#the profound sadness has returned...

[fisheito]

before mirage of scales: I NEED YAKUYA EVENT

after mirage of scales: ah. um. i . i don't need yakuya event so much, anymo.re... hah..a...

[nastybuckybarnes]

Homemade Lunch

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Warnings: Angst, Language, Arguments, sad feelings, fluff,

Word Count: idk but she aint too too long

A/n: based on a tiktok i saw but cannot for the life of me find to link. enjoy! <3

~*~

You huff out a sigh when the door closes behind you.

Shucking off your coat, you hang it up and tug off your mitts and hat next, putting them all away while you listen for your boyfriend.

He's quiet on a good day. On a day like today? When the two of you have been fighting more than you haven't been?

You begin to wonder if he's even home.

Carefully, you venture upstairs to confirm your boyfriend is, in fact, still in the house, sleeping in the bed the two of you share.

Silently, you close the door and head back downstairs, wiping your hands over your face a few times before pinching the bridge of your nose.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you head into the kitchen and grab Simon's lunch bag off of the counter, pausing when you feel the weight of it.

Brows drawing together, you open it up slowly, your heart dropping when you see he's packed himself a lunch.

A pack of instant noodles and a few protein bars are shoved carelessly in the bag, and it breaks your heart to see.

It's become a ritual now, you making his lunch for him every night so that he can head to work and not have to worry.

When he's actively deployed it saddens you to see the lunch bag sitting on the counter, awaiting his return.

But that sadness pales in comparison to what you feel when realization dawns on you.

He packed his own lunch.

Your argument from earlier seems pointless now, you can't even remember what you were fighting about. Not when your man, the man you love with your whole heart, truly thought you'd be too mad to pack his lunch.

Washing your hands, you get to work on making him lunch, your anger disappearing as you focus instead on putting together all of his favourite foods and snacks.

You work as quietly as you can, packaging everything with love and care.

Once his lunch is made, you give the kitchen a quick clean then get everything ready to make sure his morning is as smooth as possible.

Does he piss you off beyond comprehension? Yes, absolutely. In ways you didn't know a person could piss you off.

Do you love him more than you've ever loved anyone before in your life? Without question.

As you settle into bed facing his back, you can't help but lean forward and give him a gentle kiss.

Ever the light sleeper, he peels his eyes open at the feeling of your soft lips against his skin, his anger settling a bit at the tiny yet profound action.

~*~

Simon wakes up the next morning in a sour mood.

With his eyes opening not five minutes before his alarm is set to ring, things aren't off to a good start.

His mood only worsens when he realizes that all he's got to eat today for lunch is a pack of instant noodles, a few protein bars, and the stale crackers you like to leave in the bottom of the box.

It's nothing but willpower and discipline that gets him out of bed, into the shower, and dressed.

His gloomy mood gets worse still when he heads into the kitchen only to not find his lunch bag on the counter where he left it.

The kitchen is clean, by your hand no doubt, and he grinds his teeth together as he begins hunting for his lunch bag.

After almost five minutes, he yanks it out of the fridge, only to pause at the added weight.

Dry noodles aren't this heavy.

He sets the bag down on the counter and slowly opens it, his heart filling with warmth at the contents.

Instead of his bland noodles, there are several containers full of food, along with two of the juice boxes you like to keep hidden in the back of the fridge where you think he won't look.

On top of all of it, though, is a note scribbled in your handwriting with a dried tear drop tainting the paper.

He has to fight the stinging in his eyes as he reads over the words you've written.

He sets the paper down after a moment and squeezes his eyes shut, then carefully folds the paper up and tucks it into one of his many pockets before heading upstairs.

Skillfully silent, he makes no noise as he enters your shared bedroom, even less when he kneels on the bed behind you.

You inhale sharply when his hand dusts over your shoulder, looking over your shoulder only for him to immediately shush you.

"S'alright, love. S'just me. Go back to sleep."

You hum, resting your head on the pillow once more and snuggling into him when he climbs into bed behind you.

He wraps a strong arm around your waist and pulls you tightly against him, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you."

You peel your eyes open once more and glance over at him.

"I love you too."

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[lueurjun]

. ˚◞☁️ ✧˖🤍࿐

▍ synopsis╰┈➤ minho had always been clear about his aversion to marriage, and initially, you accepted it. But when your feelings changed, the once-accepted truth shattered, leaving you to confront the fallout head-on.

🖇·˚ ༘┊ lee know x reader — angst. angst. just angst.

˚ ༘💭 ·˚ message from lueurjun . . . my very first skz post on this account ! this was meant to just be a enha and txt acc but i’ve decided to add skz to the list too because i couldn’t resist. anyways i’m sorry for this, i was in a sad mood.

. ˚◞☁️ ✧˖🤍࿐ྂ

Minho is a captivating read, his life an open narrative. Every page reveals a tapestry of his passions and despairs, vividly illustrated with meticulous detail. It's this transparency that drew you to him, each chapter unfolding with refreshing honesty. You find comfort in knowing what to anticipate, yet he never fails to astonish you with unexpected gestures.

One of the chapters in his book is the declaration of his distaste for marriage, and conveniently enough, it’s the only chapter without a carefully crafted explanation. He told you before things progressed that he would never be able to offer you marriage, and he told you it with full intention of letting you walk away unscathed, with your heart intact. But you were fine with it, a young adult starting their twenties with no intention to marry. It didn’t bother you; it wasn’t a significant issue.

Until it was.

Wedding season was approaching in stride with the warm weather. Three beautifully designed invitations adorned the fireplace, unopened. There was a fourth, the first and only one you pried open and then hid away from your sight with a sick feeling lining in your stomach and an ache in your heart — one of longing. You couldn’t open the others.

Guilt laid across the longing, meshing together and in turn forming one complex emotion; resentment. Not even towards Minho, but your past self for being careless enough to not consider the feelings of your future self. The now you, who envisioned a beautiful summer wedding and all its trimmings. The guilt picked at you, because Minho had warned you about this before you got too deep in. He reminded you before he told you that he loved you, that if you wanted to run, if you wanted to marry then he had to let you go, before he got too attached. Before you got too attached.

Minho wasn't oblivious to the turmoil raging within you, nor to the contradictions within your heart. He found the invitation, concealed from sight bearing a telltale water stain. He observed the wistful gazes whenever your friends conversed about walking down the aisle, and married life. They often left you out of those conversations, already knowing Minho’s views. And it killed him—because he knew you wanted the one thing he vowed to never offer.

And he knew there was only one alternative to you getting what you want.

The sun’s shift was over for the day, night just clocking in when he returns home, exhausted with a heavy heart in anticipation for what he was about to do. You’re on the sofa when he walks through the door, three cats surrounding you looking interested in whatever it’s flickering on the tv. His heart clenched at the scene, aching in his chest, nearly breaking when you greeted him with a radiant smile.

He’s not one to beat around the bush. Never has been, but as he walks toward you, he feels the words stalling in his throat. His heart pleads with him, but he sits down across from you and he swallows thickly.

“Let’s break up.”

The once-warm home now feels frigid, as if drained of its vitality—like the scented candles you loved had extinguished, and the tv shut off. A profound stillness settles over everything in an instant. Your expression collapses into sheer devastation, and Minho's eyes squeeze shut.

“Did I do something?” You manage, only just. Your heart feels like it’s ready to give way. Confusion clogs your mind with a million inquiries.

Minho shakes his head. Of course you’d blame yourself. It sickens him to the core. “No. No, you didn’t.”

"Then why?" Your tone sharpens with anger, impatience seeping through. Why was he breaking up with you? Why was he doing this to you? Why now?

Minho tilts his head, eyeing the ceiling in a pathetic attempt to keep his eyes from watering. “I can’t give you what you want. It isn’t fair.”

You’re bewildered. “I don’t understand—”

“Marriage. I can’t offer that to you, and it’s not fair. I don’t want you to cry looking at invitations knowing you’ll never ship ones out of your own. I can’t watch you be left out of conversations because I’m holding you back. It isn’t fair on you.”

“I told you—”

“And you changed your mind. It’s selfish of me to string you along, knowing nothing more will come from this. I can’t let you waste your dream, not on me. So let’s break up, because that way you can find someone who will give you what you want.”

“Do you not love me?”

Minho almost laughs at that, because how is that even a question in your mind? It’s funny because he’s doing this because of how much he loves you.

“I love you enough to know that I have to let you go.”

And just like that, your heart meets your stomach as the barrier collapses. Doongie meows from your lap, reaching up a paw to your cheek as though caressing the skin. Tears chase each other down your cheeks in a rapid game of tag, the trail ending at your neck where Soonie sits, eyeing you in confusion. Dori is behind Minho, a paw coming down to strike him but he doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t have to have marriage—I just want you!” The words rush out of you like a torrential waterfall. “I can be happy without that as long as I have you.”

Minho shakes his head. “I don’t want that for you. I can’t offer you marriage, I can’t do it. That’s not me. But there’s someone else who can, and as much as the thought of you with someone else kills me, it’s what you deserve.”

Minho's longing to comfort you is palpable, yet he remains rooted to his seat, enduring each gentle prod from Dori. With his gaze fixed on the floor, he quietly utters, "I'll stay at Chan's until I figure out where to go."

You shake your head, sobs cutting through your throat as you plead, beg and cry. You don't want him to leave for Chan's, you don't want him to pack his bags; you want him right here, with you. Marriage or not, you just want him by your side.

Though deep down, want isn’t enough. Resentment has begun to accumulate like an impending avalanche, threatening to engulf everything in its path. Perhaps Minho is correct; maybe it's best to end things now. An argument would have inevitably ensued—such clashes do when both parties want different things.

Minho doesn’t cry as he packs his bag, he doesn’t cry as he kisses your forehead and leaves a scratch on Doongie’s forehead, nor when he gets into his car and drives away.

Minho's stoicism holds until two months later, when he finds himself seated in the back of Hyunjin's wedding venue, watching the happy couple share a kiss sealing the deal of forever. It's only then, as his eyes drift to where you sit, that tears finally gloss over his eyes, haunted by visions of himself slipping a ring onto your finger.

Alone in his car, Minho finally allows himself to release the pent-up emotions. Tears stream down his face as he grapples with a mind overwhelmed by countless scenarios and a heart weighed down by regret.

[sweetlyvibe]

PAIRING : Obito Uchiha x Reader

WORD COUNT : 4.6k

GENRE : Angst / Comfort

SUMMARY : After surviving the Fourth War and being pardoned, Obito meets someone who accepts him despite his scars and past. Jealous of another suitor, Obito believes he has no chance, leading to a heartfelt confession.

CONTENT/WARNING : emotional trauma , self-esteem issues , jealousy and insecurity , fear of rejection

REQUEST : yes!!

The whispers of his survival spread like wildfire through the village. Obito Uchiha had returned—scarred, humbled, and deeply regretful. Pardoned by the Hokage after his role in ending the war, he now roamed the village quietly, helping rebuild the destruction he once caused. Despite the acceptance of some, others couldn’t look past his crimes. He didn’t blame them.

And yet, among the faces that stared or turned away, there was you.

You were a fellow Leaf ninja, a few years younger than him but seasoned in your own right, carrying your share of battle scars both seen and unseen. War had left its mark on everyone, but there was a quiet resilience about you, a determination to rebuild in ways that didn’t just apply to structures but to people as well. That was what led you to cross paths with Obito.

The day had been hot, the kind of sweltering summer afternoon that made sweat bead along your brow within minutes. You had been assigned to help at a construction site near the village outskirts, assisting with repairs to buildings damaged during the war. It was grueling work, but you didn’t mind; there was something cathartic about seeing broken things pieced back together.

You hadn’t known Obito would be there. To be honest, his presence had surprised you, even unsettled you at first. There were still hushed conversations about him—people wary of his return, unsure if someone with such a dark past could ever truly change. But when you saw him that day, hammer in hand, hauling heavy beams like it was nothing, he didn’t look like the man the rumors painted.

He looked tired.

It wasn’t the kind of tired that came from physical exhaustion, though the sweat dripping from his brow suggested he was working harder than anyone else. No, it was deeper than that—a bone-deep weariness that settled in his shoulders, weighed down his every movement. His face, marred by scars that told stories you could only imagine, held an expression so neutral it felt unnatural, as though he was trying not to be noticed. But it was his eyes that tugged at your heart: one dark and brooding, the other hidden beneath the curve of his forehead protector. They carried a profound sadness, an aching guilt he seemed to wear as a second skin.

Despite his quiet demeanor, there was something about him that intrigued you. It wasn’t pity that drove you to approach him—far from it. You saw a man who had been to hell and back but was still here, trying. That resilience, that flicker of humanity buried beneath the weight of his past, pulled at something deep inside you.

At first, your interactions were brief. You’d pass him tools or work alongside him in silence, not wanting to intrude. But you noticed how he always went above and beyond, taking on the hardest tasks without complaint, as though punishing himself through sheer effort. So, you started small.

“Hey,” you said one afternoon, holding out a rice ball wrapped in cloth. He had been working for hours without a break, his shoulders taut with tension. “You’ve been at this all day. Take a break.”

Obito hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the rice ball. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

“Maybe,” you replied, refusing to back down, “but even heroes need to eat.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion, perhaps even amusement—but he took the rice ball. That small gesture broke the ice.

From then on, you made it a point to share lunch with him when you could. Sometimes you’d talk about nothing in particular—mundane things like the weather or the progress on the repairs. Other times, you’d catch glimpses of his dry humor, quick-witted remarks that left you blinking in surprise before laughing. You learned to recognize the subtle quirks of his personality: the way his lips twitched when he was holding back a smile, the rare moments when his eye softened, the low chuckle he gave when something genuinely amused him.

Slowly but surely, he began to open up.

Your lunches turned into longer conversations, and those conversations eventually extended beyond the construction site. You found yourselves meeting up after work, whether it was for a walk through the village or quiet moments shared at the training grounds. There was something easy about being around him, even though you could tell he was still guarded. He didn’t speak much about himself, but the way he listened—truly listened—when you talked made you feel seen in a way that few others could.

What stood out the most was how he never treated you as fragile, even when you mentioned your own scars, both physical and emotional. He didn’t offer hollow reassurances or tell you to move on. Instead, he met your words with quiet understanding, as though he knew all too well what it meant to carry that weight.

And yet, you never pressed him about his past or his scars. It wasn’t because you didn’t care—you cared more than you’d ever admit aloud. But you understood that those were wounds he wasn’t ready to revisit, and you didn’t want to risk pushing him away. Instead, you treated him as he was: a man who had faced his demons and was trying, every day, to move forward.

That was what you admired most about him—his determination to rebuild, not just the village but himself. To you, Obito wasn’t a man defined by his mistakes or his scars. He was someone who had been to the brink and chosen to return, and that choice, that strength, was what mattered.

Unbeknownst to you, your unwavering kindness and acceptance were slowly chipping away at the walls Obito had built around his heart. He began to look forward to your time together, though he didn’t fully understand why. All he knew was that when you were near, the crushing weight of his guilt felt a little lighter, and for the first time in a long time, he began to wonder if he might deserve a second chance—not just at life, but at happiness.

But those thoughts terrified him, too.

And then there was Genma.

The kind of man everyone seemed to like, Genma Shiranui was charming, confident, and effortlessly sociable. His laid-back demeanor and sly grin made him a favorite among your peers, and his quick wit ensured he was the center of attention in any conversation. He carried himself with a relaxed ease, a senbon always dangling casually between his teeth, as if nothing in the world could phase him.

It started innocently enough. Genma would join you during breaks or during missions, offering easy banter and teasing remarks that made the others chuckle. He had a way of turning the most mundane topics into something worth laughing about, and it wasn’t long before people began to notice the way he lingered near you.

“I think he likes you,” one of your friends teased after Genma had walked away, flashing you a crooked smile over his shoulder.

You laughed it off at first, brushing the comment aside. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear that your friend had been right. Genma wasn’t just hanging around—he was seeking you out. His teasing turned playful, his compliments grew more personal, and his invitations to spend time together became more frequent.

It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, Genma’s attention was flattering, and his company was enjoyable in its own way. But your heart was already leaning toward someone else, someone quieter, someone whose laughter was rarer but infinitely more precious.

Obito.

He was the one you looked for at the end of a long day, the one whose presence steadied you even when words weren’t exchanged. Genma might have been the easier choice, but your feelings for Obito had grown roots, deep and steady, and no amount of charm could sway them.

Obito Noticed

How could he not?

Every time Genma leaned toward you with his easy smile, cracking a joke that made you laugh, Obito felt a pang in his chest—a sharp, familiar ache he couldn’t ignore. The way Genma’s hand would linger on your shoulder during conversations or how your laughter came so freely around him made Obito feel small, like a shadow at the edge of a warm, glowing light. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides whenever he witnessed those moments, the tension in his body coiling until his muscles ached.

He noticed everything, no matter how much he told himself not to look. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way Genma’s casual charm seemed to draw you in. And though he never saw anything in your gaze that suggested you were interested in Genma, the doubt gnawed at him. After all, why wouldn’t you choose someone like that?

Obito clutched at the edges of his cloak, his knuckles turning white. He hated the way his mind twisted simple interactions into something more. Every laugh you shared with Genma felt like a dagger, and he cursed himself for caring so much.

What could he possibly offer you?

The thought was like poison, spreading through his veins until it consumed him. He couldn’t stop himself from drawing comparisons. Genma was confident, charismatic, and easygoing, while he—Obito—was a man haunted by his past, his sins carved into his very skin. He wasn’t whole—not physically, not emotionally. When he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could see was the broken, scarred reflection of someone who didn’t deserve happiness. How could someone as radiant as you want to be with him?

