#this is horrible but I don't have any strength left

[dreamlogic]

musing in the tags about the view two years out from my hysterectomy and the shifting nature of neuropathy. i asked my PT for recommendations/resources pertaining to pain science and that's been a very helpful lenses to have. i'm still not back to normal, will never be unmarked by this experience or return to my pre-op self, but my baseline has been gradually increasing over the last few months, and it feels good to look back on the last two years and say "i have no idea how i managed to function while living with that, but i did!"

[werecreature-addicted]

I have been waiting for this! This has been stuck in my head since you mentioned how there's too many werewolf x bunny fics.

Imagine there's a village of prey hybrids. All the villagers that live there are some kind of prey animal.

The village is very peaceful, but is the target of a tribe of predator hybrids that dwell in the deepest part of the forest.

Every year, these predator hybrids would attack the prey village and would kidnap any villager unlucky enough to be caught.

These attacks typically happen around mid to late spring, from dusk to well into the night.

The prey villagers always hide around this time, but at least one to three people end up being taken.

Last year was one of the reader's friends. A sweet little sheep that was said to be taken by a large male black wolf. Poor girl was likely eaten by that horrible beast! (In a way she was eaten~)

This year, it is reader's turn.

Reader is a deer hybrid that got caught while out gathering food in the forest. Only to be jumped by a strong and handsome male mountain lion hybrid and taken back to his tribe.

There reader finds her friend as well as other people from her village, all well and alive and with large clearly pregnant bellies as well as a few children.

Turns out the predator tribe has been taking people from your village as their mates. Even treating their prey mates with the utmost care.

Something the reader will understand fully once she's been bred with her first litter of cubs.

your parents had always warned you to be careful when you left the safety of the village, especially during spring when nearby predators would go into heat and kill little deer girls like you to feed to keep up their strength. You were so careful, the fastest in the herd, the best at running away, no predator could ever catch you....other people weren't so lucky. Every year a few people would go missing, trail too close to the border, stay out foraging after sunset, and disappear.

Most of the time, you don't know the prey who gets taken, but sometimes you do, like when your best friend got dragged off by a horrifying wolf. You grieved the loss of your friend and redoubled your commitment to safety... but you got cocky. you were the fastest in your age group, no one could catch you, especially not some heavy, slow predator.

It's a warm spring evening, the breeze gentle and sweet, smelling like honeysuckle and green grass. the sunsets casting the valley in golden light, your basket is full of fat wild blackberries. how could anything go wrong on a day like this? A twig snaps to your right, and you turn and freeze, looking carefully at the tree line. you don't see anything... but your heart is still racing, by the time you spot the hungry green eyes peering up at you it's already too late. you take off running, but for once, you aren't fast enough.

The mountain lion pounces and lifts you off of your feet, throwing you easily over his broad shoulders, you freeze, your heart beating faster and faster, you need to think, he hasn't killed and eaten you yet- maybe you could escape, you just need to keep your head.

It's a much shorter journey to the preditor village than you would have thought, you'd never traveled far from home so you had no idea that they were so close this whole time. What's even more surprising is the amount of prey animals, wandering around town and looking happy. A rabbit boy with big floppy ears hanging off the arm of a buff-looking wolf, a deer hybrid like yourself flirting with two different lions, and a sheep- a sheep that you recognize. Your eyes go wide as it clicks into place. the people being taken weren't being killed at all.

The mountain lion puts you down and looks at you closely, evaluating you. "I wasn't too rough was I? You're not hurt?" he asks. you shake your head slowly

"n-no. I'm not hurt just- scared," you admit shyly. He nuzzles you comfortingly,

"awe, don't worry my mate, I'll keep you safe... I won't let anything happen to you, no one else will touch you while you're with me," he purrs and you shift, embarrassed to tell him that it was him you were afraid of. although you had to admit if this big scary mountain lion is guarding you, and claiming you as their mate, you do feel a little safer.

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 6

-> Part 1

-> Part 5

With Dvalin gone, you were left basically homeless. Not that it was much of an issue, not really. The forests had been very kind to you -- you could easily live the life of a hermit if you so wished, without having to worry about food, water, shelter or animal attacks.

But it would also be horribly lonely. No compassionate silence, no background noise and buzz of other people scurrying around and going about their day without minding you, no one to speak to if you ever felt the need to.

You liked being alone, but you were still human and humans were social animals.

Soooooo, you promptly asked Crepus about working in his Winery in exchange for accommodations, because 'one that asks, does not stray'... or something like that anyways. Your sister always made her life that much harder because she outright refused to ask for help even when hopelessly lost or overwhelmed, so there must be something to the saying at least.

"You don't have to work to earn your keep, (Name). I'd be more than happy to house you as my guest for however long you want!" is what Crepus 'Sunshine Personified' Ragnvindr responded with.

Crepus used Puppy Eyes, it was super effective!

You laid defeated, a puddle of cuteness overload once again wishing for sunglasses to protect yourself from the blinding smiles and imaginary wagging tails.

Crepus was horrible for your heart.

Still, you would go insane if left with nothing to do for days at a time, so you went to turn the Ragnvindr library upside down with Crepus' blessing, a bunch of notebooks, a bunch of pens and a delusion that you'd do any actual studying in there.

This was Teyvat, but this wasn't Genshin Impact -- a library wouldn't have interesting lore, it'd have dry history and even drier geography, accompanied by boring economics and even more boring politics (which was a damn shame too, politics were so interesting when written right).

You never quite had a head for those, prefering subjects with more practical applications that could be practiced instead of having to be beaten into your thick skull until you memorized it just long enough to write the exam.

Though for some ungodly reason you still remembered that onions were actually leaves. It was one of the very few things you remembered from school, actually.

Probably the trauma speaking.

Still, you did find some interesting books - a diary speaking of the Decarabian rule, for example.

Today, I don my very own Windblume.

I can only hope Lord Decarabian never learns of its' significance.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The winds are particularly harsh today.

I am afraid, but I smile and play my lyre as if nothing were happening at all, like I always do.

Sometimes, I forget if what I do is to reasure the people or to delude myself that everything is as it should be...

Then again, does it matter when the result remains the same?

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are growing restless.

Their yearning for freedom gave birth to a small wind spirit that seems fond of my playing. It is an adorable being, even if it has yet to communicate with us.

It remind me of a newborn puppy.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are planning a rebellion.

I want to help, but how can I? I am no soldier, my strength lays with the pen and the lyre, not with the sword.

Ragnvindr told me there was no need for more warriors, that I was doing enough by keeping the morale up with my performances... I am hesistant to believe him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The little spirit has spoken for the first time today.

It said that it knew the song I was playing, despite it being a new piece I was in the midst of creating, and sang along to lyrics I had yet to write.

It was strange, but it made me happy nonetheless.

Perhaps I was strange too, for feeling that way.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

You had a suspicion on who the author of the diary was by that point. Maybe Crepus would be open to giving this diary to Venti, instead of it gathering dust on the shelf?

Idly, you wondered how it had survived so long, but figured Ragnvindr and his descendants took good care of it.

I met Ragnvindr today.

Something compelled me to share my worries with him, even though I knew he had enough weight on his shoulders and I ought not to add more.

"If you cannot trust in yourself, then trust in me and my trust in you instead" he told me.

It helped.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Meetings regarding the rebellion are more and more frequent. Ragnvindr, alongside a man named Amos, have convinced the Gunnhildr clan to participate against all odds.

I can understand their hesitance. Should we fail to kill Lord Decarabian, their legacy would be no more.

I admire their bravery.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The wind has long since realized change is imminent, even when Lord Decarabian himself has not - the little spirit said so.

King of Gales indeed, even the wind has rebelled against him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Ragnvindr speaks of a bad premonition.

In truth, my heart is uneasy as well, but how can I share those feelings with anyone but myself? It is not the time to bother others with my issues -- it is time to reassure everyone, to rouse their spirit and not to let fear take root even as they stand against a God. It is my duty as a bard and as a fellow rebel.

The Windblume feels particularly heavy as I write this.

I fear I will not live to see tomorrow's sunset, but I fear for my dearest friends and for Mondstadt even more.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

My little spirit friend is still without a name.

I know it does not bother them, they are the wind itself after all, but I would still like to give them a name others can remember them by.

A name that they can remember me by once I pass on, selfish as it is to bind an immortal to a memory.

But I am selfish, even if Ragnvindr may see me as a paragon of virtue. I am a human and to be human is to be flawed. I am not ashamed of it, even if I often feel guilty for it.

Perhaps it will be the very last thing I achieve in this life of mine.

It is hard to name them.

I've thought of many names up until now.

Caelus. Liberius. Aella. Calliope. Achill. Carmine. Hilarius. Hanne. Zephyrinus. Dieter. Sascha. Scilla. Paulus. Notus. Veronica. Agna. Vergil.

Those are just a few of the ones I discarded.

None fit.

I can only hope the right name reveals itself when it is time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

That was the last entry.

You closed the diary and carefully put it aside.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

It was not supposed to be mostly nameless bard POV via old diary.

It really wasn't.

Mans literally kidnapped the chapter entirely against my will while I was half asleep yesterday and attempting to write at nearly midnight and I was powerless to stop it, on god.

But hey, at least we got potential Venti bonding set up for the future?

I was planning for more fluff, but I also have no outline for this, so my chapters have a chance of getting kidnapped at any time.

✨BY THE WAY!!!!✨

The charm of spontaneous writing, I guess?

If you have something you want to happen - for example we're in the library right now, so maybe you want a book about a specific tidbit to appear - do let me know, maybe I'll write it in!

I had 2 tests and 1 retake yesterday and holy shit i got through all of them and tomorrow is last day of uni then it's ✨HOLIDAYS✨

✨Taglist✨

@game-savvy @chaoticfivesworld @mmeatt @avalordream @ymechi @andromeda-gay @naynayaa @undecidingfate @thedevioussmirk @tumb3ld0wn @balaur-bondoc @yi-chii @yarabutterfly @nervouseaglelover @vexingpraedyth @indelible-colouring-markers @whitefantasy21-blog @kapitankarate

[the-modern-typewriter]

You're writing is amazing!! <3 If possible, is it alright to do something focusing on an embarrassed/shy sidekick that got injured in battle, and has to let the (flirty) hero tend to their wounds/wash hair/feed them because of how weak they are at the moment? Bonus points for a very touch starved sidekick, and some tension.

"Sit down."

"It's fine, I can-"

"Sit." The hero met their eyes. "What sort of mentor would I be without giving you the appropriate post-battle aftercare?"

"You don't have to phrase it like that," the sidekick mumbled. They did sit, though.

"What?" The hero grinned, opening up the first aid kit. "Aftercare?"

The sidekick looked down, horribly aware of the heat radiating off their face.

The hero laughed quietly; warm and fond.

"The injuries aren't that bad," the sidekick said. "I'm just tired." So very, very tired. Their limbs felt like melted marshmallows; pitiful goop.

"Mm, no wonder. You were very impressive out there."

"Just doing my job." They shivered as the hero began to make quick work tending to their minor wounds, touch warm and strong and confident. They tried not to lilt into it. They blamed the exhaustion in the fact that they did.

"And now I'm just doing mine, hotshot."

The hero pressed closer, shifting so that they could take the sidekick's weight. They stroked their fingers, entirely unnecessarily, entirely lovely, through the sidekick's hair.

The sidekick's eyes fluttered closed. A small, embarrassingly needy sound left them. "S-sorry."

"Don't be. You're sweet."

"I'm useless like this."

"I think it's adorable." The hero placed the last plaster over a cut on the sidekick's temple. "You never let me look after you normally. I like it."

"Well, I'm supposed to be supporting you...."

The hero pressed a kiss to the sidekick's temple.

The sidekick's eyes, for all of their tiredness, snapped open. They glanced up at the hero.

The hero smiled again. "Kissing it better. Did it help?"

The blush returned full force. "You're ridiculous."

"I could kiss the rest of them too. Just one might be a fluke. It's not scientific."

"So stupid." The sidekick covered their burning face with their hands.

"So cute."

"Don't tease me." It was another mumble; torn between the delicious squirming feeling that the teasing left in them and the sheer horror of it, that the hero might be mocking them.

They didn't think the hero was mocking them, though. They weren't the sort. Did they flirt with possibly everything? Yes. Were they unkind? No. But that didn't make it real. That didn't make the desperate rise of hope in the hero's chest any easier to bear.

"You are cute." The hero did a last check over the scrapes and scratches, before moving. They pulled the sidekick up into their arms, cradling them like they weighed nothing. "My cute little absolute devastation of a powerhouse."

"It was nothing." The sidekick clutched hold, stomach swooping.

"You saved my life."

"You save them. I save you. It's nothing."

"Hey." Some of the flirting dropped. The hero waited for the sidekick to meet their eyes. "It's not nothing. Thank you."

The sidekick swallowed, but managed a nod.

The hero carried them through to the spare bedroom, and for all of the sidekick's flittering nerves, they were half-asleep by the time they arrived. Sapped of strength and energy. It made it easy to go along with the hero for once, to let them tuck the sidekick beneath the sheets.

The world felt lulled.

The hero caressed their cheek, taking another moment to study them, gaze intent.

The sidekick slid theirs away, breath catching.

"I'm not teasing you," the hero said, softly. "I'm quite genuine in everything I've said or done. I wouldn't tease you. Not like that anyway."

"Oh."

"Get some rest, hotshot. Good job today. I'll be in the other room if you need anything."

The sidekick wanted to stay awake. They wanted to tug at the string of the hero's earnestness, whatever the hell it all meant. Their eyes were already closing again, the room tunnelled at the corners.

