#this scene healed my body and soul

[crispywizardtale]

[markiafc]

a good suicide narrative is very important to me tbh!

[vivmaek]

SOLAR RETURN OBSERVATIONS: PT.III

SOLAR RETURN OBSERVATIONS PT. I

SOLAR RETURN OBSERVATIONS PT. II

✰ my masterlist

✺ Sun in the 12th House ✺ You might feel especially drained during this year. It's going to be hard to wake up everyday, your body and soul need rest. Maintaining a positive attitude is going to be difficult, life may feel overwhelming and you’ll feel as though you don’t have the strength to take it all on. But, trust that you do. This SR placement makes me think of a specific quote, “In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” (Albert Camus)

✺ Venus Opposite Saturn ✺ All of your insecurities are going to be heightened. This might be a lonely year for you, there won’t be many social events. Do everything you can to avoid financial debt, and if you have any, put all of your best effort into paying it off.

✺ Jupiter in 7th House ✺ The partners in your life will serve as a great source of joy, and you’ll have luck in companionship. These relationships will make you feel safe, and it would be a good year to get married. If single, you might begin a relationship with a foreigner or could meet a future spouse while traveling! The dating scene won’t be difficult to navigate, you’ll have many options to choose from. Business negotiations and legal matters will run smoothly. Have fun with this time and don’t be afraid to chase after opportunities.

✺ Moon in 1st House ✺ Your personal needs are going to become a priority. You’ll feel sensitive and your self-esteem might take a hit. Whatever emotional experience you’re going through will be apparent to other people, and this will make you feel vulnerable. These uncomfortable experiences will help you work on your insecurities and you’ll grow to become more comfortable with yourself. The SR Moon sign will highlight specific emotional encounters you’ll face this year. If it’s an earth sign, you’ll be focused on practical needs. If it's a fire sign, you’ll deal with feelings of anger and might have a chaotic emotional landscape. An air sign might make you feel disconnected from your emotions, and you might spend the entire year crying with a water sign.

✺ Saturn Trine Ascendant ✺ You will mature greatly over the course of this year. Heavy responsibilities will be placed upon you, but you will rise to the occasion. Your commitments and goals take priority and become central to your personality.

✺ Mars in 8th House ✺ If you’ve encountered violent trauma within the past, you’ll begin to heal and transform these wounds. You might encounter people or situations that remind you of these past events, and it can be jarring. However, you’ll feel stronger than ever and will take back your personal power. You will put a lot of energy into transforming your own psyche and are ready to go to war. This type of healing is not a quiet, peaceful process. A lot of rage and anger will become unleashed, but these emotions must be embraced and fully felt. You’ll find emotional release through physical movement, such as sex or high intensity exercise.

✺ Jupiter Square Saturn ✺ If you’ve been battling addictions, they may come to an end during this year. This will be a difficult transition and a very painful process. Long held beliefs and ideas are being restructured for your benefit. You might not have enough money to buy all the luxuries that you desire, facing financial hardship is another possibility.

✺ Taurus 7th House ✺ Down-to-earth people will be attracted to you this year and they will offer you a sense of stability. You will experience many romantic moments with your partner, these situations will feel effortless. Your natural beauty will be heightened.

✺ Mercury in the 1st House ✺ The downside to this SR placement is a heightened sense of anxiety and restlessness. Your thoughts will be moving faster than ever. However, you might find yourself more comfortable with communicating your thoughts and social exchanges will run smoothly. You might find yourself posting a lot more on social media and interacting with people you normally wouldn’t. You’ll learn a lot throughout this year, but these lessons will be humorous and light-hearted.

✺ Saturn Square MC ✺ You will have to take on extra responsibilities and burdens. All of your focus will be directed towards career progress. You might be under a lot of pressure and obstacles will stand in the way of success. Your sense of dedication is being tested.

✺ Pluto in 3rd House ✺ Watch out for gossip during this year! You’ll learn about the true power of words. Confidential information may come forward, or you might have to deal with information that's been manipulated. Power struggles will showcase themselves through conversation and psychological games will be played. You could find yourself obsessively thinking over a particular issue and it might begin to rule over your life. Your relationships with your siblings will undergo a transformation. There might be a lot of construction within your surrounding neighborhood, it will be loud and disruptive and might force you to change your route to work/school.

✺ Venus Square Jupiter ✺ Having different values and beliefs can serve as a source of conflict within relationships. You might have a generous partner, but they don't quite understand what you want or need.

✺ Venus in the 12th House ✺ You may be faced with financial insecurity. If you're looking for a job, it will be a struggle to find one, especially one that will pay the wages you deserve. However, the emotional strain that occurs due to this will not be all-consuming. This uncertainty will force you to focus on the spiritual aspects of life, and you’ll feel somewhat detached. Protecting your sense of peace will be a priority. This year will be somewhat isolating and you won’t be attending too many social gatherings. You might find it difficult to show other people affection.

✺ Neptune in 4th House ✺ You may want to move residences, but confusion and delays will follow suit. A friend or family member in need might crash at your house for an unknown amount of time. An elderly family member might move in, and you’ll have to take care of them or figure out other living arrangements.

✺ Venus in 10th House ✺ You’ll find a lot of success within your career this year. You’ll be a favorite amongst authority figures and will build up a good social network within the professional world. You might start dating a colleague, or you could befriend one. You might fall in love with your job.

✺ Saturn in the 6th House ✺ Responsibilities are going to be hitting you hard this year, they’ll be unavoidable. You may feel incredibly limited within your day to day life and this will leave you feeling frustrated. Superiors at work might become a domineering presence within your life. All work, no play. Your rewards for these efforts will be delayed, and you might not receive proper compensation. Bad health habits will catch up with you, make sure to take care of yourself.

✺ Neptune in the 7th House ✺ You’ll feel very unsure about where a particular partnership is headed. The boundaries are unclear, and you’ll find yourself giving into wishful thinking. Oftentimes if something is too good to be true, it usually is. You might be willing to sacrifice certain aspects of your life so you can be with this person. Try to let go and let things play out naturally. Don’t get too emotionally invested if you’re dealing with a casual relationship. These connections feel spiritual and a certain amount of glamor will be present. Even if negative experiences occur, you can use these lessons to heal.

✺ Gemini 10th House ✺ If you're looking for a job, going into sales might be your best bet. You’ll find yourself socializing a lot at work, and might even have fun. Answering phone calls and responding to emails becomes important within your career. You could be the youngest person in your field, or you might gain a reputation for being immature. Internships or taking part in some sort of mentorship is a big possibility here.

✺ Pluto in the 5th House ✺ If you’ve been wanting to undergo a creative project, now would be the best time. You’ll feel an intense drive to master your craft and will feel dedicated and focused. There is also the possibility of encountering someone who you’re deeply attracted to. These love feelings will be all-consuming and you might feel obsessed. Your sex life will be fun, intense, and emotionally fulfilling. Take precaution, and watch out for pregnancy if that's something you’re trying to avoid. Romantic encounters could also serve as a major source of creative inspiration.

✺ Vesta in the 10th House ✺ You’ll have to nurture and tend to your career if you want to see success in this area. And this includes taking care of yourself. You’ll learn how to strike a balance between work and rest. Thinking about long term success will be a major theme for the year. Instead of chasing after risks and big moves, you’ll focus on small actions that have the ability to take you far. It's time to dedicate yourself fully to your professional life, but you don’t want to lose sight of who you are in the process.

✺ Scorpio Ascendant ✺ You’ll undergo an emotional + psychological transformation and this will become especially apparent in your personality and appearance. People who have known you your entire life might not recognize you by the end of the year. This can be disruptive, and you might find that certain relationships that were once deep, don’t serve you anymore.

✺ Aries 6th House ✺ Your day to day life will be filled with energy. You might have to pick up a busier schedule at work, but you’ll take it on with an aggressive attitude. Accepting defeat is not an option this year, your habits and routines will reflect this. This will be a healthy year for you, but if you get sick you might run the risk of running a high fever.

✺ Aquarius 6th House ✺ Your daily routines are going to look very different in comparison to last year. Your intellect will serve as a source of strength, and you might have to deal with new computer programs at work. Buying a new phone or computer is another possibility, some form of technology that is used within daily life. You could feel different or might even become outcasted at work due to a rebellious attitude.

✺ Libra 2nd House ✺ This will be a good year for money and income. Your sense of self-worth will increase. However, the risk of tying up your self worth within another person is another possibility. If you’re in a relationship, or begin one, this person will have many material gifts to give you.

[fanby-fckry]

You know what, I’m just gonna say it. I think that Alastor being aroace is part of the reason he’s so shippable to me.

Before you come at me, check the flag in my pfp; I’m aroace-spec.

Maybe it’s me projecting, maybe it’s because I love exploring relationships through an aroace lens, but goddamn. I ship him more than any other character and every time I do, his aroaceness is a major component in the ship.

Examples below the cut because it’s gonna get long:

📻🍎 || RadioApple:

There are so many versions of this dynamic and I am here for all of them.

We have the pre-canon kinky QPR that I show in UH3. I could talk about that all day, but to summarize:

Aroace x genuinely respectful allo is a dynamic that heals my soul.

Lucifer is less tied down by human constructs like amatonormativity, having never been human himself.

The Devil values consent.

Kinky cannibalism, kinky cannibalism, kinky cannibalism, kinky ca- *I am removed from the stage with a comically large hook*

Then we have the Evil and fucked up QPR dynamic:

And of course, trying to get along for Charlie’s sake and eventually bonding over their shared love of dad jokes and musical theatre, both being violinists (yup, Alastor plays violin too, check the wiki) with niche hobbies/interests (ducks, furby organ) and accidentally winding up in a loving, healthy QPR.

📻🕸️ || RadioDust:

There’s something about an aroace and a sex worker who very rarely falls in love.

Angel would know that Alastor isn’t with him for sex, would know that he values Angel beyond his body.

With greyro Alastor, Angel and Alastor would both be inexperienced with romance, but in wildly different ways. Angel has never had a healthy romantic relationship and therefor tries not to fall in love. Greyro Alastor has probably experienced romantic attraction like less than three times in his 100+ years of existence.

And if Alastor never gains romantic attraction for Angel, that’s a whole other level to the dynamic.

It’s got some great angst potential with Angel wondering if he’s not good enough to love romantically or Alastor feeling guilty or confused as to Why It Hasn’t Happened Yet when he cares for Angel so deeply, and eventually it gets resolved with the two of them accepting that their attractions don’t have to match up for them to love/appreciate/care for each other and they smash the amatonormative relationship hierarchy as queer platonic partners.

Or, Angel’s just totally cool with it from the start because he’s spent decades in the kink scene and has potentially been exposed to more relationship anarchy than Alastor.

Kink and queerness have a great deal of historical and cultural overlap, and that includes aroace queerness. Because Angel’s had way more canon exposure to both, it’s possible he knows more about Alastor’s orientation than Alastor does, and I love the idea of Angel introducing him to terms or just being super chill about not labeling things.

📻♥️ || RadioHusk:

Drawing like 90% from pilot dynamic and headcanon on this. They’re just two old men. They get drunk and cuddle. Alastor is one of the few people who knows Husk can purr and takes advantage of this fact. Alastor considers Husk a friend in a fucked up, possessive way. Husk considers Alastor a pain in the ass, but does care about him on some level.

It’s Fucked Up and Evil QPR: Remix Edition.

And the versions where the author puts them through fanfic couple’s therapy and actually gets them into a healthy point in their relationship? One where Alastor no longer owns Husk’s Soul? *chef’s kiss*

📻🌹 || RadioRose:

For me, personally, this is an exclusively nonsexual, non-romantic ship. They’re besties; they’re QPPs. They’re married for the tax benefits and so that they cannot be forced to testify against each other in court.

Rosie knew Alastor was aroace before he did and rather than sit down and explain it to him, she decided to make ace puns.

📻💋 || RadioSiren: [edit, context here] RadioFemme

Ok, so this is entirely based on non-canon-compliant Lilith. Or, I guess, non-series-compliant Lilith. More of the old WOG stuff from the pilot era, with a healthy dose of headcanon for flavor.

I love the idea of Lilith and Lucifer having an open marriage; I love the UH3 style polycule dynamic.

Lilith being the original seductress and Alastor being aesthetically but not sexually or romantically attracted to her is very near and dear to my heart.

I’m an aroace with a voice kink who is aesthetically attracted to Lilith and I think Alastor is an aroace with a voice kink who would be aesthetically attracted to Lilith, ok?

📻📺 || RadioStatic:

I’m gonna be real with you, 90% of my interest in RadioStatic is in the one-sided version where Vox is a pathetic little incel simp and Alastor is either oblivious, mildly annoyed, or finds the whole thing hilarious.

Whenever there’s any reciprocation on Alastor’s part, I always imagine it being in a very aroace, very Alastor-esque way. He needs to be get something out of it completely unrelated to sex/romance. And he needs to be manipulative and sadistic in the process.

Whether that something is kink-related, a business transaction, or simply the quality entertainment provided by Vox being a cringefail TV-headed little bitch, I love to see it.

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[annikin-annotates]

Family Ties

Hi hello, good morning friends. I’m giving you a steaming serving of Ascended!Astarion x Spawn!Tav to soothe (or anger?) your souls. I hope you enjoy this one shot as much as I did writing it. With that being said, I’m not paying for ya’lls therapy bills. I don’t think this one is too traumatic, if anything, it’s tame.