Genma, simply was everything Obito wasn’t. Unburdened by guilt or regret. People gravitated toward him naturally, drawn to his humor and ease. It didn’t matter that you didn’t seem to reciprocate Genma’s flirtation. In Obito’s mind, it was only a matter of time before you did. Doubt whispered cruelly in his mind, twisting every interaction you had with Genma into evidence that Obito could never measure up.

And then there were the whispers.

“They’d look good together, don’t you think?”

“Genma’s always had good taste.”

“Finally, someone caught their attention!”

The words echoed in his head long after he overheard them, like stones added to the heavy wall he was building around his heart. Each comment reminded him of what he believed was inevitable: that you and Genma would end up together, and Obito would be left standing on the outside, as he always was

It wasn’t just Genma, though. It was also Rin—or rather, the memory of her.

For years, Rin had been a symbol of everything Obito had wanted but could never have. She had been his light in a world that often felt unbearably dark, and her loss had shaped him in ways he still didn’t fully understand.

For so long, he’d clung to her memory, convinced that his feelings for her were eternal, unchanging. But now, looking back, he realized that what he’d felt for Rin had been rooted in who he was as a boy, not the man he had become. She had been kind, gentle, and nurturing, but those were memories of her, not the reality of who she might have grown to be.

It wasn’t that he loved Rin any less—he always would. But somewhere along the way, he’d stopped feeling the sharp, gut-wrenching ache when he thought of her. Her smile no longer haunted him; it comforted him. She had been a part of his journey, but she wasn’t his destination.

That realization had been both freeing and terrifying. It left him vulnerable, his heart open to new emotions he hadn’t dared to explore in years. And it was you who made him feel that way again.

You weren’t like Rin. You were bold and unyielding, a grounding presence in a world that still felt uncertain to him. Where Rin had been a dream of his past, you were real. You saw him—not as a hero, a villain, or a victim, but simply as Obito. And that terrified him even more than the idea of losing Rin had.

Because this time, it felt real.

It started with small excuses. When you invited him to lunch after working together, he’d mutter, “Sorry, I’ve got something to take care of,” brushing past you without meeting your eyes.

Then, his absences became more noticeable. Where once he’d linger near the training grounds or meet you for tea in the evenings, he was nowhere to be found. And when you did manage to catch him, his responses were clipped, his usual dry humor replaced with a cold, distant politeness that felt like a slap in the face.

At night, lying awake in his small, sparsely furnished apartment, Obito stared at the ceiling, the storm of emotions inside him threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched and unclenched as he replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every laugh and every glance that felt too precious to hold onto now.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he told himself one night, his voice harsh in the quiet. “She doesn’t see you that way. She shouldn’t.”

But no matter how much he tried to bury his feelings, they refused to die. He’d never realized just how deeply he cared for you until he saw Genma step into the picture. The jealousy that burned in his chest was unlike anything he’d felt before, raw and unrelenting. It wasn’t fair to you—or to Rin, for that matter.

Rin.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he thought about her. If she were here, she’d probably scold him for wallowing. She’d tell him to stop running from his feelings, to stop hiding behind his scars. But was he ready for that? Could he truly allow himself to admit how he felt about you when he couldn’t even look in the mirror without feeling ashamed?

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face, his scars rough against his fingertips. He wanted to believe that he deserved a chance at happiness, but the doubt was suffocating.

He knew he liked you. That much was undeniable now. But confessing? Letting himself hope? That felt like stepping off a cliff with no guarantee of a safety net. It was easier to pull away, to retreat into himself, than to risk rejection—or worse, acceptance.

Because what if you did feel the same way? What if you chose him, only to realize later that he wasn’t enough?

And so, he stayed silent, letting the wall between you grow higher, even as it tore him apart inside.

It had been weeks since you’d last spent more than a few fleeting minutes with Obito, and the growing distance between you was driving you mad. You had replayed every interaction in your head, searching for some mistake, some moment where you might have done something wrong. But nothing stood out. If he needed space, you could respect that—but not without understanding why he suddenly felt the need to shut you out.

At first, it was little things. You’d ask him to join you for lunch, only to be met with muttered excuses.

“Sorry,” he’d say, not quite meeting your eyes. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

He’d leave without elaborating, and you were left staring after him, unsure of what had just happened.

Then his absences became more pronounced. The moments that used to be yours—quiet talks near the training grounds, evening tea, or even casual conversations after missions—were gone. Instead, you were met with clipped responses and fleeting glances. His usual dry humor, something you’d come to treasure, was nowhere to be found.

“Obito,” you’d call out, hoping to catch his attention, only for him to give you a distracted nod and walk away.

And yet, despite his efforts to pull back, there were moments he couldn’t quite hide. You’d catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eye clouded with an emotion you couldn’t place. But the second you turned to meet his gaze, his expression would harden, and he’d look away, his jaw tightening as if the sight of you physically hurt him.

It was maddening.

You couldn’t understand what had changed, but you knew you couldn’t let this go on. Whatever was troubling him, you needed to know. You needed to help.

One evening, after yet another day of avoidance, you finally reached your breaking point.

You found him near the edge of the village, sitting on a stone wall overlooking the forest. The setting sun painted the scene in soft, golden hues, but the tension in the air was anything but serene. His shoulders were hunched, and his head was bowed, his hair casting shadows over his face.

“Obito,” you called, your voice firmer than usual.

He flinched at the sound of your voice but didn’t turn to face you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” you countered, taking a step closer. “Because you don’t want to explain why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He sighed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Obito,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’ve barely looked at me for weeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” he said quickly, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “What changed? Did I do something wrong?”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the tension in his jaw. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he muttered, his voice so low you almost missed it.

“Then tell me what’s going on,” you pressed. “Because I can’t keep doing this, Obito. I can’t keep wondering what I did to make you push me away.”

For a moment, he was silent, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. Then, finally, he looked up at you, and the pain in his single visible eye took your breath away.

“It’s not about you,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and something softer, something more vulnerable. “It’s about me.”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your tone softening. “Because right now, all I know is that you’re shutting me out, and I don’t understand why.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, his voice laced with self-loathing. “How could you?”

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping closer.

He looked away again, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words. “Do you know what it’s like to want something you can’t have?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“You,” he said, the word escaping him like a confession. He looked up at you, his eye filled with equal parts longing and despair. “I’m talking about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“Obito���” you began, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t say anything. Just let me finish.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m not…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I’m not the kind of person you deserve. I’m broken, scarred—both inside and out. My past is a mess, and it’s always going to be a part of me. Someone like Genma… he’s better for you. He can give you everything I can’t.”

“Genma?” you repeated, your voice filled with disbelief. “You think this is about Genma?”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice rising with frustration. “I see the way he looks at you, the way he makes you laugh. Everyone else sees it too. They think you two are perfect for each other. And why wouldn’t they? He’s everything I’m not.”

“That’s not true,” you said, stepping closer. “Obito, that’s not true.”

He laughed bitterly, his hands clenching into fists again. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I’m not blind. I see the way people look at me. Like I’m a reminder of everything they want to forget. Like I don’t belong.”

“That’s not how I see you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ve never seen you that way.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his eye searching yours for any hint of deceit. What he found instead was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for: sincerity.

“I don’t care about your past,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotion in your chest. “I care about you. The person you are now. The person who’s trying to move forward, even when it’s hard. That’s the person I want to be with.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice shaking.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you replied, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. “And I mean every word.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his own trembling slightly. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of losing you. Of ruining this.”

“You won’t,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out together. But you have to let me in.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hands unclenched, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I’ll try,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.

“That’s all I ask,” you said, smiling softly.

And as the tension between you began to ease, And in that moment, Obito realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry the weight of his past alone anymore. He felt a flicker of hope—a hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

After that evening by the stone wall, you could feel the tension slowly melting between you and Obito. It wasn’t immediate—trust, especially when it’s been broken, doesn’t come easily—but the small steps you both took toward each other started to matter.

One afternoon, you found Obito sitting at the edge of the village again, this time not as a place to isolate himself, but to think. You approached him slowly, the familiar weight of silence hanging in the air.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Obito looked up, surprised, but smiled faintly. “It’s… fine.”

You settled next to him, your shoulders brushing for just a second. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something—something warm.

“You’ve been looking out at the sunset a lot lately,” you commented softly, “Is it peaceful?”

He nodded. “It makes me think.”

“About what?”

“Everything,” he said simply, his gaze on the horizon. “About mistakes. Things I’ve done. Things I could have done differently.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. “I think… no matter how hard we try, we can’t change the past. We can only learn from it.”

He glanced at you, then, his expression softening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “But sometimes it’s hard to move on when the past doesn’t want to let go.”

You reached out, your hand resting on his. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed, his fingers curling around yours. There was a silent understanding between you, a shared comfort.

As the days passed, you and Obito started to spend more time together—simple moments that became significant. One evening, after a quiet dinner in the village, you suggested a walk. You knew he’d been keeping to himself a lot, and you wanted to give him space to talk, if he wanted to.

The path through the village was lit by lanterns, their soft glow making the night feel peaceful, almost magical.

“You know,” you started, “I never really got a chance to ask you about your past. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Obito’s steps faltered, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you.

“It’s not a story I like to tell,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s messy… painful. But I think it’s time you knew.”

You stopped, looking up at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Obito. You can tell me as much or as little as you want. I’m here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand gently resting on the back of his neck. “I was once someone different. Before all of this… Before the war. I had dreams, I had friends. But it all fell apart. I became someone I didn’t even recognize.”

You took a step closer, your heart aching for him. “But you’re not that person anymore, Obito. I see you. The real you.”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, his eye softened. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never had someone look at me like that before.”

Weeks went by, and your bond with Obito continued to deepen, but there were still moments of hesitation. One night, you noticed that he seemed particularly distant during dinner. You weren’t going to let it go this time, not after everything you’d been through.

Afterward, as the two of you sat outside under the stars, you finally spoke.

“Obito, what’s going on?” you asked softly, your voice sincere. “You’ve been pulling away again.”

He sighed deeply, his gaze fixed on the sky. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this… ready for something like this with you.”

“Something like what?”

“A relationship. You deserve someone who can give you everything… I’m not sure I can be that person.”

You reached over, gently brushing your fingers against his. “I don’t need perfection, Obito. I need you. Just you.”

He looked at you, and for the first time, his eyes were completely open. No walls. No hesitations. “I’m scared of hurting you,” he confessed.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “I’m not asking for you to be perfect. I’m just asking for you to be here with me.”

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. “I’m still learning how to be… better. For you. But I’m trying.”

“I can wait,” you said, your voice unwavering. “As long as you’re trying, that’s all that matters.”

4. Building Trust, One Step at a Time

In the following weeks, your relationship with Obito grew more comfortable. You spent more time in the village together—doing mundane things like walking through the market, sharing small meals, and simply talking. But those moments, those quiet, normal moments, became your favorites.

One afternoon, you found him fixing his cloak by the training grounds. He looked up when he heard you approaching.

“Do you need something?” he asked, his usual guarded expression still there, but with a hint of warmth in his eyes.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said, stepping closer. “For letting me in. For trusting me.”

He blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you replied. “But I think it’s important. I��m grateful for you, Obito. And for everything we’re building together.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. It was a small smile, but one that spoke volumes.

It was a quiet evening again, the two of you sitting side by side beneath the trees in the village. It felt different now, like the bond between you had solidified into something deeper, more meaningful.

Obito turned to you, his expression softer than usual. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

You looked at him, curious. “What is it?”

His voice faltered slightly, the nervousness evident. “Would… would you be willing to let me be your boyfriend?” He didn’t look away, his gaze unwavering despite the vulnerability in his words. “I’m not perfect, and I know I’m not always easy to be around, but I want to try. I want to be with you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and for a moment, you could hardly believe it. This was the same Obito who had once pushed you away, the same one who had been so afraid of letting anyone in.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty. “I want that too.”

And just like that, everything shifted. Obito leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss—a promise of more to come.

✎ . . . If you liked this please leave a like, comment and reblog to support me and my works! <3

[flametrashiraarchive]

Thinking about Gyomei who returns from a long string of missions to find his s/o laying down, staring at nothing. Eyes empty, voice apathetic, like a cup with a hole at the bottom, drained of life.

Gyomei's big frame craddling his s/o, rocking back and forth in comfort, trying to breathe more life into his s/o's depressed form, trying to return the warmth stolen by their mind.

Gyomei ready to give up, when his s/o starts to respond to his touch finally...

... after all his cuddles are the best.

- Beer anon 🍻

Who has two thumbs and gets carried away writing about sad boys 👍😎👍

Thank you for this ask. I loved writing about Gyomei and I hope I did him well!

NSFW and unbearable cuteness beneath the cut.

Softer than Mochi- Gyomei x Reader

Gyomei's chin was tilted down as he listened to you. Ordinarily, your voice brought him familiar comfort, but lately he had noticed the sound of it, along with the scent of your skin, was eliciting a new sort of reaction.

It was both unbearably exciting and incredibly uncomfortable.

"Please continue." He shifted his weight as he sat cross-legged on the rocks. His cheeks were getting warm as you told him about your latest mission. "You pursued the demon through the forest?"

You continued speaking, seemingly unaware of his predicament. "Yes. So anyway, the demon almost got away, but I took it down and managed to save the woman it was trying to snatch away. It won't bother anyone again."

"Ah… good. You did well. I'm proud."

There was a slight shift in the air which told him you'd taken a step forward. His heart quickened. 

"Thank you," you said. "I couldn't have done it without your training."

Instinctively, Gyomei opened his arms to accept your embrace. You hugged him often, and he enjoyed it every time.

You were so soft and precious to him. Most people felt small to Gyomei– even Tengen Uzui who stood six and a half feet tall and had muscles on muscles felt like a willow branch sometimes.

The stone hashira wrapped you in his arms, breathing in your warm and lovely scent.

"My sweet friend," he whispered as you buried your face against his neck, making his stomach flutter. "Your capabilities come from your strength and determination, not from me. I taught you ways to use your tools, but you were the one who built and refined them. And you have already been given your next mission?"

"Yes." Your voice was filled with a conflicting mix of  weariness and determination. The lower ranked slayers such as yourself were always busy taking down weaker demons, while hashira were assigned to the less frequent but more difficult missions. "I have to leave here in an hour in fact. I have a train to catch."

An hour was too little time to spend together, but Gyomei would cherish every moment. "I smell matcha… what is that?"

"I brought you some mochi," you said, placing a paper packet in his large hands.

Gyomei smiled and carefully unwrapped the packet, touching his fingers to the squishy little cakes. They were round, perfectly smooth, and as soft as your cheeks, but each one had two little pointed bumps on top… they felt like ears.

The stone hashira's smile widened. "Are they cat-shaped?"

Your excited laughter was heartwarming music to him. "Yes!"

His chest filled with adoration. "They're almost too cute to eat. Thank you, my dearest friend." 

You sat beside him on the rocks, listening to the roaring waterfall and the babbling song of the river. Your hand rested in his, so small and delicate but somehow so warm and profound. 

"Please be safe on your mission," Gyomei said. "And inform me when you get back."

His heart leapt as you leaned against him, resting your head on his bicep. "I will. I'll come and find you before I do anything else. You be safe too, Gyo."

When you stood, his heart lamented. The air shifted again and he opened his arms to embrace you, but this time you pressed your lips softly to his cheek, your hands resting on his shoulders.

The tingle of your kiss lingered on his skin long after you left for your mission. Gyomei remained seated where you left him, smiling as he thought of you and ate the mochi you so sweetly made for him. The world, for a little while, was very beautiful. 

Gyomei had faced countless demons, he had suffered every brutality, but your gentle kiss hit him harder than anything he had ever known before. Your lips were so soft he could have wept.

***

Five days passed before he heard whispers of your return but you did not come to see him as promised. 

That was unlike you and it filled Gyomei with concern. He walked the familiar path to your home, trying to calm his mind. There could be a number of explanations; maybe you were asleep, maybe you had been summoned elsewhere… maybe you had only said you would come to see him first to humor him.

He reached your front door and raised his hand to knock, but found only empty space in front of his knuckles. He called out your name and heard only silence. His heart plummeted. 

Your door was open and you were not responding. He immediately suspected the worst. But there was no trace of a demon, no sickly scent of death or injury. 

"I'm coming in," he said, so as not to scare you.

Your house was silent, and the air had a strange sort of quality. In the past, your home had been a place of comfort for him, but now when he stepped across the threshold he felt a sorrowful weight in his heart.

"Are you here?" He tried to conceal the worry, but it came out anyway. "My friend, speak to me… please."

"Gyo…" 

At the sound of your voice his heart leapt. He turned toward the sound and took a step forward. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked. 

"No… I'm sorry I scared you."

You were on the floor. 

He crouched close to you, reaching out a hand toward you. "My friend, what has happened? I can hear the pain in your voice."

A heavy silence sat between you. Oh, his heart was aching and he couldn't fathom why. Your voice sounded so empty, so utterly broken. You were sitting on a futon in the center of the room; still and quiet and emanating sorrow. He couldn't hold back from reaching out further and placing his hand upon you. His fingers brushed your forearm and traveled down until he found your hand and held it in his. Somehow you felt smaller… hollow…

He didn't press the issue. You would tell him in your own time. He simply sat with you and held your hand. Gyomei was patient.

After a while you moved. He heard your clothes shuffle, felt the air waft against him as you moved your body.

His heart squeezed as you rested your forehead on his shoulder, and he couldn't refrain from holding you. He wrapped you up in his arms, easing you down to sit in his lap as he surrounded you in his embrace.

