#Acknowledge Collective Grief | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sematarygirls · 7 days ago

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⠀ ⠀⠀♯┆marshgirl!reader x rafe ⏤ part i.ㅤ ۪ ୧

ᰋ. ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎“ i asked my father if he believed in ghosts; he told me he would be one someday ,, ‎‎ ‎ ‎ : ‎‎ ‎ ‎IN WHICH . . . rafe bets that he can befriend the weird girl who resides in the marsh. ─── ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆🌾

THE CYPRUS BRANCHES swayed in the gentle breeze of the early morning, mist still clinging low to the murky water and roots of the trees. The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp soil and natural decomposition of material as well as the sickly sweet smell of crushed wildflowers under your feet.

You moved through the marsh like you were born from it— maybe you were—with quick, precise steps that avoided stray tree roots, sticks, rocks, and the occasional small animal. Your skirt swished at your ankles, wetted with fresh mud as you returned home from your morning scavenge of all the fascinating things nature had to offer.

Your lonely little cabin where you resided with your father was tucked away from the roads and civilization. He often told you that the world was dangerous, and it would eat a girl like you alive, so it was better to stay in the marsh where it was safe.

He'd never quite explained your way of life. You knew you were different, not like the other kids your age, but you didn't understand why, and whenever you dared ask, he would get agitated, asking you who put those thoughts into your head.

Maybe it was paranoia, a fear of what others were capable of, a fear of being out of control. Maybe it was grief, the loss of your mother so achingly deep that all he could do was run away and disappear.

Or maybe he was hiding something from you, from the world. Maybe the real reason for keeping you isolated had nothing to do with keeping you safe but rather, protecting whatever secrets he had buried in the marsh so long ago.

As you approached, you heard the familiar song of your handmade windchimes—made from animal bones, shards of glass, and rusty metals you had collected—and the piercing creaking of the old rocking chair that sat on the porch and moved with the wind. It was comforting. It was the sound of home.

"Daddy?" You called softly, pushing the creaky wooden door open and pausing to take your muddy boots off and set them down outside to keep from tracking mud inside before venturing into the house to retrieve this month's grocery list.

Once a month, on the last day of the month, you were permitted to go into town to stock up on groceries for the coming weeks. It had been a ritual like clockwork since you were thirteen. Though at that age you weren't technically allowed to be driving, your father insisted upon it anyway.

Padding further inside, your feet instinctively avoiding the spots in the floorboards that stuck up or had exposed nail heads, you found your father sitting in his worn, leather chair, knife in hand as he whittled something out of wood. "Back already?" He asked, glancing up at you. His gaze was always sharp and scrutinizing like he expected to catch you in a lie, and his voice was deep and rough, his vocal cords like rocks that had been weathered by a stream.

You nodded, the scent of burning wood from the fireplace mingling in the air with the smell of dried herbs and fresh flowers and infiltrating your senses. Your eyes followed his motions as he scraped the knife against the wood with slow, deliberate strokes, the sound of him humming in acknowledgement reaching your ears.

After a beat of silence, he sighed heavily, looking up at you with that piercing gaze as he set his knife down on the table, a little harsher than intended. "Remember the rules," he said firmly, his tone warning as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Get what we need and come straight home. No lingering or talking to strangers," he reminded you, like he always did despite you having done this dozens of times.

"Yes, sir," you replied softly with an obedient nod, reaching for the paper in his outstretched hand. He held it firmly for a moment, not letting you take it as he searched your eyes, as if he could pull the truth from your bones. Clearly, he decided you were telling the truth about obeying his strict rules because he loosened his grip, allowing the paper to slip from his fingers.

You slipped the paper into your bag—the same one you'd used to collect your trinkets—and turned on your heels, heading back to the front door. You swiped your dad's keys from the table by the door before closing it behind you, paying no mind to the screeching that would have made anyone else wince.

Slipping on your boots and trudging down the crumbling wooden steps, you noticed a shift of atmosphere; you always did when you were leaving. The wind seemed to blow a little harder, whistling to catch your attention as you started your father's rusty old truck and put it in reverse to make your way toward the road. In response, a nearby crow cawed loudly, causing a few others to follow.

The marsh didn't like when you went into town.

Neither did you.

The drive was always unsettling and left a pit in your stomach as the trees grew few and farther between and more houses came into view, eventually giving way to buildings crowded together and pavement instead of greenery.

You pulled into the parking lot, the truck's engine rattling as you put the car into park. People stared before you even got out of the car; they always did.

Stepping out, you felt the weight of eyes upon you, hushed whispers following you as you walked with your head held high. You didn't mind them. You always figured they were just curious, as you were about them.

Across the street, Rafe, Topper, and Kelce were exiting a high-end clothing store when they caught sight of you. "Holy shit, country cryptic incoming," Topper smirked, nudging Rafe and nodding to your form retreating into the grocery store.