Their last act was to reach out, woozy and weak, and take the hero's hand. It felt like the bravest thing they'd ever done. Far bolder than that day's fight.

The hero stopped. They mattress dipped with their weight.

"Okay," they said, stroking their thumb over the sidekick's knuckles. "I'll be here."

And, even when the sidekick woke up hours later, they were.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"You must feel betrayed," the villain said quietly. It wasn't quite a whisper but the hero was already used to their rather calm nature. It didn't help them at all, though. The acid feeling in their throat wouldn't disappear and neither would the horrible, horrible guilt.

"I failed, didn't I?" they asked. They could barely breathe. Their hands were shaking.

"This isn't the end of the world," the villain said. They sat down on the kitchen chair. "How is your arm?"

The hero looked down at the cast and despite the pain seeping through it, they couldn't really care enough to take any medication. On most days, when their mind bore their rawest desires once they woke up, they wished to wake up somewhere else. They wished all of this was a bad dream, a reality they could escape eventually. But it wasn't. It really wasn't.

"It wasn't a clean break," the hero said. "I didn't expect it to be one."

They were begging for the villain's comfort. Both of them knew it. Crawling to their enemy in the middle of the night wasn't the only humiliating thing.

No, rather that the villain was the last person there was to crawl to - that was even worse.

"I am scared," the hero admitted. They were vulnerable already. And they figured this life was over anyway. This superhero life.

"I know," the villain answered. Their eyes were on the hero but they were gentle, they were pitiful. "But what has happened to you is not your fault. And what they did to you wasn't either."

What had happened to the hero had been simple. Abuse over years from their superior. It had been an open secret that the hero would end up in the hospital wing several times when the superhero's patience would be short-lived. For whatever reason, the hero had always been their favorite target and the hero suspected it had something to do with their resilience.

But what they had done to the hero...The hero suspected the villain wasn't referring to the superhero but someone else entirely. That was the whole reason why the hero was here in the villain's kitchen in the first place.

The hero sat down on another chair and combed with their healthy hand through their hair. For a few moments, they held their own face in their hand, longing for some comfort, even if it was their own hand.

"I must have been quite the unpleasant person in my previous life to deserve this," the hero joked but the villain didn't smile. They leaned forward.

"Your sidekick didn't betray you because you weren't good enough," the villain said. "They believe the lies the superhero tells them. They believe the fairytales and the bedtime stories. They believe there are easy solutions to complex problems. They believe that you have to become just as evil to defeat the bad guys."

"I failed them, then. I tried everything I could to-"

"No. You didn't fail them," the villain said. "The superhero is more powerful than you are. They are more influential."

"But I should have taught my sidekick to-"

"No." The hero was surprised by the sharpness of the villain's voice. Their nemesis took in a breath and tried to collect themselves. "Listen. You're not flawless. No one is. But you are closer to it than any of the rest of us. You tried everything you could. But what on earth are you supposed to do when you are getting beaten up by your own boss all the time?! You never got the chance to teach your sidekick anything."

The hero didn't say anything to that. Deep down, they knew the villain was right about that last part. But the guilt devoured them like a cancer.

"Aren't you angry?" the villain asked. The hero could see how their nemesis was clenching their jaw. Their knuckles were as white as snow.

"No...I'm - God - I don't know." It was so frustrating the hero wanted to cry. Mostly, they were indeed scared. Scared of being in this city, scared of seeing the superhero, scared of going outside.

But anger? The hero doubted they had any strength left for that emotion.

"I just want all of this to be over," the hero said. "I can't fight anymore. But my sidekick..."

Suddenly, the villain stood up from their chair and walked up to the hero.

"Alright," they said gently. "Let's run away together."

"What?"

The villain offered their hand and the hero took it, clearly confused. The villain helped them stand up.

"If it's too much heartbreak and if it's too much pain, we should start over. We can leave the city. We can leave the country. If you want to fight back, I'll fight beside you. It is your decision."

"Why are you...?" The villain avoided their gaze. Instead, they stared at the hero's hand they were still holding.

"Let's clean you up," the villain said. The hero's own blood was still sticking to their fingers. They hadn't noticed. "And think about my offer."

[zygomantic]

Nanami comforting a sad/depressed fem reader after he comes home from work. (Had a horrible day/week and need any kind of comfort)

A/n: Honestly same. Always happy to provide comfort, thank you for your request! This is very short but it is what it is. Also, reader could be considered gender neutral.

You're not alone.

Synopsis: Your husband Nanami comes home from work and finds you crying on the couch. He helps you through it.

Content Warnings: Mentioned Depression, negative thoughts

You blankly stared at the TV, which by now had been running for multiple hours. You'd spent your hours flicking through channels and streaming services, hoping to find anything interesting to pass the time until your husband came home.

Your frustration grew the longer you searched. Why did this have to be so complicated? Fuck, it just added to the pile shit that didn't work like you wanted to. Your job was stressing you out and you knew the next months weren't going to be any more relaxed. Nanami was just as busy, mission after mission keeping him away from home. You missed him but didn't fault him for doing his job.

Since this morning you were feeling down, and though you'd struggled with depression in the past, it usually didn't creep up this fast or suddenly. You knew very well that you were still recovering and that recovery wasn't a linear process, but a small part of you felt disappointed in yourself for feeling like this again.

Or maybe you felt comfortable like this. It was so easy, so familiar. If you were really on the way back to depression, you didn't think you had any strength left to pull you out of it again and forcing Nanami to help you made you feel selfish. It wasn't his problem that your mind was broken and your thoughts shitty.

It was all too much and your nose started burning, then your eyes watered and you didn't bother stopping the tears as they escaped. A headache had begun to form in the back of your head and you just sobbed harder.

By the time a key turned in the front door lock your face was soaked with tears and your eyes were red and puffy. You must've looked horrible, because Nanami's eyes furrowed as he walked into the room and saw you. You hadn't even hear him call out your name when he entered, too absorbed in your thoughts.

Nanami didn't bother hanging up his jacket, just dropped it to the floor and immediately made his way over to you. His hand was on your back, rubbing soothing circles into it as he tried to figure out what was wrong. First, however, he needed you to breathe.

"Darling, can you hear me?" His voice must've registered somewhere in your mind because you nodded, despite having already forgotten what he asked. "Good," he said, continuing his comforting. "I need you to breathe, dear. You remember the box breathing, right?" Another nod. "Alright. Now breathe in for four," he instructed and you tried to follow, not counting the seconds but still trying. "Hold for four," you did, "and exhale for four. Now pause for four."

It became easier after the first minute and Nanami walked you through every second of it. Once you'd gotten your breathing back under control, new tears threatened to escape at the though of how much of a burden you were. Always making him take care of you like you're a child or baby, how embarrassing.

"Don't." You looked up at your husband in confusion. "I can tell when you're thinking poorly of yourself. Don't do that. Please."

Your voice was quiet as you answered. "Okay." You pulled your legs up under the blanked and curled up into a ball.

Nanami's hand was still rubbing your back. "Can you tell me what caused this? What's going on? "

"I'm sorry. Sorry." Tears streaked down your face and Nanami's warm, big hand swiped them away carefully.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. We all have our off days. I'm sorry yours had to be today." His voice was so deep, so comforting, almost like a light to cling to while the rest of the world was trying to drown you.

"Work's just been..." You trailed off, not really wanting to think about all the things you had to do and the insane amount of paperwork that had to filed until the end of the not to mention the coworker that-

"Stressful?" His voice ripped you out of your thoughts again. "I get what that's like. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I- just don't leave. Please. I don't want to go back to feeling like I did months ago. I can't- I-" Your throat closed up just speaking about theast time your depression hit you hard.

"I'm not letting you do this alone. I promise." His hand pulled you into his body for a hug and you melted into him. "I'm here for you. Always."

"Thank you." He almost didn't hear you, you were so quiet. "Thank you so much."

[sea-owl]

I was just thinking about the whole Debling vs Colin thing and I kinda wanted to point this out.

Debling and Colin are actually both perfect for Penelope but different sides to her.

Debling is Lady Whistledown's perfect match while Colin is Penelope's perfect match.

Debling has work he leaves for years to do, passions that take up more of his heart than any living human would. He left behind his own family who he says never understood him but that's all we know. He wants a wife to take care of the estate and the home front. He doesn't read Whistledown, meaning he won't ever see any similarities between Penelope's writing and Lady Whistledown's. If Penelope was truly Lady Whistledown all the time like the switch was flipped and never turned off, then this is a perfect life for her. On her own, left alone, and can run her business without interference. If she wants, she can fudge the numbers a little bit to hide some of her own money away in the estate. She'll have children one day that she'll love. She will be secured. She will also continue the status quo of her life before of being alone in her own home, and I would make the argument becoming more like Portia as time would go on. Now, don't get me wrong. Debling is a good man, but he is also Lord Featherington in a different font. Penelope already knows what life with Lord Debling would look like she's seen it in her parents' marriage, in her father. Lord Featherington put his own passions before his family as well, and while he never physically left, that man completely dissociated around his family. Again this type of life would be perfect for Lady Whistledown but Penelope rightfully so hesitates.

Colin, on the other hand, while he has his own passions, will still put someone he loves first. He's willing to be there to support them if they need it. He has a close bond with his family and wants to open that bond to any potential spouse that may be folded in. Once he knows his feelings, he's not afraid to show them. He's affectionate and sensitive to others. He also I noticed forgives rather quickly meaning he has the ability to see from someone else's perspective. This is someone Penelope has dreamed of for years, and frankly kind of needs. She's been emotionally starved of affection and never has seen or heard acts of love outside the few she's had from the Bridgertons. She was raised on tough love and never really shown softness before. Colin can give her that softness, that love, and happiness. But Colin is also a horrible match for Lady Whistledown. He is always in Penelope's business and space, and if not him, another member of his family would be. All in good faith, they watch out for one another, but it would make Penelope's absence a lot more noticeable. Penelope will also be shoved in the spotlight as well marrying in and while she has craved the potential change it makes her work much harder. His disdain for Whistledown as well has been well spoken to others. He also potentially has the clues to piece together Penelope's identity. He has her letters and Lasy Whistledown is not hard to get either. If Penelope accidentally made any mistakes in either writings, like similar phrasing or she reused something from his letters in Whistledown he could clue it together. He will most likely be angry at first but I also think given time to cool off he be willing to hear her out. He's already shown he's not afraid to fight for her so what's one more round?

And the funny thing is Colin has the potential to be Lady Whistledown's match as well. He's a good writer and has been shown to engage in gossip, too. He moves fluidly around the ton, charming them and easily communicating with them. His strengths compliment can help boost where Penelope has a weakness. They can very easily become true partners, Lord and Lady Whistledown. We first just have to get Colin to warm up to the idea.

[harukamitsuki]

Ugghh been consuming some bnha stuff and I'm reminded of why I largely prefer fanfiction over the actual story. I have so much hate and pettiness within me. Even so, I am never going to change my mind on how much I hate how bnha is just an amalgamation of wasted potention. Search the definition of wasted potential up and there's just an image of bnha.

I remember watching it as the first season was coming about because it was made by Bones and I just have to watch it in that case. I watched episode one and was so excited.

We have our mc, Midoriya Izuku, being powerless in a world full of quirks.

His childhood friend turned bully, Bakugou Katsuki, is shown to be favoured by literally everyone and this feeds into his ego.

All Might, the number one hero, is jaded and powerless for 21 hours of the day because of a fight nobody knew existed. Izuku is attacked and helpless, but saved by All Might. All Might tells him he can't become a hero. A much needed reality check because Izuku didn't work out a single bit before then and it's so incredibly hard to fight someone who has something you lack.

Then Bakugou is attacked and helpless. Bakugou, who is so much stronger and who people love, is left useless, only able to make the situation worse with his explosions creating a fire hazard. The pro-heroes can't do anything. All Might and Izuku both hate themselves for the part they played and how useless they are. Then Izuku sees how scared Bakugou is. He runs in, inspiring All Might as he mocks himself for breaking Izuku's dream yet forgetting the core of heroism.

Then, after all is said and done, All Might goes back to Izuku. And he tells him he can become a hero.

...

Then he offers him One for All. Now, when I was watching this for the first time, I was so disappointed. You set up a powerless mc in a world full of powers and you just give him the power of the strongest hero? Great. But, I kept watching.

I watched Izuku work to get his power, struggle even after getting a quirk. I watched as Izuku finally stood up for himself and win against Bakugou. I watched as the series went on and I... I started noticing more and more missed opportunities.

See, bnha is supposed to be a zero to hero story. It's supposed to be about the mc going from powerless to powerful. But it does it so quickly. Suddenly, it's not about Izuku finding his own form of strength, or realising how being quirkless may not give any advantages but it also has no disadvantages, or even any commentary on quirk discrimination or fantastic racism or anything.

It turns into a story about controlling your power. It's not what I signed up for.

That's just one missed potential. There's so many more. Horikoshi clearly tries to make some commentary on quirk discrimination and female heroes/sexism in the workplace and entertainment over peace. There's some effort put into making a comment on how heroes are glorified and people don't see them as public workers, they see them as celebreties.

But it's never delved into. We don't see how bad people with mutant or 'villainous' quirks are treated, and we don't see how people with weak quirks are treated, or how the quirkless are treated (because the only reason Izuku was treated so horribly was because of Bakugou). We don't see how female heroes need to have a bit of allure in their personas to have any sort of support.

Yuuei is literally a camp for making child soldiers, yet there's no controversy over it? There's no such things as heroes having to take lethal action and no moral dilemmas over it? There's nobody speaking out about how Midnight flirts with students?