You fit so perfectly against him; so small and sacred. He held you with endless love and affection, cradling you in his arms as he rested his chin on top of your head. Something had bruised your sweet spirit, and he would hold you for eternity if he thought it could help you heal.

Finally, you spoke. "I failed, Gyomei. The demon's victims begged me to help and I failed. I couldn't save them."

It was a pain he knew too well, and a pain you would have to make space for in your heart because it would never truly go away.

"I'm sorry. That is never easy."

You pressed yourself closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Please forgive me."

"Oh, little one." His chest ached. He was so bound to your shattering heart that the splinters of it pierced through his own. "How I wish I could take away your pain." 

You trembled as silent sobs wracked your body and Gyomei rocked with you. You mourned the lives you hardly knew and he held you through it as though he could shield you from the rest of the world until the grief was gone. 

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, still weeping.

"You are forgiven, my dearest friend." He knew the apology wasn't truly meant for him, but he also knew you needed a seed of forgiveness to allow solace to take root and start to grow.

You cried your tears until you had nothing left. Finally, you grew still and the tension in your body waned.

"You have such a beautiful soul." He unwound one of his arms from around you and wiped away your tears with his thumb. He smiled, "And the softest cheeks."

You laughed quietly and it mended your hearts a little. "Thank you."

"Please do not be sad anymore. Take this pain and use it to help more people."

"Gyomei…" His name was music when it came from your lips. "You're so dear to me. This mission helped me realize I should make sure you know that."

"You are to me too. You're precious."

The gentle touch of your fingers on his jaw made his heart flutter. You traced the shape of his face as he had done to you so many times before.

His pulse raced. The air between you crackled with something unspoken. Your breaths were shallow and shivering as they blew across his lips. Heat prickled on his cheeks and along the column of his neck as he continued to hold you, dipping his chin to he nearer to you. He was inexperienced but not completely naive. Even if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening, he knew you were thinking about kissing him.

He wanted it too. 

“I adore you," he managed to whisper.

"I adore you too."

His heart pounded as you traced the outline of his lips with your fingertips. It was the most intimate sensation he had ever felt. Each breath he drew took a tremendous effort and barely reached the top of his lungs. This was unlike him; Gyomei was in tune with every muscle in his body, and yet your tender touch weakened him more than he thought possible.

He released you from his embrace and raised his hands to your face, finding his bearings before he leaned down and closed the distance, kissing you with infinite tenderness.

The moment his lips met yours, you responded, melting against him and kissing him back; so soft and warm it made his entire body ache. His heart was full to bursting as his thoughts tumbled like a landslide. Your lips were even softer than your cheeks, softer than mochi, warmer than sunlight. 

The kiss seemed to breathe life back into you, and almost at once there was a new passion and hunger which he had sometimes dreamed of experiencing. But never once did he actually believe he could share it with you. You stole his breath away.

When the kiss broke, you showered his face in smaller, more chaste, but no less lovely kisses. Gyomei felt himself smile as his hands trailed down your back.

"Tell me, cherished one," he said quietly, "just so I don't run away with myself. Is this simply to feel good and numb your pain, or is this truly how you feel?"

Thank the gods that the silence afterward was only momentary. His heart couldn't stand it.

"It's how I feel," you responded, caressing the sides of his face with both hands and giving him goosebumps. "Gyo… this is why I come to you after every mission to embrace you and hold your hands. This is why I make cat-shaped mochi for you. I thought you knew I love you."

His heart was about to burst from his chest and his smile could not be contained. "Ah… yes, now that I consider it, it seems obvious."

You laughed. "My sweet Gyo."

You kissed him again. Though it had only been moments since the last one, relief coursed through him as he drew from that sweet warmth and softness. 

"My most beloved, I am yours."

Your hands explored his shape, traversing the neckline of his shirt to the very top of his chest. While not vain, Gyomei was proud of his strength and the muscles he worked so hard to hone. Your quiet hum of approval sounded against his lips as your fingers touched his pectorals. It filled him with pride.

A breathless, tingling sensation coursed through his body as your touches grew bolder and your kisses increased in intensity. The sensation of your hands brushing his bare skin caused a sensation not unlike you were tugging a chord connected to his core.

"Am I moving too fast?" You asked, still resting your forehead against his as though it was as painful for you to be apart as it was for him. 

"Not at all. Continue, please." Heat pickled across his cheeks, far more intense than any sunbeam. 

"You're blushing," you whispered before taking his hand and leading it toward your face, brushing your cheeks with the back of his fingers. "I'm blushing too."

He smiled. "I feel it. You're so warm."

Your cheeks grew plump beneath his fingers as you smiled, and then your hand left his. He heard the soft rustle of fabric, the quickening of your breath, and then you took his hand and led it down to your bare chest.

"Oh…" he choked out.

Nothing in the world could compare to the smooth warmth of your body beneath his large, battle-hewn hands. You were silk to him, lotus petals, mochi, the gentle flow of a sun-warmed stream. His chest ached. Your beauty was overwhelming.

The way you bowed to his tender caresses pulled once more at that chord. When he brushed his thumb over the hardening bud of your nipple and elicited a soft sigh of pleasure from you, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Tingling excitement rolled through his lower belly as your hands went to the fastening of his trousers. Gods, he wanted this, he did… but as inexperienced as he was, there were certain facts he was very aware of. 

“We must be patient,” he said. “I need to ensure you are ready.”

“Believe me, Gyo, I’m ready.” You kissed him again with renewed passion, running your fingers through his hair and sending more little shocks of pleasure through him. 

Gyomei smiled as you pulled back from the kiss, placing his hands over yours to halt your progress. “You’re not ready enough.”

“What do… oh… OH.” You had no doubt noticed the bulge forming in his trousers. “I see. You’re–”

“Large.” He pulled in a breath. “I’m very large. And I don't want to hurt you." Slipping his hand over the curve of your waist, he pressed a kiss to the plush softness of your chest. "If you wish to continue then I ask that you permit me to prepare your body to…receive me."

"I want to continue." You kissed him again, your tongue entering his mouth and slowly teasing his; pulling a gravelly moan from his lips. When you withdrew, you stood and he heard the soft rustle of cloth once more as you removed the rest of your clothing. You took his hands and led them to your bare thighs. "Please touch me."

His pulse thundered as he skated his hands along the curves of your body, committing every soft hill and luxurious valley of your shape to memory. Every touch was an act of profound worship, and every sweet sound of pleasure which came from you was an answer to a prayer.

"Beloved, lie down for me," he said softly. "I want you to be comfortable."

You did as he asked, lying back on your futon.

Just knowing that you were before him, laid out and feeling as nervous and as excited as he was, made his heart flutter. He undressed fully before he let his hands stroke the lengths of your thighs, down to your center where the heat radiated from you in intoxicating waves.

"Please tell me if I'm doing well or not," he asked. His voice was quiet and shaking a little with trepidation. "I've never… well, I've received a little bit of instruction on how to do these things but never put them into practice. So please…"

"I will." You placed your hand on his and with gentle pressure, urged him to touch you. 

Your tender flesh was like nothing he had ever felt before. His breath caught in his throat as his fingers mapped out the shape. You were so warm and wet, and the scent of you was truly intoxicating. You made such lovely sounds of pleasure as he slid his fingers through your folds, coating them in your essence. He traced their shape upward, to where they converged over your delicate, swollen bud.

"There," you gasped as he circled his fingers around it. "That's…"

"Your clitoris," he said with a smile. "I know… I told you, I've had instruction."

At the time he had thought Uzui's lessons were wasted on him, but he had committed the information to memory nonetheless. Now, as your hips bucked and your thighs trembled from the gentlest touches, he had every intention of thanking Uzui from the bottom of his heart.

"Gyo-mei~" you gasped as he stroked your clit with his thumb and pushed a thick finger into you. Oh, gods, the heat, the silken flesh, the slick coating of your nectar, like sun-ripened fruit. He wanted so badly to sink into you and feel his body connected to yours. But he would be patient. He would ensure you were completely ready before he satiated his needs. 

A wave of heat washed over him as you bore down on his finger, eager and demanding even without words.

"Is it good?"

"So… good…"

"Do you want more, my beloved?"

"Yes…" your breaths came in short gasps. "More."

He pushed a second finger into you, pausing as you cried out, allowing your body to accommodate them. His fingers, like everything else about him, were large.

He waited until you began to thrust onto them again and took that as a sign that you were ready.

Gently, he began to move his fingers, pumping them into you slowly as his thumb continued to rub your clitoris. His heart quickened as he felt your inner muscles begin to contract and spasm. 

"Don't stop," you whispered, your voice breathless and urgent.

"I won't."

You came apart seconds later, gasping and shuddering as those muscles pulsed around his fingers. You squeezed them so beautifully, and imagining that sensation on his cock was enough to make him lightheaded.

But he still had work to do. "Can you take more?"

You placed your hand on his thigh. "Yes."

A blissful cry emerged from you as he added a third finger, gently stretching you. 

"Gods, Gyomei~"

"Breathe, beloved. Breathe and relax. I will stop if you wish me too."

"Never."

He chuckled before spreading his fingers slightly, opening you up and readying you. "If I could only express the true depth of my feelings for you." He bowed his head, kissing your stomach with slow, lingering kisses as he continued to pump his fingers into you. 

You were so receptive to his touches, moaning softly as you placed your hand on his wrist, as if to hold it down between your thighs. It was a reassuring gesture that he was pleasing you. That's all he truly desired.

He felt your muscles quiver again and you cried out his name. His cock stood firm, aching with need as your pussy squeezed around his fingers.

"I think you are ready." He spoke softly, kneeling back a little. "If you still–"

"I do. Gyomei… I absolutely do."

You got up and sat astride his thighs as he knelt on the bottom of the futon. This was good. It was exactly what he wanted. He needed you to be in control now, setting the depth and intensity. 

Your lips brushed against his as you cupped his face. The bare skin of your torso was so soft and delicate against his large frame. He wound his arms around you and met your kiss, slow and passionate and filled with love. 

Shifting in his lap, you positioned yourself so the head of his cock was pressed against your entrance. He felt a brief stab of worry that he hadn't prepared you well enough, that he had been too hasty and would hurt you, but a moment later you took him with nothing more than a breathy moan. 

"Gyomei… Gods you feel incredible."

Oh there was nothing that could describe that feeling of sinking into you. A needy groan escaped him as he pressed his head to your shoulder and breathed in the scent of you, trying to ground himself. He was lost in the sensation.

"I love you," you whispered, kissing his lips so gently it seemed you felt he was fragile and precious. 

"I love you too, my everything."

He had never felt so connected to anyone. Mind, body, soul, he was yours. He groaned in pleasure as you undulated your hips, taking him deeper inch by inch, stopping to give you both time to adjust and bask in the sensation.

"Does it hurt, my love?" he asked, unable to shake the tinge of concern from his mind or his voice. 

"No. No, we fit together perfectly." You kissed his neck, sending a frisson of pleasure traveling down his body where it pooled in the bottom of his belly. 

People often spoke of the beauty of stars; pinpricks of light shimmering among velvet darkness, and he felt he understood that with you. He felt them. Shimmering sparks which danced across skin, overwhelming him in the best possible way.

Pressure built at his core as you rode him, your hands resting on his shoulders, your soft body moving against his. You were taking him well, better than he had ever dared to hope you could.

The slow rhythm of your movements, the constant pleasure, the intimacy… It was too much. He grit his teeth and choked out a cry.

"Beloved… I'm…"

"Let it happen, Gyo. You've more than satisfied me. Let go…"

You kept on moving to that slow, loving rhythm, building the exquisite pressure which ran through his core, growing and growing until he was barely clinging to his senses.

His fingers gripped your hips with more strength than he ever meant to use with you, holding you to him as his pleasure reached an almost unbearable peak. 

"Ohh, beloved… perfect… so~ ohhh…so perfect." 

He filled you entirely, lowering his head to press his cheek to yours as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and clung to you. 

"I have you," you whispered as you held him, stroking his back as he trembled in your arms.

He knew he could be like this with you for as long as he needed to be. As wave after wave of pleasure rocked through his body, he sank down into your arms, pressing you back until you were lying on the futon and he reclined on his hip beside you, nestling his head against your chest.

Your heart thudded against his ear, beating to a rhythm you had set together. 

His lips curved as you stroked your fingers through his hair, kissing the top of his head and sighing in contentment.

And the world was forever beautiful. 

In that moment, and in every moment he shared with you, the stone hashira's heart was softer than mochi.

[kurishiri]

12 ┊ Jude’s main story

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— a legendary, iconic chapter in jude’s main story. trust me, you don’t need to know a lick of what happens before or after to understand this chapter. (yes, it's a filler chapter. iykyk.)

— cw: some angst. but it's mostly fluff! some silly crown antics, heh.

[LIBRARY]

Victor: Have you fallen for Jude?

Kate: Wha— ah…um…

Victor: Ahaha, I find it quite endearing how you’re like an open book in your expressions and actions.

V: Well then, mind if I ask what’s gotten you so motivated to study?

(I guess I really can’t evade someone as sharp as Victor, can I,)

(when I tell him I want to borrow books related to international trade and economics so suddenly.)

I gave up on the notion of hiding it, instead looking directly up at Victor.

Kate: In some cases, knowledge can become a weapon. An art of protection, if you will.

K: So first and foremost, it’s for myself. But also, I was thinking how I wanted to become someone Jude can rely on,

K: and someone he can lean on, whether he is going through happy times or sad. And him liking me would just be an added bonus and all…

That was the answer to the strange way my heart [1] had been acting these past few days.

Kate: That said, I do feel he’d brush me off, saying it’s an unnecessary burden.

Victor: But in some cases, that ‘unnecessary burden’ may be what binds a person to life too, is what I think.

V: For it’s neither knives nor poison that kills a person — it’s solitude.

Albeit just for a moment, I felt those jewel-like eyes cloud over…

Kate: …Victor, have you ever felt loneliness before?

Victor: Hardly. I’ve long forgotten such feelings.

Saying so, Victor flashed me a bright smile, as though to coax me at ease.

—— Neutral POV ——

[DINING ROOM]

Jude: Ha, what’s with this.

Jude had just returned from work, and seeing a sleeping Kate there bent over the table in the dining room, his face scrunched up, when…

Victor: If it isn’t Jude, welcome back. I just brought in a blanket for Kate.

V: She had been studying the entire time, you see, and it seems she’s a bit worn out now——

V: Whoopsie, I fear anything past that’s a secret between Kate and me.

Jude: N’ that’s fine by me. Just take care o’ the costs by the end o’ month.

Victor: Gladly. Then I leave this in your hands.

Jude: The hell?

Victor pushed the blanket at Jude with a smile before leaving,

and Jude looked down at Kate, soundly in the world of dreams…

Jude: …Tch.

Putting the blanket over Kate in a nonchalant gesture, he tried to leave when something caught onto the hem of his clothes then.

Jude: …What are ya, a tot?

He looked on at Kate, who held onto the hem of Jude’s clothes as she slept, a fed-up smile in his eyes.

Then, he saw the mountain of books scattered across the table.

Jude: ………

Kate had been burying her nose in studies… for his own sake.

Jude let out a sigh, and then took a seat next to Kate, whose hands were still grasping the hem of his clothes.

Jude: ………Ya really are a hopeless case, aren’t’cha.

—— Kate’s POV ——

I had started learning about things I hadn’t known before on topics such as international trade and economics.

That said, sometimes the contents written in the books were difficult——

[BASEMENT LABORATORY]

Roger: Since the Navigation Acts [2] were abolished, ships from other countries were permitted entry,

R: and from there, the competition of which ship could arrive at London the quickest became more cutthroat.

Kate: So that’s how tea races came to be, right?

Alfons: How deeply profound it would be, were we to think the tea on this table originated from the victors of those very races, indeed.

Roger was equipped with an abundance of knowledge, so I went to him for help, but…

At some point, that evolved to everyone in the back, enjoying tea.

Alfons: This graceful, mellow fragrance is quite a far cry from the constant smell of gunpowder and blood.

A: I daresay, have we not been wallowing too much in the front of life as of late?

Liam: Ah, I’ve been thinking about that too. We haven’t done a single thing for the season, so it’s a little lonely, maybe.

Roger: Hey guys. Mind quitting with the chit chat?

Just as Roger said this, seemingly annoyed, the door to the research laboratory opened with so much vigor, it could have broken down.

Victor: Did I just hear that my dear boys are not enjoying life? Now what a grave situation we have on our hands!

Roger: Hey, you, don’t just come in outta the blue like that.

Victor: But never to fear, as Victor presents! A very out-of-season fireworks party is in the works, yippee!

V: I consulted with William beforehand about using his private beach already. Goodness me, how capable I must be!

(Fireworks, huh...)

It was indeed a bit out of season, to be sure, but everyone was bored enough to agree to the proposition.

Victor: And so, with that, I have a small favor to ask of you, Kate.

(A favor? What is it, I wonder?)

[RAVEN CO.; JUDE'S OFFICE]

It turned out said ‘favor’ was——

Jude: If ya lot wanna go that bad then just go off on your own.

Kate: But I won’t like it if you’re not coming with!

It was to drag Jude to the fireworks party.

Or, more accurately, it was to ‘drag both Jude and Ellis,’

but Ellis, seeming delighted, affirmed immediately that he would go, which would just leave dragging Jude along.

Ellis: I also won’t like it if you’re not coming.

Jude: How many times are ya gonna say that. It’s hella annoyin’.

(I thought he would say that, so now that it’s come to this——)

Kate: Jude.