"Bro, I swear she only crawls out of the swamp, like, once a year," Kelce said, following Topper's motion. They kept walking down the street, farther and farther away, but their conversation stayed centered around you.

"What do you think she's buying? Eye of newt? Frog legs?" Topper snickered, finding himself incredibly funny.

"She's gonna hear you two talking shit and hex you," Rafe quipped, smirking as he pushed his sunglasses up his nose. "Yknow, make your dicks shrivel up in your sleep."

"I'm not sure Topper's can get any smaller," Kelce snorted.

Topper shoved Kelce with an indignant scoff. "Shut the fuck up, man, not cool."

Rafe grinned, his gaze flickering back to the doors you'd just disappeared through. It was rare to see you in town, so rare that it became a spectacle. People would wait for your inevitable return and tell tales, most of them bullshit, about what they'd allegedly seen you do or heard you say when they encountered you.

A thought occurred to him that had him smirking. "What do you say we make this a little more interesting?" He proposed, making Topper and Kelce quit their bickering over dick sizes and look over at him with pinched brows.

"What do you mean?" They asked, almost in unison, their curiosity undoubtedly piqued.

"I think we should talk to her, see what her deal is, yknow. I don't think anyone in this town has actually ever heard her say more than, what, three words?" Rafe grinned, like he had just said something revolutionary.

The two boys looked at each other before bursting out laughing. "There's no way she'll talk to us, let alone you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rafe scowled, his face growing hot. He didn't appreciate being challenged.

"It means you're the biggest asshole I know," Kelce rolled his eyes, always one to tell it like it was. He wasn't as much a lapdog as Topper was. "You're like the last person she'll want to talk to."

"Girls talk to me all the time," Rafe defended, gritting his teeth at the insult.

"Yeah," Topper snorted. "When they're trying to fuck you. Not when they're, yknow, feral." He bared his teeth and made a clawing motion for emphasis.

Rafe was determined to prove them wrong. Nothing made him more willing to do something than when someone told him he couldn't. "Fine then, let's make a bet."

Kelce raised a brow. "A bet?"

"What kind of bet?" Topper asked.

Rafe’s grin stretched wider, cocky and self-assured. “I bet I can get her to talk to me. Not just talk, but, like… really talk. Get her to like me, maybe even fall for me."

Kelce and Topper exchanged glances, their skepticism evident. "You think you can make her fall for you?" Topper scoffed. "Dude, she's probably never even talked to a guy before."

"Exactly," Rafe smirked, already having decided that this would be a piece of cake to pull off. All he had to do was turn up the Cameron charm, and she'd fall to her knees. "That just makes it easier."

Kelce snorted. "Or it makes it fucking impossible. She lives in a swamp, bro. She probably doesn't even know what flirting is."

"That's the fun part," Rafe shrugged with a cocky grin, adjusting his sunglasses as he glanced toward the grocery store doors again. "She won’t even see it coming."

"Alright," Kelce shrugged, deciding this would be the easiest money he ever made. "You're on. If you can't get her to fall for you in a month, you owe us big time." Topper nodded in agreement.

And just like that, the deal was made. Rafe had one month to woo you into going on a real date with him, out in town where he would be able to prove to Kelce and Topper that he was every bit the man he claimed to be and that no woman was resistant to his charm, all of this completely unbeknownst to you.

୭ৎ

author's notes .ᐟ this is definitely not my best work. i really like the beginning, but i am terrible at dialogue and being descriptive when people are talking. i hope you enjoyed it anyway !! this will be a series, but i will take misc requests for marshgirl!reader and rafe at any stage of their relationship <33 also i didn't edit this because i'm tired, so if you see any mistakes, please lmk !!

tags .ᐟ @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 /

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

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Writing Reference: Grief

“Grief is the emotional reaction to a loss, in this case, to death” (Samuel, 2019, p. xvii), and mourning is the process of adjustment to a world without that person.

The following physical sensations and perceptual experiences often accompany the grieving process (modified from Worden, 2009):

Hollowness in the stomach

Tightness in the throat and chest

Being oversensitive to noise

Feelings of unreality

Shortness of breath

Muscle weakness and lack of energy

Dry mouth

Strong emotions typically occur during grief, including (from Worden, 2009):

Sadness. Failure to acknowledge and embrace sadness can cause more complicated and prolonged grief.

Anger. A common reaction to loss that leads to many issues during the grieving process.

Guilt and self-reproach. Often regarding something that happened or was neglected at the time of death.

Anxiety. Ranging from feelings of insecurity to panic attacks, sometimes associated with fears of being unable to take care of yourself in the absence of the other person.

Loneliness. The loss of a day-to-day relationship can leave someone feeling all alone. Social support can help but does not remove the sense of a broken attachment.

Fatigue. Feelings of apathy and listlessness are not uncommon following the death of a loved one and may limit behavior and activity.