We have literally no information about how heroes work. We don't know how their salaries are decided, how they're ranked, how undergound heroes work. if twilight heroes are a thing, how anybody but Rock Lock feels about bringing children into adult matters, (seriously, why do people hate Rock Lock for being rightfully worried about having 15 year olds in a raid against the yakuza), we don't know how villains work and how to decide if one's a criminal or a villain.

Heck, the only laws we know of are fanon, and the canon stupid idea that you can't use your quirk in self-defense.

It's just. Incredibly infuriating.

Also, analysis as a whole is so under-utilised. Both Izuku and Shigaraki are deemed creepy for their analysis, which is such a useful tool. I mean, Izuku accurately guesses Stain's quirk, which is useful because, otherwise, they wouldn't be wary about Stain licking their blood or cutting them. Shigaraki accurately guesses the time intervals between Aizawa's blinks, which helps him a shit ton.

But is it ever used outside of these situations? No. The thing is, quirks are scientific in nature, not magic. Therefore, they're not restricted like magic is. Fire doesn't always have to be fire, it can be smoke or just heat. Ice can be water or steam. Acid can melt through anything or just be used as a mario kart banana peel.

There was so much missed potential and that's exactly why there's so much fan content.

Horikoshi leaves so much out, and everything he misses tends to be the interesting parts. He willfully explains Bakugou's quirk in detail, but everyone else? Nah. Fuck them.

I mean, let's look at Ochako's quirk.

Gravity negation. Or is it? See, if it were just gravity negation, then two things, in particular, would happen. First of all, Izuku would have fucking died when she saved him from falling. Second of all, she would not have been able to get infinity in the ball throw.

Negating gravity does not negate the forces. Therefore, when she saved Izuku from falling, he would have still been affected by the force of his fall. It would have been no different from hitting the concrete. Additionally, when she threw the ball, it kept going. Air drag would have made it so that she couldn't possibly get an infinity.

More accurately, rather than force negation as some fanfics suggests, she's telekinetically accelerating whatever she touches. She telekinetically accelerates Izuku's body to stop him falling, and does the reverse for the ball, making it so that it continues to accelerate after she throws it.

See what I mean? Because Horikoshi gave Bakugou's quirk a scientific explanation with him sweating a nitroglycerin-like substance and being able to spark it, you have to look at every quirk with scientific knowledge. He could have said 'oh, yeah, I store energy from my quirk in these gauntlets' but Hori just had to be a smartass.

By the way, because of Bakugou's explanation, it's possible that his quirk is not what is named. Yes, it's possible to have two sides of a quirk, as we see in Shouto, but Bakugou's quirk isn't explained in the same way.

Rather than his quirk being creating explosions, his quirk is more like creating sparks in his palms. Why? Well, you see. Bnha never delves into actual quirk theory, but there's more than enough canon evidence that you have one main quirk and then one or more quirk mutations. For example, Ashido Mina's quirk is secreting acid that she can manipulate the acidity and viscocity of. Her appearance is not related to her quirk at all, meaning it's a quirk mutation from her parents. Same with Tokoyami Fumikage. Quirk is Dark Shadow, so there's no need for the bird head.

Why does this relate to Bakugou? Let me explain: Bakugou explains that he recieved a mutation from his parents with his mother secreting glycerin and his father sweating acid with combustive properties. In other words, Bakugou inherited nitroglycerin-like sweat from his parents, but his actual quirk is being able to create sparks.

His quirk is 'Sparks'. Not Explosions.

Why am I ranting about this? Because bnha completely misses all of this! It makes no sense which is a shame because the concept is so interesting! But then it throws away any scraps of potential left when it becomes 'My Kacchan Academia'.

Seriously, why do people and why does Horikoshi love abusive pieces of shit so much? Why did he throw away the potential to look into Shouto and his siblings' feeling about Endeavour? Why did he make Dabi's plot all about Endeavour instead of Shouto?

It's so easy to compare the ways Dabi and Shouto handle their trauma and their ways of revenge. It's so easy to look at Dabi and think about how easy it would have been for Shouto to become like him.

Shouto was transfixed on Endeavour. Everything he did related back to his hate for Endeavour. Using his quirk, fighting, grades, social interaction, everything. His only reason for becoming a hero is to spite Endeavour. It's only because Izuku reaches out to him and saves him from his own toxic mindset that he's able to move one and do things for himself.

Dabi, or Touya, on the other hand, doesn't get that. He doesn't get that person who recognises how far he's gone, how, in trying to spite Enveavour, he's living a life centred on him. How he's jealous of his little brother for being abused and tormented.

While Shouto became a hero to spite Endeavour, Dabi became a villain.

They're both full of hatred at first, but Shouto is saved from that spiral. Izuku helps him. Dabi doesn't have that. It would have been so interesting to see these two face of as parellels, but nope. It's all about Endeavour. Shouto is nothing more than an accessory.

I understand Dabi being hung up on Endeavour, but to outright replace Shouto with the abusive flaming trashbag? No.

Also, if Horikoshi wanted Dabi to be seen as sympathetic or redeemable, don't make him kill innocent people. Don't make it so that he unlocks an ice aspect to his quirk in a life-or-death situation because all that means is that Endeavour was right to hurt Touya the way he did. All that says is Endeavour should have hurt him more.

AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON BAKUGOU.

This piece of shit bullied Izuku relentlessly for years, used his quirk on him (yes that is canon), told him to end his life, tried to assault him in Yuuei, tried to kill him, threw a tantrum at an abused kid for not being magically okay with using a quirk that reminded him of his abusive father, assaults Izuku when he tries to work together but still magically gets a pass for being carried out unconcious which Sero was failed for, and the list just keeps growing.

Oh, but my bad. He has a sad backstory. You see, he fell in a river.

[13rurururi]

♥︎ "he can never be mine" (gojo satoru x reader)

A heartbroken Gojo uses you as a rebound after he loses his one and only best friend. It's supposed to be a meaningless night for him, but it means the world to you — even if it hurts like hell.

pairing/s: Gojo Satoru x Female!Reader, implied Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru (SatoSugu)

cw/s: 18+, rebound relationships, one-sided love, friends with benefits (but you're developing feelings), sexual themes, fingering, penatrative sex, angst, etc.

You let Gojo use you as a rebound.

You heard about what happened with his best friend — his proclaimed one and only — and how Geto Suguru is now a Curse User sentenced to death.

You heard about Gojo confronting the fallen sorcerer in the busy streets of Shinjuku, yelling in unrestrained rage and desperation at a man who has already chosen his resolve.

And, just an hour ago, you heard Gojo's defeated voice — raspy, exhausted, and cracking — through the speaker of your phone. He called you so suddenly, yet you picked up a little too quickly. Satoru only spat out one sentence before static took over your brain,

"I need you."

He doesn't need you — at least, not in the way you want him to. However, you couldn't resist the lump of hurt encapsulated in his voice, and you relent with a resurfacing weakness that only the strongest man can elicit from you.

"...Okay, I'm home right now."

Now, you're letting Gojo use you.

You barely register the rigidness of his tall build in the doorway, for he already hastily crashes his soft lips onto yours. He's quivering, but you don't say anything, and you simply let him corner you on the wall of your apartment, pinning your body with the strength expected from him.

You try not to let your mind wander. You try to shut down any bubbling insecurity, hurt, and any emotion resembling the horrible curse of love. It's futile, and you let your body be carried to your living room couch while your head spins in simmering confusion and potent pleasure.

You love Satoru. You have loved him for quite some time now. However, you're certain he doesn't feel the same.

After all, it's Geto that he loves.

Unfortunately, Geto isn't here right now, and Satoru turns to you the moment he can no longer reach his beloved Suguru.

Gojo unlatches the buttons of your pants, pulling them down your ankles with his swift, deft hands. Despite the thin barrier of your undergarments, he messily runs his long digits on the apex of your legs, making you jolt and subconsciously whine for more.

His tinted glasses are askew on his flawless, symmetrical face, and he uses his free hand to fully get rid of the protective accessory, revealing blue eyes swimming with depravity and depths of untampered heartbreak.

He presses his weight against your body, pushing you into the mountain of pillows on your soft couch. Your mouth is intruded by his tongue, and your senses are entirely numbed by his overwhelmingly masculine scent. With that, your living room slowly starts to fill with quickened huffs of breath and short whines.

You're well aware that he's using you for your body and that you are only an appreciated distraction who should be grateful that the oh-so-powerful and handsome Gojo chose to bed you. After all, he has an entire entourage flocking him at every corner. Everyone wants a taste of the tall, well-built, and unbelievably gorgeous man. He can have anyone he wants.

Even as he runs his wide palms across your stomach while he discards all your clothing until you're left vulnerable and bare, the hurricane of doubt continues to wreck havoc in your mind; it tells you again and again:

'Satoru doesn't want you the way you want him. You're not Geto — you will never be his Suguru.'

You feel tiny clumps of tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes, but you quickly blink them away in fear of being detected by the ever-so-perceptive sorcerer. To distract yourself from your painful thoughts, you unbotton the white-haired man's uniform, and you soon palm your hands over his muscular abdomen to ground yourself.

You think he doesn't notice the conflict pooling in your eyes.

He does.

He notices each pained hiccup disguised as a quick intake of air. He notices the shakiness of your fingers that struggle to touch him with vigor. He notices the downward curl of your lips that you try to mask with a half-hearted grin.

He notices everything about you, and he can perceive the entirety of your disposition with a single fleeting glance. He thinks it's not because he's extensively attentive and caring towards you — no, it's because he's Gojo Satoru, and his eyes are too sharp to miss anything.

He abruptly pauses his ministrations and peers at you with a blank expression. You return his heavy gaze with your own bemused one, wordlessly prompting him to say if something's wrong.

Gojo thinks back to the first time he met you — cheery, shy, and kind. He deemed you as his favorite underclassman before you decided to separate yourself from the bloody world of Jujutsu Sorcery. He recalls the sweets you frequently gifted him: tiny chocolates, mochi, sugary drinks, and decadent cakes.

He'd tease your bashful face as you outstretched your arm to offer him a snack, and Gojo looks back at such memories with fondness.

Unfortunately, Gojo also remembers flippantly bragging about your gifts to Suguru, telling his best friend that he isn't entirely hated by the student population and that he's actually pleasant and agreeable.

His mind is filled with memories of Suguru's exasperated face and playful nudges. His thoughts stray to youthful moments and banter, and even if you are in his dearest memories, they are only memorable because Suguru was in them too.

Fuck.

"I can't do this to you..."

Gojo trails off, pushing himself off of your body sprawled nakedly on the couch. Simultaneously, you are met with cool air and embarrassment, and you curl yourself into a ball as you urge yourself not to cry.

"Did I—did I do something wrong?"

Your small, shaky voice — which greatly contrasts the sweet confidence Gojo attributed you with — made the blue-eyed sorcerer run his hands through his shaggy locks in frustration and bubbling guilt.

He chokes out in an uncharacteristic infuriation that you've never sensed from him before, "No," he shakes his head and covers his eyes with a tense palm. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then, why—"

"I don't love you."

You feel your heart shrivel in excruciating pain at the harshly straightforward declaration. This is the painful rejection you felt coming the moment you saw how Gojo and Geto looked at each other, talked to each other, and touched each other.

From the very beginning, you were fighting a losing game, yet your heart is too stupid to fully eradicate your affections for the man standing before you.

"I know," you are unable to resist the tears that start to freely flow down your cheeks. "I know I'm not who you're in love with."

You try to make yourself appear more certain, even if the words that you mutter feel like acid on your tongue. "I know what I got myself into when I agreed to this, and I don't mind." Liar, liar, liar — it hurts like hell; your chest feels like it has become an empty cavity that is void of anything but excruciating hurt.

"I know you love Geto. I know he's the only one for you," you exhale a shuddered breath as you desperately attempt to keep your gaze on the strikingly magnificent blues of Gojo's eyes.

"Damn it, Gojo. Just use me all you want," your voice unconsciously rises in frustration and incomprehensible pain. "Just fuck me."

Gojo's unmoving figure shifts so subtly that you nearly miss it. Despite the tall man's pride for letting himself appear unfazed and unreadable, you knew he felt guilt — he's the strongest, but he's still human, and based on the growing tent in his pants, you know guilt isn't the only thing he feels at the moment.

You repeat yourself with all the composure you can muster, "Just...fuck me."

The tense man towering over your bare body releases a final grunt of exasperation before he gives in and lets his body decide for him. Gojo decides that — since you're so persistent — he'll throw away his hesitance for the time being. Your sudden display of boldness made him hard, and you want it anyway, so he'll let you take accountability for the uncomfortably throbbing member in his pants.

'Just for tonight,' he thinks. 'This won't mean anything.'

As if you read his thoughts, you tell him with faux conviction, "This won't mean anything." Your eyes are dilated, not once shying away from Gojo's immensely bright ones. You find yourself on your back once more, helplessly caged between the muscled arms of the strongest sorcerer.

"Good," he mindlessly replies, as if to convince himself — or even both of you — that no long-lasting damage will occur once he takes you in such a detached manner. Gojo dives in for a kiss, and it's not the least bit gentle. He ravishes you with barely any restraint, dragging his tongue across the cavity of your gaping mouth and biting your lip until it's throbbing and red.

Your moans instantaneously permeate the air, getting louder the closer Gojo's fingers trail towards where you need him most. When he rests his palm on your lower stomach, you note how his hands feel firm yet oddly gentle, as if there was a thin barrier that prevented him from fully touching you.