Jude: What.

Kate: Lulipia [3] has proposed giving their new product exclusively to Raven Co.

K: But, the condition was that Ellis and I took charge of it.

I had recently learned about the art of negotiation in a book, and when I utilized that, Jude raised a brow in irritation.

Jude: Ha, lookatcha, tryna negotiate with me. Ya got some guts, huh.

J: Fine then.

Kate: Wait— really...?

Jude: When it comes to costs n’ expenses, I got somethin’ to gain outta this. End o’ discussion.

Kate: Then... w-we did it!!

Ellis: You did well, Kate.

(Sure, it was a bit of a low play, but that doesn’t change the fact Jude is coming along!)

[BEACH - NIGHT]

The fireworks launched to the sky lit up the shore.

Kate: Wow...!

Elbert: ...It’s pretty, isn’t it.

It was a bit out of season, but that seemed to become irrelevant with how beautiful the fireworks burst in the night sky.

Victor: Bravooo! The fireworks may fade in an instant, but the memories will stay for an eternity more in my heart.

Cheering as fireworks were launched one after another, we also had colorful fireworks at the shore.

Liam: Kaaate! Over here, over here!

Harrison: Here, this is yours.

Kate: Thanks!

I tried lighting the stick for a firework, when Alfons thought of something, a complacent smile on his face.

Alfons: Ahha, I’ve just thought of something good.

A: The one whose firework lasts the longest will be able to give a single order to the rest of us. Does that sound appealing?

Roger: Oh, sounds interesting.

Kate: But I feel like there’s something fishy too...

Ellis: Come to think of it, Al was looking really carefully at the fireworks just now.

Kate: Wha— don’t tell me you already tampered with the fireworks, Alfons!

Alfons: ...Just what are you going on about?

William: Haha, it seems our little robin has gotten a solid grasp on all the Crown members.

In the end, with Alfons’ schemes ousted, there was no such match, and we lit up the fireworks in order.

(Hm? What about Jude...)

I saw him a little ways away, and I brought Jude’s firework, running to him.

[1] Give him a launcher firework.

[2] Give him a handheld firework. (+4 / +4)

[3] Give him a firecracker.

Kate: Here, Jude, your firework.

I held out the handheld firework I had lit out to him, when...

Jude: .........

Jude took it wordlessly, pointing the crackling flower my way.

Kate: Hey, wai— don’t go pointing that at people with that nonchalant look!

Harrison: Damn... what a brute, that guy.

Roger: But looks like Jude’s having his own fun too.

Everyone’s faces were illuminated by the beautiful fireworks, like an illusion.

And, all of a sudden, the depths of my heart squeezed.

(At some point, I had become a part of their circle.)

To think I had once feared the ones in this very circle, too.

Jude: What’s with ya, grinnin’ ear to ear like that.

Kate: Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about how much fun I’m having...

Jude: What a happy-go-lucky princess ya must be——

As though to interrupt Jude’s words, exceptionally large fireworks were launched to the sky.

The sight of the large flowers that blossomed in the night sky took everyone’s breaths away.

William: It was Victor’s idea.

Victor: A biiig surprise!

Harrison: You guys really don’t hold back, do you. ...Well, it’s pretty, I’ll give it that.

Kate: It really is.

Seeing everyone’s smiles, lit up by the fireworks, my chest started to feel unbearably hot...

Liam: I’ll definitely make this next play a success!!

Liam suddenly shouted.

Roger: Haha, are we declaring our resolutions now? I like that.

R: I will gather data from Cursed ones all around the world!!

Kate: Oh, then me too—

(So that I can stand together with Jude at the same place, and see the same world as him...)

(And so that I can become a person Jude can rely on...)

Kate: I will grow more and more!!

Jude: What’s with that dim resolution?

Ellis: I will grow more and more tall!

Jude: Bloody hell, don’t go growin’ even more.

Kate: Are you not going to shout out your resolution, Jude?

Jude: What are ya, a birdbrain?

With those words, Jude stared up at the fireworks that rose up to the Prussian blue sky before fading away.

And as for me... I discreetly looked at his profile as he did so.

(...Jude’s face looks very colorful.)

It was almost like he himself was a firework.

Fierce and intense, dangerous if I went too close... and yet also, for an unfathomable reason, unable to keep myself from looking away.

But, at the same time, perhaps because I had been looking at him this entire time, I felt a certain sense of unease from within me.

(Just like there is no firework that can light up for eternity, there are times I feel like Jude will up and disappear...)

It was like his very profile would fade out just like that, saying not a word to anyone and leaving not a memento behind...

And, so that he wouldn’t go off anywhere else, I gripped the hem of his clothes.

Kate: Jude, I want ice cream.

Jude: What?

Ellis: Me too.

Alfons: And me three. Well then, someone can be our dear dogsbody——to go and buy some.

Jude: Can’t help it then, I’ll go n’ buy ‘em.

Alfons: Dear me, I do insist, let me be the one.

William: Then I will go.

(Wait, what? Huh? The way this is going... does this mean I have to say it too!?)

Kate: Ah, then I’ll go and buy them!

Jude: Then off ya go.

(Wait, what?)

Seeing the grin play on the corner of his lips, I realized then that I had been completely wheedled.

Kate: ——That was in such bad taste...!

Jude: Hah—

J: Ya really are easy to trick, aren’t’cha, princess.

Kate: ...!

Seeing Jude’s smile, my heart throbbed — to the point it hurt, and to the point it became unbearable — and it wouldn’t stop.

(I probably am not much of anything in Jude’s eyes...)

(But, if I can at least become an occasional source of Jude’s smiles, then that would be fine with me too.)

Beneath the sky where beads of light shimmered and swirled, I made a wish... that this fun time would last, even if it was for a moment longer.

But, alas, such times did not last long.

ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

NOTES:

[1] In Japanese, there are two words for heart: [心] (kokoro) and [心臓] (shinzō), the former referring to a more ‘conceptual’ or intangible version of the heart that  sort of drives emotions or empathy (the pathos, if you will); and the latter being the physical organ. Here, Kate uses [心臓] (shinzō).

[2] The Navigation Acts (1651, 1660) were acts of Parliament, based on earlier precedents, intended to promote the self-sufficiency of the British Empire by restricting colonial trade to England and decreasing dependence on foreign imported goods. The laws also regulated England's fisheries and restricted foreign, including Scottish and Irish, participation in its colonial trade.

[3] To clarify, Lulipia, which could be translated into a different spelling — the original Japanese word they used was [ルリピア] (ruripia), is a company, not a person.

[kaayyyys]

Daryl Dixon X reader

You're his soft spot ❤️

Daryl's world is brutal, and he's built walls to survive. But for you, he'd lower those walls and become your fiercest protector. He'd always be aware of your surroundings, scanning for threats, and positioning himself between you and any danger. He wouldn't just protect you physically; he'd shield your spirit too, deflecting negativity and bolstering your courage.

Daryl isn't one for grand gestures or flowery words. His love is expressed in actions. He'd watch you carefully, learning your habits, your fears, and your secret joys. He'd notice the little things – a shift in your mood, a flicker of sadness in your eyes – and he'd respond accordingly, offering a comforting presence or a silent act of service. His understanding of you would be profound, built on observation and genuine care.

Forget candlelight dinners and romantic getaways. Daryl's romance is found in the everyday. He'd bring you a freshly caught rabbit, not as a provider, but as a gift. He'd share his meager rations of coffee with you in the morning, a silent offering of warmth. He'd sit beside you by the campfire, the crackling flames the only music you need, his presence a solid anchor in a chaotic world.

Trust is hard-earned in the apocalypse, but with you, Daryl would offer it freely. He'd confide in you about his past, his fears, and his hopes – things he'd never share with anyone else. He'd trust your judgment, seek your advice, and rely on you to be his sounding board. In return, he'd be fiercely loyal and unwavering in his support of you.

The world outside is filled with walkers and constant threats, but in Daryl's arms, you'd find a safe haven. His embrace would be strong and protective, a silent promise that he'll always be there for you. He might not say "I love you" often, but you'd feel it in the way he holds you, the way he buries his face in your hair, the way he makes you feel like you're the only person in the world that matters.

Daryl knows what it's like to be broken. He'd approach you with patience and understanding, never pushing you to share more than you're ready to. He'd accept you for who you are, flaws and all, and he'd help you heal from the wounds of the past. He wouldn't try to fix you, but he'd stand beside you as you fix yourself.

While he can be serious, Daryl also has a dry wit. He'd tease you gently, a playful way of showing affection. He might call you "darlin'" or some other simple term of endearment, a sign that you've broken through his tough exterior. These small moments of levity would be precious reminders of the love you share, even amidst the darkness.

You both have scars, both physical and emotional. Daryl wouldn't shy away from them; he'd acknowledge them, understand them, and help you carry them. Together, you'd find strength in your shared experiences, becoming each other's rock in a world that's constantly trying to break you down.

Even though he’s protective, Daryl wouldn't try to control you. He'd respect your independence and your ability to take care of yourself. He knows you're strong, and he wouldn't want to stifle your spirit. He'd simply want to be there to support you, to offer a helping hand when you need it, and to celebrate your victories, big or small.

[ama3003]

The President's Daughter

Character: Finnick Odair

Requested: No

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Arianna Flemings-Snow, the adopted daughter of Coriolanus Snow, bravely volunteers for the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Yet, her courage comes at the cost of confronting not only the repercussions of re-entering the deadly arena but also the profound challenge of sharing it with the man she passionately loves.

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

“Finnick Odair, right?” 

Haymitch nods points towards the screen, “ Yes, he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.” 

“You’re kidding right?” He looked like the most narcissistic show off known to man. His stance. His waves. His stupid smirk. He looked as if he were happy to be returning. 

“Yes I’m kidding. He’s a...” Haymitch dramatically flips his hair” …peacock. A total preener but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming , smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peta leans forward glancing at the screen, “What about weaknesses?” 

“Well two. First Mags.” A frail looking wrinkly woman pops on the screen. “ She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.” 

Katniss stares at the screen seeing the women bravely volunteer for the young girl in hysterics, “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her. 

Sadness flashes through Haymitch’s eyes, “Well Katniss,  I just hope when she goes…she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.” 

The silence fills the room before Peta asks, “And his other weakness?” 

Haymitch lightly smirks before passing  to the next district when a beautiful girl with hair as white as snow comes up. “ District 5. Arianna Flemings. Mostly known as...”

“President Snow’s daughter?” Katniss snaps her head to Haymitch. Eyes widened. 

He tilts his head a bit. “Adopted. She won her games at fifteen. Everyone and I mean everyone fell in love with her. She was the purest of the pure. The cutest of the cute. And the most dangerous of the danger. After one of the tributes killed her district partner all hell broke loose and she murdered the last seven remaining tributes within two hours with one. singular. knife.”

Peta shook his head in disbelief, “If he adopted her then that means he has to have some sort of heart. And he’s letting her go back to the games?” 

Haymitch holds out his hand signaling for the kid to stop talking, “Well, there were rumors about Snow not really adding Arianna’s name into the reaping; however, when her childhood friend was reaped she immediately volunteered. Flabbergasted everyone.” The video shows Arianna immediately protesting and volunteering the moment her friend’s name dropped. The horror on everyone’s face was telling how much the district loved her. 

He cleared his throat and continued, “ I imagined Snow wasn't really happy about that. That’s what he gets for adopting a victor when he’s the leader of these games." He shrugs. "Arianna is very captivating. Even Snow’s heart had to have melt for that young girl. Took her right under his wing. Obviously she was treated like a victor but most importantly she was treated like a Capitol.” 

“If his daughter is that important wouldn’t he know that during the games people will be targeting his daughter. Who wouldn’t if his daughter means that much to him.” 