Helplessness. Survivors can be left feeling vulnerable and helpless, especially when they have young children to look after.

Shock. Sudden death, by its very nature, can cause the survivor to experience shock.

Yearning. Yearning or pining for the loved one is a typical reaction to death, and as it reduces, may indicate the mourning process is coming to an end.

Emancipation and relief. It is not uncommon for a survivor to experience a sense of relief, especially where the deceased was oppressive or was suffering a prolonged illness. While a normal response, it may be accompanied by feelings of guilt.

Numbness. While the previous feelings are common, so too is an absence of emotions, at least initially. With so many feelings to experience and manage, the early stages of grief may be overwhelming and result in a protective numbness.

It is important to note that each person’s experience of grief is different, and while the emotions above are typical of loss, they are not exhaustive.

Types of grief can take various forms, including (Elizz by SE Health, 2019; CaringInfo, n.d.; WebMD, n.d.):

Abbreviated grief. A short-lived response to a death, possibly following the experience of prolonged anticipatory grief or something immediately filling the space left by the loss.

Absent grief. The bereaved may not acknowledge or may remain in denial of what has happened. If prolonged, the lack of response can be concerning and require specialist support.

Anticipatory grief. For a caregiver, grief can begin before the person being cared for dies. It may be associated with a sense of losing what they expected life to be like. Such feelings can start with a terminal diagnosis or a worsening state of health.

Chronic grief. A sub-type of complicated grief (see below), left untreated, chronic grief can involve extreme feelings of hopelessness, a sense of disbelief, and a loss of meaning, leading to severe clinical depression or thoughts of self-harm and even suicide.

Collective grief. A shared experience of grief that affects a family, group, or community, often preceded by an event (natural disaster or attack).

Complicated grief. Where grief seems to deviate from what’s expected, complicated grief interferes with the ability to function. Complicated grief may include chronic (see above), delayed, or absent grief (American Psychological Association, n.d.).

Cumulative grief. Multiple deaths over a period of time can leave the bereaved without the opportunity or capacity to process each loss.

Delayed grief. Grief may not occur immediately after losing a loved one but may be postponed until another significant event occurs, resulting in what may seem an excessive response to the present situation.

Distorted grief. An extreme form of complicated grief exhibited as self-destructive behavior, anger, guilt, or hostility toward others.

Disenfranchised grief. When others do not recognize the importance of the loss, such as the death of an ex-partner, pet, or colleague. Society may consider the loss as minor or not legitimate.

Inhibited grief. Grief may not always be outwardly visible; it may result from a conscious effort to maintain privacy or keep emotions hidden from close friends or family.

Masked grief. Atypical physical symptoms and behaviors can be a response to grief without being attributed to the loss.

Normal grief. While there may not be a ‘typical’ grief shared by everyone, normal grief is considered to be when emotional intensity surrounding the death gradually decreases or basic daily activities begin to return to normal.

“We need to learn to support a healthy grieving, and to help people to understand that each person goes at their own pace” (Samuel, 2019, p. XX).

The treatment given to those attempting to process grief must be specific to the individual and their experience. The following approaches overlap and complement one another in supporting the bereaved (modified from Worden, 2009).

Helping the survivor actualize loss

When and where did the death occur?

What happened?

How were you told and where were you?

Visiting the grave can also make the loss more concrete.

Helping the survivor identify and experience feelings

Many feelings may not be recognized or felt to their full degree during intense grief. It is essential to help survivors experience the following:

Anger – arising from feelings of frustration and helplessness.

Guilt – for what the bereaved did and did not do to affect the outcome (usually irrational).

Anxiety and helplessness – feelings of helplessness can leave the bereaved unsure if they can survive alone and concerned about their own mortality.

Sadness – it can be challenging for many to show their upset in front of others. Crying can be helpful if associated with an awareness of what was lost.

Assisting living without the deceased

What problems are you facing, and how can they be resolved?

It is important to neither rush the bereaved to make decisions nor encourage a sense of helplessness, but instead communicate that they will be able to make decisions when they are ready.

Helping find meaning in the loss

Why did this happen?

Why did this happen to me?

How has this loss changed me?

Allowing for individual differences

No two people grieve in the same way; the process and feelings associated with loss are unique. There is tremendous variability in the following:

Intensity of affective reactions

Degree of impairment

Length of time it is experienced

Source ⚜ Bereavement ⚜ Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

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lilia-calderus-pet-goat · 3 months ago

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Something of note about Lilia's tarot spread is that—it's hers. The cards she pulls aren't precisely who the characters are to themselves, but who they are and what they represent to Lilia. As her coven, in her life.

Like, I don't really know my tarot that well—I'm just pulling themes from within the episode and my general understanding.