'Is he using Infinity?'

Before you can comprehend the implications of Gojo's guarded nature, your entire body shakes when you feel a sudden warmth on your folds. His fingers are precise — prodding and curling inside your gummy walls as his thumb rubs circles around the hood of your clit, as if to tease you.

Your warm cunt squeezes two of his digits so tightly that Gojo groans in anticipation for what you'll feel like around his cock. Despite the nature of your arrangement, he still has the decency to properly prepare you for his girth.

He pumps his fingers into you feverishly, and his thumb finally graces your throbbing clit, flicking and rubbing in a consistent and mind-numbing tempo. His other hand spreads your thights further apart, and his bright eyes are veiled with lust once your pretty, wet pussy is fully exposed for him to see.

"God, you're so gorgeous..."

Shyness envelopes you; however, anxious thoughts linger at the back of your mind, tormenting you with the fact that Gojo will never see you as more than a good fuck. Thankfully, a harsh bite to your perky nipple sends you back to the present, and you whine lowly while Gojo circles his tongue around your breasts like a starved man.

"You ready for it, pretty girl?"

His voice is low and sultry, devoid of his usual cheeriness, and it only makes you shudder and squirm. "Please, I want it. I want you."

You want all of him, but you know you can't have him; you decide, for tonight, you'll be fine with just his cock inside you. After all, you can't have his heart.

Gojo spares you from prolonged teasing, for he is too impatient to wait until he can fully sheath himself inside your warmth. Hooking your tense legs around his waist, he aligns his tented pants to your bare pussy. With unrivaled efficiency, he unzips his trousers and pulls down his boxers, revealing a cock so pretty that it makes you drool.

He grazes his thumb over his cockhead, moaning lowly as he spreads a bead of precum over his tip. You're entirely entranced — after all, Gojo is simply drop-dead gorgeous. It takes you all your mental strength to push away your inhibitions and tighten your legs around his waist.

"Put it in," you whimper as you palm his well-defined chest, desperate for anything and everything that is Gojo. You'll take what you are given, no matter how little he can offer.

"This," Gojo huffs as his cheeks redden in anticipation. "This doesn't mean anything, alright?"

Your heart aches, but — at the moment — your pussy aches much more, so you resort to pulling him closer to you, his tip now kissing your folds, as you lie through your teeth,

"We're just going to fuck, and it'll be nothing more than that."

Gojo releases a shuddered exhale and shakes his head before finally pushing himself in. Your body curls as heat spreads through your veins. He is being painfully slow with putting it in, but you appreciate being given time to adjust to his lengthy and thick cock.

You moan in unison once he's buried to the hilt. This time, he doesn't even wait a few seconds before slamming his hips into your pelvis like a feral animal.

Your body jolts upward with each stroke, making your breasts bounce so sexily; Satoru couldn't resist wholly engulfing your perky mound with his salivating mouth, nipping and sucking as if he were insatiable. His other hand finds itself on your clit, pinching it so suddenly, making you scream in immeasurable pleasure.

His entire form exudes absolute strength; there is truly no doubt about it. Being overpowered by his mere presence makes your entire body shake and arch in all the right places. It seems that Gojo is fully aware of his effect on you, for he intently gazes deep into your eyes with his magnificently blue ones.

The intimacy of such a gesture makes you moan, and you feel unwanted thoughts etch across your mind once again.

'Don't look at me like that, or I'll fall in love with you even more,' it's the only coherent thought bubbling in your mind, for you are quickly approaching your release.

Gojo removes himself from your breast and opts to peer down at your connecting bodies. He marvels at how your slit stretches to accommodate his cock, and he feels himself twitch at how you obediently take him like his own personal slut. He releases a dry laugh at how terribly he treated you just moments prior. He always has been a blunt and disrespectful person. That's what Suguru always told him.

Suguru.

He growls in frustration to shake away thoughts that feature his best friend, and his apparent infuriation results in a quicker and stronger pace that leaves you silently screaming.

Thrust.

Gojo misses Suguru so fucking much.

Thrust.

His mere strength isn't enough to save him.

Thrust.

He doesn't want to be saved, after all.

Thrust.

It's all his fault—

"Satoru!"

The spiral of Gojo's distressing thoughts comes to a halt, for your yelp of pleasure helps him regain his focus. You reach your climax, and your lips are parted as you make small, sensual noises of contentment.

Your expression is overtaken by bliss as your body faintly tremors from your high. The mere sight of you is enough to make Gojo stagger in his movements. With a shaky breath, he fully burries himself in your heat, and he fills you to the brim with strong spurts of his hot cum.

His grip on your waist loosens as his cock softens inside you. Slowly pulling himself away from you, he sighs at your mixed fluids dripping from your gaping hole. Before Gojo can stand to his full height, he feels your hand gently tug at his wrist.

"Won't you stay?"

You're too spent to even think of the repercussions of your question. Drunk in pleasure, you forget how you told Satoru with certainty that no attachments will form after this night — this horrid, heart-wrenching yet unforgettable night.

To your disappointment, he gently shakes off your grip as he takes a few steps away from you on the couch, closer to the exit of your apartment.

"No," he keeps his cool while he dresses himself with his discarded clothing on the floor. "I still have missions to do."

"...Oh," your dejected sigh hangs in the air, and the piercing sadness returns to fill your lungs.

'This won't mean anything,' you painfully recall your untruthful assertion. Your body may feel tired and sore, but your heart continues to mercilessly etch sorrow onto your soul.

You turn away from Gojo, hoping that he won't notice your glossy eyes and silent hiccups. You don't see him stare at your back with a hidden melancholy behind a practiced poker face. You don't see him frustratingly run his hands through his hair, cursing at himself silently.

You don't see him take a hesitant half-step towards you before taking two steps away.

All you hear is an uncharacteristically quiet 'goodbye' before the sound of your apartment door opening and closing fills your home.

"Fuck," you cry to yourself. "I'm so fucking pathetic."

You curl into a ball, a messy heap atop your ruined cushions, and you cry to yourself under the luminous moonlight.

Gojo Satoru will never want you — love you — the way you want him to.

You will never be in his heart.

Someone else is already in it, after all.

a/n: I made myself feel depressed with this one. If you want, I might make a second part (maybe a happy ending can be possible for you and Gojo). For now, enjoy the angst. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! ☆

[vhsgoghs]

sleeping problems (Valeria Garza one shot)

Valeria Garza x female reader

Summary: Valeria wakes up during the night and finds that her girlfriend can't sleep. note: English isn't my first language but i have done my best, sorry for any mistakes.

★ masterlist here

It was 3 in the morning when Valeria woke up, she rubbed her eyes and headed to the kitchen to drink some water. She was still quite sleepy, barely noticing where she was walking, and the darkness of the place didn't help much.

There was a small light in the kitchen that her girlfriend always left on before going to sleep. It wasn't enough to illuminate the kitchen completely, but it was enough for her to take a glass and pour herself some water.

There was nothing but the silence of the night and the light clink of the crystal glass. Until a voice emerged from the darkness.

"Couldn't you sleep either?"

The glass slipped from her hands, crashing against the sink and spilling the little liquid that was left, luckily it didn't break.

"Puta madre, (Y/N)!" Valeria gasped in surprise.

She turned to find a small silhouette barely visible in the gloom. Her girlfriend was sitting in one of the seats at the bar, she could barely notice a glass in front of her, she had her elbows resting on the bar, but nothing else was visible.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you," the girl said with a grimace. She got up from her seat and took the few steps that separated her from her girlfriend.

(Y/N) surrounded her with her arms and Valeria soon did the same. The height difference wasn't much, but Valeria was a little taller, especially when she wore those horrible boots that she hated, she said it added too many extra inches to her and made her feel even smaller.

"I thought you were in bed."

"I couldn't sleep," she murmured, avoiding mentioning that she hadn't been able to sleep well for weeks, always waking up at the same time every night.

"And what was that lump on the bed?"

"My favorite stuffed animal and a pillow, maybe." The girl giggled. It hadn't been her intention to leave both things under the covers like that, but apparently it had given the impression that she was still there.

"What happen?" Valeria removed some strands of hair from the girl's face, she just sighed and laid her head on her shoulder.

It could be Valeria's natural smell, mixed with the shampoo she always used when showering at night before going to sleep, but something had made her feel more relaxed, causing her to close her eyes for a few seconds, as if she were trying to record that moment in her mind.

She had learned to appreciate every moment with her. She was afraid that one day the phone would ring and would realize that she would never see her girlfriend again.

"About what?" she asked, not understanding what she was referring to.

"Why you can not sleep?"

"I don't know," she answered without hesitation.

She was not lying. In reality, she didn't have the slightest idea why she had started waking up during the night or she just couldn't sleep, despite being completely exhausted when she got ready to sleep.

"Do you want me to help you sleep again?" Valeria murmured. Her lips brushed the skin of her shoulder and there was a suggestive tone in her voice that made the youngest smile.

"It's only been a couple of hours, do you still have the strength for another round?"

"Well, that's the good thing about being with a girl," she joked.

(Y/N) didn't know if it was true, but she couldn't help but let out a little giggle. She had discovered that was interested in girls at an early age, when she entered high school, was a girl who first caught her attention, but Valeria had been her first real relationship or at least her first serious relationship. She had never been with a boy and she had never wanted to, and now even less than ever.

"No, I'm fine, let's go to bed."

Valeria nodded. She felt how her girlfriend intertwined her fingers and gently pulled her to start walking next to her.

The silence of the house seemed suffocating, they couldn't even hear the sound of their footsteps because none of them were wearing shoes. (Y/N) looked around her when they entered the room, looking for their little pet, she had insisted on having a foster child in their relationship when they moved in together, and although she preferred a dog, Valeria was a cat person.

Shortly after, a black fur kitten that was up for adoption came into their life. Valeria had named her Neblina. She used to leave the house at night, but would return about an hour later. (Y/N) hated that, she said something bad could happen to her.

Valeria wrapped her arms around her waist when she noticed that she was starting to worry about Neblina again, gently pushing her towards the bed and causing them both to fall, (Y/N) let out a whimper and stirred gently in her girlfriend's arms.

"Stop worrying," she murmured, knowing perfectly well what was going through her head.

"If something happens to our daughter, it's your fault." She frowned a little, she didn't sound upset, just a little worried. She had that fake tone of voice when she wanted to pretend that was reproaching something, but she found it very difficult to get angry with Valeria.

The words "our daughter" coming out of her mouth managed to stir something in her stomach.

"Nothing will happen to her, you know that she always comes back an hour later." Valeria left a kiss on her forehead and felt how she relaxed in her arms.

Several seconds passed in silence, until they both decided it was time to get back under the covers. Valeria always slept on the left side of the bed and (Y/N) on the right, it was something unconscious that they had started doing when they started sharing the same bed.

"Go back to sleep," (Y/N) whispered. Valeria looked at her for a few seconds before she turning back around.

Valeria frowned, confused, she didn't seem angry or like she didn't want to talk to her, it seemed more like she felt guilty for waking her up, even if it wasn't her fault. It had been Valeria herself who got up to drink some water.

(Y/N) felt arms surround her again and, seconds later, her girlfriend's breath hit her cheek. Valeria placed a soft kiss on her skin and although she couldn't see her, she could feel her shake her head.

She wasn't going to fall asleep if her girlfriend's head was full of thoughts and she couldn't sleep. It seemed… selfish to her. Maybe it wasn't the right word, but Valeria had always cared about her, if she had a problem, she always looked for a way to help her and not being able to sleep seemed like a big problem.

"I won't go to sleep if you're still awake." (Y/N) sighed. She hated when Valeria did that. In reality, she didn't hate it, but she felt guilty. "Tell me about your day."

(Y/N) sighed, trying to review her day. She had once told Valeria that her therapist said that one way to fall asleep was to talk about things that had happened to her or plans she had in mind for the near future.

She had laughed, it sounded stupid and it was the first time she had heard a therapist say that, but surprisingly, it had worked more than once. Her mind became distracted, she stopped overthinking those things that kept her awake, and eventually she fell asleep.

She couldn't believe Valeria still remembered that.

"I ate a salad," she started to say, but immediately stopped when heard her girlfriend laugh. "What?" She asked annoyed.

"Salad? Again?"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. Valeria always made fun of her when she ate salad, not because it bothered her, but because, strangely, she always ate the same thing and it was always exactly the same salad. It's not that she starved herself, actually, it was one of those salads that had chicken and thousands of things.

But, at that point, she had eaten the same thing so many times that Valeria had begun to find it funny.

"Let me finish!" She reproached and her girlfriend just nodded and remained silent. "Neblina and I took some photos and watched movies."

"You two took photos?" Her girlfriend nodded. "Can you send me them?"

"So that?" (Y/N) had begun to play with Valeria's fingers that were around her waist.

"I want it to be my wallpaper."

The youngest giggled and turned around to see her face. There was some darkness in the room, but she could see her face perfectly. (Y/N) always left the bathroom light on and the door slightly open to prevent the room from being completely dark at night.

Valeria felt that she had done something right, because her girlfriend's body was no longer tense as before and a small yawn had left her lips. She was sleepy again.

"If I don't forget it tomorrow, I will do it."

Valeria nodded. She watched as her girlfriend had placed her head close to her chest. She couldn't see her clearly, but she could tell that her eyes had begun to close.

"Are you going to sleep now? Now I'll be the one with insomnia," she joked.

(Y/N) laughed again, her laugh sounded slow and muffled due to her sleepiness, at any moment she would fall asleep and that was enough for Valeria to know that she had done a good job.