TW: Gore, Recapping of the ritual, Ascended Astarion being his bastard self, brief mentions of birth and pregnancy, having to give up a child (for their own safety). 

Word Count: 2.6K

‘I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we are both safe, forever.’

She watched on in silent horror as the scene played out before her. “No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” Astarion hissed, as he ripped Cazador out of his coffin, his body splaying out awkwardly on the floor. 

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spat indignantly as he pushed himself from the floor to a kneeling position, still reeling from the force of being thrown. 

Astarion laughed heartily. “Hah! I’m not the one in the dirt,” his eyes darkened, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth, for the first time in two hundred years he held all the cards, he had the upper hand; and it felt good. He stared Cazador down, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. “I am so much more than what you made me,” he looks to her, a silent plea in his eyes, “I can do this, but I need your help.”

There was no question that she would help him, she would have done whatever he had asked her to do, “All right, what do you need me to do?” she asked him, her fists clenched at her sides. Gods, she would have set the world ablaze if only to see him smile. 

“I need your eyes,” he paused for a moment, the air was so still around them that it was almost suffocating. “Use the parasite - link your mind to mine so I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his.” 

“You would not dare!” Cazador seethed, though his voice betrayed him - that self-righteous air he had traded for something more human, fear. 

“I would, and I will,” his voice was laced with fury. Two hundred years of suffering surfacing, she could see it in the way his hands shook as they held the knife. His eyes softened as they found hers again. “Help me do this, please.” Astarion looked to her pleadingly, crimson eyes glassy and full of desperation - he needed this. He needed her. 

They recoiled slightly as their minds melded together, becoming one as the pain subsided and the world came back into focus once more. The weight of the dagger felt heavy in his hand, she could feel his fingers shifting nervously along the hilt. She could see Cazador from his perspective, cowering on the floor before Astarion, his hands raised in front of him; as if a pleading look would put the pain of the past to rest. 

She could feel how Astarion hungered for power, and it was all within his reach, wealth, power, freedom - it was intoxicating. She trusted him, trusting him was the right thing to do - helping him achieve the only thing he wanted was the right thing; if it was the right thing to do, then why did it feel so wrong? Why did standing idly by and watching a man be carved apart to feel the pain that he inflicted upon so many feel so wrong? 

And so the cycle would continue. 

—

He was not hers anymore, that much was clear; Astarion had changed beyond recognition. While yes, he looked like Astarion and most certainly sounded like Astarion, he was not him, not in the way that mattered. Loving gazes now traded for looks filled with hunger and thirst, for both more power and blood. The man she had fallen for on her unexpected journey was as good as dead, a colder - crueller thing having taken his place. No, the Astarion she loved was nothing if not merciful. 

For a time she had lulled herself with a false sense of hope that once the power became less novel, he would return to her. That his softness would begin to peek through again, he would smile again, that’s all she wanted. He had become a monster disguised as a dashing prince, but he was the very thing that mothers warn their misbehaving children about. The dark shadow that stalked pretty maidens and handsome young men down dark alleys, draining them of all they are - of all they could be. 

With the same hands that gave him freedom, he sentenced her to a fate worse than death, an eternity of servitude. The worst of it all was that she did it, she helped him with her own two hands, she allowed him to ascend. And when his greed came again, all hungry eyes and jagged teeth; she gave herself to him, and he took from her, hungrily and without mercy, the choices she could have made, ripped away. 

He hid her true position with flowered words, ‘My Dark Consort,’ his honeyed voice would whisper to her in the cover of darkness. The words sounded as wrong now as they did back then. Though she supposed it didn’t matter now, the die was cast and she had no choice but to lay in the grave she had dug. 

And what a grave she had chosen. 

She was glad she could not see herself in the mirror, what would she see? The sadness that clung to her eyes, or the bloodthirsty beast that now wore the skin of a woman long gone. She wasn’t sure she would even recognise the person staring back at her, a hollow husk of what she once was. She had sharper reflexes, eternal life and beauty, all the jewels and dresses she could want, and yet there was an ever growing emptiness that made home in her. 

What good was eternal life if you couldn’t live for yourself?

—

Silence usually blanketed the palace, a quiet so thick it felt as though no creature could break it. The sort of quiet that told you to run and never look back, that made your ears ring, a bone chilling, deafening silence. A blood curdling scream tore through the stillness of the palace, the usual quiet that the night brings becoming forfeit. 

Her hair clung to her forehead as she hissed and groaned through the pain, bringing life into the world felt as painful as taking it. It felt as though a wild animal was fighting to stay within her, its claws digging into her, like it knew the type of environment it was being brought into. She couldn’t blame it, though it did not have a choice. She gasped as relief washed over her, chest still heaving from exertion.   

That eerie stillness came crashing back down on the palace, hanging in the corners of the room like an unwanted voyeur. With the quiet came a familiar feeling that wrapped its claws into her heart and squeezed, dread. There was no noise coming from her child, why was it not crying? Her baby should be crying, there should be an ear splitting wailing filling the room; her eyes began to water, a lump forming in her throat.

She could not bear to put another loved one in the ground. 

A shrill cry tore through the room, forcing the silence back into exile once more, as if the small thing now in her arms had heard her prayers. It was a little girl, a daughter, and she was perfect in every single way that mattered: ten fingers, ten toes and a beating heart she could feel thrumming beneath her fingers. 

Had she always been this cold? Is this what she used to feel like to Astarion? Warm and soft, and so fragile.

She held the babe close to her chest, taking in every inch of her; her sweet, sweet little girl. Her finger shakily stroked the softness of her cheek, her breath hitched in her throat as her little eyes opened - two green irises stared back at her. Her long, dead heart fluttered in her chest, tears pricking the corners of her eyes; those green eyes were his, a little piece of the man she loved. From that moment on she vowed that no harm would befall her little girl, her sunlight.

It was hours before Astarion entered their shared chambers to meet his daughter, the bed sinking slightly the only thing that pulled her from her loving trance. She angled her body slowly towards him leaning into his form, she felt him go rigid at the contact - she did not care. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeping child in her arms, this tiny thing gave her eternal life new meaning. “Meet our daughter, my love,” she whispered, softly brushing the edges of the soft blanket she was swaddled in away from her face. 

She tore her gaze away from her world to look at Astarion, whose eyes had softened a small bit; before turning steely once more. “A daughter? Does she have a name?” he asked with raised brows, his voice too loud, too cocksure. He reached for the child, taking the babe from her arms before she could protest. Little brows furrowed and she let out a small whine of disapproval before settling into her fathers arms; she could have ripped his throat out for disturbing their child’s rest.

She shook her head. “No, but I think the name Juniper suits her,” she paused for a moment, imagining what her life would have been like if none of this had happened. Would she have returned to the grove where she grew up?  She cleared her throat softly, “It reminds me of the berries that grew by my home as a child.”

Astarion scoffed at the suggestion, it made her blood boil with contempt for him - a feeling that had become all too familiar over the last two decades. “My dear, my - I mean our daughter needs to be named something strong, fearsome, something like…” he paused for a moment, looking deeply into the eyes of their daughter. She hoped that when he looked at her that he saw the ghost of himself, she prayed it would make him rethink the person he had become. “Maitenirr. Now that’s a name fit for an Ancunin, isn’t it my darling?” 

A scoff threatened to fall from her lips, she swallowed both the anger and vitriol that rises in her throat. How dare he? How dare he snatch her child from her arms and name her. How could he not see that he held the sun in the crook of his elbow? Did he not understand that the small bundle was hers and hers alone? She nodded in agreement, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes tugging at her lips. She knew better than to go against his judgement. “Of course my love, what a lovely choice.”

Astarion had taken the privilege to name their daughter, it made her heart twist to hear a name with such a dark meaning put to a child. Bringer of Death, he told her that she needed a name that was as strong and as fearsome as the family she was born into, the throne she was now heir to. But her child was the embodiment of the sun, if holding her was as close as she would get to feeling the sun's rays on her skin, then that was okay with her.   

With each passing day, she wondered how someone like Astarion managed to have a hand in creating something as perfect as their daughter. She could see so much of him in her already, they had the same noses, they shared pointed ears, she smiled in her sleep like he does; like he used to. The more she grew, the more she realised they had the same mannerisms too, always quick to fuss and even harder to soothe.

The more Maitenirr grew, the more things became apparent about her; she loved the darkness and it seemed to like her too. She would reach out to shadowy corners while in her mothers arms, babbling away to them like they could hear her - like they were sentient. It was a secret best kept between herself and the shadows, for as long as possible.  

She couldn’t keep Maitenirr’s ability away from her husband for much longer, she had begun to conjure things - beings not of this world, from the shadows. She needed to devise a plan to get her daughter to safety; she would never forgive herself if her guiding light was dimmed by her fathers hands. She would protect her child if it was the last thing she did, from everyone; including Astarion - especially Astarion. 

If she was to expedite her daughter somewhere safe, she would need to be cunning about it, she would need to outfox a fox. It consumed her every waking moment, numerous plans scrapped; she almost thought about calling in a favour with Raphael of all people. There was one person in Baldur’s gate that she could trust to get her Juniper to safety, she prayed that they would do this act of kindness for her.

—  

"Please, take her. Take her to safety, do not tell me where. If he comes to me I will have no choice but to tell him. Please, he will ruin her if he finds her gift," she pleaded, pushing the bundle into his arms. Giving Juniper away felt like ripping her heart from her chest, exposing the softness of a person long dead, Juniper was a weakness she couldn’t afford to have exploited. 

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,” he told her, taking a step back, his hands coming to gently push the child away. She could smell the fear that came off him in waves; she could see it in his eyes. 

She looked at him, her eyes full of terror and sadness. “I do, Wyll. Of course I do, but it needs to be you. If he looks for her, which he will; I cannot know where she is. I will be the first person he comes to,” her voice shakes. “I know I ask a lot of you, but please, protect my daughter. Give her a fighting chance, Wyll.” 

He sighed, taking the child into his arms. “I will make sure she gets to safety, you have my word,” he swore, his voice solemn. The moment he took Juniper into his arms, she had to fight the urge to snatch her back from him, it took everything in her not to scream: she is the only good I have found in this world, please don’t take it from me. She blinked back her tears, no, this was better. She would not sit idly by and watch another innocent suffer at the hands of a monster that she created. 

“Thank you, Wyll. you have no idea what this means.” Her child would have a fighting chance at a life untainted by cruel hands. She turned away slightly, drying the tears that had begun to spill. Now was not the time for tears, she would have eternity to shed them, now was the time to dig deep - to be strong, one last time. 

“Her name is Juniper, if there is one thing from this life that I can give her - it's her name,” she added, backing away from the both of them. Small hands reached out towards her, a dissatisfied grunt tumbling from tiny lips. She looked around nervously, she didn’t have much time, she rushed to the child one final time, pressing a kiss to the patch of white amongst the rest of her dark hair. A small piece of him. 

“Your mother loves you, more than you will ever know. Giving you up is my greatest sacrifice, I love you, my Sunlight,” she whispered into her hairline before stepping back several paces, she looked to Wyll once more. “Get her out of here, Wyll.” She made her way up the main staircase, away from the door, she dared not look back. 

The vipers fangs have bared, she must protect her brood. 

Thank you for reading, Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it really brightens my day and gives me the boost to keep creating!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

[brewed-pangolin]

4Runner wingman

A scene inspired by the car sex scene in Say Anything. The scene isn't graphic whatsoever but it's their first time and it's very sweet.

Breathe

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes, Angst to start, fluffy smut to smooth it out (Tasteful smut. Not my usual filth)

Synopsis: Your first time being intimate with Soap is within the confines of his 4Runner and after a lengthy deployment. And he shows you exactly what kind of sessions you have to look forward to.

I decided to use this as a scene where Soap and reader become intimate for the first time. Because why the hell not. Nothing sexier than a good first romp in the back of a 4Runner to heal the wounds of heartache and yearning.

And this is another piece for @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up Challenge. I used prompts 16, 19, 25 and 26.. Let's steam up them windows a bit, shall we.

WC 1.6k (Oopsies)

You could feel it. Feel it in the marrow of your bones and in the ever growing ache bellowing out deep within your chest. An ache that grew with every shallow breath, desperately trying to cage the sob in your throat and put on that calm and stoic demeanor for him while your mind branded every ounce of his being into your memories.

You were falling for him. And you were falling hard.

Like a dense boulder listlessly plunging further into the depths of his soul. Unable to find purchase on any parcel of reality as the world around you disappeared and all your focus turned solely onto him.

John MacTavish. The man who pulled you out of your own manufactured hell just as you were about to be shackled in a realm of unending misery.

--

"Ts'alright, bonnie. Only gonnae be gone a few months, yeah?"

His soothing voice abruptly snatched you out of your downward spiral. Batting your eyes with a quick shake of your head to rid the sorrowful thoughts leaching themselves into your weakened mind.

"Only a few months. Yeah," you replied.

Body silently trembling beside him in the passenger seat, fingers clawing at the denim of your jeans to take your mind off the loneliness you were about to endure in his absence.

And that debilitating ache burrowed itself deeper into your chest. Squashing out all notions of confidence, defeaning the electric cadence of your heart, and turning you into a hollowed husk of your former self as you slowly began to wither right in front of him.

"Eh. Look at me." His call yet again pulled you out of your tormented descent.

Gently placing his hand on your thigh to cement you back into the realm of unbearable reality.

Your eyes lingered on the calloused skin of his hand. Grit embedded underneath his nails, streaks of oil, and delicate scratch marks peppering over his knuckles.