But when she was reading for Billy, he was fittingly represented by the Magician. But for Lilia, he was the “windfall.” He was the tower, reversed. Miraculous transformation. Because she, having put the sigil on him, saved him from the destruction and lead to his miraculous transformation. And to her, he was the windfall, because without him, she wouldn't be here, with her coven. She wouldn't have found herself.

Alice's is very straight forward—“full of fire, fights bravely.” It's how Lilia saw her, what Lilia had once again predicted for her. 'Wound suffered, lessons learned.' Specifically, Lilia wasn't able to warn Alice, but she learned her lesson. So, this time, she makes sure to warn Agatha. “When she calls you a coward, hit the deck.”

And why does she warn Agatha? Agatha represents her 'obstacles,' after all. Maybe so—Lilia's literal obstacle at this stage ends up being the Salem Seven, who merely want Agatha. Yet she chooses to stay behind to save a woman who probably wouldn't do the same for her. And the reason is—for her, Agatha is the Three of Swords. She looks at her and sees Heartbreak, (Rio) Sorrow, (Evanora) Grief (Nicholas). And Lilia is willing to forgive her—to sacrifice herself for her—even if the universe itself doesn't think she deserves it. This is different from how Agatha views herself, or even how Billy views her, since he initially pulls out the Chariot. One might say it's a random choice, but the Chariot is described as representing “determination, success, and control.” It's about overcoming challenges and gaining victory through maintaining control of your surroundings—which, I argue, embodies Agatha pretty well. So The Three of Swords is who Agatha is to Lilia. She doesn't hate her, or see her as a force to be reckoned with. She pities her. After all, the Queen of Cups is defined by her empathy.

Then, of course, Jen. Jen is Lilia's path ahead. Not only because she has a brilliant future of her own ahead of her in the mcu, now with her powers unbound. Because Lilia senses all the trapped light and bound power that Jen carries—��The High Priestess: Immense spiritual power, unable or unwilling to use it--” but also because Jen, the survivor, is the one who will carry on Lilia's memory. All those centuries, Lilia had been alone—there was no 'path ahead.' Everything was a jumbled mess, her “path” was non-linear and twisty. And Jen, after centuries of solitude, was her light in the dark, guiding her through the dark tunnels, as her mind wandered through her timeline searching for answers. Jen was the only person in centuries who bothered to see her as something more, to acknowledge her strength, and to help her fill in the gaps as best as she could. And so Lilia sees so much hope in Jennifer—who won't stop becoming better and better. Because for Jen, the Queen of Cups is her path behind. Wound suffered, lessons learned. “I couldn't save Lilia, I didn't even try to save Alice, I'll be damned if I let you two idiots die.”

Finally, Death, Rio. Well—it's obvious. In tarot, death isn't literal. It's mist often symbolic. Transformation, end of a cycle, new beginnings. Which is why we never see Lilia's corpse, and we never see Rio collect her. Because unlike Alice, Lilia went into the afterlife willingly. And for her, it was a beautiful release. After years of running out of time—she got to start anew—knowing that this time, she managed to save her coven. (I'd also like to think that the reason we don't see Rio collect Sharon is because it was a peaceful death—joining Mr. Davis instead of suffering further. Whereas Alice finally had something to live for, but I digress. I've already made my posts about Alice.)

I think that this is all relatively obvious—but I genuinely can't stop thinking about Lilia and her dynamics with the rest of the coven.

#agatha all along #lilia calderu #in lilia we trust #patti lupone #agatha harkness #billy maximoff #alice wu gulliver #jennifer kale #rio vidal #lilia calderu x jennifer kale #lilia calderu & jennifer kale #lilia calderu & agatha harkness #lilia calderu & billy maximoff #lilia calderu & alice wu gulliver #lilia calderu & rio vidal #lilia's leggings #agatha all along analysis

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spider-stark · 11 months ago

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INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this…

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her.

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.

And it still made you angry.

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”

Understand.

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.

You weren’t used to this.

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…

This was different, somehow.

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.

But Peter wasn’t like other people.

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.

You knew better than to think he meant it.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.

You were good at expressing anger, though.

You were very good at expressing anger.

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.

“I will,” you promised.

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

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carionto · 7 months ago

Text

The circle of life

Human 1: "We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of a loved one."

Human 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10: *sobbing, wailing, murmuring in disbelief and shock, silent dumbfoundedness, various stages of denial, grief, and bargaining*

H1: "He was a friend, a co-worker, a frequent visitor in all our lives."

H2-10: *continuous shedding of tears and blowing of noses*

Alien: *whispering to nearest, least emotionally distraught human* "Um, was there something special about that ap-"

H4: "Shh, not another word. Please. We need this."

A: "But you can just ta-"

H8 *loudly* "DON'T YOU EVER DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE! YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND!!!" *softly now, almost voiceless* "you couldn't understand what he meant to us..."

H1: "He was loyal to this vessel from day one, dedicated to his task to the fullest, even at the eventual cost of his life..."