Several minutes passed in which neither spoke, her eyes had closed and soon her breathing became calm, indicating that she had fallen asleep. Valeria smiled, her girlfriend asleep and completely at peace was the best thing she could see. She placed a kiss on her cheek before lying down to sleep as well.

When she was about to close her eyes, a noise caught her attention. Her gaze went to the window, only to see Neblina, who had returned from her night walk.

And Valeria smiled before finally closed her eyes to fall asleep.

[ianthine-ichor]

I had an ask for this story but it was sadly eaten by the Tumblr gods 😔

So for the anon who asked for John Price x Reader who comes to him years later after a bad breakup because they are in danger, this one's for you!

John Price x Reader ~ All I Have is You

Summary: You come running back to John years after a nasty break-up in hopes of finding some help out of a horrible situation.

Word count:: 6.5k

Tw in tags

John's life could never be simple. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many loose ends he pulled together by the skin of his teeth. There always managed to be something he let lay dormant, something he let fall to the wayside just long enough for it to maybe even slip his mind. And damn near every time it did, it came back with a vengeance.

However, of all the things he knew would come back to haunt him, you were what he expected least of all.

He had believed you a long dead part of his life, a piece of himself better numbed in alcohol than thought about. A face he'd spent endless nights trying to forget the smile of, endless partners failing to take your stead. He'd long since conceded to that aspect of himself being buried, hardly remedied by the ‘I love you’ that would fall from whoever had been his most recent escape from the icy cold of his bed.

But then, on a day like any other in this silent little place he'd given up trying to make feel like any sort of home, he'd opened the door to your unmistakable features.

He didn't know what to feel in the years of silence that seemed to pass. His mind and muscles tore themselves apart trying to find what reaction seemed appropriate. A part of himself didn't believe it, a similar part almost reached out to hold you, and another felt infuriated. He wasn't sure if it was because even so close you felt like light years away or if it was because he wanted to slam the door in your face for daring to ever come back. And for a moment, however small, he seriously considered the latter of the two.

But then you spoke. And suddenly whatever amount of spine had led him to the thought melted like butter.

“I need to talk. I know I have no right to ask but…” you paused, your voice softer than he thinks he's ever heard you speak. There might have even been a quiver in it, but he could hardly believe such a sound could come from the person who had once held together his broken pieces like you'd been solving him your entire life.

“I need your help” your chin raises and you meet his gaze, his skin flashing with the familiarity in how your eyes narrowed and your face snarled. It's hard to take your attempt at strength seriously with how feigned of an attempt it was. He says nothing and just the same he watches as you crumble. Your eyes avert, your hands twitch, your body leans away from him.

He hardly recognizes you.

But he steps aside all the same, a nod inviting you in as he keeps his vow of silence. You almost hesitate, but step in soon enough. Like a long lost ritual you kick your shoes off at the door, hanging your jacket and bristling as the light cold leaves your skin. He notes how you don't let him out of your sight but he can't tell why your eyes burn as much as they do.

Eventually he leads you to the kitchen. He wonders if you notice the empty frames. He wonders if you even care to look.

Like some twisted version of an old dream, you take your spot at the table where you used to sit. And before he even realizes what he's doing he's perking coffee, his eyes turning to you.

“Coffee?” He asks, but he isn't even sure why he does. Looking at you would be enough of an answer. You looked like you hadn't slept in months. You nod anyway.

He pretends to forget how you make your coffee. Out of spite? Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter. He simply couldn't find the energy to put into someone whose presence made his heart find an old pace that left him biting his tongue at the bittersweet taste. Either way you get your coffee and he somehow finds the energy to sit across from you.

“You wanted to speak. Speak” his words come out harsher than he means them yet he doesn't find regret settling in his chest. Only minor annoyance as he watches you almost recoil from him, your drink pulled to your chest. Your eyes seem to search around for a moment, as if the words you needed so badly to speak would simply appear in front of you. He remembers how he used to find it sweet and can only react by biting his tongue harder.

“You haven't changed much” you begin. He can't help the grimace he shows as the annoyance in his chest grows. He catches how you straighten up under it.

“And you have” he answers back. You say nothing for a long moment and he isn't sure if he offended you or not. But he watches as you take a deep breath, your face hardening in a way he doesn't like.

“I know this isn't exactly…great for you. But it isn't for me either-”

“Why’d you leave?” the words slip out of his mouth before they had even been a thought in his head. Yet where he expected a look of anger or annoyance of your own, you only pause. And soon after, your look manages to grow colder.

“Because you didn't love me anymore” you answer back succinctly, calmly. He feels rage bloom in his chest at the words.

“Bullshit” he mutters through gritted teeth. He doesn't catch the sudden grip you hold on your cup and the way you slightly shake. But other than that you don't break.

“I must have phrased that wrong” there's a tone in your voice, an inflection of something horrible on your tongue.

“You did a piss poor job of making me feel like I was anything other than your fucking bed warmer” your words fall like acid on him. They soak through his marrow and into his bloodstream and become him. And his body rejects it just as quickly.

“You knew the type’a job I had when you met me” his voice is low and restrained as he tries to hold himself back

“It had nothing to do with your work-”

“Well what the bloody hell did it have to do with then!?” He stands, his hands slamming on the table as you immediately flinch away.

“Sit-!” You yell almost instinctively, the only thing he catches is the sudden terror in your tone. You take a stilted breath before speaking again.

“Sit down…please” your voice is much calmer but it does a horrible job at hiding the hitch in your voice or how your subtle shaking suddenly isn't so subtle. The strange demeanor stuns him for a moment, long enough for his flash of frustration to cool back to a simmer. There's a horrible feeling that crawls up his spine at your reaction, this gnawing, biting disgust that rips through him in a way he can't quite explain. He listens despite its elusive source or how he hates the way your eyes are locked on his every movement.

A horrible quiet passes that only further smothers the flames that had grown in his chest. You both hardly took any sips of your coffee as you seemed focused on your breathing and he was focused on loosening the sudden tightness of his muscles. Soon enough he spoke again, though he wasn't about to attempt that conversation again, as unsatisfied as he was by your answer.

“Why are you here?” He asks and this time he finds that his voice is weaker than he'd have liked it; betraying the words that he had meant to sting.

Yet despite that, he watches as your breath pauses and your grip tightens. How had you managed to grow even more tense?

“I don't have anyone else left” you answered, your eyes finally missing him, flickering away for what was barely a single moment. In spite of how hard he fought against it the painful beating in his chest left him worried. He tried not to show it. He hoped he hid it well enough for you not to notice.

The silence seemed to get to you. That or his stare had. Either way you continued.

“I just need somewhere to stay. Just a few months. I’ll figure it out by then and be gone. Just long enough to get some cash together” you try to explain and finally he spots something familiar in you. But it is not a part of you he once knew that he sees. No, he spots something else.

“You’re running from something” he interjects at his realization, your movements freezing at his accusation. You don't seem shocked so much as worried. He hated that you would ever even try to hide the fact from him.

“Yeah um…I am- but it's- it's complicated okay? I just need somewhere to stay-”

“Is it someone?” He questioned, your words lips closing into quiet once more. It stings a strange part of his soul that you seemed so unwilling to tell him outright.

“...It doesn't matter” you finally speak and he hides how his fists tighten. He hates that he cares at all. He hates that he can't help it.

Your plea for shelter lingers in the air for moments longer than either of you cared for. You couldn't handle the quiet of that for long.

“I don't have much, but I'll give you what I can. I'll get a job and pay you back I-”

“No” he shut you down immediately. Your face fell, the desperation of your gaze fixed on him.

“You can stay and I don't need your money” he clarifies and despite the lack of smile, your relief is more than visible.

“Thank you. I promise I'll be gone as quickly as I can get everything in order” you try to instill any sort of confidence that you would be of little bother, that he would hardly notice you here at all.

He couldn't help but feel his stomach fall to his feet at the words.

-

The first month you stayed had been…surreal, to say the least. For the most part the two of you did pretty well with avoiding each other. For moments of the day he would even wonder if that had been some weird fever dream. You? At his door? After so long? It all just felt so strange. Stranger yet that the circumstances were all but ideal. He thought about asking further, about pushing for what it was that led you here and why you had even been running in the first place. But he found that his tongue nearly died in his mouth every time he saw you around. It almost didn't feel real.

And despite the cold that still ran up his spine, the emptiness that found refuge in his chest, the blood that sat heavy in his veins; despite it all…

You still felt like home.

Yet you were still so far out of reach. Words seemed like complicated equations, conversations like rocket science. His words never left the way he wanted them to, his tone always the wrong amount of harsh. And with the way your eyes tracked his presence when he was around, almost unwavering from him…it all just felt so hard to explain. Something had changed, of course it had. It had been years since you two had last seen each other and it had hardly ended on good terms. Still, there was something so wrong here. Something in the way you ever so slightly leaned from him, or the way your eyes flickered to the closest door, or how it all seemed so familiar in a way that wasn't like home. In a way that was more like the warzones he'd grown so accustomed to.

And he could just see it, that fight in your eyes. That twitchiness that you had never had around him before. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why. What were you fighting and why did it almost feel like it was him?

It was horrible, the way that question had finally been answered.

The front door had slammed open, startling him from the dinner he had been making and setting every one of his senses aflame. It slammed shut before he had even made it to the hall and when he had he could hardly bring himself to swallow the scene.

You stood pushing on the door like it would hold damn near the whole world at bay. With how violently you were shaking he almost wished it would. Your hiccups and sniffles filled the air as you tried and failed about a hundred times to turn the lock. Your clothes were disheveled, your jacket gone and your shirt caked in dirt and…

No, no that wasn't…

“Y/n?” He hardly even remembered opening his mouth before your name fell out. Quiet and worried in a way he hadn't meant to show.

When your head snapped to him all of his insides twisted in a sickly mess. Features he remembered days of leaving soft kisses on were now warped by deep bruises and bleeding wounds. Your eyes wide and glossy, your skin a mix of blood and tears. Your breath had hitched as if any movement would turn him against you. He couldn't help but feel worse at the notion. He moves. Just one simple step closer.

And suddenly it's as if a dam breaks. Your murmuring words he can't understand, a panic on your face he hadn't seen in all of the time he's known you. You yell and thrash and he can't tell if you even know what you're doing, he can't tell if you even see him anymore. His body almost acts on instinct as he quickly grabs the nearest cloth near him before making his way to you. He places the cloth in your hand, your body flinching in a way that makes him hesitate a moment before he guides you to cover your bleeding nose.

“You gotta breathe” he mutters, no longer attempting to cover the look of confused worry that covers him. You seem to try, but a bloody nose makes that a little difficult. In the meantime he guides you to the bathroom, sitting you down as he fishes out a medkit. You stop talking altogether at that point, going eerily silent.

And it stays that way as he wipes away the blood and around deeply forming bruises. It stays as he cleans the wounds and makes sure your nose isn't broken. It stays when the peroxide hits your skin and when the bandages cover them. It's a horrible, false silence. A silence so loud his ears ring, though that could have just as well been the adrenaline leaving his veins. For a while he's fine with it, for a while it's better than the terror-filled panic, for a while it's better than the way you stared and twitched and sobbed.

But then you get a look in your eye. A dangerous look. A look he's seen too many times in his line of work. And suddenly the quiet isn't so safe anymore.

“Still with me there?” He asks in an attempt to gain your attention. To his relief your eyes flick to him and nod. He doesn't quite like how quickly they had turned cold again. In fact he's sure he hates it.

“What happened?” He finally asks and watches how the distant look in your eyes dissolves. Your lips quiver as you try desperately to hold onto a calm that wasn't coming. Your hands grip tightly onto a bloodied paper towel in your hands.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat. Your eyes avoid him like a simple glance would kill you.

“It's complicated I-” the panic in your voice rises again.

“I have to go- John I have to go-”

“Now hold on” his hand lands on yours, your body tensing under his touch. He can't help but feel sickened at the thought of you scared of him.

“Whatever happened, I promise it's safe, alright? No one's getting in here. You're safe. Just…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes showing his hesitation before he, as gently as he's ever done anything in his life, he places your hand to his chest. Your fingers flatten against him, familiar and comforting, as he lets out a deep breath.

“Just breathe” he almost pleads, something he finds himself regretting almost immediately. Yet despite feeling that he was doing a horrible job, it seemed to calm you all the same. Much to his relief you managed a few deep breaths, your hand still pressed on his heartbeat that he forced to slow.

He is surprised, after all of this, to hear a faint laugh fall from your lips. Quiet and saddened yes, but a laugh nonetheless. And he couldn't have felt more ridiculous than at that moment.

“What?” Or perhaps it seems he could, his dumbfoundedness not hidden in the tone of his voice. It isn't hard for you to wipe the smile from your face, if it had even really been a smile at all.

“Nothing I just…I remember when I had to do this for you” your tone is bittersweet.

“I never thought I'd be on the other side” your voice is breathless and strained, a certain feeling behind it he couldn't quite place. He finds himself snickering along as the once painful memory hits him. He would agree. He never imagined someone strong enough to pull him back to reality could ever need him to do the same.

“Yeah…world's got a fucked up way of making circles” he replies and you give a half-hearted attempt at agreement. And it seems that a moment too soon you pull away and he feels almost as if you take his heartbeat with you.

“Yeah…Yeah, it does…” you murmur, a sentiment far too true found in the quiet whisper. There is almost silence until you speak again.

“I'm sorry” the apology falls in a way not meant to ever leave you. The sound was as sorrowful as seeing a bird stripped of its wings. An act against nature, a horrible twisting of what should be.