In that moment, you cursed yourself for deciding to take it slow. Not giving him the chance to use those talented hands and work you over and over into a frenzied mess.

And you find your voice once more as the emotional toll ultimately breaks down the levee of your weathered composure.

"We haven't even had sex yet."

"So."

"So, what? What if you don't come back? What if I never get to see you again? Feel you again? Kiss you again?"

Mentally, you try to stop.

Breathe.

But the floodgates have burst. And your verbal torrent knows no bounds as the words of admitted misjudgment cascade like rapids over your quivering lips.

"I want to know what it feels like to have you, Johnny. To lose myself. To give in, let go. To feel you..."

You choke. Words trailing off into a breathless whimper as the lump in your throat threatens to swallow you whole.

Wrapping your fingers around his hand to feel his touch one last time in fear of him being pulled out of your crumbling reality.

"Aye. An' ya will," he replies in a promise that both soothes and breaks you entirely.

"It's not over, bonnie. This ain't no deep covert mission. More like, gettin groceries. Stoppin' at th'store, yeah."

You can tell he’s bluffing. Hear it in his voice. That same low rumbling hymn he uses to lull you to sleep now cradling your psyche within the verbal palm of his hand. 

And it works. Every time.

Eventually he forces you to pull your eyes from the aimless stare on your thigh to meet his gaze. Bringing your hand up to his mouth to gently caress your knuckles with his tender lips, muffling his words as they roll over your supple skin.

“Is now a bad time to tell ya I gotta go, lass?”

You're once again thrusted back into reality by the soft timbre of his voice. The world falling back into place, not realizing that within the walls of your own self pity you hadn't noticed that you had made it onto the base.

Your head moved on a swivel. Desperately focusing on any familiar piece of architecture while your mind raced to pick up with the pace of the sporadic beat of your heart.

“Johnny, I’m not ready-”

Your futile plea was quickly silenced by Soaps gaping maw as he swallows the whimperings of your despair. Cupping your cheeks within the palms of his hands, cradling your existence within his grasp as he breathes rejuvenating life into your lungs with a passionate kiss.

Time once again stops. Moments trickle by like slowly descending droplets off the rim of a rusted spigot.

You feel him steadily begin to pull away and greedily you lean forward for one last kiss. Searing the blazing fire of his soul on the tips of your lips to brand him into the deep recesses of your spiraling psyche.

“Stay n’th car til I get through th’door, yeah,” he mumbles quietly against your lips. “I cannae bare to see ya at the ‘elm of my Breagha.”

“You talk like you love her more than me, Johnny.”

“Shu’it, lass.”

With one final blissful connection, he pulls away and exits swiftly out the driver's side door. Your eyes watching his every move as he grabs at the duffel bag from the backseat.

“I’ll text as often as I can, yeah.”

It’s a statement more than a pull for more conversation as he shuts the door before giving you time to answer. Pushing the lump in your throat down into your chest to let in fester and seep through your veins over the coming months.

You do as he asks. As always.

Waiting. Watching him stride over the pavement and disappear from your existence beyond the doors that you are prohibited to enter.

And with all the strength he bestowed on you with his life giving kiss, you shift over into the driver seat and easily adjust it to your body’s specifications.

Pushing down the unfamiliarity of being behind the wheel of his precious ‘Breagha’ as you subconsciously begin counting the days to his return.

--

The next three months are tortuous. Calmed only by the sporadic texts from Soap when he has the briefest of moments on base. They're never more than a few words at length, generally referring to his mental status of him and his fellow squad mates than the actual status of their missions. 

You’ve grown fond of Gaz. He sounds like a true lad, one you’d like to share a pint with. And Price permeates the notion of a father figure to the team. A born leader not afraid to get his hands dirty when the line of duty calls for it. 

And Ghost is exactly that. A ghost. Hauntingly working his way into Johnny’s texts, barely perceivable yet you feel he lends himself to be a mentor in the field to your Scottish soldier. 

All these intermittent communications ease and soothe your weary soul until that final text jolts you out of bed at 2:30 in the morning. 

‘RTB, bonnie. Coming home.’

--

Soap Mactavish made a promise to you three months ago. A pact sealed with a kiss that gave you the strength to carry on in his extended absence. Finding meaning in solitude and letting your heart yearn for him in a way you had never imagined.

And as a true man of his word, he kept that promise.

By God, did he keep it.

--

The air within the confines of Soap’s 4Runner was heavy. Thick with the sweet scent of sweat and sex as it lifted and blanketed the tinted windows with a dense layer of condensation. Leaden and rounded droplets descended down the slick surface that mirrored the meandering motions of your hands down the curve of his sweat ridden back. Curling your fingers to claw at his flesh as he pulled yet another orgasm from deep within your pelvic core.

You had lost count at how many times he brought you to the peak of pleasured ecstasy. Time becoming a meaningless construct as you found solace in each others embrace and allowing the blazing bonds of intimacy to mold your souls into one conjoined entity.

Arching your back and tilting your hips to meet his stuttering thrusts as you gasped for air. The muscles of your abdomen spasming and denying the much needed life force in selfish desire of unending release.

“Breathe, bonnie. Jus’ breathe fer me,” Soap managed breathlessly through his own heavy panting. Holding himself up to hover and give your chest room for much needed expansion.

You take the moment in its entirety within your grasp. Lengthening your diaphragm to fill your lungs as the burn of multiple climaxes flows like flames through your trembling muscles. 

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” you exhale on a low, breathy moan. “Is it always gonna be like this?”

“Aye. It can be.”

“Jesus Christ. Only you would make me have to build an exercise routine around how you fuck me.”

His icy blue gaze bores into your exhausted and blissful expression with a smile that could electrify an entire city block.

“Nah, bonnie. This ain’t fuckin’ ya,” he mutters against your lips, leaning in for a passionate embrace as his muscular frame envelopes over you once more.

“I’d break th’suspension if I did that. Rather break th’bed. Easier ta replace.”

Your arms instinctually wrap around him to keep him firmly flushed against you. Fingers splayed out over the back of his skull to knead through his drench thickened hair.

An all too familiar lump forms within flesh of your throat, not out of anguish or loneliness. Something deeper. More meaningful. More affectionate. 

And without a thought to hold you back the words spill out of your lips by their own accord before your mind has a moment to register the immensity of their meaning.

“I love you, Johnny.”

Soap pulls back immediately. A sudden silence bridging a gap between you as his blank expression is intensified by his piercing blue stare.

You hesitate to breathe. To move. Fearing your unconscious admission has created a rift that will ultimately pull himself away from you.

“Say it again,” he demands. The air of authority around him sending a pulse of renewed arousal coursing through your veins as all fears disappear within his commanding presence.

“I love you.”

There’s a sudden an enigmatic shift that sets deep within him. Eyes blowing wide as he lunges with an almost animalistic growl against your lips.

“Ah love ya, bonnie. So fuckin’ much.”

You had uttered those three words twice while he spent the next thirty minutes declaring his love for you by showing you the true power held within his hips. 

He’d eat the bill. Take out a loan rather than deny the love of his life what she truly wanted.

Auto repairs be damned.

All you had to do was hold on and enjoy the ride. And focus on one word that he so patiently repeated.

Breathe.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @astraluminaaa @punishmepunisher @writeforfandoms @thetrashpossum @luismickydees @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @havoc973 @foxface013 @haurasha @designateddeadend

[maopll]

hello ! Hope u good :)

Prompt number 12 + Diluc Ragnvindr (+ any other character, if you wish to write more.) I love the yearning and longing <3

WHEN YOU'RE NO LONGER HERE

⋆·˚ you passed away many years ago but the lingering memories that you left in each corner of the house and his heart is an unforgettable one ...

sfw / warning : death !, no fluff

They say that wounds heal with time. Yet Diluc never found it to be true. His wound penetrated deep into his heart and soul, and never healed.

He wanted to not have to remember you, yet the memories you etched into every corner of his house, come flooding back to him and no matter how much one does not want to believe, the stoic Master Diluc often found himself crying to sleep when he remembered the day when you slept with him and how the bed felt smaller that time.

The sun was eventually setting below the horizon.

All the other workmen were returning to their quarters by now. Work hours are now over and the people are returning to their families.

This happiness is not for Diluc.

He stood at the porch overseeing the grapes. But was he truly inspecting them? No of course not.

Evenings were the time he hated the most because you always loved to pluck fresh grapes at this time around.

Yet...this scene is now only but a memory.

With a heavy heart he opened the door and stepped inside. All photos of you were there, yes, but not for people to see since they were now facing backwards. He can't afford to see your face again and remember that day when you went for eternal sleep.

"Master Diluc would you like some tea?" Adeline asked softly

"No its alright. I would like to rest now"

Diluc let's his whole body weight sink into the cushion of the bed. If only it could swallow him and let him leave this world, he would be able to see you again...

Dance with you again...

Share his thoughts and vows of love again...

Hold you again...

Kiss you again...

tagging : @fictoculus @poison-demon @mitsvriii @pianopuppygirl @sleepy-waffle @falors @moondrop-gummies

© 2024 maopll. do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[skcirthinq]

What's the line? 'How was the catharsis? Was the catharsis good?'

*me, face screwed up and holding back tears* it was good.

Yeah, so I read "Little kid with a big death wish" by @remedyturtles and. You guys. You GUYS. It's so. Heart-wrending and evocative and so so well written. Like. I'm going to have turtle fanfiction stapled in my soul now.

It's a post kraang fic, but like. Mostly about the characters (mostly Leo) and how they're dealing with stuff ... Emotionally... Mentally. Physically. There's also TMNT shenanigans about what exactly is going on with Leo.

I recommend it fully, with the caveat of minding the tags, please.

Descriptions under the cut, with two more works I'm adding in a reblog, because I. Goddamned. Ran out of room. Spoilers ahead.

(Descriptions of sketch illustrations of various scenes from the fic) Image 1: A badly injured Leo is laying against some pillows, with a blanket pulled up around his chest. He has bandages, cuts, and bruises littering his visible body, and one of his arms is gone, with bandages around the remainder. His eyes are open, but his expression is vacant and unseeing. Mikey and Raph, also showing signs of battle damage, are sleeping; Mikey is resting his face in his crossed arms on the side of Leo's bed, looking upset even in his sleep. Raph is right behind Mikey, also leaning his face into his arm, with the other arm resting on Mikey's back and head. Donnie is sitting behind them, looking at his brothers with an unhappy grimace. He is also visibly injured, and wearing a hoodie. None of them are wearing their masks.

Image 2: Raph is sitting down, tense and holding his hand. He looks up with an... Intense face, as his brothers come into the room. Donnie and Mikey are supporting Leo, and Donnie is holding Leo's crutch. They all look upset. Because Somebody 'broke his hand. Like a boss.'

Image 3: Leo sobs into Splinter's lap, gripping tightly onto his dad. Future Leo (who isn't there physically) is bent over sobbing as well, holding his face in his hand. Everybody's crying.

Image 4: Mikey is facing Leo, both of them sitting in bed. Leo has a panicked look on his face as he tries not to dissociate, while Mikey is holding Leo's hand to his chest. They are having a Talk tm.

Image 5: Future Leo is laying prone in a sea of muck and mud. It's covering most of him. Present Leo is crouched on top of F! Leo's chest, upset and tired, but determined, wiping some of the mud off of F! Leo's face. He is also covered in the mud.

Image 6: A bandaged, but healing, Raph is looking straight on. His mask is pulled up showing his eyes and forehead, which are scarred from the kraang. He looks near tears, exhausted, as he begs Leo not to dissociate again, promising that he's got him.

Image 7: A tense and upset Donnie, wearing a tank top that shows his scarred shell, is tightly hugging Leo, who is laying down. Leo is gripping back tightly, but away from Donnie's shell, and trying to hug with his stump. Leo is present and smiling a little, cracking jokes.

Image 8: A split screen, wherein Donnie, Raph, and Mikey formally meet Sensei. Mikey is confused and worried, turning back towards what they're facing (Sensei). Raph has a hooded jacket on, and is slightly crouched, with a hand on Donnie's shoulder. He's concerned but less upset than the others. Donnie's. Mad. And has his bo out and pressed to Sensei's neck. He's standing straight and speaking, glaring at Sensei. He's wearing an oversized T-shirt that says 'Autism Wins'. On the other side of the split, Sensei, piloting Leo's body, is sitting up straight, and calm, with Donnie's bo against his throat. He's replying to the present boys. He's in bed, with a blanket around his waist. Because the artist will take any opportunity to cover up a body with a blanket.

Image 9: A back view of Donnie, sitting cross-legged. He's tense, and has his arms crossed tightly in front of himself. His shell is covered in tentacle patterned swirls of barely healed wounds from the technodrome. Leo's arm is visible in the foreground, hand tightly gripping the blanket Donnie is sitting on. The pov is from Leo's eyes.

Image 10: An upset and crying Mikey, dressed in a shirt and vest, with his socks and gloves on, is leaning with his back against the wall. He's got his mask pushed up, and is wiping his tears away with his forearm, since his hands are covered in chalk. The ninpo marks and bandages are peeking out from under his gloves. Leo is sitting down beside him, using his crutch to lower himself down. He's wearing his mask, socks, a braided bracelet, and a jean jacket over a shirt, with his swords on his back. He's concerned about Mikey.

[lurkingshan]

I've been thinking a lot about the depictions of generational trauma and parental accountability being presented in dramas lately. Since you've watched way more than me, especially outside of BLs, what are some shows that present or include parental accountability?