That’s when Haymtich shook his head, “ Because my dear little Katniss… A) he calls the shots. If you haven’t realized everything in the games are controlled by him and people that love her. He’ll be hovering over you all the entire time. B) She’s a skilled competitor. Again seven tributes dead in two hours by the hands of a 110 pound fifteen year old, hello people keep up. Since then she’s never eased on her training. Obviously she’s bound to have enemies because of her father so she never stopped. Really good using her resources, excellent with knives, basically insanely dangerous. C) Finnick Odair. Both basically spent the last nine years together. Everyone thinks they’re together, but are keeping it hidden because of her father. I’m sure the President feels a lot better having Finnick with her knowing that he would risk his entire life for her. However don’t think it’ll make it easy to kill them. While you two are faking it. They—“ He points to the screen. “Are real. You hurt her and not only will you have Snow on your asses, but a trident in your chest. You hurt him and you’d have knives shoved up every hole in your body. They’re each other’s weaknesses but also strengths. They are who you want to be allies with. I’m serious Katniss don’t mess this up.” 

~~~~~~~

Arianna couldn’t breathe in her dress. It’s not that it’s too tight (which it actually is), but more-so that she’s again back to where she was those many years ago. 

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe” She lightly whispers under her breath while entering to where all the other Victors were.  She was wearing a beautiful white gown with red lace at the top. Her red make-up contrasting her snow-white features. 

“Isn’t it Snow’s precious girl. Miss Flemings never thought I would have to see you back in the games.” She turns around and sees Gloss from Tribute 1. 

“You and me both. Don’t you look as charming as ever.” She smiles graciously wrapping her arms around her friend. “Where’s Cash?” 

He smiles and points behind him, “Getting the gang back together. Should we be expecting you to join us?” 

Her eyes immediately try to find the one person she truly wanted to ally with. “Gloss I would love to, but I have to check with Finnick. You know wherever he goes I go.”

He nods understanding completely, “And I admire your loyalty. Please try to get him on our side. We really don’t want to have to go against either of you.” 

She nods smiling softly at the man, “Speaking of Finnick do you know where he might be. He wasn’t with Mags.” 

The guy pointed behind her making her turn, “I guess he’s already trying to get the Girl on Fire on his side…without telling you?” 

Arianna lightly hit him, “Glossy I love you, but I hope you weren’t trying to turn me against Finnick. Like you said before I am extremely loyal.” 

He chuckles before backing away, “ Didn’t hurt to try. Now go to lover boy, but please remember what I said.” 

She watches him go back to the Career pack and lightly waves at them before heading towards the duo. 

“Then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” If only she knew the truth. 

She sees him lean forward, making the Girl on Fire look uncomfortable  “With secrets” 

Arianna thought it was the perfect time to break the tension especially since she wanted to talk to the golden boy before they had to parade themselves. “Nicky, we went over this so many times, you should never try to get with an engaged woman. Very inappropriate.” She wraps her arm his waist looking up at him. His smirk turned into a genuine smile. 

He immediately looked down at the young girl smirking, “Arianna, you know I’d never try to get with anyone else but you.” 

She lightly smacks his chest before looking over the girl staring curiously at the duo, “ Arianna Flemings.” She sticks her hand out smiling as Katniss took it. “ My niece absolutely loves you. She always wanted to meet you, my father never really introduced us, but you know how he is. You look absolutely beautiful by the way.”  

Katniss couldn’t help but like the girl in front of her. Though the fact that she is someone that Snow cares about keeps nagging at her, the girl alone seems genuine. “I’m Katniss. I saw your games. Very impressive.” Her curt response made Arianna look at Finnick then back at the girl.

“Thank you and your game was also very impressive.” She smiles and then turns her attention to the man next to her. “Nicky, can I talk to you over there please?” 

His gaze went to his angel and then to the girl who’s staring at them, “I’ll be there in a second need to wrap up my introduction to the Girl on Fire.” 

Arianna rolled her eyes playfully before turning to Katniss, “It was really nice to meet you.”

The two stared as Arianna glides away elegantly. Finnick leans towards the girl with a smile, “She is off limits. You hurt her and I’ll gladly pay back the favor with your fiancé while you watch and die an agonizing death. Got that? ” Before she can answer he backs away going to find his girl. 

He finally sees her talking to her district partner and then shoos him away. "Nicky? Did you really had to use that name? "

Her gaze filled with mischief yet care had him wrapped around her finger, "There's Nick, Nickey, Finnley, Finnerson, Fin-"

"Okay we get it, but there's only one name I like hearing you call me." He leans closer.

"Mon amour" She smirks before lightly pushing him back. "That's only reserved when we aren't about to dive head first into our deaths."

His smile drops, " You are not dying. Snow will not allow it and neither will I."

She caresses his face, "Finnick these are how the games are. Though my father cares for me he wants to destroy the girl even more."

He lightly glares at the girl, gripping her waist a bit tighter. " Why did you have to volunteer dammit. Everything was going to be fine, but you just had to volunteer. Why on earth did you even do that?"

She glances around noticing that people are getting on their carriage to start the parade. " I had to, love. But it's okay. I promise you, it will be okay."

The sincerity in her eyes truly made him believe it was all going to be fine even though his heart knew it wasn't.

They finally break eye contact when her partner tells her that the parade is about to start. "Better get on your carriage Snow White looks like Prince Charming needs you."

She kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not into Princes, I prefer fishermen" winking and getting on her carriage.

They both know that no matter what happens in the ring. Capitol be dam. Districts be dam. Both their goal is to protect one another no matter what the cost is.

[betweenthescarletmoon]

On Mage!Viktor / the Hexcore's Involvement on the Transformation of Jayce

Incoming loooong post to encompass my massive brainrot about jayce. you've been warned <3

This post, written by @xenorat, made me consider how the Hexcore was the main player behind the whole timelines thing. Of course it explains why the world is an exact replica of what our Jayce's future would become and why Mage!Viktor himself doesn't look like the Machine Herald we know.

The OP also explained how the stone Viktor gave (was it due to the Hexcore or Viktor himself?) could've led Jayce to feel this frenzied, feral rage that goes against his own nature. His natural reaction to violence is usually horror, becoming sick, and profound guilt when he's the cause of it.

However!! Because I'm insane, I've been thinking for months about a theory/headcanon on why Jayce is sometimes violent and sometimes he seems to return to himself, which can work directly with the one that xenorat introduced.

And that theory is:

Mage!Viktor fused alternate versions of Jayce because he knew Jayce couldn't possibly fulfill his promise on his own.

TL;DR: Jayce's transition from feral and violent to calm and compassionate is not clear, but Act II and the scene with him and Mel in Act III show how Jayce may not be in complete control of his actions. Instead, as his physical frame glitches and the visions plague him, or in less visually obvious moments, his demeanor changes and flickers, as if our Jayce is switching with another versions of him. I also shamelessly self-plug about my newly posted oneshot that's gonna be part of my sad bookstreet/jayce-centric series.

Needless to say, I never understood Jayce's act iii arc, especially because he went from this:

to this:

in the span of like, a few weeks at most??

Although the writing and pacing of Act 3 leaves much to be desired for Jayce, Act 2 gives us really exciting clues about what could've been the explanation to Jayce's predicament. Its vagueness is fascinating, because the fandom has such different interpretations to it. Is it PTSD? Is it the self-annihilating nature of the Anomaly? Is it the infection of the world that burrowed into his leg, or the one from the stone that's spreading in his arm? Is it a side effect of witnessing the Cosmic Horrors? Or is it because he's fighting himself? Or rather, alternate versions of himself? Seven, to be exact?

As we can see in the gif above, as well as in most of his conversation with Salo, there seem to be various other versions of Jayce that have just been merged.

It is important to note that, in the novel experience of living in one body, or because of the presence of the Anomaly, Jayce experiences these magnetic-like pulls, in which a part of him seems to either separate or pass through.

I'm sure you've noticed the rest of these instances, especially this one:

But this could also be why he looked like this after killing Salo:

And like this after almost killing the child in the Commune:

(credit to @cruelcomfort-deactivated2024120 on this post, sadly i couldnt find the gif so i uploaded it here)

In every instance, it looks like he wavers in differing levels from whatever violence he has, is, or could've committed. With Salo, the horror almost breaks through the rage, but it fails. With the kid, it's like he slowly snaps out of the haze of fury (visually, the strobing effect and vignette fade away, which tells us that his vision is literally clearing); and all that he is left with is just that same horror. But with Viktor, there is simply chaos. Screaming and weeping and a glimpse of one breaking the vow once again (because he looked at Viktor right before he could kill him. oh i am ill).

Who controlled the body to fulfill the vow, I don't know. I'm willing to believe the act of killing his partner was so traumatizing, it was like we were witnessing an Arcane-ified, violent version of a mind dissociating to the point of an identity split. Y'know, like DID, but not exactly.

I frankly think the writers are kinda cowards for not showing us more of this or giving us more hints as to what is actually afflicting him, unless the mystery IS the point. BUT!! There is one more scene in Act III, where Fortiche left us clues about the alternate Jayces (or at least one of them) one last time.

This scene:

Though Jayce is already triggered and distrustful of Mel from the beginning of this scene, it is here where his entire demeanor slowly changes into that agony and pure rage we've seen before. The vision causes him to jerk in pain and start to shake. His grip on the Mercury Hammer grows tighter. But the most interesting detail is the most surreptitious one: his head warps with one or both eyes, perhaps the gaze of another version of himself.

Interestingly, he does not go to harm Mel as I feared on my first watch. Instead, he pushed her away to shoot, almost as if on instinct. As I looked into this 19 sec clip with Mel, I realized that he was angry but stable right before the first vision. Then a sort of struggle began, as if he is genuinely trying to hold himself back, or to push through the visible pain the arcane is putting him through. But every time he is overwhelmed by this pain, or he is falling deeper into that unnatural, feral rage, we see those eyes.

For context:

(Look above the corner of the left brow and you'll find a subtle eye under his bangs. This happens when he sees his first vision in the scene.)

The eyes become more and more obvious as time goes on. Or interestingly, the longer he closes his eyes, the more we can see these other eyes.

(They look bitter and dark, but also exhausted. How long have they been at this? And why only one pair of eyes? Have the others found rest when they fulfilled their promise of killing Viktor? Honestly, we'll never know.)

But then, when the chromatic aberration (that red, green, purple, and blue distortion of reality to show the Arcane's influence on him) intensifies, we see how our Jayce's eyes and this other gaze seem to merge, exactly when Jayce is on the cusp of violence.

This last one is right when he pushes Mel to shoot at Viktor. It is like they almost become one to attack Viktor again.

We don't see any internal war in Jayce in like the rest of the episode, as well as the finale. Which sucks. It was so cool and it got resolved off-screen ig? Where is that much-needed transition between Jayce "my partner died in this room" Talis and this other Jayce "all i want is my partner back" Talis? Who is ours? Or, even more interesting: did they fuse completely? It would explain their stability surely. And this internal healing could also explain his sudden ability to extend compassion and love towards Viktor in a way he couldn't for Mel.

(And don't tell me it's because he didn't love Mel. My man NEEDED to have a scene that portrayed just how badly that apocalyptic isolation messed him up. If anything, his behavior with Mel is TEN TIMES more realistic than his behavior with Viktor in the astral realm. Maybe the astral realm is the key to his change? But still, Jayce is a man who loves at heart. He was pushed to unimaginable suffering and violence that would make even Silco balk, but you can tell he still cares about Mel and Viktor despite this.)

Anyway!!

If you're a bit crazy and obsessed with trauma like me, then perhaps you might be interested in reading the fic series I've got in the works! I decided to post the prologue to contribute to the small but growing Jayce-centric fics, and more importantly to explore this theory through writing.

[dee-writes-angst]

FORGET ME NOTS (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY settling into The Autumn Court is scary and intimidating especially when a certain fire-blooded male takes a liking to you.

CONTENT WARNINGS vague descriptions of smut, mentions of abuse, Beron (yeah, yall, he's mentioned), Ianthe (cough, cough), vulnerable convos, flashbacks to calanmai, pregnancy, sad Eris :(

AUTHORS NOTE I know this is much shorter than the first chapter, but when I say I struggled to write this chapter, I mean I STRUGGLED. Anywho, I apologize if you guys feel like the pacing of this chapter is kind of fast, I was trying to get a lot of information in all at once so we could move on to the good stuff. Hope you enjoy ;)

SERIES MASTERLIST

As dawn broke over the Autumn Court, the first rays of sunlight crept through the tall, arched windows of my chamber, casting a warm glow that promised a new day. Despite the beauty it heralded, my heart was heavy with secrets I carried, especially now, facing the prospect of daily walks with Eris—a constant reminder of the brother he did not know he shared with me in such a profound way.

I found Eris waiting in the courtyard, his posture relaxed against the cool morning air that whispered through the turning leaves. His presence was both a comfort and a curse, wrapped in the guise of courtly duty.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice carrying that ever-present hint of mischief that seemed less charming today, more a wall I needed to scale or perhaps fortify.

I mustered a smile, tight-lipped and brief. “Eris.”

He seemed to notice my cool demeanor, his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement—or was it challenge? “Shall we begin?”

The gardens of the Autumn Court were undoubtedly beautiful, but I walked beside Eris with a stiffness in my shoulders, an invisible armor against the potential wounds of getting too close. Every step was a reminder of the line I walked, balancing between necessity and fear.

“It’s beautiful here,” I commented, a safe observation as we passed a sprawling bed of flowers, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the muted turmoil within me.

“It is,” he responded, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the path ahead. “The court has its ways of ensnaring you with beauty, all the while hiding its thorns.”

I couldn’t help but snort softly at that. “Sounds familiar,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Eris caught the words, though, and his smile deepened. “Indeed. But sometimes, we find that even thorns have their purpose.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant call of court birds. I felt his gaze on me several times, curious or calculating, I couldn’t tell.

“About last night—” I began, but Eris raised a hand, halting my words.

“Today, let’s set aside the past and dealings of courts for now. Let’s walk, talk, and be unburdened, at least for a moment.”

Reluctantly, I nodded, accepting the temporary ceasefire.

Our path took us deeper into the garden, where the foliage grew thicker and the outside noises fell away. Here, the air was cooler, the shadows deeper, and the sense of seclusion more pronounced. Eris seemed more at ease in this part of the garden, his steps unhurried, his eyes occasionally catching the light in a way that softened the usual sharpness.

"This is one of my favorite parts of the garden," he shared, his voice almost contemplative. "There's a peace here that's hard to find elsewhere in the court."

I looked around, taking in the dense greenery that enveloped us, the serene quiet. "It's like a different world," I admitted.

"Yes," he agreed, his gaze lingering on a particularly dense cluster of trees. "A world apart, where one can forget, if only for a moment, the burdens waiting beyond those trees."

As we walked, the conversation slowly shifted from the impersonal — comments on the weather and the garden — to more personal territory. Eris spoke of his childhood in the court, his voice tinged with a nostalgia that painted a picture of a boy who had run through these very paths, wild and unburdened.

I listened, the stories painting a picture of a different Eris, one who had existed before the weight of the court had fully settled upon his shoulders. It was in these stories that I found myself drawn in, my guard lowering just a notch as I began to see the man beneath the prince.

Our walk led us to a secluded spot with a bench overlooking a tranquil pond, a favorite retreat of Eris’s by his own admission. "I come here to think," he said as we sat. "Today, I wanted to share it."

Something in his tone, a rare note of sincerity, made me glance at him. "Thank you," I said quietly, the weight of my secrets making the words heavier than intended.

"Everyone needs a sanctuary," he replied, his voice low, almost reflective. "Perhaps, for now, this can be ours."

As we sat together, the morning light softening around us, a part of me wanted to believe in the sanctuary he offered. But the secrets I held tightened like a noose around my thoughts, a constant reminder of the stakes at play.

For now, this truce would have to do—a brief respite in a garden of hidden thorns.

In the quiet embrace of the garden, Eris and I sat together on a weathered stone bench, enveloped by a tranquil stillness that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The morning sun had just begun its ascent, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the verdant landscape around us. The delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and the distant melody of chirping birds.

For what felt like an eternity, we remained ensconced in a shared silence, each lost in our own thoughts amidst the serene beauty of our surroundings. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between us, a silent barrier that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, I could no longer bear the oppressive weight of my thoughts in silence. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves seemed to mock my inner turmoil, urging me to break free from the suffocating grip of my fears.

Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, I mustered the courage to speak. "Eris?" The sound of my voice was barely more than a whisper, carried away on the gentle breeze that caressed the garden.

At the sound of his name, Eris stirred from his contemplative reverie, his eyes slowly opening to meet mine. There was a fleeting moment of recognition in his gaze, as if he had been expecting this interruption all along.

He regarded me with a cool detachment, a silent question lingering in the depths of his gaze. It was as though he were silently urging me to articulate the thoughts that had weighed so heavily upon my mind.

Summoning all of my courage, I pressed on, knowing that his patience was not limitless. "I need to speak with you," I said, my voice steadier now, though the weight of my confession hung heavy in the air.

For a moment, there was silence between us once more, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then, with a subtle nod of acknowledgment, Eris inclined his head, granting me permission to unburden myself of the secrets that had long weighed upon my soul.

(Calanmai, Fifteen Weeks Ago)

The night of Calanmai unfolded like a grand spectacle, a symphony of sights and sounds that swept through the Spring Court like wildfire. In the heart of the courtyard, beneath a sky ablaze with stars, I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of tradition and temptation, drawn inexorably towards a destiny I could not yet fathom.

As the festivities reached their crescendo, a hush fell over the gathered throng, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. All eyes turned to the dais at the center of the courtyard, where Lucien Vanserra, with his mane of fiery hair and eyes that glinted like shards of emerald, stood poised to perform the Rite—the ancient ritual that ensured the flow of natural magic within the Spring Court.

I watched from the edge of the crowd, my heart pounding in rhythm with the pulsating beat of the drums that echoed through the night. Beside me, Ianthe, with her golden locks and beguiling smile, whispered honeyed words in Lucien's ear, her intentions veiled behind a facade of innocence and charm.

But I knew the truth—the truth that lurked beneath the surface, like a serpent coiled in the shadows, waiting to strike. And so, with a courage born of desperation and defiance, I stepped forward, offering myself as a sacrifice to protect Lucien from the machinations of those who sought to use him as a pawn in their deadly game.

Lucien's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his gaze searching mine for the truth hidden beneath the surface. And in that moment, I saw the flicker of gratitude and something deeper—a spark of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf us both.

Together, we slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of the forest that bordered the Spring Court. In the darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy above, we found solace in each other's arms, our bodies moving in a dance of desperation and desire.

With hesitant hands, Lucien reached out to me, his touch tentative yet determined. There was a solemnity in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the sacrifice we were both willing to make in the name of saving the Spring Court from impending doom. Each movement was deliberate, as if he were navigating uncharted waters, unsure of what lay ahead.