“I’m sorry” you break again, though this time you don't shatter so much as you crumble. And he knows then that those words aren't for him. That he hated how they sounded coming from you, how they weren't what he wanted, how he could only wish you'd take them back so that he didn't have to feel the hole in his chest trying to carve its way through his skin.

And how useless he felt then, sat in front of your broken state knowing that you had once done the same with him. How utterly and completely he knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe this looming, horrible terror that was held so deep in your eyes he could only see a warped reflection of himself in them.

And he simply couldn't handle it. He felt weak, hopeless, useless. But what was there to do? He had never seen you so truly pained, he had only ever known the other side of this situation.

So he did the only thing he could. He pulled you close, slow and cautious, before the both of you crashed into one another. Hands that had twitched at his mere presence now held him as tightly as the shirt on his back. As if, should you let go, you'd be cast adrift again into the crimson rapids. And he could only hold just as tightly, hoping that if he just held on tight enough that the falling parts of you would stay, that he might save even a single piece from the agony you were lost in a sea of.

You two stayed like that for a long while, hardly caring about that time that passed. At some point, so overtaken by the exhaustion of your endless bouts of tears and the near-death experience you'd just endured, you'd passed out in his arms.

And like some cruel twisting of a memory he held dear, he carried you to bed. He tried not to glance too much at your features, the cuts and bruises sending sickening waves through him, as he laid you down. He took a shaky breath as he covered you in a blanket, taking care to be quiet as he left the room.

In the absence of your presence there was only rage.

A fire unlike any he had felt struck him like lightning, a burning hatred at who could have ever done this to you. His feet moved but his mind was preoccupied with who and why and- god why didn't you just tell him what happened? What could have ever led to this?! What had you done? Who had you upset?

The thoughts plagued his mind as he set up his spot on the couch. Yet when the pillows had been laid and the blanket placed, he could not find it in himself to rest. He could only pace and snarl and burn with such a horrible feeling. How dare they. How dare they. How could anyone do this to you? To his-...

It was only those final words that managed to slow his thoughts, a sinking feeling resting in his chest.

Not his. You were not his. Not for a long while, not anymore…

But there was no hiding the fire in his skin. No denying how deeply he held you, how desperately he wished to never let go again. He could only curse whatever higher power could hear him. Curse them for ever doing this to either of you. Of ever letting him know your name.

It was a horrible pain to want so desperately to have you back, but there was no pain worse than you returning in broken pieces. Worse yet to know that, maybe, had he done things differently, you might not have left his arms to shatter against a world he could have protected you from. To know that he failed.

He lit a cigar with a shaky hand. He knew then that there would be no sleeping tonight.

-

Your eyes were heavy as they opened, protesting against your attempts to wake up. You thought, in your groggy state, that it might be better to never open them again, to give in to what they demanded from you. To close them a final time.

But it was only a passing thought in your utterly exhausted state. A whisper held at the back of your mind just waiting for the moment that it might scream itself into existence. But not today. Not now, at least.

And so you forced them open, a groan halfheartedly falling from your lips as you pushed away the comfort of infinite dark. You managed enough strength to sit up, regretting it almost immediately when a dull pain burned your side. You would have been confused, maybe even a little worried, if not for the returning throbs of the many cuts along your face and arms that swiftly and brutally remind you of yesterday.

So close. You had been so close to the end. You were lucky to have made it out alive. It was honestly a miracle you had.

Cornered, like an animal. You remembered the feeling well. Trapped right where you didn't want to be. It was like he could smell your terror as he bared his wolfish teeth in the warm street light. A wicked smile, one that scorched itself into an unhealthy scar upon you. Never to be forgotten, a thing of nightmares.

You had run as far as you could go, lungs empty and feet sore, your hands covered in the warmth of your own blood as you tried to hold even just a part of yourself together, to manage to escape through the skin of your teeth once more. You had done it before, but a second time was surely a test of fate.

You had been lucky, then, that a bus was passing by. It shouldn't have been there so late so far out of town. But by some higher being or just through the world's sick way of fucking with you it was. You had never been so relieved to be met with headlights in your life; you practically screamed in relief as you waved it down. Your hunter was as scared as a doe in them, slithering off into the shadows like the coward you knew him as. The driver, a woman in her forties, looked horrified at the state of you. But you had brushed off her panic and worry and told her to simply drive. You were thankful the bus was empty. You couldn't have handled anyone else's questions in your utter panic.

You had only been a five-minute drive from salvation, from the home you had long since abandoned, only to return to in your time of need. Five minutes.

He must have known. Someone might have told him or you might have mentioned John in one of your many pain-filled benders. It didn't matter. He knew where you were, and it seemed his patience had only grown thinner. You were sure now that he would not stop with breaking you under his iron grip, but utterly destroying you.

All at once these thoughts hit you, flooding your mind with panic and worry. You're breathing shallowed as your mind falls down this path, stopping only when the end of the memory comes to mind.

John…

You tried to move him from your mind, to rid yourself of the sinking feeling that came when you thought of how quickly he had jumped to help you, even after years of silence and weeks of ignoring each other. You try not to think of his attempts at gentle touch, calloused battle-worn hands not quite built for the kindness he was showing. You remove from your mind how he held your hand to him, how it seemed like no time had passed from when you left with how quickly he knew what would truly calm you. And most of all, you try to remove the feeling of his arms around you, desperate and worried and familiar and home. You try, as little as that means nowadays.

You deduce that sitting in silence isn't the best way to distract you from these things, and so you finally stand from the bed, noting only then that you don't remember falling asleep here. But you let that slip your mind as well. You prefer the static buzz of being busy over thinking too much about any of this. It only made things harder.

So your feet moved without you, intimately familiar with the halls and doors and light switches. After all, it had been your home, once upon a lifetime ago.

You hardly stagger as you make your way to the kitchen, accustomed to the constant lull of pain in the back of your mind. A whisper of its own, and one you realized it better to ignore.

You are close to allowing the static buzz to take over, close to numbing and leaving your brain on autopilot. Close to the preferable numbness. So very close. But upon taking a step into the kitchen, you are met with a sight so twistedly familiar you are shocked back into yourself.

John sat at the table, two plates laid out and coffee poured. A quaint scene, an old one. A memory from a different time, faded and aged and different in ways that leave you sick. Because he didn't stare with the complete adoration of a man in love, nor did his eyes avert, distracted and tired, as they had on the day you had left him here. But instead they tear through you. Locked on you the second you entered. It amazed you how his eyes of crystal blue, so similar to that of a frozen storm, could burn through you so easily.

You think for a moment that this is it. That he's going to kick you out with only a final meal and that you are going to be thrown to the starved wolf you knew lurked just outside. You prepared yourself to plead, to apologize, to ask for any bit of mercy he might show you. After all, you had lost your dignity a long time ago, and it wouldn't be the first time you had begged for your life.

But then, as if the elements of himself collided, the fire in his eyes cooled to a warm glow. Soft and familiar and warm, warm, warm.

You almost wished then that he'd return to his fiery glare.

“Sit, love” It isn't a command as much as a quiet plea, his voice is soft and calm and maybe even worried, a rare combination for him. It's a sound so foreign now that you almost don't trust it. His expression falls further as you hesitate.

“I just wanna talk” he tried to explain, to give you any reason to trust him. It works, though only barely. You take a hesitant seat across from him.

The smell of the food hits your nose and only then do you realize you hadn't eaten last night. The waft of coffee only seems to make things worse as it reminds you of how tired you are.

“We can eat first” you can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but either way you take the opportunity. You were too weak to deny how much you needed this right now. You would regret it later, you were sure, but for right now you would allow yourself this small indulgence.

And so it was quiet, absent the sound of forks hitting plates. Quiet in a way that you weren't sure if you liked or despised. You wondered if it even mattered.

It was a few bites in and halfway through your coffee that he spoke again.

“I saw a butterfly this morning” his words cut the silence in a way that baffles you out of the static once more. Out of your head and your thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest.

“Oh?” You respond almost too naturally, almost too much like you used to. If it weren't for the heaviness in your voice, you might have even forgotten that this wasn't like it used to be.

“Yeah. Should’ve seen it. It had all your favorite colors” his words are almost light in spite of the tense atmosphere and, despite it all, it manages the smallest smile from you.

“I’m sure it was beautiful” you reply and watch as the look on his face changes. You can't quite read it, a strange softness is all you can take from it. But there never fails to be that lingering sadness there. That worry. That pain you can't quite bring yourself to address. And so you look away, your eyes turned down to your food once more.

The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the two of you, drown you in this horrible replication of better times, and punish you for daring to seek even this small comfort. And so, knowing that there is only one way this will go, he finally asks.

“What happened last night?” You feel your throat tighten almost immediately, not daring to pick up your fork when the weight of that question falls atop you. You find it hard to give him an answer, let alone one that might satisfy him.

“I…It’s…” you struggle and hope that maybe you might just disappear, that maybe all of this was some horrible nightmare you'd wake from. But as seconds passed it became clear it wasn't. Clearer still that you had to give him an answer after what he'd seen.

“It's complicated” you try to explain but you knew the moment the words fell that they wouldn't be enough. You think that maybe he'll be angry at this, that he'll slam the table like he had before and demand a better explanation. But a glance shows that his expression only deepens in its worry.

“Then explain it to me” he pleads once more. It was a rare day he ever pleaded, begged, or even so much as asked for something. Rarer yet that it's genuine. Your mouth goes dry and silence remains. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

“Love-” his hand reached for yours and the contact shocks every nerve in your body. You flinch away from him, regretting it a moment later when his worry turns to pain on his face. He retracts his hand with the most hesitance you've ever seen from him; a man so usually sure of himself.

“I just need to know what's happening. I-...” he falters, another rare sight. He takes a shaky breath.

“I won't hurt you” those words come out stronger than the rest, as truthful as he could have possibly made them. And, despite its softness, it seems to tear apart the very walls you had built to keep you safe.

But safe from what, exactly? When the wolf lays outside, and this place is your final sanctuary, what does that make him? You weren't quite sure, but somehow you knew that whatever this was, it felt…well it felt familiar at least. A devil you knew well enough to find some comfort in the warmth of.

Your head turns away, arms held against you in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. You think, for a moment, that you might run from here. That you might leave everything behind in the wake of the words that threaten to leave your tongue.

But he wants the truth. And who are you to deny him it? It couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

“Where do you even want me to start?” You ask him, voice hollow and cold and empty. There was no more of yourself to give than a story. You wondered if the sacrifice would even matter.

“Wherever you need to” he answers back, his shoulders squared: tense. You had half a mind to comfort him, but you doubt it would've helped. So, with a deep breath that does very little to calm your nerves, you finally answer him.

“When I left I didn't want to start over, but I didn't want to see you again either. So I moved a few towns over” you started, your voice detached from yourself, like it came from someone else entirely.

“A few months later I met someone. He had been so kind at first. Loving, attentive. He made me feel like I existed in the world again. Made me feel wanted” your words murmur and a snarl forms, even talking about it makes you sick.

“I was stupid, blinded, didn't pay attention. Didn't care, really…” you pause, your hands indenting into your skin as if to keep you where you sat, as if to stop you from fading from here.

“I married him” your words come out much more mournful than you mean to, your snarl nothing more than a quivered lip now. You had married that monster.

You didn't have to glance at John to know the look on his face. Anger, rage, a twisted form of jealousy. It was a knife to his back, you imagine, that you might have married another man before he had ever put a ring on your finger. But you weren't quite sure you cared anymore. After all, it wasn't you who had been so cold to him those final days you were together.

“I didn't realize who he was until then. He'd always been…rough. Arrogant, quick-tempered, prone to violence. But I guess I just thought that he wouldn't ever treat me like that. That I was different. That he loved me” your words shake and you do your best to pull those broken strings together. To steel yourself. To not be so pathetic.

“I was wrong…” you allow yourself the pain of those three words and in so scar your heart further as you admit it. He had never loved you.

“I tried to get away, I tried to start over again, but he wouldn't let me leave. I can't get a job without him finding me, can't get a place to stay, can't start over. I thought maybe if I came here, maybe if my name wasn't on anything, maybe if I was careful enough then I could figure it out…I was wrong about that too” you curse yourself when tears sting at you. You do your best to hide it, to disappear in front of his own eyes. But there was only so much you could do. Hiding from him had never been your strong suit.

John feels…well he doesn't quite know. A mixture of everything horrible, he thinks. He can't stand how your eyes avoid him as the words fall, how with each passing word he can only find regret. Regret that he hadn't held you closer, that he hadn't kept you safe. And he hates that the consequences don't fall to him, that he wasn't the one burned, that instead he watches you crumble and break and shatter. He had loved you, he had always loved you. That hole in his heart, that void you filled. Ripped from him and torn apart as swiftly as a flower in a stormy ocean. He hardly had the mind to blame you anymore, hardly had the heart to. He could do nothing but blame himself and the cruel creature he could hardly call human. The one who had dared to lay a finger on you. The one he could imagine tearing apart with his bare hands.

There are questions that circle his brain, words that travel from the top of his head and almost meet his tongue. ‘What’s his name?’ ‘Where can I find him?’ ‘How long had this been happening?’ ‘Why hadn't you said something sooner?’

He lets out a shallow breath, his eyes closing in thought for only a short moment before he stands. The sound of the chair startles you into watching him once more. His steps are slow, and deliberate, as they make their way towards you. You lean away for a moment, as you had since you'd gotten here, but it calms as you watch him. His movement is predictable; safe.

And soon, just as slow and just as softly, his hands fall on your face as they had hundreds of times before. Calloused but warm, a softness he only ever found with you. He is gentle along your bruises, careful with them. You can't look from him now, eyes searing through him. But he had nothing to hide, and so he stared back.