This is such a good question and one I have been thinking about a lot since Last Twilight episode 10 aired. Westerners often assume that because of Asian cultural norms around filial piety, parental authority, and respect for elders, we can never expect satisfying parental accountability in our Asian drama narratives. But that's not true! It's been done and done well. It’s because these values are so deeply embedded in most Asian cultures that Asian creators are the best positioned to speak on the harms they can cause, and will often embed these themes in their work.

Now, there is an important distinction to make here: the difference between what characters do, and what the story communicates. A character may choose to abide by honoring their parents at all costs, but the story can still communicate how harmful that is. A character may never apologize for something they have done wrong, but the story can still make it clear they have fucked up and hold them accountable for that via tangible consequences. Here are a few examples from bl to illustrate what I mean, and the different ways this can show up in dramas.

Bad Buddy

One of the most obvious examples of parental accountability in genre, and also a pretty full metal version of it. This entire story is about the damage Ming and Dissaya did their sons with their decades-long feud and insistence on pushing that trauma down on their children, and we got some extremely cathartic scenes of Pat and Pran telling their parents exactly what they thought about that. Of course, even though they raged at their parents, they never got the apologies they deserved (and likely never will) and still had to hide their relationship to appease their parents going forward. But that doesn't mean there was no accountability here. The entire narrative held these parents accountable by showing us how they were harming their sons, forcing them to reckon with it, and ultimately showing them settling into a form of resigned acceptance.

Until We Meet Again

This entire show is about Korn and In's reincarnated souls healing from the trauma of their tragic ending, which was brought upon by the familial pressure and rejection they experienced from their fathers. We not only saw Dean and Pharm work through this trauma and forge new bonds with family members, we saw the direct aftermath of their first deaths, the despair and regret their families felt, and the ceremony that tied their souls together as a result. It's big karmic accountability on a grand scale, and the show never flinched from letting us see exactly how much harm was caused by these parents, or how the tenets of filial piety resulted in Korn's despair that he couldn't be what his father wanted. Even more crucially, we were shown, not just told, the counterpoint impact of good parenting, when Dean and Pharm were accepted by their families in their second life.

Blueming

A rare example of an Asian parent being called to the carpet, feeling the wrongness of their actions, and actually apologizing for it. This does in fact happen in drama! Si Won's mom raised him to hate himself, to be ashamed of his body, to fake his way through life so people would like him, and boy did it do a lot of damage. The story showed us how this affected Si Won and his relationships deeply, and brought him to the point where it finally burst out of him. And his mom, to her credit, was dismayed to understand what she had done to her son. This show also gets bonus points for Da Un standing up to his own mother after she interferes in the film contest.

Bed Friend

Uea's mother's sins against him are numerous, and I will not go into them all in detail to spare my own sanity. She is an abusive parent so horrific that she can never be forgiven, and doesn't need to be. An apology from her would be utterly meaningless. Instead, the drama holds her to account via showing us what she's done to Uea and the work he has to do to heal from the trauma she caused, and ultimately having her son cut her out of his life. It's the biggest consequence she can ever face for her choices and that Uea finds the courage to do it is the story's biggest triumph.

What Did You Eat Yesterday?

On the subtler end of the scale, we have our beloved KNT, which weaves parental accountability through its story in the long, slow journey for Shiro's mother to accept who he is and the partner he has chosen in life. What I love most about this particular depiction is that it's not at all linear in nature. We see her make strides by finally acknowledging Kenji and inviting him to her home, and then backtrack by rescinding the offer due to her own discomfort, and then include him in her family planning to ensure he will be cared for after her death. She’s homophobic and traditional, but she loves her son and sees how much happier he is with Kenji in his life. She is constantly reckoning with that tension. And Shiro and Kenji, being of an older generation themselves, don't hold it against her, even as the show makes sure we understand how much it hurts them. They are not okay with it, but they do understand why she's like this, so they take what she can give and forgive the rest. It's a really touching portrayal of this kind of impasse in a family.

Moonlight Chicken

There are several different vectors of parental accountability in MLC. There is Heart confronting his parents over their neglect and abuse and finally demanding to be treated with dignity. There is Li Ming directly calling out his mother for how her life choices have affected him. And there is Li Ming and his surrogate dad, Jim, working out their issues so that they can communicate better, and so that Jim can learn to stop pushing his own fears and anxiety down onto the next generation. All of it handled with deftness, with care, and with clear purpose to examine the ways intergenerational trauma can perpetuate in the absence of accountability.

[oldstateofmind]

nobody else can heal it (but you) [part l]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, violence, torture, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead. english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.3k ➜ a/n:  I’ve watched this movie 3 times by now because I’m obsessed with Miguel. His character is so interesting and captivating, he’s so grumpy and sad and that just makes me wanna fix him. Ugh, I have a soft spot for anti-heroes. And being voiced by Oscar Isaac is the icing on the cake. This first part sets the tone because I just can’t jump straight to smut, but I promise I’ll compensate next chapter.

chapter l. bad disease

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Ao3

l.

It starts with a hiss; then a shadow moving in the corner of your vision.

In the dark, cold envelops your body; chilling to the bone. It’s awfully quiet besides the continuous dripping of water in the distance, the echoes of each drop remind you of a ticking clock; counting the time you’ve left – for what, however, you’re not really sure.

You rub your arms in an attempt to bring a bit of warmth back to your skin, and as always, it’s useless. It seems like a forever winter inside the place you’ve found yourself in for the past 2 weeks. 

What once started as a nightmare that made you wake up in the middle of the night, now plagues your mind every time you close your eyes. There’s no escape from it, no matter how hard you try. You’re more than tired, it’s exhausting not getting more than 3 hours of sleep when your job requires attention and disposition.

Even the pills Lyla gave you last time you were at the HQ didn’t work – actually, they made it even worse. Because then, your body was completely knocked out while your mind was terribly awake, reliving the scene over and over again. You threw them down the drain once you woke up. Never again.

And even though you already know what happens by now, it is still dreadful to wait for the nightmare to unfound. Your senses are hyper-aware of every single tiny sound, every movement in the dark. 

There’s something poetic in the way you can feel him move even with your eyes closed; the way you could recognize the pattern of his breathing in the distance even when fear creeps into your brain. Your spider-sense tingles as his heavy steps are headed toward you, it screams danger. Goosebumps break out across your body, sending a small, cold shiver through your spine. 

Red is the first thing you see. And also the last.

-

“...to Y/N.” Someone is calling you in the distance, but the hazy feeling of the nightmare still lingers within you. It’s hard to focus when your brain still hasn’t turned off properly for weeks, still trapped in whatever curse this is.

“Earth to Y/N, is anyone there?” There’s a snap in front of your eyes, and you suddenly flinch with the unexpected sound. The touch on your shoulder grounds you a bit.

You blink your eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to brush off the dreadful feeling still creeping into the back of your mind. As your eyes adjust to reality, Gwen’s face is filled with concern.

“I’m sorry, guys.” It’s the only thing you manage to say, how could you possibly begin to explain what’s been happening?

“You’ve lost your cue twice now, what’s happening with you today?” The girl presses, still holding onto your shoulder. And for that, you’re grateful. 

Not getting enough sleep has been causing you to lose grip on reality – and that scares you the most. Not being able to tell if the sounds are coming from your head or from somewhere else. Or worse, having to avoid him because it’s unbearable the feeling that eats you from the inside out; the sense of fight or flight kicking in every time you hear his voice. Not tolerating being in his company as shadows follow you around like a ghost, tormenting you into remembering.

And it’s just not fair. 

“Nothing!” You say, adjusting the bass strap on your shoulder. Hesitating on letting you go, Gwen squeezes your arm before retracting her hand. You try to smile, “I’m good. I…I’m good.”

The smile stretched for too long, awkwardly pulling your face into a grin rather than a genuine beam. The avoidance of looking at the member of the band doesn’t really back you up on your lies. You hear Hobie huff in annoyance, while Gwen’s piercing gaze still hasn’t left your face. You feel slightly guilty about keeping your nightmares a secret, but it’s not like they would understand, would they?

After all, Miguel O’Hara was a difficult subject for you to talk about.

“I know that look, I have seen it in the mirror quite a few times,” The girl admits. And you knew it was true.

When Gwen joined the Spider Society just a few months ago, the melancholy gloom that followed her was palpable. The teary eyes whenever someone asked about her life, the avoidance of returning to her world, always crashing at yours or Hobie’s. Her father was a tough subject on which she never really dwelled, too painful to remember.  

However, even if she could relate to the feeling of losing sleep over someone, she wouldn’t understand how it felt to be torn apart by your own brain, to have precious memories distorted in a sick and twisted nightmare that was a culmination of your worst fears. To know it was coming and having no power to stop it. And all the while having the face of the person you cared about the most in the world, in all universes.

No, no one could begin to understand. 

You bit your lips, signing in defeat, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“That’s rubbish. Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Hobie chimes in, crossing his arms over his chest. He raises his eyebrow, seeing through your facade without breaking a sweat.

“You’re not even glowing like you usually do!” Pavitr shouts from the audience, waving his hand toward you. Sometimes he would come by to watch the band practice, but today you had not even seen him coming, which was a terrible sign because Pavitr always made an entrance when he stopped by.

“I thought you would be grateful for that.” You scoff.

“Hey, you can’t blame me! My eyes are sensitive.”

The typical headache starts to pound in your head like a thousand bells ringing directly in your ear. It’s disorientating the way your senses feel out of place – like a fish out of the water. Not even having superpowers was helping you stay afloat. 

You took pride in being a Spider Woman, doing your job as best as you could so that at the end of the day, Miguel would see you. Your talent, your dedication. But lately, you feel yourself falling further down in his list. And it hurts.

“It’s just that–” You sigh, rubbing your eyes again, foolishly trying to make the pain go away. The ache in your head was bad, but the one in your heart could bring you to your knees. “I’m not getting much sleep these last few weeks.”

Gwen snaps her fingers excitedly, “You should try one of those pills they hand over at the–” 

“No!” You shout before you can stop yourself; memories flood your troubled mind. The blood, the screams. Talons ripping flesh, pain consuming your body and soul. But the worst of all; his words. Gwen stops in her tracks, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. The guilty eat you away. 

“I mean, I–I’ve tried it,” You whisper, the lump forming in your throat makes it hard to say a single word, “but they… didn’t work for me.” 

The trembling of your hands caught everyone’s attention. And It’s just too much.

“I’m sorry.” Whispering, you turn around to hide your face. You take the bass strap from your shoulder and place the instrument in its case. “Let’s just wrap this up, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Oi, Y/N,” Hobie calls for you, but you’re already grabbing your coat and heading toward the door. “We are here to help you, it’s what a band is about, innit?” 

You look over your shoulder at them, heart aching at the thought of leaving them with no explanation – as a frightened animal, cornered with nowhere to run, all bite and no apologies.

“Right,” You agree but vanish in thin air seconds later.

ll.

Time becomes its own entity when you lose track of it. It’s another late hour, probably somewhere between 3 AM, and the coffee you got from your favorite spot in town is hot against your cold fingers. You dangle your feet at the edge of a building, admiring the view of a sleepy neighbor – no matter the time, New York is always full of light. 

It’s been a few days since you left the rehearsal in a hurry, the band has been trying to get in touch with you but you’ve been avoiding taking their calls and answering their texts – you’ve been avoiding a lot of things lately. 

Like swinging in the middle of the traffic, as an example. Something that came naturally, but now it has become too dangerous. The notion of space and distance have been lost days ago together with the full awareness of your surroundings. You’ve been trying to do your job, but it has become almost impossible to pay attention to your movements when the heaviness of your limbs begs for you to slow down.

There’s also Lyla, who you've lost count of how many times she chimed in while you were working, telling you about a meeting that you had missed out on. Not that it was totally required to be there, but if once you counted the days to be in the same room as Miguel, just so you could see him, now you avoided it like the plague. 

You haven’t heard from him ever since you disappeared – only stopping by the HQ when extremely necessary – so you might not be in that much trouble. However, it definitely did some heavy damage to your heart noticing how O’Hara didn’t really need or wanted to see you in the first place. Not even a call, not even a message.

And that was devastating. 

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Blowing out your coffee, you sigh. The lack of sleep has been taking a toll on you. It started off as simply missing the timing from one building to another, and now you can feel the nasty bruise forming on the side of your hip. Actually, your body now looks like it has been painted black and blue with the number of bruises it’s collecting. 

And you still can’t find the answer, nor any clue on how to make them go away. It will kill you eventually, you’re sure of that. It was just a matter of time now. Maybe then you could finally rest.

The bitter taste of the coffee spreads in your tongue and you welcome the caffeine with open arms. You’ve been trying to stay awake for the most part of the day, only hitting the bed when you’re completely and absolutely worn out. It does give you a few more minutes, but as the sun comes down and another moon appears, you can feel yourself slipping away, getting fewer and fewer hours of sleep, and slowly descending to madness as the nightmares start to feel more vivid, clouding your judgment.

Maybe you should ask for help, after all. 

As a result of a very slow mind, it takes you more than it should to sense a new presence on the rooftop with you. Startled, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You quickly throw away the coffee, lamenting not being able to finish it. 

You pull your mask down; if it was another one of those villains of the week the guy was fucked because you had run out of patience. “Honestly, I’m in a really bad mood today,” You say to whoever is hiding in the shadows, your senses tingling as the figure slowly walks towards you, “No tricks, please. Let’s do this quickly.” 

