal with that, and somehow down the line not wanting to let each other go... she could understand something like that with Foxtail. But then Hazel perked up at a melodious, almost chiming sound. Fae armor didn’t thud and clink like human metals, it sang.

“Godmother Hazel?” two fairies in semi-armored livery loomed over her. She didn’t quite catch which one spoke. The first instinct was to run, but Hazel knew in the state she was in, it wasn’t like she could get far.

“...I am she,” Hazel looked up from furrowed brows with the traditional response.

“The Reverend Godmother would like a word,” said the other liveried guard.

“Oi! She hasn’t done anything wrong, you pigs! She helped her human just like you lot swear you do!” Foxtail piped up.

“It’s fine,” Hazel stood up. It was that moment when exhaustion gives you a second sucker punch because you let your body think it was in a recharge mode (and to be fair, it was), but still she stepped away from the Mother Tree with a short exhale. “Take me to her.”

Both guards pivoted to either side of her, and each stiffly hooked their arm under hers before they took off with a light thrum of dragonfly wings.

“Don’t you worry, Orphan Tears!” Foxtail hollered after her, “It’s our nature to get in over our heads--on scales them mortals can barely dream of!”

“God, that stinks--” muttered one of the guards.

“We’ve got to do something about the children’s teeth problem,” said the other guard.

Hazel briefly considered saying “She’s not hurting anyone” or “it’s one of the only ceremonies humans have with the lower Folk” but held her tongue. Grumpily hanging in the grip of two fairy guards was far from a position to soapbox. Fucking wings. All fairies who had wings thought they were a big fucking deal, but they were largely redundant--between the stealth with which they could move, and pretty much any fairies’ standard bag of tricks, and zipping around with pixie dust or bubbles or between reflective surfaces, wings were more about status (and status quo) than anything. But gods knew the godmothers loved their theater.

Hazel was ushered into a large hexagonal office. Reverend Godmother Mailse pivoted towards her, her features as high and smooth and slightly gnarled as teak driftwood, with sea glass green eyes and silver hair cropped short to high, frothy waves.

“Hazel. So glad you could join us--Tea?”

Hazel was unceremoniously plomped down to her feet and rocked on her heels slightly. A large moth in a waistcoat and frilly collar leaned toward her with a platter of tea and pastries. Hazel took an almond tart and chewed it while not breaking eye contact. “Can I ask what the purpose of this meeting is, Reverend Godmother?”

“We can’t tell you how... encouraging, all your progress in our little experiment has been,” Reverend Godmother Mailse clasped her hands together.

“Uh huh...” Hazel’s voice was only slightly distorted by a mouth full of slightly-too-dry pastry. Oh boy, they were calling it ‘the experiment’ again. A couple weeks ago it was being crowed about as a ‘diplomatic venture,’ and now we were back to ‘experiment.’

“It’s just... I’ve been informed you gifted your human charge something... permanent,” Reverend Mother Mailse’s hands went from clasping to that little jerky forward-steepling-fingers gesture.

“We’re fairies. We give gifts all the time,” Hazel shrugged, still chewing.

“In the old days! With the old kingdoms! And--and I recognize that it was very old magic that brought you to us,”

“Pure-hearted Orphan Tears,” Hazel said, with just the right amount of ‘Fuck you I know what I’m doing’ energy even if, in this moment, she very much didn’t because she still didn’t really see what she did wrong.

“It’s just... when we give humans gifts that are... permanent, that tends to... disrupt things,” Reverend Godmother Mailse was pacing back and forth.

Hazel scoffed. “They’re shoes. They’re not going to disrupt things.”

“Shoes?” Mailse’s silver eyelashes fluttered.

“Shoes. I mean I learned enough of our history not to give her a sword--I. mean I think giving her a sword would have probably freaked her out--I mean if I had given her a sword, it obviously wouldn’t be a permanent sword, it would just ffft away after I helped her kill her stepfamily, but you guys are all like ‘oh nooooo Fairy Godmothers don’t straight-up murder people’ and I’d be like ‘I’m not killing them, I’m letting her kill them,’ but then that’s probably against the rules somehow too or something. But anyway, I could tell she wasn’t up for killing anyone, and like... all she really wanted was to get to that party.”

Mailse was staring blankly at Hazel then. Her lips parted for a few seconds, then she closed them, she opened her mouth again, squinting a little, closed it again, then paced away from Hazel.

“That’s--I--Shoes?” she said, pivoting towards Hazel again.

“Shoes for the party,” said Hazel, “And I made them permanent so... she’d have something to remember the party by. The kid--she... she gets scared a lot. The people with her tell her she’s stupid and crazy all the time. I thought... if she has a happy memory, it should be one thing that people can’t tell her she’s stupid and crazy for.”

“I see...” the Reverend Godmother looked thoughtful at this.

“And look--it’s a nice shoe, but there’s no real glamour about it. The most magic I put into it were the defenses!”

“D-defenses?”

“Well, yeah, obviously--they’re her shoes, and her stepfamily stole a whole bunch of her shit, so I figured I’d make it so they couldn’t steal the shoes!”

“Go on...” Reverend Godmother Mailse said slowly.

Hazel had the feeling this was setting up for some kind of trap, but at the same time, she knew how all the winged fairies looked at her anyway, so if she was going to make an ass of herself, she had made peace with that concept a long time ago. “Look, the shoes just fit her, okay? They don’t fit anyone else. And maybe there’s a slight deterrent on the stepfamily putting them on. Maybe. That’s really the only magic on them. The shoes are just.. not going to fit anyone else. And that’s not a big deal! All the humans have their shoes custom-made, anyway! Or y’know they cobble them down to whatever size! What are they going to do... come up with some kind of... standardization for foot size? What kind of fucking weirdo would do that?”