As he undressed me, his fingers trailed feather-light over my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The air crackled with anticipation, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. There was a raw intensity to our connection, a primal need that pulsed beneath the surface, driving us forward even as we teetered on the edge of uncertainty.

Our kisses were slow and languid, each one a silent plea for understanding, for absolution. And as our bodies moved together in a dance as old as time itself, I felt a sense of surrender wash over me, a letting go of the fears and doubts that had plagued me for so long.

With each touch, each caress, we explored the depths of each other's souls, seeking solace in the midst of chaos. And as he spilled his essence inside me, there was a sense of release, a letting go of the burdens that had weighed so heavily upon us.

In the aftermath, we lay entwined beneath the moonlit sky, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the night. There was a peace in that moment, a fleeting respite from the storm that raged around us. And as we lay there, lost in each other's arms, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us—for the Spring Court, for our people.

But such thoughts were for another time, another place. In that moment, there was only us, two souls bound together by circumstance and necessity, seeking solace in the midst of turmoil.

(Autumn Court, Present Day)

"What is it, little fox?" Eris's voice, gentle yet tinged with curiosity, pierced the tranquil stillness of the autumnal garden, drawing me from the depths of my reverie. The morning sun, a soft orb of golden light, filtered through the crimson leaves of the ancient oak tree under which we sat, casting a warm glow over the secluded corner of the courtyard.

Eris reclined on the stone bench with an air of effortless grace, his features masked in an enigmatic veil of indifference. His gaze, like liquid mercury, bore into mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, as if he could discern the turmoil that churned within me with unsettling ease.

For a moment, I hesitated, the weight of my confession heavy upon my tongue, like stones in a riverbed. The memory of Lucien, his absence a haunting specter in my heart, mingled with the uncertainty of what lay ahead, casting shadows over the fragile sanctuary we had found amidst the autumnal splendor.

Yet, despite the tempest of emotions that threatened to engulf me, there was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that drew me inexorably towards Eris, compelling me to lay bare the truth that simmered beneath the surface.

"I—" I began, my voice trembling like the leaves that danced in the breeze, the words caught in the tangled undergrowth of my uncertainty. With a trembling hand, I reached for my tiny bump, a silent testament to the life growing within me, the fragile thread that bound me to a future fraught with peril.

"Eris… I'm scared," I confessed, the admission hanging heavy in the crisp autumn air, a fragile offering of vulnerability laid bare before him. Tears welled in my eyes, their crystalline trails reflecting the kaleidoscope of emotions that churned within me, a tempest threatening to tear me asunder.

It was a truth I had not yet found the courage to share, the truth about my unborn child, about Lucien, about the tangled web of emotions that threatened to ensnare me in their grasp. And yet, as I spoke the words aloud, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me, as if the act of vocalizing my fears had lifted a burden I had long carried in silence.

“I know,” Eris continued after a moment, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. “When my mother would give birth, my father would have meetings with his counsel and continue about court like nothing important was happening, too caught up in his ambition to even consider loving her. He would leave her to suffer alone, to be in pain, awful pain, alone, while she brought his children into this world,” he took a breath, watching the branches of the great tree sway before looking back to the fountain sitting before us, water streaming softly and glinting in the light of the sun.

“So, once I was old enough to see how wrong it was, I joined her in the birthing rooms. I didn’t care how many times a nurse advised me against it, how much I was beaten afterwords by my father. It wasn’t about any of that. It was about her, it was about not being alone in a time of need, to not be consumed by darkness without a twinkle of light. My mother deserved better. Still does,” Eris sighs, resting his warm hand atop mine on the bench, giving it a small squeeze. “I can not promise profection, I can not promise relief, and I can not promise life, but I can promise that you will not walk in the darkness alone, that I will be right there, by your side as you scream and claw and cry until your babe joins this world. Just as I did for my mother.”

As he spoke, his warm hand found mine on the bench, offering a reassuring squeeze that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "I can't promise perfection," he continued, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I can't promise relief, or even life itself. But I can promise that you won't walk through the darkness alone. I'll be there, by your side, every step of the way."

As the last words of our shared confessions lingered in the air, the atmosphere seemed to soften, infused with a sense of understanding and acceptance. The ancient oak tree above us rustled gently, its branches swaying in a silent dance with the breeze, as if nature itself bore witness to the fragile bond we had formed in this secluded corner of the autumnal garden.

In that moment of quiet introspection, my gaze fell upon a delicate forget-me-not that had nestled itself amidst the fallen leaves at the base of the oak tree. Its petals, a soft shade of blue tinged with hues of violet, seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, a beacon of fragility and resilience amidst the earthy backdrop of the garden.

A sense of recognition washed over me as I regarded the flower, its presence a poignant reminder of the vulnerability we had both shared in this fleeting moment of connection. Like the delicate bloom that dared to flourish amidst the harsh realities of autumn, we too had found strength in our shared vulnerability, forging a bond that transcended the barriers of fear and uncertainty.

With a gentle smile, I reached out to pluck the forget-me-not from its resting place, cradling it in the palm of my hand as a symbol of the bond we had forged amidst the chaos of our intertwined destinies. And as I turned to meet Eris's gaze, I knew that in this fleeting moment of shared vulnerability, we had found not only solace but hope, blooming like the delicate forget-me-not that dared to thrive amidst the changing seasons of our lives.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta

[i-am-countess-olivia]

To our great shame there are only 22 Fitzier fics with the "Spanking" tag. This is a lil preview of a longer thing to help bring that number to 23.

Rated T for now, less than 1k.

----

“—And from there, our strength permitting, we may consider assembling parties— James, are you with me?”

James twitches his hand against the charts to illustrate he is present at the table and not, in fact, lost in the same numbing haze he's been stumbling through for days.

“Forgive me, Francis.“ He reaches for his tea, lifts the cup to stare at cold dregs, sets it down again. "The hunt— yes, we ought to wait."

Francis watches him with a look James would rather not interrogate lest he be forced to name the emotion it carries.

“Are you sleeping, James?”

James nods firmly once and, in an attempt to reassure, smiles a wretched, half-demented thing. It is now, by his uncertain count, four days since the ice went up in flames.

He feels something warm and damp creep from the crown of his head and only just manages to stop his hand from shooting up to his hairline. He brushes back a strand of hair as pretence, then brings down his fingers for a furtive inspection: only sweat. His heart races regardless.

“I sleep. I cannot say I rest."

Francis travels forth a hand to rest upon his arm. “And— have you wept?”

Startled, James turns to him and meets a look of sincere and profound concern. In the moment that follows his breath swells, quickens and bursts out of him in a bitter spew, the most emotion to leave him since that first dreadful sunrise. “What the devil does it matter if I have or not? Do tears make burnt corpses into men again?”

Francis retreats his touch, his gentle withdrawal and his lingering look of care only adding to the looming berg of James’ guilt. Before James can apologise, he speaks again, slowly and not without a note of strain:

“James, there are things for which I feel I must atone now that I am— now that I am here again. My mistreatment of you for one.”

“Mistreatment? Francis, what, no—“

“Hear me, James. It was cruel of me to have hurried you and others through your mourning for Sir John. You were owed—“

“—It isn’t mourning I am owed at present,” James interrupts grimly. “It is punishment.”

It is, in truth, the only deliverance he has been able to imagine for himself, the only plausible path through the fog. He expects a dispute from the next chair, but hears only muffled voices and weary steps outside the cabin and the ever-present groan of the ice-bound hull.

Whilst Francis sits in what must be appalled silence, James lets his face fall into his open hand. He would gladly chisel his own flesh if it meant freeing himself from this numbness. The world is muffled, dull. He cannot imagine ever laughing at a joke again or breaking into song or feeling awe at a sunrise.

“Would a fitting sentence lift this burden from you then?”

James' hand slips down to his mouth by degrees to reveal Francis, whose expression has changed from concerned to considering, his gaze elsewhere, his fingers steepled at his chin.

"I don't hope to receive it from God," he says and wonders what new madness must have dawned for him to thus lay out before Francis his most intimate torments. 

"I know you don't, James." Sad and balm-like, those words. Almost tender. If James’ heart was hammering before, it's now striking thunderbolts. "Then what is to be the remedy?"

"When we return I'll face whatever reckoning I am due and then examine its effects," James says with a touch of black flippancy but knows, even as the words leave him, that it is a far-fetched and fantastical thing to contemplate — and not what he would have for a cure in any case. 

Francis' eyes turn to him, soft and full of thought. James meets them and finds his own thoughts bolting away. Wildly, they land not where he might wish or expect. Hickey. The cat. The rich smell of blood below deck.

Again, again. Somewhere inside him, a fragile light has flickered into life.

Francis' hand has returned to his shoulder.

"I cannot have you carrying this on our walk, James. You won’t last a day.”

James can't tear himself from Francis' eyes, the shape and even splay of his fingers. "If you really intend—" He swallows what he cannot yet shape into words. "How do you mean to raise it with the other officers?"

Francis shakes his head. "This is not for them. Forgive the blasphemy, James, but I believe the only order we are seeking to restore here is that of your mind and spirit. Which means two of us only, and a curtain kept well drawn while you take your penance."

The last word, uttered in that almost-tender tone, strikes like a fever and James must shut his eyes against the triple surge of terror, shame and gratitude. Thus fuelled, the light inside flares brighter, a beacon he can drift towards.

"What do you propose?"

"Give me a day to think on a course that may best see you unburdened. Then we will begin.”

"Francis—" James can only nod and mouth his thanks.

"This shall be to both our benefit, and to the benefit of all. And James?"

In reply, James has laid his palm over the hand upon his shoulder. He shudders deeply at the words that follow.

"You will weep. I will see to it."

[skywerse]

I think I’ve finally stopped cringing enough to share some of the stuff I worked on for my short film, “Heirloom” and this is the colour script!! :D

The colours carry a lot of the emotional weight in the film, pulling you through each stage of the story and making you feel every shift the characters experience!! This was especially crucial since there's no dialogue or narration to lean on... So let me yapp a bit about that—

The first act features vibrant yellows, greens, and oranges—warm, lively tones that signify peace and stability. This palette establishes a sense of calm and familiarity, but as the act progresses, darker hues begin to infiltrate the scene.

In the latter part of the first act, the colour scheme shifts dramatically to dark, gritty reds and oranges. This transition introduces this tangible intensity, this foreboding feeling, highlighting a surge of anger and tension. The dominance of these reds signals a significant change in the narrative.

The second act dives into violets and purples, evoking a sense of novelty and uncertainty. These colours effectively illustrate the protagonist’s struggle to find his footing in a world that has moved on without him.

The third act is divided into two parts! Initially, deep blues dominate as the protagonist returns to a home that's long gone. These dark, sombre tones represent profound sadness and loss.

The final part of the film transitions back to these bright, saturated yellows, concluding on a very hopeful note. This return to vibrant colours signifies a resolution and a full-circle moment, reflecting the protagonist's journey and his redemption :)

if you have 7 mins to spare to watch my short film, look under the cut!!

(BEWARE!!! I was on a tight deadline for this, the audio is SHIT)

[lilac-gold]

i know that this is just a part of how omori's fight system operates, but i find it very interesting that we are able to make memes like the one pictured below considering all we know about hero's character throughout omori, both in the real world and in headspace

this meme is made by using hero's "smile" skill as well as a rain cloud, sad poem or anything else that inflicts a sad emotion on him. hero's skills are primarily always either food-based healing (e.g. "cook", "fast food", "homemade jam", "snack time") or some form of charisma (e.g. "captivate", "mesmerise", "enchant", "dazzle"). it's hero's job to be the support of their team, and to use his pleasant demeanor and appearance as a distraction.

no matter which emotion hero has, he can still use every one of those skills. it is of no relevance how he feels as long as he can uphold his designated role as a charmer and a healer.

now, consider real world hero's way of dealing with things, which is that he simply doesn't. when he returns to faraway, he's there for everyone else, appearing on the surface to be completely fine and content, and simply not acknowledging his own trauma. he puts on a constant facade of normalcy and perfection. because to hero, it doesn't matter which emotion he has, he can still use every one of his skills. it is of no relevance how he feels as long as he can uphold his designated role as a charmer and a healer.

hero would bend over backwards to please others. he canonically has depression, but would much rather be someone else's shoulder to cry on than admit he's not okay. everyone puts him on a pedestal, viewing him as a sort of ideal to look up to. sunny does it. kel does it. his parents do it. even hero himself does.

i think that's part of the reason why he's so often overlooked by the fandom: hero's unrealistically perfect, but that's exactly the point. he forces those expectations on himself, forces himself to earn trophies and medals even while he struggles to even get out of bed. he smiles despite wanting to do the opposite, because he's not supposed to be depressed. he's hero.

his charm-based skills in headspace alternate between a) reducing foes' attack with a bonus happy effect and b) acting first with all foes targeting him for one turn. hero either dissolves the situation a little, acting like the mediator he always has been, or takes the blunt of the damage for his friends.

he's constantly in the spotlight, in every world.

headspace hero has done a ridiculous amount to help people, from stopping a wildfire to giving up all of his organs, has made such a profound impact on so many lives through his good deeds, and that's recognised. people in headspace adore him.

the conveyor belts at the junkyard are endeared to him. sweetheart falls in love with him. mr jawsum plans to essentially keep him trapped working at the last resort forever. medusa thinks he's "too pretty to sell". hero's worth something to so many people, even when he doesn't want to be.

and that applies to the real world too. he's the only older sibling left for his friends after mari's death. he has to be strong for them, to be that ideal, because they have no-one else to fill that role. he brings kel and aubrey together, rescues sunny and basil, says that they should have a sleepover like "old times". he's trying so hard for everyone else, he can't afford to let himself crumble.

hero's a performer. and we see canonically that he has at least some stage fright from sweetheart's quest for hearts.

sweetheart's an interesting case. i find it interesting that the image above would be found mostly in the fight against her. sweetheart is one of the bosses with a uniquely heightened emotional state, hers being that of happiness in "manic". due to the way the emotion system in battle works (explained to us, funnily enough, by hero himself), it makes sense to oppose sweetheart's mania with sadness, misery, and depression.

so that's what hero does! he has the depressed effect, he'd otherwise look incredibly morose, but as soon as time calls for it, he's got a smile back on his face. we see how uncomfortable he is about her advances, but he gives her a smile that sets into motion a whole separate stream of dialogue where sweetheart proclaims her that she would like to "make [his smile] mine".

hero's the group golden boy. the charmer, the healer, the protector, the older brother, the pillar for them to lean on when things get tough. he knows that he is, and upholds that image to the best of his ability.

that is, until mari dies.

then, he falls into a deep, serious state of depression in the real world, because he's failed. he and mari have strived for perfection their whole lives, only for her to apparently deem it all pointless and leave them behind. hero feels like he wasn't enough, like he never will be, no matter how much he's tried. the faked grins disappear alongside those which were genuine, for how is he supposed to smile when he's given up on the facade?

he stops talking to people. stops going outside. stops helping. he can't do anything but reflect on his perceived failures, and without his pillar of support, the group crumbles to pieces.

hero stays like that for a whole year, until he argues with kel and remembers the reason why he needs to stay alive. this is hurting his brother as much as it is hero, and kel's depending on him to get better. so he does, in a way.

he earns medals and trophies again, helps out again, lives up to expectations then exceeds them even more. he can't bring himself to do the things he enjoys anymore, or talk to the three kids he viewed as little siblings and he failed, but he's trying. then, he leaves, off to medical school like his parents wanted. it's a fresh start. it's a chance for him to start to move on.

he's been healing, a little, by the time he comes back to faraway. he can talk about what mari would have wanted without breaking down entirely. he can make kel and sunny breakfast. he can bring the group together like old times, and reminisce on all he used to have.

but he's still not better, and it shows. it shows in the tears he spills when alone beside mari's old piano. it shows in his refusal to visit her grave. it shows in all the little ways he can try to hide, can cover up with a smile too bright to be real. depression doesn't go away that easily, no matter how much hero tries to pretend he's fine.

all in all, i think this meme essentially sums up hero's character and arc in a single, otherwise funny image. am i overcomplicating things? oh, definitely yes. was this a blast to analyse nonetheless? absolutely! there are far too few takes on hero out there, and i hope this gave a little bit of insight as to why i adore him so much.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#1: For The Future (S9E03) 🏆🥳🎉

This is the one. 🥹 The number 1. 🏆 My favorite Richonne scene. 😍 And it's quite fitting on TOWL eve to discuss Rick and Michonne's final irl dialogue from TWD. How lovely that Richonne's 'last' day together was this beautiful. 😭

Richonne's relationship illustrates what I've always felt true love should be like. What the characters of Rick and Michonne have is a radiant, vivid, and undeniable soulmate love. It's earned and organic, it's devoted and deep-rooted, it's heartfelt, it's fiery, it's passionately palpable, it's everything. And genuinely, this impeccable scene has it all.

So I adore this moment to infinity and beyond, especially because in this scene, we truly get to see Rick and Michonne revel in Richonne...

What's clear from my Top 5 is I tend to really appreciate scenes where Rick and Michonne talk about Rick and Michonne, and this scene is one of the best examples of that.

Throughout all these posts I’ve expressed the sides of Rick and Michonne's relationship that I adore - when they're doting on each other, desiring each other, leading together, parenting together, relaxed and domestic, fighting the fight, being playful and flirty, being reassuring, being hopeful, happy, honest, human, wise, vulnerable, encouraging, and enchanted by the other. And pretty much all of this was captured in this scene right here.

So while I have no notes for this scene, my extra self still has a lot to gush over and praise. I mean naturally, cuz this is my goated Richonne moment. 🙌🏾😌

I just marvel at how special this ship is for only continuing to top themselves with golden scenes to the point that Richonne's last moving dialogue irl is my all-time favorite moment between them.

And if Richonne just had to be taken from me for 6 years, then this was an excellent scene to hold onto as I patiently waited for their return. (which is tomorrow, can you believe it!? 🤗) And it's also an excellent moment for Rick and Michonne to hold onto as their paths part for years and they fight with everything in them to get back to each other. 👌🏽

The chemistry and connection between Rick and Michonne have always been so profound to me, and they’ve been operating like one for a long long time. And in this scene, you just see every single reason why they are meant for each other and how they're ready to take their oneness to new levels. 🙌🏽🎉

Also in this episode, it feels like this is the one time when Rick, Michonne, Judith, Carl, and RJ are all in some way involved as we officially know Michonne will be pregnant after this. 😭

Ok, so first we gotta talk about the great Grimes Family 2.0 sequence just before because it's attached to this #1 moment for me. The episode starts with Rick waking up in his bed with Michonne asleep, and I love any time we get to see their everyday life side.

I adore the way Rick immediately places his attention on Michonne when she sleepily tosses to the other side. And then seeing that she may be feeling a bit restless, he gently gives her a calming kiss on the shoulder. Such a sweet silent act of love for his wife. 🥰

And I love seeing that Rick wakes up with this instant affection for her, just as Michonne does in the next ep when she wakes up and adoringly kisses him while he sleeps. 🥹