The movement stops, and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Another guy who thinks that making a scary little entrance will impress you. You’re about to make a joke when the shadow speaks, making your heart stop for a second.

“Y/N.”

The cold creeps in underneath the flesh, freezing your blood and yourself in place. All the hair in your body stands up as your body tenses with trepidation and fear. There it was again, that voice that haunts you night and day. 

No, please. I’m awake, aren't I?”

It was hard to tell, as your surrounding started to blur; the sound of the street and surroundings go silent, as the only focus of your mind is the man in front of you and the way his eyes glow scarlet against the dark of the night. Your heart hammers your chest so furiously you’re afraid it might break free. 

“Y/N.” 

Miguel calls out for you again, his tone nothing more than a whisper. But you have seen this scene before; a hundred times you’ve heard those same words roll out of his tongue as if it disgusted him – as if you didn’t deserve to be mentioned it.

You flinch as he steps forward, memories of talons ripping your skin apart make you fight against the rising panic; the outcome of the nightmare is inevitable, you’ve tried to change it, but the aftermath was always the same; killed by the man you loved the most.

“Stay away from me,” You warned him. It was useless when fate seemed to have your lines already written, with no chance to change the full stop by a coma. “Please, stay away from me.”

Miguel stops, the glowing of his suit hurts your eyes. You can’t see his expression, there’s a dark shadow covering his face, but the red tint gives his demeanor a haunting feeling – another shiver runs down your spine. Your vision starts to blur; the fine line between reality and dreamland crashes together in your mind. Nothing feels real, the foggy state of mind wraps around you, gradually taking over your sanity.

So you flee. Or at least you try. 

Before you could jump from the building, Miguel’s strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you directly in his direction. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and quickly you are able to untangle yourself from his grip, kicking him in the process. 

“Y/N.” You know it’s his voice, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. It’s disconnected from the man you’ve grown to love. Dread gnawed at your insides as the nightmare turns into another torture section. His mouth is moving but you can’t make up the words; every sound gets lost in the loud rush of blood in your ears.

Not that you need it, anyway. You’ve been living the same dialogue over and over again to know like the back of your hand.

“Don’t hurt me again,” You plea, raw panic in your voice. Your mind is erratic, coming up with ideas on how to escape, but your body doesn’t follow the same line of thinking, “Please, I’m so tired.”

But it’s all in vain; the man bolts in your direction like an animal ready to devour its prey. You find yourself half mad with terror – your throat tightens as anxiety eclipsed your thoughts. 

Before Miguel can get to you, you attack. 

It never works as the man is way above your abilities, but you try – anything to be freed from having another slow, painful death. Gathering the last of your strength, you shoot a web that miraculously lands on his foot and it sticks to the ground. Quickly, you jump from one wall to another, landing a kick on his chest. 

It doesn’t do anything more than startle the man, but it gives you enough time to soar across the night sky, landing on another rooftop. The glowing of your watch catches your attention. Usually, you don’t have it with you, nightmares don’t really give you the option to flee. 

But it seems this one does. 

“Y/N!” Miguel roars. In the slip second your eyes had darted toward the gadget, the man had torn apart the single web holding him in place. He huffs, shoulders hunched forward as tension grows between you both. 

Against your better judgment, you shot him a glance. And like magnets, his eyes find yours in mi the sea of lights that only New York could offer.

You press the bottom, eyes fixed on the man coming towards you like a bolt. His talons cut the air in front of your eyes – almost like a kiss – the petrifying realization makes you fall on your back towards the portal. 

Then everything turns black.

lll.

When you open your eyes again, you’re absolutely and awfully exhausted. The weight of your body holds you down against the cold floor, almost as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. You had lost ownership after not taking care of it. Your eyelids are heavy, and for a moment you consider just going back to sleep, finally giving in to the sweet taste of relief. 

But then, the warnings in the back of your mind start to go off, and you remember why you can’t. Grunting, you take off your mask and pick yourself up. There was no rest for you, not until you find out what the hell happened. And if it was all in your mind, of if Miguel was there. 

Because that definitely didn’t feel like a dream. The phantom feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist still lingered, and the intensity of his gaze still made you shrink. A chill runs down your spine in trepidation. If he was really there were the nightmares just a premonition of the future?

No. Miguel would never do that. 

Even though he didn’t… like you as you liked him, the man didn’t have a single motive to want you dead. Miguel was many things, but mostly he was righteous. Dedicated to his job in an unhealthy, and obsessive way? Yes. However, he still had kindness hidden underneath his scowl, and even though his heart was mostly painted black by the loss of his old life, it still beat for the new ones the Spider Society protected. Besides, he still had some humor in him; a completely dated and cringe type of humor, but there.

And every time it made an appearance, you would find it adorable. A tiny smile appears on your lips. How could you not treasure every moment with him when it was all so rare? 

“Y/N?” Someone calls for you in the distance. You are still picking yourself up from the floor, the sudden movement makes you dizzy, and nauseous. You’re pretty sure you hit your head. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Margo comes into view, she quickly puts one of your arms around her neck and helps you get up. “You look terrible.”

“You should see the other guy,” You try joking around. And even though the blue avatar softly huffs, her expression of concern is serious. You must look worse than you thought. 

Margo helps you get into a chair, gently holding you until you’re comfortable in your seat. “I’m sorry for barging in, I honestly didn’t know where I was going.”

“Where you running from something?” She jokingly asks. She grabs a tablet, reads something on the screen, and goes back to work.

“Yeah,” You groan, running your hand through your hair, “You could say that.”

The room was as quiet as it always was, the only sound coming from the girl who was softly humming a song. Looking around, you notice there was no one around, only the machines as a company. You wondered if Margo ever feel lonely here; the place was big enough to fit a few dozen Spiders, however, it was always deserted. The truth was that no one actually liked to be around villains after they were captured, and sending them home was a dreadful job. Margo was definitely a viable asset to the team. 

You can feel your senses start to relax, the darkroom was a perfect invitation for a well-deserved rest. But with the sleepiness came the loss of concentration, and the last time you let your guard down, you fled from a very real Miguel. 

Small talk would be, then. “So… who’s next?”

Margo picks up her tablet, tapping a few things before showing you a picture. “She calls herself 'Torment'. But you’re probably familiar with her. After all, you and Hobie caught her a few weeks ago.”

Wait. A few weeks ago? That's exactly the time when the nightmares started to occur.

Suddenly, a flashback hits you like a bullet. A purple and blue cloud, the touch of a finger. The laugh.

“Margo, I need to talk to her,” You demand, getting up from your chair as if you had been electrified. The pieces fall into place and make a clear picture. How could you have let this fly over your head? Of course, the nightmares weren’t something normal! It had to be a product of something, or someone. 

“Y/N, I need to send her ho–”

“It’s urgent,” Holding the girl’s hand in yours, you squeeze them in a silent plea, “Please, Margo. Just give me 5 minutes.”

Margo presses her lips together; you must look desperate because she sighs, defeated. Then nods, “Make it quick.” 

“Thank you.” 

-

The Send Home Machine had come out of its cocoon, and now sat atop a circular base; waiting for the command to start the process of pulling the strings to weave the portal back home. You always thought the whole mechanism was a bit too much, but if it worked, then who were you to complain?

Margo brings Torment in, and she immediately recognizes you. 

“Oh, I knew I would see you again!” The woman’s face lights up like a Christmas tree – that couldn't be a good sign. She claps her hands, bouncing on her feet. “Looking for answers, darling?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear that spreads through your veins. It’s anger. “What did you do to me?”

The woman laughs, throwing her head back. You can clearly see she was having too much fun with you. “Now you’re interested in what I’ve to say? You didn’t seem that excited when I first came to you and your little friend.”

Your blood boils. If she wasn’t already locked up and ready to be sent home, you would definitely teach her a lesson or two. Your knuckles go white as the woman stares, the smile on her face is disturbing. How could she find pleasure in tormenting someone like that?

The sound of the engine turning startles you, Margo sends you an apologetic look as the machine descends from its place atop the base. You’re getting out of time.

“What do you want?” You shout, desperate. You can’t imagine going another week, another day haunted like this. “Tell me!”

Torment’s stare is piercing, a shadow crosses her face when the smile fades into a thin line. The silence was agonizing, and with each tread of the web, you felt your sanity slipping away. This was your last chance.

“I’m so fucking tired!” You cry out, hitting the glass so hard it almost cracks. “Do you know how it feels to not get a single hour of sleep because your nightmares are too fucking real? Do you have a single idea of how torturing it is to have him, of all people–” Margo was listening, but you didn’t care. You wanted answers and you would get them. “Why him?”

“Poor little thing. You haven’t figured it out yet?” she hums, furrowing her eyebrows. And you hate the look of pity she has on her face. It was her that did this in the first place! “That must be tough, to keep all of that to yourself.”

No one knew about your feelings for Miguel. Well, you had a slight hunch that maybe Peter B. Parker might have noticed it. But otherwise, you kept all to yourself. Treasuring little moments as precious jewelry.

He was your boss! And besides, he was still too caught up in his late family. He would never open his heart again after the tragedy bestowed upon him. You couldn't blame him; a man forever stuck in the past, reliving each moment when he was happy.

However, sometimes, you would catch him looking. Exchange glances in a crowded room; during meetings. You would spend time with him alone; in a comfortable silence hard to find, or in an easy-going atmosphere that left you smiling like an idiot. 

But that was what they were, fleeting moments. And even though sometimes you dreamed about a future where you could give him all the love he deserved, they were just that; silly dreams. There was no space for you in his life. You had accepted that long ago.

“You see, my abilities are a gift,” Torment simply says, still unphased at your suffering. “They search deep in your soul for what you seek the most. The nightmares are just an incentive to make you finally take the big step.”

“What?” A memory comes to the forefront of your mind; a finger touching your forehead, the slight shock that sent you back a few steps. Miguel’s face appears right after the electric feeling dissipates. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well,” There’s some sort of twisted kindness when her smile appears again, it irks you profoundly, “Take care, darling. You can thank me later.”

The machine finishes threading the web, encapsulating the woman inside a honey-colored web. The last thing you see is her waving at you before disappearing into nothing.

Outraged, you punch the glass again, and again. No, no, no. This can’t be happening! That woman must be lying, there’s no way the cure to this torment is–

“Calm down, Y/N!” Margo holds your wrist before you can land another hit. She’s saying something but you can’t hear it. Anxiety takes over your body as you crouch on the floor, hiding your face in your arms. 

You will have to tell Miguel. 

And that was worse than any other nightmare. 

[getousatoruu]

AND I AM BACK TO THE FIC REC GRIND BABY...Hope you enjoy them and give love to all the authors <3

Short fics:

he slips in to relieve the pain by weeb_grass (M, 3.3k, Complete)

Yuuji cannot sleep now that he's got another soul picking at him from within his own mind. Megumi keeps replaying the moment Sukuna ripped his friend's heart out. Both find ways to cope with the pain of emotional manipulation. "You stupid boy, Sukuna whispered into the deep crevices of Yuuji’s heart. You stupid, love-sick boy."

My Love Mine All Mine by darlingscurse (T, 8.1k, Complete)

“Not to worry, Yoshino,” Gojo announces brightly and while Megumi can’t see his eyes he feels them flicker to him for the smallest fraction of a second and something in his stomach drops. Oh no. “I just know what to do. Don’t you worry about that, your teacher has it all figured out!” Megumi opens his mouth, impending doom hanging over his head like a storm cloud, but by then it’s already too late, lightning has already struck. Gojo, the biggest ass in human history, flashes thumbs up in the round and then goes: “I’m sure our brightest little shikigami user would love to help you.” (or: Yuji comes back from the dead, comes back from the dead with a shiny new friend and Megumi is totally cool with that. Everything's peachy. Really.) PS: this one for all the people (me) who LOVEE Megumi absolutely loathing Junpei for no reason except the fact Yuuji befriends him (sorry Junpei)

kiss me not him by tamarsilan (T, 9.4k , Complete)

Still, her mouth had nearly hung open in shock at the news. “Junpei and I are dating,” Itadori had said with a smile on her face, holding up her and Yoshino’s intertwined hands. In their shared college dorm, Yoshino’s socked toes had dragged against their carpet, unsure. Fushiguro had been glad that she was sitting at the time. Between her hands the bunny-adorned coffee mug, Itadori had made her, threatened to shatter Or: Fushiguro Megumi and the five stages of grief

Conbini Kisses by Anonymous (T, 2.1k, Complete)

Itadori’s anger, Megumi can deal with. His silence, however, is torture. ————— Now they’ve reconnected, Fushiguro and Itadori have a much needed conversation.