“We're gonna figure this out” he speaks to you, words like comforting slashes against your soul in how they tear your emotions from you. Your attempts to hide were all but vain now, tears falling freely and only barely held from a sob. Your breaths shake as your eyes close into the comfort, hands falling onto his as if he might just slip away. He presses a kiss, hesitant yet desperate against the crown of your head.

“He ain't ever hurting you again” his words are a promise as he mumbles them against your skin before placing his head against yours. You make no attempt to pull away, instead finding that a broken smile falls on your lips, one of utter relief. Somehow you find a will to speak.

“I missed you”

-

Potential part two? Maybe? Probably? Definitely?

[the-modern-typewriter]

ah, could you write something about a vampire x mortal who always reincarnates

The vampire recognised the scent of them immediately. Part of them thought it might be wishful thinking. The other part burned with thirst and longing and too many raw things for any one person - supposedly soulless vampire or not - to cope with.

If they needed to breathe, they would have been breathless.

It wasn't them.

It couldn't be them.

"Jesus," they heard their lovely and inexplicable love murmur. "What have they done to you?!"

The sounds of the world grew a little louder as the human began to tear down the wall around them, inch by cold and concrete inch. The vampire felt like they had been trapped for a very long time.

(They suspected that they might have been trapped for a very long time).

The sound of that blood, that impossibly familiar blood, roared in their ears. A heartbeat. A lifeline. A hangman's noose.

"Don't." The words were inaudible with disuse. The whisper of cracked plaster and old bones long since desiccated.

Cool air caressed the hollow of the vampire's throat as that part of the wall was shattered through first. The vampire couldn't see them straight away, there was only the agony of hope. Glimpses.

Their love had a new haircut - something of the contemporary style, perhaps? Their eyes were so much older than their face. Their lips were pressed in a harsh, trembling, utterly livid line.

Was it truly them?

Their love looked like a strange memory, not quite accurate to the version that the vampire knew. Different. The same. Younger?

The vampire tumbled out of their broken cage less like a deadly immortal apex predator and more like a Jenga tower made out of soggy potato wedges.

The human caught them, cradled them close, pressing frantic kisses atop their no-doubt horribly greasy hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner," the human said. "I thought you were dead. If I'd known - it's going to be okay now. You're going to be okay."

Maybe it was a hallucination.

Maybe the vampire had finally died.

That blood was so close, so enticing, a siren call that they were too pathetically weak to even reach for. They didn't feel like a living thing at all.

The vampire groaned.

"Blood." The human - the hallucination, the everything because if they were dead or hallucinating than at least the vampire got to see them again - blurted the word. "You need blood. Of course you need blood! You must be starving. Shit. Okay."

The kisses stopped crowning their head.

It was possible that hallucinations were supposed to hurt less.

The scent of blood grew stronger. Something was pressed against the vampire's mouth and -

They drank.

When the vampire came to themselves again, they had only the vaguest memory of stumbling out of the tunnels and into the inky night. The human's arm was warm and secure around them. There was a bed. Soft sheets. Fresh air. A growing strength returning to their body.

The room around them was clear. The human sitting by the bed was undoubtedly there, but still impossible. Still some miracle.

"You look a lot less dead now," the human said, apparently making a remarkable effort to keep their voice light. "That's good. Dead doesn't suit you."

"You died." The vampire had processed the grief for years, as if such loss could be neatly packaged and boxed away like a vampire feral with mourning.

"I came back. I didn't realise you had too."

"You're..." The vampire's brow furrowed. They sat up, slow and careful lest they terrify their definitely not a vampire but not quite mortal love.

"And you're a vampire," the human said. "Wow. When did that happen?"

"Shortly after you died. You died."

"Sorry. I didn't do it on purpose."

They stared at each other, disbelieving and so crippled by relief that it left them both shy and faltering.

What did one say to the reincarnated version of someone they had loved more than anything? What did one say to a blood-thirsty monster who had spent the last decade or so entombed in a wall?

It felt somewhere between a second chance, beautiful and shining and everything that they had ever wanted...and an utterly sick joke.

The vampire wanted to kiss them.

"And you're back," the vampire said.

"And you're a vampire."

"I didn't do it on purpose." They would never have chosen an eternity without their love on purpose and yet...there they sat. The vampire was glad that they didn't have to blink, didn't have to tear their attention away for even a millisecond.

Their hand twitched on the bedsheet. They were abruptly aware that a long chain connected their wrist to the headboard.

Their love coloured. "I wasn't sure if you'd try and eat me again. You weren't...you weren't quite yourself."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. What they did to you - if I hadn't come back - if I'd found you sooner -" It was so like them that it had to be real, and so the vampire had to smile.

"It's okay," they said. "You're back. You found me."

Everything would be okay because they were there.

The moment after that, the two of them were clinging to each other like they were clutching for the last life boat off the Titanic.

Everything was going to be okay.

"God," the human mumbled into their neck, "I missed you. I thought I was - I thought I was alone. I thought you were gone."

"Never." The vampire kissed them, then, claiming and tender. "I'll never be gone again. I'll wait for you forever."

Their mortal would never wake up with that shattering grief again.

The vampire grew used to the exquisite pleasure-pain of the reincarnation cycles after that.

[glassesfreekjr]

Can we analyse Tulin for a bit?

Apart from being the keet birb boy, perhaps what makes his character so enthralling is how it so brilliantly reflects and offers commentary on the influences that have shaped him.

Whether that be Revali, his father Teba, and ESPECIALLY Link. Hell, it's no wonder that Link & Tulin have garnered such a sibling dynamic. Tulin essentially IS Link, from a time before the burden of responsibility and pain caused Link to cave in on himself pre-Breath of the Wild.

Right down to the veteran warrior father figure (Link's father was captain of the guard) and their acceptance of a newfound legacy out of forthright integrity. Tulin, at this point in his life, has yet to give himself away until there's nothing of him left to give, and let's pray he never needs to.

But Tulin would do that in a heartbeat, if called upon. He is very much his father's son.

You can see it in how archtypical childish spunk is tempered, like steel, by Teba's down-to-earth bluntness and sheer work ethic.

(BTW I wonder if Link sees his own father in Teba? That'd check out.)

But what caught me most pleasantly off-guard is Tulin's skepticism, which has become one of his most compelling traits for me. It's not something you would expect.

He did not believe that the Stormwind Ark existed, and while ultimately proven wrong, it frankly wasn't an illogical assumption to make. Tulin clearly thought through that opinion. He'd also grown frustrated that the Rito placed their faith on a songbook miracle — a eucatastrophe, if you will — instead of something more concrete like personal skill or, say, Link's whole-ass existence.

The second Link arrived and offered his aid, Tulin accepted his help without hesitation. He turned his skepticism inward to reevaluate his own tenets. And it's as a duo that they brought about said eucatastrophe through no one's strength but their own. They are siblings, Your Honor. Aryll 2.0

(If Revali had been blessed with a support network saying "it's okay to accept help. no man is an island," doubtless he still would have perished in Vah Medoh. But there would be less of an ego to shatter. He would have faced death with less blind panic and more dignity. And most importantly, he'd have other people to bolster the wind beneath his wings during his short life. (At the very least, Revali would not have as big an ass not be as big an ass, just as Tulin would be a different person without his family.)

dammit quaquaval you have RUINED me

Also, one thing that everyone seems to miss is just how deceptively intelligent Tulin turns out to be. This kid fuckin' knows his stuff. His mastery of aerodynamics beyond the instinctual is almost on par with Revali at such a young age. And how many precision headshots has his avatar saved your ass with, don't lie.

He somehow managed to follow his father back through time. Tulin can see Koroks.

It's not the same kind of passion-fuelled intellect as, say, Zelda has. More of an unyeilding conviction to learn all he can and put it into practice. About as understated a quality as Yunobo's inexplicable business acumen and economic sense.

As his mother Saki put it, for Tulin to develop as an individual, he needs to experience more of reality and its hardships. Shooting bullseyes and improving one's flying prowess / wind magic can't contend with genuine combat. True to her word, Tulin had to experience mistakes firsthand, and critically examine his own naïve ways of thinking in order to take those necessary steps.

...

So then, uh, is it wrong for me to wish something horrible upon him, if only to witness the positive character growth that springs from it? Tulin isn't the sort who'll shatter under pressure, like Revali did at the end of his life, or like Link did under the weight of expectation. Buckle, yes — but not break. Tulin's steadfast conviction, inherited from his father and guided by the people he loves, would assuredly see him through.

In any event, his Hero's Journey isn't close to over. I'd be curious to see Tulin at its conclusion.

tl;dr I wanna Emesis Blue his bitch-ass, AITA?

[ystrike1]

If You Save an Immoral Beast - By Hesha (7/10)

The perfect opening. Great characters. Good motivations. These are the ingredients to any good story, but the random superpowers ruin this one. I'm not saying it's unreadable, but it drops from great to mediocre by chapter four.

Lee is a slave. His mom was killed in front of him. He was sold into child labor. He keeps a bar clean. A certain bar called Night Butterfly, where the most beautiful slaves earn clients and money for their masters.

This is Pierre. An experienced slave trader who just so happens to own Lee. The brothel district is a fairly lawless place. It's easy for Pierre to control all of his products. Lee is a kid with no family who sleeps behind a stripper bar.

Nobody is gonna save him.

Reality is cruel.

Lee knows what happens to slaves who are old, ugly or otherwise useless. They are left disfigured in underground cells. The woman who cared for him had her mouth burned off. She never saw the sun. Her job involves tailoring clothes for new slaves and helping them bathe when they're injured, and total isolation outside of that.

The cells are where disobedient unwanted slaves go.

Lee decides he wants to live, and that means he needs to be wanted.

He decides to seduce clients who visit Night Butterfly. It's a very dangerous gamble, and he loses every time. He's looking for a golden goose. A noble lady that can satisfy his greedy owner.

Pierre knows he's trying to escape.

Lee is punished brutally.

Sounds like a standard backstory right?

Nope.

Lee is extra ruthless. He literally has no conscience. He's been living behind the bar since he was like ten. He knows how to manipulate lonely women. He catfishes all of them. He tells his rich clients he loves them, and they take on a risk too. His lovers try to free him with expensive mercenaries, secret ship voyage tickets and gold.....but it doesn’t work.

Pierre has the women whipped.

Beaten horribly.

It happens to all of Lee's "lovers".

He watches them bleed, and he doesn’t give half a shit.

Asha is from a completely different life. A prestigious Count household hired her. She is supporting her sick mother and she is a skilled domestic worker. She is a great cook and a quick wit that helps the manor solve daily issues.

Her master, Benjamin, has a good relationship with her. They aren't friends. They are a master and servant who just so happen to get along. They are the polar opposite of Lee and Pierre.

Master Benjamin seems to be a good man, but his head maid is not. She's affiliated with Pierre. She uses poor Ashe as a transport donkey for illegal gold. Ashe doesn't really have a choice, because smuggling means extra money for mom.

The suspicious head maid sends her to Night Butterfly.

There she finds Lee.

Lee suddenly has super strength now by the way. His whole story about using what he has to survive now doesn't matter, because he's strong enough to shred men twice his size.

Also Ashe is a healer....but she can't heal her mom for some reason???

Whatever.

She heals Lee and that's it. He's yandere for her. It's cheating and it sucks. I want Lee to be jealous of Ashe, and her shiny life with Benjamin. I want intrigue. Not glowy healer lights and glowy super strength eyes. Lee is a slave. Asha is a maid. They don't need to be special and they were more interesting without the superpowers.

Very disappointed.

I won't finish this one.

[mbruben-stein]

Hello! I love love love your works!

May I request headcanons for:

Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Loki

In which the reader (fem or gender neutral) gets hurt to protect them (or the reader got hurt taking a blow which was meant for them), and is dying.

I don't know if you've written this before, and you don't need to rush to write this, if you do write this, thank you so much!

P. S. Your works brighten my day, thank you!!

Avengers reaction to fem s/o getting hurt protecting them/taking a blow for them, and dying in their arms.

Warning: this Mentions Death, and it's sad.

~Peter Parker~

Peter cradled s/o's broken body in his arms, his mind reeling in horror and despair. Just moments ago, they had been fighting side-by-side against the villain's henchmen. But in a cruel twist of fate, s/o had jumped in front of Peter to shield him from a powerful energy blast at the last second. Now she lay dying from catastrophic wounds, her breaths coming in short, pained gasps.

"No, no, no… s/o, stay with me, please," Peter begged, tears streaming down his face as he held her close. His voice cracked with anguish. "Why did you do that? I'm Spider-Man, I have powers, I could have…"

"I had to…" S/o whispered weakly, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. "I couldn't let you die… I love you, Peter."

"I love you too. More than anything. You can't leave me, not like this!" Peter sobbed. His mind raced desperately, trying to think of some way, any way to save her. But deep down, he knew it was too late. Her injuries were too severe.

S/o's eyes fluttered as she struggled to focus on Peter's grief-stricken face one last time. "I'm sorry… Take care of yourself and stay strong… for me…"

With those final words, s/o went limp in Peter's arms, the light fading from her eyes as her spirit left her body. An anguished, inhuman howl of misery tore from Peter's throat. He hugged s/o's lifeless form to his chest, rocking back and forth as he wept uncontrollably.

His beloved s/o, the person he cherished most in this world, had sacrificed herself to save him. Devastation overwhelmed Peter, along with crushing guilt. He should have been faster, should have protected her. What good were his powers if he couldn't even keep the woman he loved safe?