H2: *uncontrollably* "I MISS HIM SO MUCH ALREADY! I CAN'T DO THIS!" *runs off*

A: "There was not this much emotion when an act-"

H1: *loud cough of deliberate interruption* "And he was greatly rewarded and praised by all for his countless acts of bravery and simply for such a stunning decades long career. We salute you! May you rest in piece."

Humans in unison: "To Stabby! May you bump into Mecha-Gods ankle in the After-Warranty!" *celebratory chug of hard liqueur*

A: *almost given up* "But it still works just fine, what changed?"

H5: "Look, when Stabby's duct-taped knife finally breaks on its own, that's it. Stabby is both the robo-vacuum AND the blade, especially after it's been around for so long. You have to acknowledge it, it's a matter of respect towards everyone, especially the crew."

-----N E X T D A Y-----

H11: "GUYS! Stabinthia just got the President of Venus!"

Humans collectively: "Hell yeah! Promotion party already!! Woo!!!

A: "..."

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #stabby the roomba #stabby #remember how it works #a stabby is ranked based on the highest rank of all its victims

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onebadassunicorn · 27 days ago

Text

The Way We Were

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst

word count: 2.4K

Taglist: @motheroffae @demon-master-zero

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Image owned by Amai.

To see more work by this artist, join Patreon and become a member of this artist's collections!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

********

Chapter 4

Y/n POV

The first time I returned to the training ring after my mission, it was Cassian waiting for me, not Azriel.

He stood at the edge of the ring, his broad shoulders relaxed but his sharp hazel eyes watching me like a hawk. “You ready to get your ass handed to you?” he asked, his usual smirk in place, though there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze.

“Try it,” I shot back, rolling my shoulders and stepping into the ring. The familiar weight of a training sword in my hand was grounding, the ache in my muscles a welcome distraction from the hollow feeling that hadn’t left since I returned.

Cassian didn’t hold back, and I didn’t ask him to. Blow after blow, we clashed, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the crisp morning air. I threw myself into the fight, channeling every ounce of frustration, grief, and anger into my strikes.

I didn’t miss the way Cassian watched me during our breaks, his easy humor replaced by something more serious. He didn’t ask why I’d come back to training so soon after the last mission, and I didn’t offer an explanation.

The truth was, Rhys had assigned me another mission—an even deeper dive into the cesspool of the Hewn City. Whispers of something dark and insidious brewing under Keir’s watch had reached Rhysand’s ears, and he needed someone to confirm it. I’d volunteered before he could even finish explaining the details.

********

Y/n POV

Azriel and I were avoiding each other. It had been days since the confrontation in my room, and though we often crossed paths, neither of us spoke.

But I could feel him watching me.

Every time I trained with Cassian, I felt the weight of his gaze from the shadows, the subtle shift in the air that told me he was there. He never said a word, never made his presence known, but I felt him. Always.

I tried to ignore it, to focus on the mission ahead, but it was impossible to shake the awareness of him. It wasn’t longing anymore—not entirely. It was the ghost of what I had once hoped for, haunting me with every stolen glance, every moment of silence that stretched too long.

One night, as I stood in Rhysand’s office, discussing the details of the mission, I felt Azriel’s presence before I saw him.

The door was slightly ajar, and as Rhys laid out the latest intelligence on Keir’s activities, a shadow flitted past the crack in the door. Then Azriel appeared, pausing just outside, his amber eyes landing on me.

Our gazes locked, and time seemed to slow. His expression was unreadable at first, his shadows curling around him like they, too, were caught off guard. But then something shifted.

I felt it, the moment the bond snapped for him.

His eyes widened, his hand gripping the doorframe as if to steady himself. I could see the shock ripple through him, the way his entire body stiffened as the realization hit.

I turned away.

Rhys was watching the exchange with a quiet intensity, but he said nothing, his sharp mind undoubtedly piecing together what had just happened. I didn’t need to explain, didn’t need to address the bond that Azriel had just discovered. Not now. Not ever.

Because the bond had snapped for me years ago.

I had felt it, the unmistakable tug in my chest, the thread of fate connecting me to him. And I had buried it. I had buried it so deeply that even now, as I stood in the same room as him, I refused to acknowledge it.

Azriel’s footsteps echoed down the hall as he left, his departure swift and silent.

He didn’t say a word.

He just…left.

When the tension finally broke, Rhys leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on me. “Are you sure you want to do this alone?” he asked, his tone softer now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, my voice steady. “I can handle it.”

“It’s dangerous,” he reminded me. “Keir’s people won’t hesitate to kill you if they even suspect you’re working against them.”

“I know.”

“And if something goes wrong?”

“Then it goes wrong,” I said quietly.

Rhys’s expression darkened, his hands steepled under his chin as he studied me. “You can’t throw yourself into this with nothing to lose,” he said, his voice laced with warning.