Also, this moment makes me a bit sad cuz it’s the last time Rick and Michonne will wake up together like this for years. 😢 But thank goodness they will hopefully soon have mornings together like this again. 🙌🏾

And then, after showing love to his wife, Rick hears Judith cough and goes to gently check on her as she also is sleeping in a similar position as Michonne. Seeing Rick in this house with his wife and daughter, you just know these are the two he’d do absolutely anything for. Including fighting every day for years to get back to them. 🥲

And then they gotta get my waterworks going when Rick walks down the steps and touches Carl’s handprint. Oh how I wish Carl was asleep in another room for Rick to check on. 😭 But the fact that even tho Carl is gone, Rick still finds meaningful ways to feel connected to him is beautiful and makes it feel like he really managed to have a genuine heartfelt moment with his wife, daughter, and son this morning. The truest family man. 🥰

Then Rick takes a walk in the lush community and it’s just nice seeing him get to really take in how much life is growing around them with all the plants and food sprouting up. This is so reflective of what he and Michonne have impressively built together, and Rick deserves this satisfying peaceful moment so much.

If Richonne had managed to carve out even a semi-decent life a year and a half after the pain of losing their son and fighting a war it would have been commendable. But for them to have healed to the point where they were living a genuinely happy robust life together, speaks to the revitalizing power of their love.

Everything is fruitful and growing in their community, and I love that just like that ripe red tomato Rick finds, Rick is also ready to be fruitful and multiply. Amen. 🥳

And as if the sequence wasn’t already precious enough, Rick places the red tomato at Carl’s gravesite, and he has this quiet moment with his son which just hits my heart. It's like Rick's letting Carl know he's making his dream real just like he promised. 😭

I love that Rick is so devoted to keeping Carl’s memory and wishes alive, including Carl’s desire for Rick to build a bountiful future - specifically one where “Michonne is happy.”

I’ve always found Rick’s teary smile at Carl’s grave interesting because it makes me curious what they're implying he’s thinking. I personally feel like part of it is Rick thinking about the fact that he’s ready to grow their family and knowing Carl would want that for them too. 

So now onto my all-time favorite Richonne scene. 🙌🏽🥳

I truly love that they give Rick and Michonne this at-home, comfortable, living their everyday life moment in bed for their final irl conversation. 😍😭

Where my #2 scene from the season 5 finale was one I really appreciated for depicting Richonne's strength amid tough times, my #1 scene here is one I appreciate so much for depicting Richonne's strength during a time of overall calm. This moment wonderfully and angelically shows how Rick and Michonne's love soars when they finally get to live the peaceful life they fought so hard for.

So I of course love all the scenes where Richonne shower each other in love during high-stakes moments of adversity. But this rewarding scene is so special to me for being a moment of Richonne getting to shower each other in love during a rare time of normalcy after everything they’ve been through. 

So Michonne is up in bed and working on the charter like the Get Things Done Grimes she is. And Rick returns to their room and the moment is just so calm and casual as they ask each other how they slept, and Michonne admits her mind won’t shut off. As we know from their canon ep, they’re very good at helping the other just turn their mind off for a bit and so Rick is def about to help her with that. 😋

I love seeing Rick take his boots off and get right back into bed cuz I know that man already had his mind made up to take today off and just be with his girls. I think about how refreshed Rick was in s9 even though so many of his OG friends were all spread out. And a big reason why he can still seem so content is because as long as he has Michonne and his daughter every day then he has everything.

Then Rick is so encouraging when he tells Michonne she’ll have the charter figured out by supper. Like the charter is a big deal to figure out, but he knows his goddess of a wife can handle it, and I love that he always has so much belief in her. 

When Michonne smiles and says, "yeah, no," Rick is rightfully in full Michonne-stan mode as he tells her it’s good she's leading this place. I love how Rick knows and is grateful that Michonne is so capable of not just helping him lead but being a leader in her own right.

And I like that Michonne says, "with you" because it just shows how much she truly values their partnership and still only wants to lead if it’s with him. The “Me and you” way. 😊

It’s really sweet the way Rick says, "Nah, I’ve been at the bridge, here it’s you." He’s going to make sure Michonne gets credit where credit is due. And again, his reverence for her has always been so lovely to watch throughout this scene and this series. (Rick Grimes is a 'Michonner,' y'all 😋💕)

Also, it's great seeing that Rick is so comfy as he rests on the bed while letting Michonne know she’s the one whose been keeping this place safe and figuring out how to improve it. After roughing it in prison cells, the woods, and mattress-less rooms during the saviors' reign, it's great to see him get to just make himself comfortable in a warm bed with the love of his life.

And Michonne is all multi-tasking by listening to him, writing notes down, and setting a plan to take their daughter to the doctor. Like truly, Rick,...

But he already knows that. 😊

Then I love seeing this parents moment of them talking about Judith’s cough and taking her to the doctor. Rick assures that he checked on her and it’s probably just a cough but Mama Michonne still wants to be sure so she says she's going to take her to Siddiq just in case. And Rick is immediately on board saying he’ll join them. I love this dad, y’all. 🥰

Like this is what’s important to Rick always, so even as a leader with so much on his plate, being around for his family is always the priority, even for just an unassuming doctor's visit. 

And I also love this exchange cuz It’s so clear that Rick and Michonne are equally Judith's parents and obviously have a lot of care for her that they want to take precautions even if it’s a small cough. I'll also just never get over that we went from Michonne saying, "You could've just taken the formula" to now her and Rick talking about Judith as the daughter they're raising together. 🤗

Then my uncontrollable smiling has returned when Rick tells Michonne that they’ll have to promise Judith a Family Fun Day to get her to go to the doctor. 🥰 I love that they’ve coined this term, indicating Family Fun Days are something they do often. They really are such a beautiful caring family, and their eventual family reunion that I've been trying to speak into existence since 2018 is going to be HEAVENLY. 😇

The fact that the word "fun" can even be a part of their lives now is refreshing. And I also love how much this family fun day is something Rick genuinely wants not just for Judith but for him and for Michonne too. Here for it.

Michonne smiles when he says this and then has a realization moment as she asks, "Aren’t you headed back right away?" And Rick says, "I can take the day" and then says “We can.” That man ain’t tell a lie. Rick and Michonne deserve a day off, and I like how this is the beginning of Rick helping Michonne know that it’s okay to take a break in this scene. 😏 And once again, Rick demonstrates that when he's with Michonne...the world can wait. 😌

Rick says the last report was good and “Maggie will be there soon thanks to you.” Which again I love that every chance Rick gets he’s giving Michonne her props.

There's also something a bit sad about this because Rick is so convinced that the others can hold it down for a bit but that ends up not being the case and results in their family fun day getting cut short indefinitely.

I really feel like because Rick values Michonne’s influence and insights so highly in his own life, that’s why he felt so confident that Maggie would have become on board after a visit with Michonne - because he would have had Michonne visited him. He thinks everyone should get in formation when Michonne speaks just like he does, and Rick, sincerely...

Always intuitive, Michonne knows that Maggie is still angry and Daryl too so she tells Rick this and he nods and then he asks, "Well you want me to go?" And I was like now Slick Rick knows the answer to that is no lol.

Michonne places her hand on his and says she wants it to work. And by reaching for his hand it shows that ultimately she of course wants him to stay with her, she just knows how much they’re needed by the others. #SelflessQueen

Also, there's just something so moving to me about the way she looks at him in this moment. Like of course Michonne is known for her only-envision-winning mentality, but here there is also a part of her that needs some reassurance that everything they're trying to do and build really can work despite all the underlying division within the communities and tf.

Needing some reassurance, her husband so sweetly gives her just that when Rick says "It will" in the most comforting tone. And I like how he positions himself to sit up and really look in her eyes as he lets her know that even if everyone isn’t all in yet they will be, “just like we did.”

I love that Rick and Michonne are always a “we”. They’re a package deal cuz they’re one. And that line just felt like a bigger statement to their own journey. How they truly went all in with each other. 

And again the way Michonne looks at him is just heartwarming as she expresses agreement. Her love for him and belief is so visible and sincere. The way they can both always resonantly reach and reassure each other when they speak is perfection.

I love that she then says okay and touches his face, and I also was like sis, you know if you touch him like that this scene is gonna escalate lol. 😋

Then we get to one of my many favorite parts of my favorite scene when Rick looks at Michonne with such genuine abundant love in his eyes and tells her, "Thank you." 🥹

The way Rick always tells her thank you since season 3. 😭 I love the way he adores, praises, and reveres Michonne. Like, for Rick, it is always doting over Michonne hours. 

Michonne asks, "For what?" which just reminded me of when Rick asks her "For what?" when Michonne said she never thanked him in the s3 finale.

And then the way Rick takes a breath and smiles at Michonne on this bed after she asks this - it literally makes me want to shed a tear. It’s just a beyond beautiful wordless moment that really feels like Michonne taking his breath away as he’s overcome with love for her. And that might sound dramatic but hey...

Rick has been in awe of her since literally day one at that fence, and to see seasons later, after getting to know her in the deepest sense, he still has that awe of Michonne but amplified. It's great. And Rick just looks so unabashedly mesmerized by her in this moment which is heartwarming.

Like when she asks 'for what?,' you can tell Rick is just marveling about how incredible she is and how the list of reasons to thank her is miles long.

And this is not really Rick and Michonne's newlywed stage anymore, y'all. This is their married for a while, been through hell and back together after losing our son stage, and Rick still looks at Michonne like she hung the moon and the stars. 😭

And then Rick takes the scene to new heights of heartwarming when he says exactly what he's thanking her for, stating “For everything you’ve done. For everything you’re doing. For you.” Absolutely perfect. 😍😭😍😭

And it's so fitting cuz Michonne really has done so much of value, past, present, and for the future. But the best of the best is Rick saying “for you” because he’s not just grateful for what she does but who she is. And she is someone exceptional. 

I adore that in their final one-on-one irl scene Rick is outright thanking Michone for existing and for the lovely gift that she is and has always been in his life. Honestly, Rick's romantic heart needs to be studied because the things he says to and about Michonne are just everything and more. 🥹

Another thing that makes this scene and ep so special is Rick and Michonne don’t know this is their last day together. So for them, this is just another day. And I love it for showing how all this beautiful love and adoration they’re letting out is not because they’re trying to make their final day count - this is just how they are with each other on the regular.

And I love that we get to see Michonne’s reaction to receiving this genuine love and appreciation from her husband as he gives her her flowers. Michonne deserves every bit of this love. 🙌🏾💐

I am so excited that Michonne will get to have this type of love back in her life when she finally reunites with the man who adores her. 🤗 I firmly believe Rick’s awe of Michonne will only be heightened when he gets to learn how resilient she’s been in his absence for herself, their children, and their community. She’s had to be so strong for so many, and I love that she’ll finally be back in the arms of the one whom she can be most soft and taken care of with.

And the same goes for Rick. After being a man desperately looking and longing for his family while so alone for years - I am elated that he’ll be back with the woman who most makes him feel loved, sane, seen, and home. 

When Rick and Michonne see each other again you know this is about to be a direct quote from both their minds...

Also, something that’s so sweet about the love story crafted for Rick and Michonne is that adoring each other comes so effortlessly to them. They don’t have to constantly remind or force themselves to be attentive and expressive to each other, it’s the most natural thing in the world for them to love this person in front of them out loud.

So yes it’s an active daily choice to love, but I appreciate that it also feels so aligned with how Rick and Michonne want to naturally operate - head over heels in the most grown, grounded, yet grand way. 🥰

Then, after saying something so authentic, accurate, and beautiful by thanking her for pretty much everything, the two share a sweet kiss. And their every kiss is so special to me. Like it’s always passionate no matter what. And just the way he looks at her after 😭 heart-melting. They're irresistible to each other and always have been. 😍

I especially love that Michonne then leans in and kisses him again as her own thank you for his kind words. Those magnets within them mean we’re always gonna see more than one kiss. 😋

And then she slides her hand down his neck and chest and once again I was like - now sis, you know things are about to escalate if you do that. 🤭

And sure enough…😋

Rick starts closing the books and moving them away as he invitingly says, "Why don’t you take a break?" 😏 I love it. It’s cute that Michonne is instantly tickled by this too. She knows what’s up. And she knows she’s down. ijs. 😋

But first she asks, "You want me to stop working?" and she knows good and well the answer is yes - but I love that Rick has always been a little extra when it comes to Michonne so he doesn’t only say yes. Instead, he takes the pencil out of her hand and flicks it away as he says, "yeah" in a way that will never fail to have me smiling and kicking my feet cuz like...

And Michonne was undeniably amused already, but she got especially tickled when he tossed the pencil. That man always has her smitten. 😊

I adore seeing this playful side of them and this reminder that Rick and Michonne are husband and wife and also best friends who could always make each other laugh. 

Even more, I love how Rick fully believes Michonne can do any and everything…but he also knows she shouldn’t have to, especially not all the time. Which is why I appreciate his consistent thing of wanting to give them a chance to have a break and time to themselves.

It's sweet too how, without even fully seeing his face, you can still see from Rick's profile that he has this genuine proud smile upon seeing he made his wife laugh. Her joy is truly one of his favorite things. 🥹

Rick smiling at her here reminds me of how happy he was to have made Michonne smile when he came home with mints to give her in their canon ep seasons ago. #TheirLoveNeverFades

I adore that from season 3 saying "Good, cuz I see things" to this moment in season 9, Richonne stayed flirty with each other, both when strangers and when married. 🥰

And then Michonne teases as she asks Rick, "You want me to stop creating the foundations of a new civilization?"...The questions are just foreplay at this point because they both know what's about to happen rn lol. She and Rick both know that what he wants is in the first three words of her question. 😋

I love the way Michonne talks to him and looks at him and the way Rick can’t help but touch her and study her while she speaks, knowing this is the woman he is so ready to have another child with.

Somehow in this moment, Rick seems to be intently listening to her while also distracted by her all at the same dang time. 🤭

So Michonne is all cutely smiling at him while waiting for his answer... and then Rick gives an unforgettable answer.

(also the way even Rick and Michonne's movement is in sync in this scene is just 👩🏽‍🍳💋. they're magnets fr)

Rick looks right at Michonne and then says, “I can think of another way to build for the future” and it’s just ahhhhhh. The best. 😭 What a great way to reveal that Rick wants to have a baby with Michonne.

The scene organically transitions from like playful causal morning vibes to a huge serious declaration of love and development for their family and I'm too here for it. 😍

Rick wanting this baby is a huge deal, especially just a year and a half after losing Carl. And him being at this stage has everything to do with his belief in Michonne and him together and knowing he's with the love of his life who has in so many ways healed him with her one-of-a-kind presence.

He's seen the way he and Michonne work so well together in any role - parents, partners, lovers, leaders - and Rick has always known that the two of them can do anything, from reordering the world to raising a growing family.

So then Rick passionately kisses her after he says this - but like this is a giant statement and Michonne knows what he’s implying is a big deal, so she has this curious look at him. And then I absolutely adore this next moment of them transitioning to a more intimate position.

The way Rick is ready for her to do this little maneuver always felt like a nice little suggestion that they’ve done this often. And it’s just so sensual and romantic. 😍 But I also love this shift for showing how Michonne goes right out of work mode and wants to be so fully present and focused on him as she confirms that Rick is really saying what she thinks he’s saying. Their consistent ability to be present with each other deserves another shoutout cuz it's gold. 👏🏽👏🏽

Also, the way Rick just stays with his eyes glued to her as he holds her and the way Michonne tenderly holds his face in her hands. They knew they were gonna have little Richonner hearts everywhere doing front flips with this movement alone. And I ain't mad at it. 😋

Michonne looks right in Rick's eyes as she says a hopeful, "Yeah?" Then Rick says such a certain, "Yeah" that lets you know having a kid with Michonne isn’t some out-of-nowhere idea that just hit him but something he’s thought about and is sure about. Rick is always sure when it comes to him and her. 👌🏽

And you just know Rick loves their future baby already too, especially because the baby will be part of the woman he's madly in love with.

Michonne smiles and softly says, "okay" and then I love the way Rick eagerly pulls her in closer to him. 😊🧲

Then the last line of the scene is Michonne so sweetly repeating Rick's words back, as they so often do throughout their relationship, as she says, "For The Future." 🥹 

Perfect. x1000.

What a fitting final line and final scene to conclude Richonne's last private exchange like this. Especially for two reasons.

One; thinking about the long-term future used to not be a luxury they had at the start of the apocalypse so it shows how far they've come. Two; Rick and Michonne were two people who, even before they met each other, fought to believe in the future even when others around them (and at times their own past partners) didn't. But in finding each other, Rick and Michonne found the one who could fight to live like them, believe in the future like them, and hold onto hope like them - And now here they are in love and getting to feel so hopeful about their future together. 😭

It’s great that such a major decision like having another kid is one Rick and Michonne were both so quickly on the same page about. They both are ready for this. Both want their splendid love to take form in a new life being brought into the world. 🥹

And again it’s such a testament to their powerful relationship and the way they were able to help build each other back up after losing Carl to the point that they could be healed enough to want another kid. I'll never get over it.

Then I adore this shot of Rick looking up at Michonne with the two bathed in light. It feels so reflective of how highly Rick's always viewed her and how Michonne's been the light in his life. She's his future. And he's hers. 🥰

The scene concludes with Rick and Michonne sharing their last irl passionate kiss as things finally escalate, and they savor each other as they do best. And this whole scene and final moment is just so beautiful it makes my heart hurt. Richonne is stunning and their love is a work of art. 🙌🏾

'Epic love story' really is the best way to describe Richonne, and I love love love that Rick and Michonne always enjoy reveling in Richonne. We have that in common. 😋

I just so appreciate that before he left the show, it was made crystal clear that what Rick wanted for his future was to bring life into this world with Michonne, the ultimate and unequivocal love of his life. 👏🏽 And he’s going to learn that even apart, that dream was still achieved. The Get Things Done Grimes got it done. The baby Rick loved before he even was made, lives. Oh I CANNOT wait for Rick to learn about and meet RJ!!! 🥳😭

Knowing Rick and Michonne's individual journeys, it genuinely moves me that two people who went through so much and lost so much but continued to fight for the people they love got personally rewarded with this gorgeous and deep love that’s just for them. And they didn’t shy away from the love that was there, rather they valiantly and completely embraced it and it’s truly what they deserve. They both deserve to be loved this wholly.

I know this is my undeniable #1 scene because each time I watch it, it warms my whole soul and I get fully enwrapped in it - just mesmerized and overjoyed from start to finish. Watching this #1 scene, during every single part I'm just like...

And Rick and Michonne Grimes bathed in bright sunlight and sharing a passionate kiss while acknowledging they want their future and their love to now take shape in the form of a child is just such a fitting final private exchange between them on TWD and so very special. They're a shining light to each other, to the franchise, and to me, y'all. ☀️

When I say Richonne is everything it’s not just a phrase. They literally have everything going for them and are everything to each other. And every scene from my 30th to this #1 moment masterfully illustrates their resplendent love.