As he knelt there in the wreckage, shattered by grief and loss, Peter silently vowed that s/o's death would not be in vain. He would keep fighting to protect others, no matter the cost. He owed her that much. Even as his heart lay in pieces, he would honor s/o's memory by being the hero she always believed him to be.

~Tony Stark~

Tony cradles s/o's broken body in his arms, the chaos of the battle still raging around them. Her breaths come in short, pained gasps as blood seeps through her torn tactical suit.

"No no no, stay with me baby, stay with me," Tony pleads desperately, voice cracking with emotion. He brushes her hair back from her ashen face with a shaking hand.

S/o weakly reaches up to grasp his hand. "T-Tony…"

"Shh, don't try to talk. Save your strength. I'm gonna get you out of here, you're going to be okay…" But even as the words leave his mouth, Tony knows they ring hollow. Her injuries are too severe.

Tears stream down his face as the horrible realization sinks in - she sacrificed herself to save him. Jumped in front of that blast meant for him without hesitation. And now the woman he loves is dying in his arms because of it.

"I-I had to… c-couldn't let you die…" s/o whispers, life quickly fading from her eyes.

"You shouldn't have done that! Not for me. God, not for me…" Tony's body shakes with sobs, cradling her close. "Please… I can't lose you…"

With the last of her strength, s/o reaches up to touch his face. "I love you…"

Then her hand falls limply to the ground as she breathes her last. Tony lets out an anguished cry, burying his face against her neck as grief consumes him. She's gone. And it's his fault.

The profound guilt, devastation and self-loathing would haunt Tony deeply. Blaming himself for not protecting her, for once again failing someone he loved most. Her death saving his life would weigh heavily on his soul, tormenting him endlessly. The sacrifice of his beloved s/o would break something fundamental inside Tony and leave scars that would never fully heal.

~Natasha Romanoff~

Natasha cradles s/o gently, a look of anguish on her face as she sees the severity of s/o's wounds. "Why did you do that?" she asks softly, her voice trembling slightly. "You shouldn't have…"

S/o manages a weak smile. "I couldn't let you get hurt. Not when I could do something about it." She winces in pain.

Natasha shakes her head, fighting back tears. "You brave, stubborn woman. Always putting others first." Despite the direness of the situation, there's a note of pride and deep affection in Natasha's voice.

She holds s/o closer, stroking her hair soothingly. "Just stay with me, okay? Help is coming. You're going to be alright."

S/o's breathing is growing shallower. "Nat… I need you to know… meeting you, loving you… it's been the best part of my life. You made me so happy…"

A tear slips down Natasha's cheek as she presses her forehead to s/o's. "Don't talk like that. Don't you dare say goodbye," she whispers fiercely. "You're my heart, s/o. I can't do this without you."

"You're the strongest person I know," s/o murmurs. "You'll be okay. I love you so much…" Her eyes flutter closed.

"No, no, no, stay with me!" Natasha pleads desperately. "I love you too. More than anything. I can't lose you!"

She holds s/o tightly as the sound of the medevac approaches, silently praying to anyone who will listen to let her love survive this. In this moment, the Black Widow facade is gone - there is only a woman terrified of losing the most precious thing in her world. All of her walls have crumbled, revealing the deeply vulnerable, human side of her that s/o alone was privileged to know.

It's a poignant, heartwrenching scene, illustrating the depth of love and raw, aching humanity beneath Natasha's guarded exterior. Her s/o means everything to her.

~Steve Rogers~

Steve would be utterly distraught seeing his beloved S/O gravely injured and dying in his arms, especially knowing she sacrificed herself to protect him. As she lay there growing weaker, he would cradle her gently, his blue eyes filled with anguish and glistening with tears he's struggling to hold back.

"Stay with me, please. Don't leave me," he would plead desperately, his normally steady voice breaking. The thought of losing her would be unbearable to him.

Ever the soldier, he would call urgently for medical help, putting pressure on her wound to slow the bleeding, refusing to give up. But he would also take her hand and stroke her face tenderly, wanting her to feel his presence and love in what could be their final moments together.

"You're going to be alright, just hold on," he would say, even as the life fades from her eyes. "I love you so much. I can't do this without you."

As she drew her last breaths, he would hold her close and whisper softly to her. "It's okay. You can rest now. I've got you."

Even if help arrived too late, he would refuse to let her go, rocking her in his arms as sobs overtook his body. The guilt and grief would threaten to consume him. He would forever remember her final act of love and carry it with him always, even as he struggled to imagine a life without her by his side. The woman he loved, his partner and soulmate, gone in an instant… it would shake him to his core and leave him a broken man.

~Loki~

Loki cradles s/o's weakening body in his arms, green eyes wide with shock and anguish as he takes in her grave injury. The chaos of battle fades into the background as his entire focus narrows to the woman he loves, her life force fading by the second.

"No, no, no…" he mutters in disbelief and growing despair. "S/o, why did you do that? Why would you sacrifice yourself for me?" His normally smooth voice cracks with raw emotion.

S/o manages a pained smile up at him, raising a trembling hand to caress his pale cheek. "Because I love you, Loki. I couldn't bear to see you hurt."

Loki shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes and spilling down his face. "You foolish, beautiful, brave woman. I never deserved your love, your loyalty." He pulls her closer, burying his face in her hair.

"I'd make the same choice again," s/o whispers. "I regret nothing… except leaving you." Her breathing grows shallower, more labored.

"Don't you dare leave me!" Loki commands desperately, his slender frame shaking with repressed sobs. "Stay with me, love. I can heal you, I can fix this!" His hands glow with seidr as he frantically tries to knit her grievous wounds back together.

But the damage is too extensive. s/o weakly grips his wrist, stilling his movements. "No, my darling. We both know… it's too late for me."

"You can't go," Loki pleads brokenly, his heart shattering. "I need you. I've lost so much already…"

With the last of her waning strength, s/o pulls his head down and presses a tender kiss to his lips. "I'll always be with you, Loki. In your memories, in your heart." Her voice is fading, her skin growing cold. "Promise me…you'll keep living. Keep fighting for good."

"I promise," Loki chokes out. "I love you, s/o. More than anything."

She smiles serenely as the light leaves her eyes. "And I love you…always."

S/o goes limp in his arms, and Loki unleashes an anguished, grief-stricken scream, his magic exploding out of him in uncontrolled waves. The battle turns in his favor as he cuts down enemies in a berserk rage, tears streaming down his face.

When the last foe falls, Loki collapses beside s/o's body, gathering her into his arms once more as he weeps, desolate and heartbroken without her. He knows he'll have to find a way to carry on, to honor her memory and sacrifice. But for now, all he can do is grieve the loss of his soulmate and vow vengeance on those responsible.

[geotjwrs]

beside you

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; angsty

The Beetlejuice set was buzzing with its usual quirky energy. Jenna Ortega was thrilled to be back, especially since she would be working with Y/N again. They had a blast filming Scream 6, and she was looking forward to the same camaraderie on this set. But as the days went by, she noticed Y/N was different.

Instead of his usual lively and humorous self, he seemed withdrawn and tense. He was constantly checking his phone, his shoulders slumped, eyes red from what Jenna could only assume was crying. His transformation was so stark that Jenna couldn't ignore it any longer.

One day, during a lunch break, Jenna decided to confront him. She found Y/N sitting alone in his trailer, staring blankly at his phone. The sight of him looking so defeated was heart-wrenching.

"Hey, Y/N," she said, knocking softly before stepping inside. "Mind if I join you?"

Y/N looked up, startled, quickly wiping his eyes. "Oh, Jenna. Sure, come in," he replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Jenna sat down next to him, her concern evident. "I've noticed you've been really down lately. What's going on? You can talk to me."

Y/N sighed, shoulders slumping even further. "It's just... everything's been overwhelming lately."

"Y/N, you can tell me. Maybe I can help," Jenna said, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

He hesitated, looking down at his phone. "It's these comments online. People have been saying such horrible things about me. It's like no matter what I do, I can't escape the negativity. It's gotten to the point where I'm seriously considering quitting the movie."

Jenna's eyes widened in shock. "What? No, Y/N, you can't quit. You're an amazing actor and an even better person. Don't let those comments get to you."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, spilling over despite his efforts to hold them back. "It's hard, Jenna. It feels like I'm constantly being torn down. I don't know if I can keep doing this."

Jenna scooted closer, wrapping her arms around him in a firm hug. "You're not alone in this. You have me and the rest of the cast and crew. We all see how incredible you are."

Y/N leaned into her embrace, finding some solace in her presence. "Thank you, Jenna. It means a lot to hear that from you."

She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "You're stronger than you think, Y/N. And you're not alone. I'm here for you, always."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of Y/N's struggles hanging heavy in the air. Jenna took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "I've wanted to tell you this for a while now. I have feelings for you, Y/N. Real, deep feelings."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "Jenna, I... I feel the same way. I've just been too scared to say anything."

A small, relieved smile spread across Jenna's face. "We don't have to be scared anymore. We can face this together."

Y/N nodded, a faint smile breaking through his sadness. "Together."

With Jenna's support, Y/N slowly began to find his footing again. Her presence on set was a constant source of comfort and strength, helping him to focus on his work rather than the negativity online. They spent their breaks together, sharing laughs and comforting words, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

One afternoon, during a particularly challenging scene, Y/N found himself struggling. The pressure and the memories of the hateful comments threatened to overwhelm him. Jenna noticed immediately and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You've got this, Y/N," she whispered. "I believe in you."

Y/N looked into her eyes, finding the courage he needed. "Thanks, Jen."

With her support, he pushed through the scene, delivering a performance that left everyone in awe. The director clapped enthusiastically, praising Y/N's dedication and talent.

As the day came to an end, Y/N and Jenna sat together, watching the sunset from the set. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, a beautiful end to a challenging day.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Jenna," Y/N said softly, his heart full of gratitude and love.

Jenna smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We make a pretty good pair, don't we?"

Y/N chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. "The best."

One night, after a long day of shooting, Y/N and Jenna found themselves in the quiet of his trailer. Jenna was flipping through a script, while Y/N was trying to relax by playing a game on his phone. Despite his efforts to unwind, the memory of the hurtful comments lingered in his mind.

Jenna glanced over at him, noticing his furrowed brow. "Hey, what's on your mind?"

Y/N sighed, putting his phone down. "Just those stupid comments again. They keep creeping back in."

Jenna set the script aside and moved closer. "You need a distraction. How about a joke?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Alright, hit me."

"What do you call the security guard of Samsung?" Jenna asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Y/N shrugged. "I don't know. What?"

"Guardians of the galaxy!" Jenna delivered the punchline with a dramatic flourish.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Okay, that was pretty good."

Jenna grinned, pleased with herself. "See? Sometimes you just need to lighten up a bit."

They spent the next few minutes trading jokes and funny stories, the laughter helping to lift Y/N's spirits. The bond between them felt stronger than ever, a reminder that they were in this together.

The next morning, the sun streamed through the curtains of the trailer, waking them gently. Jenna opened her eyes to find Y/N already awake, watching her with a tender smile.

"Morning," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"Morning," she replied, snuggling closer. "Ready for another day on set?"

Y/N laughed softly. "Absolutely. Bring it on."

They got up, ready to face the new day, their hearts light and their spirits high. The challenges they had faced together had only made them stronger, and their love was a beacon guiding them through any storm.

As they stepped out onto the bustling set, hand in hand, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together. Their love was unbreakable, a testament to their resilience and strength.

Later that day, they were shooting a particularly complex scene. Y/N's character had to deliver a long monologue, something that had always come naturally to him before. But now, with the weight of recent events hanging over him, he found it difficult to focus.

Jenna noticed his unease and quietly approached him between takes. "Hey, you okay?"

Y/N nodded, though his expression said otherwise. "Just a bit nervous, I guess."

Jenna squeezed his hand, offering a reassuring smile. "You're going to nail this. Just remember, you're an amazing actor. You've got this."

Her words gave him the confidence boost he needed. When the director called for action, Y/N delivered his lines with such passion and intensity that the entire set fell silent. When the scene ended, the crew erupted in applause, and the director couldn't stop praising him.

Y/N felt a sense of accomplishment and relief wash over him. He looked at Jenna, who was beaming with pride. She mouthed, "I told you so," and he couldn't help but laugh.

As the days turned into weeks, Y/N's confidence continued to grow. With Jenna by his side, he felt invincible. They spent their evenings together, often talking late into the night about everything and nothing.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of filming, they found themselves alone on set. The crew had wrapped up and gone home, leaving the two of them in the quiet, dimly lit space.

Y/N was sitting on a prop bench, looking out at the empty set, lost in thought. Jenna approached him, her footsteps echoing in the stillness.

"Hey," she said softly, sitting down beside him. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Y/N sighed, turning to face her. "I was just thinking about how much things have changed. How much you've helped me."

Jenna smiled, reaching for his hand. "You've come a long way, Y/N. I'm proud of you."

He squeezed her hand, a grateful smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't have done it without you. You've been my rock."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the bond between them growing ever stronger. Jenna knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Jenna took Y/N's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Promise me something, Y/N."

"Anything," he replied, looking into her eyes.

"Promise me you'll never let those comments get to you again. You're so much more than what they say. You're talented, kind, and so loved."

Y/N smiled, his heart swelling with love for the woman beside him. "I promise, Jenna. As long as I have you, I can face anything."

Jenna's eyes sparkled with tears of happiness. "And you always will."

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss that spoke of love, support, and a future filled with hope. Together, they were unstoppable, their love a force stronger than any negativity that came their way.