I gave him a sad smile, one that didn’t reach my eyes. “That’s exactly why I’m the best person for the job.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes heavy with the weight of our conversation. The papers scattered across his desk detailed every known detail of my upcoming mission—every whispered threat, every hidden risk. The air in the room felt oppressive, charged with the gravity of what we were discussing.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, though there was little conviction in his tone. He knew I’d already made up my mind.

I shook my head. “Who else would, Rhys? Feyre is your mate and Nyx needs you both. Cassian has Nesta. Azriel is too integral to the safety of the Night Court to be sent into something this dangerous.” My voice didn’t waver, though I felt the truth of those words settle heavily in my chest.

“And you?” Rhys asked, his gaze piercing. “You’re important to this court, too. To me.”

I smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Rhys, I’m the only one who doesn’t have a mate. The only one who doesn’t have something—or someone—worth losing. If I don’t come back, it won’t leave a hole in the Night Court. Not the way it would if it were one of them.”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “That’s not true. You matter to us.”

“To you,” I corrected softly. “I know you care, Rhys. But you also know I’m right.”

“You’re certain about this?” he asked, his voice low. “You don’t have to do it. There are others who could—”

“No,” I interrupted, my tone firm. “It has to be me.”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, his hands steepling in front of him. “It’s dangerous,” he said, though we both knew that was an understatement. “This isn’t just sneaking in and out, gathering whispers in the shadows. If Keir finds out who you really are, there’s no guarantee you’ll walk out of there alive.”

“I know,” I said quietly, meeting his gaze. “That’s why no one else can know. If anyone recognizes me, it’ll put the entire mission at risk. Not Feyre, not Cassian, not Nesta. Not Azriel. No one can know except you.”

His eyes darkened, his power crackling faintly in the air around us. “Not even Azriel?”

“Especially not Azriel,” I said, my voice tightening at the mention of his name. “He’s too close to Keir’s operations. If he even looks at me wrong, someone might notice. And...” I hesitated, then pressed on, “he’s too important to the Night Court to be involved. You know that as well as I do.”

Rhys was quiet for a long moment, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. “You don’t think he’d protect you?”

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “That’s not the point. I know he would, but this mission can’t be about protection. It has to be about blending in, about doing whatever it takes to get the information we need. If Azriel’s there—or if anyone else knows—everything we’ve worked for could fall apart.”

Rhys leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he studied me. “This is going undercover, deep undercover. You’ll be on your own. If something goes wrong—”

“I’ll contact you immediately,” I said, cutting him off before he could finish. “I know the risks, Rhys. I’m not doing this blind.”

His expression softened slightly, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “I don’t like this,” he admitted. “But you’re right. You’re the best choice for this mission. And... I understand why you want to go.”

“Do you?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

His gaze softened, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You’re the only one of us who doesn’t have a mate. You think that makes you expendable. It doesn’t, but I understand why you feel that way.”

I swallowed hard, refusing to let his words break through the armor I’d carefully constructed. “This is what I’m good at,” I said instead. “This is what I can offer the court. What I can offer you. Let me do this, Rhys.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his dark hair. “Fine,” he said at last. “But this stays between us. If anyone finds out—even Feyre—I’ll deny it. And if anything goes wrong, you’re to get out immediately and contact me. No exceptions.”

“I promise,” I said, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t argue, but the look in his eyes was heavy with unspoken concern as he finally nodded. “You leave at dawn in four days.

I nodded, turning to leave the room. But as I stepped into the hallway, I couldn’t shake the memory of Azriel’s face, the way he had looked at me when the bond snapped.

For years, I had lived with the knowledge of our bond, knowing it was a cruel twist of fate that he would never feel the same. And now, as he stood on the precipice of that realization, I felt no triumph.

Only emptiness.

I had nothing to lose—and nothing to live for except this mission.

If I didn’t make it back, at least I’d know I’d done something worthwhile.

At least I’d know I had protected the people who mattered, even if I wasn’t one of them.

********

Y/n POV

The days leading up to my departure passed in a blur, each moment dragging yet slipping away too quickly. I spent my time preparing—training with Cassian, poring over maps and intelligence reports, and sharpening my focus for what lay ahead. But no amount of preparation could steel me against the weight of Azriel’s gaze.

He stayed away, always lingering on the edges of my life like a shadow. I saw him watching me during training, his golden eyes tracking every movement as if he were memorizing me. When I crossed paths with him in the halls, he would pause, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to speak, but he never did.

And yet, even as his presence loomed, he spent his days with Elain. I’d see them together—her soft, lilting laughter carrying through the gardens, her golden hair shining like sunlight next to his dark wings. She still looked at him with warmth, though her bond with Lucien was beginning to shift something in her.

It didn’t matter. Every glance between them felt like a dagger to my chest, sharper now because I knew the truth.

The bond.