The Brotherly Code by awkwardtypeos (T, 2.8k, Complete)

He sighs heavily, and looks his best friend dead in the eye, and finally delivers the news. “You cannot court Fushiguro. He is not worthy of you. I must ask you to put a stop to this.” Itadori blinks at him once, twice, several times, and then absolutely squawks, high-pitched and certainly not manly, “W-what do you mean? Todo that’s-that’s none of your business!"

sweet disposition by Nicolefrickle (T, 3.1k, Complete)

Itadori needs touched, and Megumi needs to heal

Long Fics:

you may bury my body by movequickly (M, 32.9k, Complete)

In all the worst ways, Yuji is just like Suguru. PS: I could not sleep for 3 whole days after reading this...this fic is intense i won't lie, the gojo and yuuji scenes are hard to swallow, gojo and geto scenes even more but all in all this also feels like a love letter to Yuuji

Saving You by earthtodora (T, 73k, Ongoing)

Yuji dies in the battle against Sukuna in Shinjuku. When he wakes up in the infirmary, he finds that he's in the past, before the events of the Culling Game, and the Shibuya Incident. Yuji must try to avoid making the same mistakes, and find a way to defeat the King of Curses and save the people he cares about. But first, he must find a way to deal with his own trauma and come to terms with the future he left behind. --- "Sensei," Yuji spoke up suddenly, snapping Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo looked over at him. "Yes, Yuji?" "I want you to kill me."

tears of a tiger (there is no night without dawn) by rugbratz (T, 53.9k, Completed)

Yuuji understands that most people in his situation would be excited for the promise of tomorrow and what it may bring. But that’s not him. Yuuji can’t even begin to explain the conglomeration of emotions that he feels, but he knows that all of them are horrible and that he’s not ready. He never is.

[runabout-river]

The Mechanisms of Nobara's Return

The Setup

Her injury is the smallest transfiguration Mahito made without interference

This injury didn't kill Nobara instantly

Nitta used his CT to stop her from dying

Affirmation that Nobara has a chance of survival even if that chance is less than 1%

This setup itself is the biggest indication/confirmation on a meta level that Nobara's return will happen. Because otherwise, Gege wouldn't have written it like this in the first place or he would've written later scenes about her death more explicitly.

Nobara is the female lead of JJK and is often compared to Sakura from Naruto in that regard. I find it hard to believe that Shonen Jump would let Gege discard that lead so early in the story. It would also be an unpopular decision to replace the female lead with another female character (Maki) even for Shonen standards.

Temporarily replacing one on the other hand, is a decision I can see happening. I'm no expert in this but it's known that editors keep the number of female characters low in their titles in SJ. Gege most likely wanted to do something shocking as well, so this a course of action many would be fine with.

If Nobara's death had been meant to be final then not only in the story but also outside of it we would've gotten definite confirmation on it. Instead, I don't recall something like that being said. In story and outside, we have this wishy-washy Schrödinger's Cat situation going on.

Her injury

Idle Transfiguration cannot be healed with positive energy or any other means

That's because positive energy doesn't recognize damage to the body if it's in the same shape as the soul

At this point, her death was suspended in a similar fashion to how Megumi's death was suspended inside his exorcism ritual

This suspension can theoretically be kept up indefinitely as long as Nitta can use his CT

A popular theory in this regard, is Nobara learning Reverse Cursed Technique while at death's door.

Nobara is a Black Flash user, her use of cursed energy is more refined than that of the average sorcerer

Her learning RCT would parallel Gojo learning it after being sliced open. For her, it just takes longer

Having to use RCT constantly would also mirror Gojo, bringing her narratively closer to her teacher after being the one most distant from him

Her Return

Why did Megumi say she was dead?

Theory: because Shoko told him that she was dead:

Because Shoko thought it cruel to keep the hopes of Megumi and Yuji up. She still wasn't finished to try and save her though

Shoko was afraid of the higher-ups interfering in her treatment after Yaga was executed

Having Megumi believe that she died also makes Sukuna believe that she's dead, which makes her comeback unforeseeable to him.

Why don't we see her in the flashbacks?

To keep up suspense. But do you know who else we don't see in the flashbacks? Todo. And that guy isn't even dead.

What is she doing now?

We have some possibilities for the flashbacks:

Learning to function under her RCT

Learning to function on Nitta's CT

Training/secret missions with Todo

Recovering with her grandma/learning to use new forms of her own CT

For the current fights:

She's waiting her turn

Popular theory is that Nobara will use Resonance on Sukuna's last finger. If she does this too early, she will explode. My favorite way for her to do this is like this:

Utahime and Gramps will enhance her CT and she will attack Sukuna's finger right at the moment when Sukuna attacks Yuji to kill him, mirroring the Mahito scene.

Which are the instances where her death wasn't made explicit?

We never saw her corpse

She wasn't at the airport

No one talked to Gojo about her death, they only talked about Nanami

Only Megumi and Yuji talk about her death. The second and last time about Hana potentially replacing her

I think this is about it about Nobara's Return. If you have questions, I will answer.

...

I lied.

There is a way to heal Nobara.

And the person who's going to do that is Megumi.

Megumi will have to infuse one of his shikigami with Mahoraga's Adaptation ability

The Adaptation doesn't happen with CTs, it happens with phenomena

A transfigured body and soul is a phenomenon

After the adaptation, Megumi can order his shikigami to reshape or reverse the transfiguration

This Adaptation to Idle Transfiguration also has a second use: stopping the merger (or reversing it).

Kenjaku used Mahito's IT to change Tengen's barriers. If I remember correctly, he will use IT again in the future or the effects of IT will be relevant later on. And that's when Megumi will have his biggest role.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Mira congrats on your milestone!! I wish I was good at coming up with requests… hmm… do you ever get more ideas for pomegranate ink? Maybe a scene of them much later in the future? I loved that fic so much ☹️ I hope they’re happy and living a super fluffy adorable life after all they went thru 💔 (can you tell I’m still heartbroken over JJK leaks) - @yutaleks

── CLOUDS

Synopsis: A snapshot of your life with Yuta Okkotsu, some time after the events of Pomegranate Ink.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 1.9k

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, kind of angsty, yuta is insecure, yuta is fundamentally different because of what he did for reader, spoilers for the ending of my ultra mega long fic pomegranate ink (which you all should definitely read)

A/N: on this blog we pretend like the jjk manga doesn’t exist and pomegranate ink is canon LMAO 😭 i haven’t thought much about what y/n + yuta’s life after the main story would look like hence why this is so short, but aleks i hope this heals your yuta-loving soul a bit!! ty for requesting and also being like. my first tumblr follower ever i’m pretty sure 🥹🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

Yuta was rubbing his eyes again. He did so frequently — it was a new habit he had picked up, ever since that final battle against Sukuna. They itched sometimes, he told you, because they were trying to see something they no longer could.

Ever since he had brought you back to life, Yuta had been a normal human. Like Maki, he couldn’t see curses, but unlike her, he couldn’t even sense them, their presences nor their effects. His movements were dulled and slow, and he was far clumsier than he used to be. You knew it frustrated him, the blindness, the childish tripping over his own feet when he was so used to having a sleek body that possessed the grace of a jungle cat.

It wasn’t just his cursed energy that had been depleted. His strength, too, was all but gone. His hands shook when he tried to hold his katana, and although he once was able to carry you around effortlessly, it was now a struggle for him to lift you even a few inches off of the ground for more than a couple of seconds. 

He had given up everything for you. You hadn’t understood the magnitude of it until you saw it in action — he was so prone to downplaying his suffering that you all had dismissed it at first. So what if he couldn’t see curses or use his technique anymore? That only meant he was safer.

But giving up a cursed technique was something unprecedented and new. None of you could have been prepared for what it would do to him. Ieri’s theory was this: because a cursed technique was engraved onto one’s brain and soul, the loss of that energy would immeasurably alter one, had immeasurably altered Yuta, permanently.

Once, his memory had been nearly photographic. Now, he was forgetful, requiring reminders about birthdays and anniversaries and appointments. He no longer seemed so deadly, either — there had always been a malevolent aura following him, a sort of viciousness to his otherwise-kind demeanor that made him so frightening, but now, he was so unassuming and gentle that it was impossible to imagine anyone cowering from him like they all used to.

His eyes bore the most significant shift. They used to be a blue like poison, sharp and dark and predatory in an uncanny way, but now, they were faded and gray, sensitive to the sun and entirely unable to see the world to which they had once belonged. He blinked a lot more, too, and Ieri suspected he might need glasses in the near future — not to see curses in specific, but just to be able to see at all.

“Stop that,” you said, pulling his hands away from his eyes before he could turn them bloodshot. “Ieri said it’s not good for you.”

“Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut so that the momentary pressure could relieve the discomfort. Resting your palms against his temples, you used your thumbs to soothe over his eyelids, kissing his forehead as you did so. “I’m sorry you have to take care of me. You’re the one who just came back from a mission.”

“It’s okay, Yuta. I don’t mind. It wasn’t a particularly difficult assignment; any curses left have gotten so weak that even an untrained first year could take them on and win. We should finish the clean-up job within the year,” you said.

“I should be out there, too,” he said. “I should be able to help. Maki can do it without a cursed technique, so there’s no reason for me to be like this.”

“Maki has a Heavenly Restriction. It’s a bit different than not having a technique or any cursed energy at all,” you said, as gently as possible. It was difficult for Yuta, who preferred shouldering the world’s burdens on his own, to sit back and watch as the rest of you fought and he stayed behind. Maki, Toge, Yuji…even Noritoshi and Elakshi had returned from their trip abroad to help in your efforts. Every remaining sorcerer had dedicated themselves to the cause, so that you could eradicate the remaining curses and then move on with your lives.

But Yuta Okkotsu was no longer a sorcerer. He was a normal person, and normal people had no place facing off against curses, especially when they could not so much as see them. In this manner, he was weaker than even your mother, who as of late had dedicated herself to running a charity caring for the displaced survivors of the Shibuya and Shinjuku incidents.

“I was the second strongest sorcerer in the world,” he said. “Now I’m nothing. I swore I would always protect you, and I can’t even do that anymore. You’re the one who has to look out for me.”

“You brought me back to life,” you said. “There’s nothing greater that you could do for me than that.”

He wrapped his arms around your midsection, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. It was another new habit of his — now that he could not use cursed signature detection to constantly be aware of your continued existence, he had developed an obsession with feeling your heartbeat, that steady rhythm which reassured him that you were still alive.

“Do you resent me?” he said.

“Why would I resent you?” you said, running your fingers through his silky hair. “Yuta, what could you possibly have done that would make me resent you?”

“When you brought me back to life, you were unchanged. You didn’t become weak; if anything, it made you stronger. It wasn’t like that for me. Don’t you find me pitiful? I couldn’t even resurrect you properly. I had to give up so much to do it. You must find it humorous,” he said. “You must think of me as some half-rate sorcerer.”

“Of course not,” you said. “What you did was ten times as impressive as what I did. I had Rika helping me, and your own natural Reverse Cursed Technique, and of course the heightened emotions which fueled Composition. Beyond that, Composition as a Reverse Cursed Technique was designed for such feats. You had none of those advantages, and yet you still brought me back. That’s not half-rate; that’s the kind of thing that only happens in myths and fairytales.”

Something scalding splashed against your skin, and then you realized that his body was shaking in your embrace. He was sobbing, clinging onto you in a rare display of weakness. Yuta hated falling apart, and he hated falling apart in front of others even more, yet here he was, doing just that. He always told you that he was supposed to be the one that others relied on. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that crumbled, but of course, no one could say strong forever.

“Do you still love me?” he said. If he had held you like this a year ago, then his grip would have crushed you, but now, it was you who had to be careful with your power, with his softer body. “Y/N, do you still love me?”

“Yes, how could you question that?” you said. “I love more than anyone.”

“You loved Yuta Okkotsu,” he whimpered. “Yuta Okkotsu, special-grade sorcerer. Yuta Okkotsu, who was powerful enough to save you from anything. I’m not him anymore. I’m someone else. Someone weak and stupid, who can barely see and whose body always aches.”

“Hey,” you said, holding him at an arm’s length, using the hem of your shirt to dry his tears. “Hey, hey, look at me. Are you looking at me?”

His eyes, the soft color of clouds, settled on you. You weren’t sure what you had done to deserve that kind of trust, that kind of affection or devotion, but you did the best you could with it, holding his face in your hands and squishing his cheeks fondly.

“Yes,” he said.

“I didn’t fall in love with what you have up here,” you said, knocking on his head lightly. “Nor here, nor here.” This was accompanied by pinches on each of his arms. “What I cared about, what I still care about, is this.”

You placed your hand on his heart. He tilted his chin to gaze at it, and you took the moment to flick him, earning you a small whine.

“My heart?” he said.

“Your heart,” you agreed. “In all the world, I don’t think there’s any other that could claim to be its equal, and that’s a fact independent of your cursed technique or your strength. I’ll always love that heart of yours, Yuta. There’s nothing you can do that’ll stop me from doing so. Change your name, change your face, change everything else about you — I’ll recognize it all the same, and I will love it regardless.”

“Do you mean that?” he said.

“I’ve never meant anything more,” you said. “I love you for who you are, not for what you can do.”

“You really, truly are sure of that?” he said.

“How many times do I have to say it? How many words will it take for you to believe me? I love you, Yuta, I love you, I love you, I love you. Is that enough, or is there something else you’d prefer?” you said.

“There is,” he said. “There’s something else I want you to say.”

“What is it?” you said. “You only need to tell me, and I will.”

“I know I’m not strong or capable anymore. I can’t promise to protect you, and it’ll be more work on your part than anything, so I understand if you don’t want to do it,” he said. “It’s a terrible deal for you.”

“Huh?” you said. He avoided your eyes, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, velvet box, opening it and clearing his throat.

“I’m delicate now,” he said. “But if you’ll still have me, even in this condition, then…?”

“Are you proposing?” you said. He nodded shyly.

“I was going to wait to do it until after everything with the curses was resolved, but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he said. “I guess I kind of got caught up in the moment. I’m sorry.”

I wouldn’t have before, he seemed to be thinking. Before, I would’ve been disciplined enough to deny myself that joy until the perfect moment.