“Mm...” Reverend Godmother Mailse was nodding as if what Hazel was saying was very reasonable, but there was a hard crinkle in her brow.

“What?” said Hazel. But then a memory flashed back to her. Poor Cindy, all sniffling, curled up in the middle of the road, rats and lizards and an old-as-balls farm dog loping around her, all covered in pumpkin guts. “I lost one of the slippers... I’m sorry.” And the poor fucking kid just looked so scared in that moment, like Hazel was going to hurt her for fucking up even though it wasn’t like she had a whole lot of control in that context, not to mention the fact that she might be fucking concussed from the pumpkin crash--god, why hadn’t she explained more things to her?! “...What happened?” it was finally at the point where Hazel couldn’t meet the Reverend Godmother’s eyes.

The Reverend godmother looked... honestly just a little too apologetic in that moment. This wasn’t really a smug expression from her, more like the look you get from your DM when you roll a Nat 1 on a saving throw and they know you’re really attached to your half-elf bard.

“Hazel... there really hasn’t been anyone like you in Faerie in a very long time,” was all she said.

“That is not fucking answering what I’m asking,” every muscle in Hazel’s body was tensed. She suddenly lunged forward and seized the Reverend Godmother by her arms, “IS MY KID FUCKING SAFE!?”

There was an audible drawing of swords and spears behind her and Hazel immediately realized her emotional reaction well-outpaced her current physical abilities. There was a moment of freezing like, no, she couldn’t let go, not until she knew, but then she felt a thin-fingered gentle hand smoothing her hair behind her horns. The sound of metal behind her seemed to slacken and Hazel’s eyes flicked upward.

“She’s safe for now,” said the Reverend Godmother, looking down at her, “But the situation is still developing.”

“‘Still developing?’” Hazel scoffed, “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

The Reverend Godmother glanced up from her and gestured at her guards and they briskly walked out, before quickly returning, wings thrumming, with what appeared to be a large mirror, but it didn’t reflect so much as look like dark, murky water. The reverend godmother passed a hand in front of it, and its plane rippled to reveal the blinding daylight of the mortal world.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” A town crier was yelling, “Whosoever fits the shoe in question, is the prince’s intended bride!” before unfurling a scroll which featured the fucking shoe Hazel gave Cindy.

Hazel’s mouth was hanging open. “Ah--” Hazel made a sound and turned to the Reverend Mother, “Okay so---” she sharply inhaled through her nostrils, “I didn’t glamour her--okay? I didn’t. I mean, I gave her a nice outfit, but like, there’s a memory charm on the outfit--that’s the whole thing--the whole thing was no one was supposed to remember her--I mean yeah, people can remember what she said--I wanted her to have a chance to tell the stepfamily to go fuck themselves, alright, and they wouldn’t forget that they got told to go fuck themselves, alright? HOW THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW HE’D STILL BE IN LOVE WITH HER!?”

“...because truth sticks in the mind far longer than anything else...” the Reverend Godmother didn’t turn away from the mirror, “And those pure of heart speak as true as they can.”

Hazel’s mouth drew to a thin line. “Look--you... you can’t punish me just because I couldn’t know she could be that good of a person! That’s not--you know what I am! You know I’m--I’m--” the words came so close to Hazel’s teeth but she bit them back. She knew what she was, but there was also a furious part of her that would never give those with wings the satisfaction.

“Did you think I brought you here to punish you?” the Reverend Godmother glanced toward her.

“I MEAN YOU HAD THE FUCKING NARC GUARDS DRAG ME IN,” Hazel threw up her hands.

“I brought you here because... for the first time in a very long time, I’m not sure what will happen next,” the reverend godmother chuckled, “I... I don’t think you’re a bad fairy, Hazel.”

“I’m literally Unseelie,” Hazel folded her arms in a huff.

“You were made from tears. From pain. It’s very easy to think that pain is purely bad--but it’s not. Pain tells us when something is wrong. Pain tells us that things should not be the way they are. Pain can be punishment, that’s true, but I think--more often than that, pain is the absence of justice and kindness and love...You were born from tears of grief and loneliness, Hazel. You think you are pain, but in fact, you are love. And fury. And justice.”

Hazel’s met her eyes and was pressing her lips together hard, arms still folded, though it was clear those words had shaken her.

“I didn’t bring you here because I thought you must be punished,” said the Reverend Godmother.

“Right, ‘Fairy Godmothers aren’t about punishment,’” Hazel rolled her eyes.

“It’s true,” said the Reverend Godmother, “I mean we can decommission you and you can go right back to turning butter rancid, if that’s what you think is better for you.”

Hazel was silent, not looking at her.

“But the actual reason I brought you here was, I don’t know what’s going to happen next. It’s been a very long time since we’ve interfered in human affairs to this extent. But I think if anything goes wrong, I can trust you to put it right.”

Hazel blinked.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve disrupted... probably a lot of human politics--but it wouldn’t be very true to our roots if we didn’t do that, would it?”

Hazel’s eyebrows raised and she glanced up at the Reverend Godmother then.

“Like I said,” said the Reverend Godmother, “There hasn’t been anyone like you in Faerie in a very long time.”

Hazel blinked a few times. “C-could I get that tea, now? And can I sit down?”

The Reverend Godmother smiled.

#cindy-matic universe

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