I had felt it snap for him in Rhys’s office, seen the shock in his eyes when he realized what we were. But instead of coming to me, instead of acknowledging it, he buried it. He pretended it wasn’t there, spending his time with Elain as though nothing had changed.

It hurt more than I could have imagined.

He wasn’t just ignoring the bond—he was rejecting it. Rejecting me. Or at least, that’s how it felt. And I didn’t have the strength to confront him, to beg for something that he clearly didn’t want.

So I did the only thing I could. I put up my mental shields, fortifying them so completely that he couldn’t feel me at all. If he didn’t want to acknowledge the bond, then I wouldn’t let him feel the pain his denial caused.

What he didn’t know was that I had known about the bond for years. I had felt it snap long ago, had buried the knowledge deep within myself because I knew he would never return my feelings. And now that he had realized it, his silence only confirmed what I had always feared.

********

Y/n POV

The morning of my departure came far too quickly.

I stood in the shadows of the House of Wind, checking my weapons one last time as the sun began to rise over Velaris. My bag was packed with everything I would need for the mission, though it felt lighter than the weight in my chest.

Azriel was nowhere to be seen, though I hadn’t expected him to show. He had made his choice, and I couldn’t afford to dwell on what might have been.

Rhys met me before I left, his expression unreadable but his violet eyes filled with something close to regret.

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied.

He studied me for a moment, as though searching for cracks in my resolve. When he found none, he gave a small nod. “Be careful,” he said. “And remember, if anything goes wrong—”

“I’ll contact you,” I finished for him, though we both knew the promise was tenuous at best.

He hesitated, then added, “I know you think you have nothing to lose, but that’s not true.”

I didn’t respond. What could I say to that?

As I walked toward the edge of the cliffs, the wind whipping through my hair, I felt the faintest shift in the air behind me. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to. I knew he was there.

Azriel.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to stop me. He just watched, his shadows curling around him in an agitated dance.

And I kept walking.

Because if he wasn’t going to fight for this—fight for us—then I wouldn’t stop to give him the chance.

The bond was a cruel twist of fate, one I had lived with in silence for years.

And now, as I stepped off the cliff and into the unknown, I told myself that whatever lay ahead couldn’t hurt more than the rejection I felt now.

Chapter 5

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel x female!reader #azriel fic

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whoopsyeahokay · 11 months ago

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October Sun

summary: your mother had warned you. Don't let them know, she'd said, her nails digging angry crescents into the flesh of your upper arms, eyes wild and imploring, don't let them know you can see. you'd listened, all these years, you'd lived your life by that rule. until you couldn't.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.1

Like most things, it started with a look.

A boy. A girl. A crowded place; a friend talking—their voice muted as if heard through a motel wall. Time slows. People filter in and out of the space between, chatting, laughing, in frame just long enough to emphasize the weight behind something that, in any other context, would be utterly unimportant.

Simon had urged you outside at lunch, pulled you away from your table, tone frayed in desperation as he interrogated you about things you're certain you'd made seem the expression of a morbidly quirky imagination.

"Well," He said, like jabbing the eraser-end of a pencil into your sternum, "Can you?"

You hesitated, gaze lifting away from his to skirt the middle-distance behind him.

And then—

It happened molasses-slow. Your eyes caught his; lingered a beat too long to be played off as anything other than what it was. Acknowledgment.

Those sweet-sultry cow eyes widened a fraction.

Oh no.

Then time rushed back in and snapped into the correct rhythm. You didn't have a chance to process what had just happened because Simon sighed with the weight of the world, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling. Quickly, you arranged your expression into something slightly put-off.

"Si, what are you talking about?"

Simon groaned and took a few steps back then forward again. He reminded you of a caged animal being forced to perform. Lately, his mannerisms had been erratic, a little unhinged. You'd caught him talking to himself a couple of times, in classrooms or the cafeteria. The last couple of days he'd been glued to his phone, taking spontaneous calls that he'd never received before. Initially, you'd assumed he was in touch with Maddie; the only one she'd trusted enough to keep in the loop. However, the more you'd observed, the more you'd doubted the assumption.

You'd watched him unravel from a distance, of course. Nicole had turned inward, Simon was bursting at the seams, and you, as the casual friend with a life separate to theirs, stayed away out of a sense of insecurity.

You and Maddie hadn't been as close as she and Simon and Nicole. You shared interests in the macabre and spooky, but that's where it ended. Event Buddies who became familiar through exposure, lacking that profound connection that would give you a reason to call about something other than the next horror film release date.

You didn't feel right about asking to share their grief. It felt intrusive.

Simon paced the length of the bus shelter once more before stopping in front of you. He was clearly nervous, frustrated, avoiding your gaze for a second while he collected his thoughts.

Finally, he took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, and said, low and secret, "You talked about the ghosts here—" You folded your arms and tilted your head in what you hoped came across as confused. "—Last year," Simon grabbed your arm and pulled you in closer when a group of younger girls walked by, "Last year, you told us about the crush you had on your mom's dead boyfriend, remember? The guy who died during the '83 homecoming game?"