You didn’t want Yuta to ever deny himself anything again, though. He had given you everything so that you could have a second chance at life; it was only fair that you spent the rest of that life with him. It belonged to him already, anyways. Every thump of your heart, every breath in your lungs, every thought in your mind…they were all his.

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “It’s perfect. This is perfect. Everything about it is.”

“Really?” he said dubiously.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, it’s perfect, and yes, I’ll marry you.”

He swallowed, and then slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger, with all the painstaking care of a surgeon. Then he blinked up at you, frowning when tears of your own welled against your lashes.

“Is everything okay?” he said.

“It’s more than okay. I’m happy,” you said. “I’m so happy that I can’t help but weep. I never thought that I could be so lucky.”

You wished that you could tell your younger versions that the two of you would end up like this, that everything would work itself out in the best way that it could, that eventually, you would again find something like happiness. Maybe it was true that you both were different now — Yuta was missing his cursed technique, and you could never again simultaneously heal and fight — but you had made it. Somehow, despite everything, despite all that you had lost, you had made it.

In the end, what more could either of you ask for?

[probablyhuntersmom]

It's me again. The therapist/illustrator who can't stop squeaking and screaming about her beloved son Hunter.

I've been thinking nonstop about him finding the terrible grimwalker graveyard, imagining what would be going through my mind if I were him. Sifting through whatever moments, dialogue and frames that I can find from the existing material, along with references outside of the show, to formulate what an offscreen scene would've been like.. (And seeing if I can find editable and salvageable enough backgrounds so I could perhaps even depict this scene one day)

A soul like him who not only wants to help others, but also acquire knowledge:

heading back here to see the graveyard:

You can't tell me that this wouldn't still be on his mind, and he's even anxious while saying this below, scratching his face a little:

Whether he follows up on this or not, also depends on how he looks back on being shown this:

And is he just going to go cold turkey and totally drop these leads he was pursuing in the episodes before the finale? :

Three things prompted me to finally write this post:

@polyhexian's and @ashanimus's analyses of Hunter's fight scenes in Hunting Palismen and Eclipse Lake (links here and here, they're really cool to read!!), based on their years of experience with martial arts. Reading those was a revelation to me because learning about how high Hunter's skill level is, how in touch with his body he is by default, portrayed so well thanks to the crew...that allows me to make far more educated guesses about his mental health in the early stages of the pre-epilogue gap of about 4 years. Because he is so used to high activity and being on high alert, no thanks to having C-PTSD.

Observing how light and free Hunter's expressions are, and how transformed his demeanor became, in the epilogue sequence. That transformation is an indication to me of the magnitude of grief which had to be transformed within him. To be put back together, in order to be so radiant, generous and self-actualized in the epilogue...imagine how much had to be deconstructed and further broken beforehand. He wouldn't have room to fill his life up with all that amazing newness if the old isn't emptied out first.

This psychoeducational video by my fave author, also a practicing therapist, who specializes in traumatic grief: link. Hearing her address the topic of entering the second year after a bereavement vs. the first year, was interesting. Definitely confirms to me that Hunter wouldn't have carved Waffles until past the 2nd year of navigating his bereavement.

In the years that pass before the epilogue, Hunter will not be able to understand why the efforts he puts into all the rebuilding work, coordinating and leading others, and trying to have fun - only cycle back to him experiencing a mix of a restlessness and emptiness in the deepest layer of his mind. It'll exhaust his energy bit by bit. I bet he's going to generally look as tired as depressed Luz does below, even if he's had an acceptable hours of sleep per night:

That restlessness will be an awful psychological itch that he'll be unable to scratch, caused by losing Flapjack and now also Belos. This is the same as what happened with his anger in For the Future, except Belos was still alive back then. It will be harder to understand and messier to navigate the bereavement this time round. It'll be something gnawing into his soul which I really think only professional help can heal, especially since the show promotes that it's okay to not be okay, and more than okay to seek professional help (Steve and Lilith's conversation in Edge of the World).

He will be trying to claw his way out of that C-PTSD pit, but he'll be aware deep down that he simply cannot reach any emotional high points for long, and something will be blocking his feelings of connection with his loved ones. He won't feel nearly as free and easy the way he used to be in the human realm:

Having a routine like he used to in the Castle, and moving around a lot, was what helped him survive. However, he won't have the awareness that the shift resulting from Belos passing away has been at such a fundamental level: to the point that those old, supposedly tried-and-true methods no longer serve him in any positive way. At least, not until his mental health will be back in better shape.

As he puts in more and more effort to escape that restless emptiness, getting annoyed at himself because he doesn't know what's going on...he'll use up the rest of his strength and eventually crash. That itch won't be solved by going back to overworking tendencies, and like how it is with addiction cycles, he would need some kind of fix for the deep restlessness within. The answer? Productivity to feel useful, which we have seen even in his efforts to fix damaged clothing and well, making stuff in general.

Where the grimwalker graveyard comes in is...once he hears news about its existence, he will stubbornly insist to want to help in investigating it, saying he has already read a bunch of books about them, and can be useful, etc. Worse, if his offer to help to investigate is refused, he will do what he did in Eclipse Lake. Go to the location anyway, to fill that deep void within.

Old habits die hard.

I don't know if he may hear from King (who he'll be seeing fairly often, I think!), The Collector or even Kikimora about it. Since they were the three characters who went all the way down there in King's Tide, and The Collector already knew about these horrors for literal centuries. King and The Collector are also still young kids! Will they have the sensitivity and awareness about breaking this news to Hunter?!

On the other hand, I don't know how the timing will be with Darius, Raine and Eberwolf..Darius will want to get serious about investigating his mentor's disappearance. Once the searching and scouring extends to the location of the Head of the Titan, they will find the evidence staring them in the face. If they want to scour every inch of the Isles, there's also a high chance they'll find the godforsaken grimwalker lab.

Worst of all, Darius would be aware by then of how much Hunter loves to help out in operations like this to be productive. At the same time, Darius's own grief will surface even more, I'm not sure he'll be able to hide that, and Hunter is highly observant. If Darius is trying to hide his own priority of finding closure re: his mentor, I think Hunter will sense that.

Therefore I wonder if this will happen except it's Hunter with Darius:

and then this poor beloved skrunkly son of mine, who so famously said these words at the beginning of his arc:

is probably going to get reckless, and endanger his mental health...not unlike moments like this:

by venturing to the graveyard, whether stealthily or accompanying the grownups, because he'll rationalize it as "getting closure" and once again "being useful". Remember how used he is to moving around so much and being active, combined with growing up isolated so that asking for help can still be a foreign concept to him. He would be anxious about grinding to a halt, and he'd want to be on the move instead.

He may demand to see the graveyard, and holy Titan I'm not sure any dilemma will be as tricky for Camila and Darius to navigate as this one. Because preventing him from seeing something he already knows exists is, in a very twisted way, also an unhelpful form of avoidance. Avoidance is a hallmark criterion for diagnosing both PTSD and C-PTSD.

How far do they go in protecting him from himself? Where do they draw that line? They might reach a compromise where Camila and Darius accompany him there. Once he sees it, it'll hit harder than this:

Letting him see it means his new parents would have to fall with him, in the sense that they follow him to that emotional place: but while he figuratively does not have a safety harness when falling into this deep dark hole, Camila and Darius are equipped with harnesses a.k.a. higher maturity, less of a trauma history, and some tools to help him get better, navigate the trauma, and manage his symptoms.

Camila will have the warmth and sensitivity to catch and meet him as he falls (she interacts with animals in her profession, who don't have the capacity for human language, in a similar way to how serious trauma can't even be put into words at times: it makes you voiceless). Darius's shared past living in the Castle and grieving over his mentor will help Hunter not feel as alone once he has seen these horrors.

And because his heart generally became more open to receiving love and support,

I doubt he'll close himself off almost completely, the way he did in the first two-thirds of For the Future (god, remember these deleted storyboards??):

It wouldn't surprise me if he weeps and panics as soon as he sees the graveyard, and his parents give him maximum support through that breakdown. As complicated as it would be for Camila and Darius to give in to his desire to see the graveyard, a response like this from him - a child seeking attachment with proper timing - is a good sign of growing into healthy attachment with parental figures.

It is an arguably better response than one of the hardest aspects of C-PTSD: where the outpouring of grief only happens after a delay, sometimes a significant delay, at very inconvenient or strange times. Hell...if I were Hunter, I'd probably want Camila and Darius to just hold me close in wordless silence for half an hour until my initial distress and shock passes.

If I use King - a child who is securely attached to Eda, who's definitely had a more stable upbringing - as a control experiment here, he could have the appropriate response immediately in Echoes of the Past and expressed his emotional needs clearly enough:

Whereas this is what Hunter has to now learn, at twice King's age, as he settles in with new parents who take care of him instead of mistreating him the way Belos did. Hell, I can't imagine what kind of Belos punishment awaited him if he cried to demand attachment.

(I need to use more King scenes as a comparison to Hunter's upbringing in my next metas! I realize this can make my explanations clearer)

Anyway, what may happen next after he can't unsee the graveyard is...Hunter will then swing to the other extreme of high activity. I.e. being passive, physically inactive and psychologically crashing into depression, which may translate into habits such as oversleeping (catching up on all that lost sleep...but at what cost?). Supposedly sliding deeper into the C-PTSD pit. A place from which he has to express the desire to seek the forms of help he needs.

Remember that this kid has only known extremes for most of his life. Until he settles in properly with his found family and attends therapy, he has no clear reference point for more balanced approaches in living.

The trauma he went through is a quadruple whammy for a 16-year-old who just survived growing up in a cult. It would be so much. I can't see him not falling into months of deep dark depression, as unfortunate as this sounds.

Grieving over Flapjack, grieving over Belos, over his childhood/upbringing, and now a grisly memory of his predecessors who didn't make it (to add to what he saw in Belos's mindscape). I simply cannot see him handling a load like this without a highly-equipped and sensitive professional, paired with his support network of family, friends and even possibly the wider community at times. Especially now that we've seen him in action during the epilogue.

The epilogue sequence would've had a different feel (and in my opinion, a not-so-good feel) for me if Dana had established that the grimwalker graveyard was still untouched after those 3.5-4 years and if Hunter never found out about it. Something like that is different compared to Dana mentioning in the recent Post-Hoot that in the he does not know about Caleb and Evelyn, or that he is related to the Clawthornes. Mysteries like the Clawthorne heritage can remain an eerie secret that only us in the audience know about, but I wouldn't feel comfy if this were the case for the graveyard as well.

To quote @idlescree's video essay about Hunter's death (link), the show's writers didn't pull any punches when it came to Hunter's development arc. Which means they had to take his story to the "categorically appropriate place for him to overcome" his greatest challenges.

Something tells me that with respect to the grimwalker graveyard and the avoidance theme in C-PTSD recovery, Hunter would've had to put in more work to confront a number of terrifying foes even beyond his Thanks to Them speech. One of which was the graveyard containing the remains of his predecessors.

PS: This is a spontaneous post which branches out from my giant post-finale meta (link) that I pinned to my blog, I suppose.

[last-herondale]

Always In Front of Me

Jacob Black x FemReader

T/w: Mentions of blood, violence, death

Hurt/comfort, fated lovers

A/N: heyo! A few people have asked for a perspective from Jacob’s point of view from my wintered series! This is after Honesty and before Wintered!

Expect at least 2 more fics for this series in the future 💙

I’ll link the master list here!

Enjoy 🤘🏼

Jacob sat at your beside, watching the even motion of your chest rising and falling. The two of you were in one of the Cullen’s rooms. Jacob wasn’t sure whose, maybe Alice, maybe Jasper? No definitely Alice. She had insisted after… Jacob shook his head at the memory. He looked over you, making sure you were alright, to see if there was anything he could possibly do. He had been there for days on end, refusing to leave your side as you recovered.

Months earlier you had done the same for him after the battle with Victoria’s newborn army. Jacob remembered how you accepted the role as his gentle nurse, aiding him as he healed from his wounds. How minor his injuries seemed now. He winced as he looked at your neck brace— the bluish bruises under your eyes. The sight of you made his stomach churn. How could he have been so blind? How could he have not known until that night?

~

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. So much chaos had ensued in such a short amount of time that Jacob wasn’t entirely sure what was real anymore.

Bella had gone into labor. He witnessed her body jerk and contort, breaking and snapping with haunting echos as the creature inside her yearned to be free. The Cullens had sprung to action, or at least those that had remained. A plan had been devised to allow some of the Cullens to break through Sam’s patrol so that they could feed, and get more blood for Bella.

Seth, Leah, and You had agreed to help with the plan. Jacob had distracted Sam’s pack long enough to allow the Cullens to escape, and for a moment you all thought you had won a victory. The Cullens could feed, Bella would be safe, and no one would have to die.

But then all hell broke loose. While The Cullens rushed to save Bella, Sam’s pack decided to launch their attack. You had sounded the alarm to Jacob, ripping out a guttural howl into the night sky. Leah and Seth had already sprung into action, blurs of fur clashing into the night. Alice and Jasper joined the fight as well, battling the wolves that were once their allies.

Jacob’s mind had been a jumbled mess. His fear for Bella tore his heart in one direction, but his worry for his family tore him in the other. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared in horror as Edward pulled the baby from Bella. The smell of blood burned in Jacob’s nostrils as he watched his best friend lie lifeless on the table. His head was ringing. He couldn’t register Edwards words as he began to preform CPR on Bella. Jacob felt his legs move him on his own accord, as his body left the room in a tranced state.