This season 9 scene feels like a love letter to Richonne and it's my all-time favorite for capturing everything I adore about Rick and Michonne’s relationship all in one. Tens across the board. 

I look at this whole scene and whenever I see it I just think - This is Richonne. For me, this scene is their definition. ♥️👌🏽

Richonne is truly love incarnate, and this beautiful top-tier moment captured that flawlessly. 👑🤍😌

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 35 - Finale & Epilogue

Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, GRAPHIC depictions of death and blood

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

————————————

Sleeping alone on their wedding night felt wrong, bringing about a coldness she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Paul has become a weighted blanket she couldn’t rest without, and the shivers his vacancy causes are impossible to ignore.

Picking up his white shirt off the ground, she pulls it up to her nose. It smells so much of him, and a little of champagne Sam spilled on his sleeve. Pressing it up against her bare chest, she lets out an exhausted sigh.

After all the time he’s spent begging her to make this choice, he’s suddenly against it. When did that happen?

Maybe now that the reality of said choice has settled in, Paul’s panicking about all the possible ways it can go wrong, the way she did when he first brought it up?

Either way, he talked her down from that ledge when it felt like her mind was on fire with endless fears being born every second of every day since he proposed the idea. This time it’s her turn to help him accept the inevitable.

If she has to die, let it be on her terms, and with a promise of a second life she could live with him.

Jasper would be the obvious choice, as he’s been the only Cullen she fully trusts and feels safe with. Despite the dangers they’d warn her of, Y/N believes Jasper will stop himself in time. If anything, it could help him with the control issues he faces daily. Facing his fear of killing again might be easier with someone he seems fond of.

Deciding to put on some clothes, she picks up her wedding dress. She can’t wait for Paul to return anymore. Dawn is coming and he’s out somewhere, and this dress has her scent mixed with his. She will find him in the woods, the smell should draw him in, or at least protect her from any unwanted visitors.

Soon, Y/N stands alone on the edge of the forest, the first light of dawn breaking across the horizon. The sky is painted with hues of pink and orange, a beautiful contrast to the turmoil swirling within her. She wraps her arms around herself, not for warmth, but as if trying to hold herself together. The ocean waves crash rhythmically against the shore in the distance, their relentless sound a distant echo to the pounding of her heart.

She walked into the still dark forest, a shiver running up her spine. It didn’t take long before she could see Paul in the distance, a massive wolf pacing restlessly at the forest’s edge.

His fur catches the morning light, a mixture of dark and silvery hues. He keeps his distance, a physical manifestation of the emotional chasm that’s opened between them. She knows he’s struggling, the conflict tearing him apart as surely as it’s tearing her.

The wind picks up, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea and the earthy scent of the forest. It plays with Y/N’s hair, whipping it around her face, but she barely notices. Her mind is consumed with thoughts of the conversation they had and the decision she made. Becoming a vampire was something she never wanted, a fate she swore to avoid. Yet, the visions Paul had seen—the ones that showed her dying a brutal death—were too harrowing to ignore.

She watches Paul, her heart aching. The sight of him like this; caught between his instincts and his love for her, is almost too much to bear. She knows he suggested the change, desperate to save her from the future he envisioned. But now, seeing his torment, she wonders how badly he regrets that suggestion, if the thought of losing her humanity is more than he can handle.

The dawn light grows brighter, illuminating the scene with a soft, golden glow. Tears prick at the corners of Y/N’s eyes, and she blinks them away, refusing to let them fall. She feels a profound sadness, a sense of loss for the life they had planned, the future that now feels so uncertain. The tragedy of their situation hangs heavy in the air, but beneath it all, there is a flicker of hope—a hope that somehow, they will find a way through this.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N takes a step forward, her sneakers sinking into the mossy ground. She walks slowly, deliberately, closing the distance between her and Paul. The sound of her footsteps draws his attention, and he stops pacing, his brown eyes locking onto hers. In those eyes, she sees everything—his fear, his love, his desperation.

“Paul,” she whispers, her voice carrying on the breeze. “We’ll find a way.”

His ears twitch, and he takes a hesitant step toward her, his massive paws leaving deep prints in the mud. She reaches out a hand, her fingers trembling slightly, and he moves closer until his nose is just inches from her outstretched hand. There’s a moment of stillness, a pause where everything hangs in the balance.

Then, slowly, Paul shifts back to his human form, his eyes never leaving hers. He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the transformation. She can see the turmoil in his eyes, the conflict that rages within him. Without a word, he reaches out and pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly against him.

Y/N buries her face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, and the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to die when we could have so much more time together.”

Paul’s grip tightens, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you either. I thought... I thought it was the only way to save you. But knowing what it would mean... I don’t know if I can ask you to do that.”

They stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms as the dawn light bathes them in its gentle glow. The future is uncertain, but in this moment, they find a small measure of comfort in each other, a reminder of the love that binds them.

As the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon, they hold onto each other, silently vowing to face whatever comes together, to fight for their love and for the life they dream of. The dawn brings a new day, and with it, a new hope—a hope that somehow, they will find a way to escape the shadows and create a future where their dreams might come true.

It’s a nice, heartwarming scene…but it’s not real.

Y/N did walk into the woods, her wedding dress white as snow contrasting the darkness she’s surrounded with. Had she waited longer for the day to trickle light on the path she was on, maybe she’d have sensed the danger she was walking into.

A rustling sound catches her attention, and she turns, expecting to see Paul’s familiar form. Instead, her eyes widen in horror as a tall, imposing figure steps out of the shadows - Felix, one of the Volturi guards Renesmee showed her. His ruby red eyes are cold and merciless, his lips curling into a predatory smile.

Before she can react, Felix lunges at her with inhuman speed, his hand clamping around her neck with a vice-like grip. Panic surges through Y/N as she gasps for air, her fingers clawing at his hand, but his strength is overwhelming. The pressure on her throat is excruciating, and her vision starts to blur.

“Your friend betrayed you,” Felix hisses, his breath cold against her face. “The Volturi know about you, and I’ve been sent to deal with the threat you pose.”

The words are a cruel revelation and Y/N’s mind races with disbelief and terror. Who could have done this? Who could have betrayed them?

Before she can form another thought, Felix hurls her into a nearby tree with brutal force. The impact is sickening; she hears and feels the crack of her spine breaking. Agony explodes through her body, a white-hot pain that sears every nerve. She screams, but the sound is choked off by the unbearable pain.

Her body crumples to the ground, and she’s barely conscious when Felix’s foot connects with her side. The blow sends her flying, her ribs shattering under the force. She hits the ground hard, her head slamming into a rock. The taste of blood fills her mouth, metallic and bitter, and she struggles to draw a breath, her lungs burning.

The world around her is a blur of pain and confusion. She can’t move, can’t fight back. Her vision is dimming, but she’s acutely aware of every agonizing sensation. The smell of her blood is overpowering, mingling with the damp earth and the scent of the forest.

Felix’s hand tangles in her hair, yanking her up with cruel ease. She’s barely conscious, her body limp and unresponsive. He leans in, his cold breath brushing her cheek as he licks her skin, a grotesque parody of tenderness.

“Such a shame,” he speaks in a thick Italian accent. “You’d be ethereal as one of us.”

Then he strikes, his teeth sinking into the side of her neck with savage precision. The pain is blinding, a sharp, tearing agony as he rips open her carotid artery. She feels the blood flowing out of her, her life draining away with each pulse. Every nerve is aflame, every breath a struggle.

As the world fades to black, her last thoughts are of Paul. She sees his face in her mind, feels his arms around her, hears his voice as he recites his vows. She clings to that memory – of an almost happy ending, as the darkness closes in.

Felix drains her completely, and the pain finally ebbs away, leaving only a numb, cold emptiness. He lets her body drop to the ground, her eyes wide open, staring sightlessly at the sky. Her lips are parted, as if she’s about to speak, but no words come.

Paul’s heart pounds in his chest as he races through the forest, his paws barely touching the ground. He can feel her—Y/N’s pain, her fear—it echoes through his soul, pulling him like a beacon. His vision blurs with desperation, the images of her suffering he’d seen in his mind merging with reality.

As he reaches the scene, the sight that meets him is his worst nightmare come true. Y/N’s body lies on the ground, her once-white dress is stained with blood and mud, a tragic testament to her violent end.

A strangled sound escapes Paul’s throat as he shifts back into his human form, stumbling toward her. He falls to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he reaches out. The moment his fingers touch her skin, he feels the coldness that has already claimed her. Her body is heavy in his arms, a dead weight that drags him down with its finality.

Paul gathers her up, pulling her close to his chest, feeling the absolute cold of her lifeless form seep into him. Her skin is pale, drained of all color, her neck bearing the cruel, vicious mark of a vampire’s bite. There is still a trace of warmth in the blood on her neck, a cruel reminder of how recently she was alive. The metallic scent of it fills his nostrils, mixing with the earthy smell of the forest floor.

His vision swims with tears as he cradles her, rocking back and forth. The pain is indescribable, a searing agony that tears at his very soul. It’s as if a part of him is being ripped away, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound in its place. He wants to scream, to howl his grief to the heavens, but all that comes out are ragged, broken sobs.

“Y/N…” he chokes out her name, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”

He feels the guilt consuming him, a dark tide that drags him under. He should have been there. He should have protected her. The thoughts and images his brain conjures up of what her final moments might have been - of her in pain, terrified, and alone, will now and forever haunt him, each one a dagger to his heart. He can’t stop seeing it, can’t stop feeling her last moments of terror and agony as if they were his own.

Paul buries his face in her hair, inhaling the faint, lingering scent of her. It mixes with the coppery tang of blood, a blend of love and death. His body shakes with the force of his grief, the physical pain of his heartbreak nearly unbearable. It feels as though his soul is being torn in two, the bond they shared now a jagged, bleeding wound.

He wanted to save her, to keep her safe, but he failed. The realization crushes him, an unbearable weight that threatens to suffocate him. Every breath is a struggle, each one a reminder that she will never take another.

“I love you,” he whispers against her cold skin, his tears mingling with the remnants of her blood. “I love you so much… Please, come back to me…”

But there is no response, no miracle to bring her back. The forest is silent, save for the sound of his broken sobs. Paul holds her closer, wishing with everything he has that he could turn back time, that he could trade his life for hers.

He stays like that, clutching her to his chest, the world around him fading to nothing. All that remains is the overwhelming pain, the all-consuming guilt, and the hollow, aching emptiness where she once was.

Embry emerges from the dense forest, paws pounding the earth, his massive wolf form towering and powerful. His sharp eyes catch sight of Paul ahead, kneeling on the ground. The scent of blood and the overwhelming stench of death hit Embry like a physical blow, and his heart lurches with dread. He follows Paul’s anguished gaze, and there she is—Y/N, lifeless in Paul’s arms.

Embry’s world shatters in that instant. His legs buckle beneath him, and he collapses to the ground, unable to shift back into his human form due to the intensity of his emotions. A howl of pure agony rips from his throat, echoing through the forest. It’s a sound filled with raw, unfiltered grief, a primal cry that reverberates in the night air.

Paul hears Embry’s heart-wrenching howl and looks up, his face a mask of pain and despair. He meets Embry’s eyes, and in that moment, they share the same soul-crushing sorrow. Embry’s normally fierce gaze is now clouded with tears, his massive form trembling with the weight of his grief.

Jasper and Alice arrive moments later, their expressions a mixture of shock and horror. Jasper, who had grown close to Y/N, is struck by a wave of emotions so intense that he staggers backward, nearly collapsing. The overwhelming sorrow, guilt, and heartbreak radiating from Paul and Embry hit him like a tidal wave, drowning him in their despair. He struggles to maintain his composure, but the pain is too much. His face contorts with grief, and he clenches his fists, his knuckles white.

Alice’s usually serene features are twisted in anguish. She falls to her knees beside Paul, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. She reaches out a trembling hand to touch Y/N’s pale, cold face, her fingers brushing against the blood on her neck.

“Y/N…” Jasper whispers, his voice choked with emotion. He steps forward, placing a hand on Paul’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. The touch is meant to be comforting, but it only serves to amplify the shared grief. Jasper’s pain is palpable, a mirror to the torment etched on Paul’s face.

Embry’s howl tapers off into a series of heart-wrenching whimpers as he watches the scene unfold, powerless to do anything but bear witness to the tragedy before him. He lowers his massive head, pressing his nose to the ground in a gesture of mourning, his body shaking with the force of his sorrow.

Paul clutches Y/N’s body tighter, his tears mingling with the blood on her neck.

“I was too late,” Paul chokes out, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Jasper’s grip on Paul’s shoulder tightens. “We all failed her.”

If he could, he’d scream and he’d wail as loud as he could, halfway hoping she’d hear him screaming on her way to heaven. Maybe she’d turn around and come back to him, but she doesn’t. She gave him the world, a life he never thought he was destined to live – she taught him the meaning of true love…and now, the meaning of true loss.

Alice and Daisy planned the funeral.

The morning of, sky is a dull gray, matching the somber mood of the gathering. A light drizzle falls, the drops mingling with the tears on the faces of those assembled. The forest surrounding the graveyard seems to mourn with them, its usual vibrant life stilled in a respectful silence. The scent of rain-soaked earth hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of fresh flowers that surround Y/N’s casket.

Paul stands at the forefront, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow, as if the very soul has been drained from him. He stares at the casket, unable to tear his gaze away from the final resting place of the woman he loved more than life itself. His hands shake at his sides, clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles are white. He feels Daisy and Embry’s presence beside him, the silent support of his best friends a small comfort in this ocean of grief.

The Cullens are there too, standing in a solemn line. Carlisle’s face is etched with sorrow, his usual calm demeanor strained. Esme holds his hand tightly, her other hand clutching a handkerchief to her mouth to stifle her tearless sobs. Edward and Bella stand close together, their expressions a mix of anguish and guilt. Renesmee clings to Jacob, her young face a mask of confusion and sadness. Jasper and Alice are slightly apart, their grief palpable in the way they hold themselves, shoulders hunched as if bearing an unbearable weight.

The pack and their imprints form a protective circle around Paul and the casket. Sam’s strong presence is a pillar for them all, but even he cannot mask the pain in his eyes. Emily stands beside him, tears streaming down her face. Quil and Leah, Seth and Claire, all wear their grief openly, their usual strength overshadowed by this moment of profound loss.

As the rain falls harder, soaking through clothes and plastering hair to heads, the funeral begins. Sam steps forward to speak, his voice breaking as he tries to find the words to honor Y/N. Each word feels like a dagger to Paul’s heart, a reminder of everything he has lost. He barely hears the eulogies, the shared memories, the expressions of love and sorrow. His mind is a blur, lost in the torment of what could have been.

When it is his turn to speak, Paul moves forward on unsteady legs. He looks down at the casket, feeling the weight of every eye upon him. His throat is tight, his heart a shattered mess. He takes a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of rain and flowers and grief.

“Y/N was… everything,” he begins, his voice raw with emotion. “My heart and soul. She was strong, brave, and loved with an unmatched fierceness.” Pausing, he lets out a shuddered breath, “I knew how it would end for us…I knew when I imprinted and still I tried to find a way around it – a loophole, a diving move… I promised to protect her, and I failed.” His voice cracks, tears streaming down his face unchecked. “I failed her, and I will carry that guilt for the rest of my miserable life.”

Paul steps back, unable to say more. He feels Embry’s hand on his shoulder, a grounding presence in this moment of utter devastation.

As the final words are spoken and the casket is lowered into the ground, the rain intensifies, as if the heavens themselves are weeping. Paul drops to his knees beside the grave, his body wracked with sobs. He isn’t dead as they thought he’d be, but he’s not alive either. His wolf is gone, his ability to shift stripped from him. He longed to shift into a beast, spending the rest of his life as a wolf in the forest as Jacob once intended to…he said the pain was bearable for him, that he’d almost forgotten his humanity and the reason he shifted. Paul wanted the release it would give him, but he couldn’t shift. He never will again. He’s a ghost with a beating heart, doomed to a loveless life filled with regrets. And maybe he should feel some kind of relief – it’s over now. No more stressing about Y/N and the dangers. But the truth is, he doesn’t feel relief, he’s angry at her for dying. It’s fucked up, but he can’t shake it. If she had stayed home, she would have been safe, but she was too stubborn to do that. It’s easier to blame her for chasing after him than to accept his lack of control is what got her killed in the end – the way he always feared. The root of the problem is now gone – he doesn’t need control for something he can’t do.

For Paul, there is no comfort, no solace. There is only the unbearable weight of his loss, the emptiness of a future without the woman who was his everything. He presses his forehead to the damp earth, whispering her name over and over, a desperate prayer to the void that now consumes him.

Epilogue

They found Felix not too far from the scene – a blubbering mess of human bones, forced to face the Cullens and Sam who stumbled upon him. Y/N’s blood, even as a human, worked as a cure and Felix was turned – fragile and vulnerable as Y/N once was.

He revealed Eleazar was forced to give up the truth of Y/N’s future to the Volturi in exchange for a full pardon for the Denali coven’s role in the Renesmee debacle.

It didn’t bring Paul much solace when they brought him to justice. Life moved on for everyone else, and in time, he too was leading some semblance of a life – refusing to think or speak about her, terrified of forgetting her. Even hearing her name made his soul tremble with memories, the warmth and the pain. It made his heart break a little more each time he’d look into someone’s eyes that had the same color as hers. He no longer sobbed or wailed, his grief was terribly discreet but as persistent as a bleeding from an unstitched wound.

The Cullens left soon after the funeral. Most of the pack has moved away, with Uleys staying behind. Embry and Daisy moved to Y/N’s family home – it had more room for a growing family. Paul had remained in their home, though he couldn’t sleep in their old room.

At least that’s what Daisy tells her. She’s the only one who visits Y/N’s grave. It’s not unusual, she stops by every Friday, more if it’s someone’s birthday or a holiday. Paul hasn’t been by once. Daisy often apologizes for him, saying it’s just too triggering, but she hopes one of these days he will be strong enough to accompany her.

This time was different.

It’s Jacob who came to visit her. He brought her flowers – sunflowers, the ones they’d lay on their mothers’ graves.

He sits across from her.

“Renesmee and I are getting married.” He opens a box, showing the ring. “I plan to ask her soon. She’ll say yes,” he frowns. “I always thought that I’d get to ask you to stand next to me on my wedding day.”

Jacob looks up at the sky, tears running down his face. Pocketing the ring box, he pulls out a golden rose hair piece and sets it on the ground, right in front of the stone.

“All the bridesmaids will wear these, Alice has already seen it. I wanted you to have yours first.”

He stays a little longer, tells her how he plans to ask her, and of all the things Alice has seen in his future. He mentions Paul – the way they can’t look at each other anymore without seeing Y/N. Jacob plans to rectify it – to invite him to the wedding and have him as his best man. Life’s too short to take steps back from relationships that can be saved.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, bowing his head in anguish. “I wish I was strong enough to visit more often. But I don’t think I’ll be back for a long time. Longer than the five years that have passed.”

Licking his lips, he releases a heavy sigh before standing up. He walks away with a heavy heart, one that will never forget the girl who could light up his darkest nights – his platonic soulmate.