Bella was dead. He had expected it. Tried to mentally prepare for it, but now that it was here… his chest felt empty. What was all of this pain for? Why did Jacob love Bella if he knew it would always end in death? Was this how love was supposed to be? Constant pain? Unending torture?

Jacob collapsed outside of the Cullen’s house and began to sob. The battle raged on around him, his pack and the Cullens fighting Sam’s pack. You were grappling with Embry and Quill, keeping them from reaching the house while Leah and Seth were out of sight. Jacob looked at the scene before him as his body broke out in heaved sobs. You heard his anguished cries and felt your soul tug. The desperate need to be there for him roared in your mind as you fought.

The imprint bond, the tether that seemed to shape your heart sang out within your blood. You felt a surge of strength return to your body as you flung Quill against a tree, hearing a whimper escape his wolf form. Embry lunged at you again, but you were able to sidestep him and sink your teeth into the back of his leg. Once he too fell, you spun around to Jacob. Guilt flashed through your mind for a moment, these were your friends— your brothers after all. As much as it pained you to admit it though, Jacob came first. Always.

The brokenness of his face told you all you needed to know. Bella was dead.

Your heart ached with the thought of your friend. Bella had been a kind soul. The kind of person you only encountered once in a lifetime. You knew the likelihood of her passing, but you held our hope for her. Maybe there would be time for the Cullens to change her. Maybe she would make it after all. You always held hope, not just for her, but for Jacob as well. You dreaded this day. The day Jacob’s heart would shatter beyond repair.

You began to sprint towards Jacob, to protect him from the battle as he sat there out in the open, but you heard a scream to the right of you. Paul had Alice pinned underneath him. The small vampire had her hands gripped on either side of Paul’s jaw to keep back his sharp canines. She could have easily beaten Paul if her strength was up, but she had needed to feed for days now, and you could see the struggle in her eyes.

Perhaps it was stupid to care for a vampire. Everything you were taught went against what your heart told you. Alice was your friend. She seemed no less human to you than Seth or Leah. And she needed help.

Suddenly you were pounding towards Paul. You slammed into him with enough force to knock the wind out of yourself. You snapped at him, gripping a chunk of his fur as the two of you tumbled in the dirt. You saw a pale flash if movement, and hoped it was Alice escaping into the house. Paul seems to support this theory as he let out a horrible snarl. His claws dug into your sides and the pain was enough to cause you to release him. He pinned you down easily enough, his strength had always overmatched yours. You looked into his dark eyes as he plunged his teeth around your neck. The crunch was horrific. You tried to scream, but the wind seemed to leave you as soon as your lips opened. You wanted to say his name, one last time. Your mind glazed over with pain as darkness quickly swept over your consciousness.

~

That was when everything snapped into place. Jacob felt as if his heart was being ripped from his chest as he watched Paul snap your neck. Suddenly, all of the memories of you flooded through his mind, but it was as if a lens had been removed. What had once been simple memories of one of his best friends, now became something unimaginably more important. The first day he met you. Jacob was struck by how beautiful you were, how sweet your voice sounded in his ears. The echo of it now was sweet music. He had been muted to it for so long. The memories of the two of you training together, how you both had leaned on each other for support as you navigated through these difficult changes. You had always been there, he realized. How had he never noticed until now?

Realization struck home, like a blazing sun clearing through the darkness. Jacob felt as if his whole world had shifted back into place. He had been wandering aimlessly in the world, trying so desperately to find his purpose, his meaning within the chaos. He tried to find it in loving Bella. How silly that seemed now. Now it was as if there never was a world where he did not belong to you. Where you did not spark his soul into a million burning fires.

My imprint… my soulmate.

Jacob’s thoughts were scattered and racing through his mind a million miles a second. He didn’t have time to sort through his emotions, all that mattered was you. And you were lying motionless on the ground, your body shifting back into your human form as Paul tossed you aside.

Jacob shifted in an instant and charged Paul. The force of the collision caused the tree they knocked into to snap at the base and crash into the Cullen’s yard. Jacob felt a primal rage course through his body. He dug his teeth into Paul’s shoulder and threw him into another tree. Paul yelped as Jacob went in again, snapping at his arm until a sickening crunch echoed into the night.

Jacob stop!

Seth’s voice echoed through Jacob’s mind, but Jacob did not relinquish. He would make Paul pay for what he did to you. For taking away his chance at happiness before he could even…

Jake, stop! You’re killing him!

Seth begged through his mind. Paul laid limp underneath Jacob, his fur a bloody mess as Jacob continued to thrash him. He was taking it too far, he knew, but he didn’t care.

“She’s alive!”

The voice was real. Not just a telepathic whisper. But a real, high pitched sounding yell. Jacob stopped in his tracks and spun around to see Alice leaning over you as the others watched him in horror. Alice had her head over your heart, listening to the faint beating.

“She’s alive Jacob, please, stop this.”

Jacob took a good look around to see that the chaos had stilled during his rage. The packs looked horrified, Sam especially as he ran to pull Paul away from him. The eerie quiet of the forest chilled Jacob’s back as he hurried himself beside your body. His anger refused to let him shift back into his human form, so he just stood there, watching as Alice carefully picked you up to carry you into the house.

It was Leah that shifted back first, looking at your body then at Jacob in disbelief.

“You imprinted on y/n…” she said. Jacob’s wolf just panted, his eyes locked on Sam and his pack in case they tried to make a break for the house. Leah turned to Sam, his wolf looking at them with fierce uncertainty. Sam couldn’t read Jacob’s thoughts anymore, but Leah could. She recognized what an imprint felt like, knew what kind of bond that was. She knew Sam did too, and in that she saw their salvation.

“Jacob imprinted on y/n!” She yelled loud enough for all of the packs to hear. Sam’s eyes widened at Jacob, and for a moment his resolve finally wavered. Leah took notice and pointed at Sam. “You know our laws, all of you! If you kill her, you kill Jacob. Is this what you want Sam? Your friends— your family dead? Over what? A baby?” It had been the first time Jacob had heard Leah refer to Bella’s baby as such. It was enough to calm Jacob down enough to shift back into his human form.

“It’s true Sam. This has gone on long enough. I don’t want this… but I can’t lose her, please. We have to stop this fighting.”

Sam remained still for a moment as he looked at Jacob’s face. He tried to find the insincerity in Jacob’s voice, his expression, but he found none. It only took one glance at Paul for Sam to realize that only an imprint would cause that sort of violence from Jacob. They might have had their little fights in the past, but this was different. He thought of Emily being attacked and a chill ran down his spine. They were right. Enough was enough.

Sam turned to his pack, speaking a silent message through their minds. Quill and Embry helped Paul to his feet, leaning him up against each other as they limped out of the forest. Jacob waited in silence, half expecting them to return and finish them off.

“They won’t return,” Edward’s voice rose from behind Jacob. Jacob turned to face Edward, and was surprised to see him away from Bella. Edward just nodded at Jacob, and it was enough for now. “Let’s get her inside. Quick, Carlisle is on his way.” Alice carried you inside, Jacob and Edward close at on her heel. Everything else after that became a blur to Jacob. Carlisle and the rest of the Cullens arrived minutes later, and Carlisle began quick work on you to heal your wounds. Jacob stood by your side the entire time. Once you were stable, Carlisle moved you into Alice’s room, and kept you on fluids and a monitor as you slept.

It was a waiting game. Carlisle feared that there had been damage to your brain, but that he had hope you would wake up in your own time. Jacob thanked him as he left. Then it was just the two of you. Jacob sat next to you as the monitor made soft beeps. He held your limp hand, and ran his thumb over your skin.

There was a knock at the door, and Leah and Seth slipped into the room. Seth knelt beside the bed and put his hand on your forehead. A small gesture of love, as he whispered a small prayer. Seth’s eyes were watering and he sniffed as he rubbed his eyes.

“She’ll be okay, Seth,” Leah murmured, “She’s strong. She’s a fighter.”

“Yeah,” Seth said in a small ragged voice.

“Jake,” Leah said, “She’ll make it.”

Jacob just gave a small nod. His throat felt clogged. He felt warm tears fall down his cheek as he rested his head in your hand. He felt his pack put their hand in his shoulders. “Why did it take so long?” Jacob finally choked out, “why now?”

Leah gave a bitter laugh. “One thing I’ve learned is that this ability can be cruel. There may not be any rhyme or reason, but it’s what we have to survive. And she will, she will survive this. You both will.”

Jacob let himself cry as he held your hand. He whispered into your palm, begging for you to wake up. He had so much he wanted to say to you. Things he wished he could explain, apologize for the time he had wasted chasing false dreams. Sense left him, and finally the pain and sorrow was all he felt. He was surrounded by his family and let their love warm the fractured pieces of his tired weary soul.

~

Your eyes fluttered open two days later. Disoriented, you struggled to raise your head up to look around, but got caught up against the breathing tubes and neck brace. You raised your hand to remove them but a strong hand gently gripped your wrists. The touch was familiar, beautifully familiar.

“Steady there speed racer,” Jacob’s husky voice warmed the side of your face. You let him guide your hand back down as you blinked away the rest of your drowsiness. “Jake…what happened…?”

“Shhh shhh,” he cooed, his hand stroked the side of your face. You thought you were still in a dream state, his touch was warm and comforting. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You resisted the temptation to lean your head deeper into his palm, the scent of him was intoxicating.

You scrunched your brow in confusion. Not matter? Your mind struggled to recall your last memories. You remembered seeing blood on the living room floor, then the green forest just outside of the Cullen house, then a large black wolf lunging towards you…

“Paul,” you whispered. The memories came crashing back in a torrential wave. You tried to jerk up on bed again, but the brace and tubes kept you back.

“What happened? Is everyone okay? Did Alice— oh my god, Bella??”

Jacob put his hands on either side of your face to calm you. “It’s okay, everyone’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” You tried to calm your breathing, but the memories of that night stormed in your mind. Jacob’s presence calmed you; his touch was enough to bring you back into the present.

“I don’t… understand. Jake…”

Jacob explained away the time you missed, careful to leave out the imprinting. He was waiting to see the change in you too, to see if the bond had reshaped your life as it had his. But to his dismay, he saw no change. How could he possibly bring it up to you? Would you even believe him? Just days ago he had been fighting so hard for Bella, the girl he though he loved. How could he ever begin to explain?

Little did he know that your life had already been reshaped. That the bond had formed for you the first moment you saw him. Jacob swallowed his disappointment as he finished his story.

“So, Bella’s gonna be okay? Edward saved her in time?” You asked.

Jacob nodded. “It seems so. Carlisle thinks she should wake up in the next day or so.” Your shoulders relaxed a bit at that bit of information. You hadn’t lost a friend after all.

“But wait, I still don’t understand…, how did Leah convince Sam to leave again?”

Jacob blanked for a moment. She had hoped you wouldn’t notice how he skimmed over that detail, but of course you hadn’t. Jacob opened his mouth to try and craft a delicate lie, but luckily he was saved by Carlisle knocking on the door.

“Ah, good, my favorite patient is up.” Carlisle gave you a warm smile as he approached you. You were happy to see him, healthy and alive. His eyes had returned to a golden brown, and his overall mood seemed happy compared to the last few months.

He began to check on the monitors and tubes, noting your heart rate and oxygen levels. He turned to Jacob.

“Would you mind if I spoke with y/n, alone for a moment?” Jacob wanted to protest, he hadn’t left your side at all while you were under, but that was when he didn’t have to hide anything. He looked at you for a moment, letting himself have the satisfaction of seeing you awake, alive and well, before peeling himself from the chair.

“Of course Doc,” Jacob said with a small smirk. You watched him as he left, giving him a smile as he turned back to look at you before closing the door.

~

Jacob descended the stairs, his emotions a swirl of confusion. At the base he ran into Leah and Seth, both of whom looked excited. “Edward told us the news. Is she finally awake?” Seth asked, his eyes alight with excitement. Jacob nodded, but he put his hand on Seth’s shoulder. “She’s awake and well. The Doc is talking with her now, but I need to talk with the two of you.”

“Sure, what is it Jake?” Seth asked. Leah just stood there with her arms crossed. She seemed a bit more relaxed after hearing you were okay, but being in the Cullens house was still tough for her, and Jacob appreciated her effort.

Jacob took a slow, steady breath. “I don’t want to tell her about the imprint.” His voice was low and steady. Seth began to protest while Leah held a straight face.

“Listen, this is how it needs to be. Whatever happened the other night seems to only have happened to me. I don’t want to force her into something like this… for her to feel obligated to feel something for me that she doesn’t. She’s kind hearted, and too gentle. I can’t do that to her. And I know I can’t keep it from her forever, but just for now… until I figure out a way to tell her. Please.”

You too Cullen. Please, if you could spread the word to your family… I would appreciate it.

Jacob knew Edward would be able to hear their conversation. He only hoped Edward would play along, for your sake more so than his.

Seth gave Leah an uncertain look, but Leah just nodded in response. “We won’t say anything, but Jake,” Leah began, “we don’t want your heart to break anymore either.”

Jacob just gave a small smile. The images of you flashed through his mind. All of the memories of you in his life, and how much those moments had meant to you, even then. Now they were everything. The breath of life sustaining his soul. He had a purpose now. A reason to always fight, to always be there.

You, and only you.

“It’ll be worth it this time, no matter what happens. Believe me, everything’s different now. Everything.”

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