"They never dated." You corrected, fighting the urge to chew your lip. A giveaway that you were about to choose your words very carefully. "But, look, Simon, I talked about that stuff because I thought it was fun. Not because I can commune with the dead."

"But your mom—"

"Is a fraud and you know it." Then you frowned, genuinely intrigued, "What's going on?"

Simon shot you a dazed look, "Huh?"

"Why are you suddenly into this Sixth Sense shit? You've never believed in it before. A stance you've made very clear you take." Every time you joked about reaching out to the Other Side, Simon would scoff and roast you endlessly. Something that you found endearing. Like a prickly inside joke. It was your thing.

Suddenly, Simon got that look on his face, the one he got in class when your teachers outlined your homework. As if he were listening to someone. Except there was no one else close enough to hear.

The silence stretched into a thin static between you until, at last, Simon said, "Never mind." He sounded equal parts defeated and aggravated.

Taking a cautious step forward, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Maddie, Si, I—" Have no idea how to put into words how fucked up it all is, "—I wish there was something, anything, I could do to help."

Simon pressed his lips together and nodded. From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching the bus shelter. Tall, broad, donning the unmistakable colors of the Split River Bandits, née Devils. You had to get out of there before you irrevocably fucked up and found yourself at the center of what your mother warned you would be a swarm.

"Look," You dropped your hand to Simon's, squeezing supportively. You might not have been able to tell the whole truth but you could try to offer some comfort. Whether or not he believed you was up to him. "Maddie's okay, Simon. Wherever she is. Whatever happened to her..." You paused, considering your next words, "She can't be so far gone that we won't get her back."

You said it with all the conviction you had in you, believed it to your core.

You'd seen the beatnik with her lollipops, the shy boy with the glasses; you'd seen the young man in the outdated suit, and the modest, Sally Olsson lookalike, and the girl with the daydream eyes. You'd seen the myspace emo punk, the lanky autoshop geek, the dark-skinned disco queen; the marching band, and the theater kid...and him. The charming, high-on-life football star currently stood outside the bus shelter, his hands cupped around his eyes as he peeked through the glass against the glare of the sun.

You hadn't seen Maddie. Not a glimmer or a shadow or the impression that she'd been and gone. Nothing. And you'd done your due diligence as soon as you'd heard about the blood in the boiler room. You'd scoured the town after dark, before school, whenever you could get away without raising suspicion. Her old haunts and favorite places had been empty.

Minus a couple of exceptions, but they hadn't been Maddie, so you didn't see the harm in continuing to keep the truth from Simon.

"Yeah." Simon said. He didn't sound convinced. "Thanks. For that."

You deflated, released his hand with an affirming squeeze, and made your excuse, "I gotta get ready for next period."

He didn't meet your eyes, simply pulled his phone out and put it to his ear. "See you later." The smile he gave you was tight, quick, insincere.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turned and exited the bus shelter, tall dark 'n' handsome keeping pace as you made your way back into the school, his gaze a warm weight on the side of your face.

All you had to do was pretend he wasn't there. You'd done it countless times in the past, were well-versed in how to cover your mistakes.

You stopped briefly, reached out to open the door, and in that second, you felt a tingle up your spine and the closeness of a body behind you. His voice, a gentle rumble, spoke directly into your ear, the parody of soft breath tickling the hairs on your neck.

"I know you can see me."

You forced yourself not to react, perhaps stood a second too long before yanking the door open and marching inside, but you kept your eyes forward, and relaxed your jaw and shoulders. To the students milling about the hall, you were the picture of normal.

"Do what you want but I'm not going anywhere until you admit it." He said lightly, a step behind you as you maneuvered toward your locker.

Once again, you had to stop, twisting in the combination to open your lock. You fumbled, missing a number, had to start again. He leaned his shoulder against the locker beside yours, watched you through his lashes, a smirk pulling one side of his mouth upward.

You'd always been attracted to him. Had to suppress the urge to stare at him when he appeared in the same classroom or hallway you happened to be in. Having him interact with you, intentionally, made your heart quicken and the ability to think critically dissolve.

Oh God, not again...

Your brain fired a thousand synapses in every direction as you willed yourself to hurry before you accidentally did something stupid; steadied your hand to input the combination correctly. You tugged the lock. It stayed stubbornly latched. And then he leaned in, too close, the tip of his nose practically grazing your temple.

"You missed the 3."

The air was syrupy thick, fuzzy. In an effort to concentrate, you closed your eyes, repeating a mantra your mother had taught you to center yourself.

You sensed his body shift, tilted further toward you like a bracket, then the sensation of blunt nails traveling up up up your back, catching in the material of your shirt as if the touch were real. Goosebumps erupted over your arms, your breath hitched, and you found your head slanting in his direction.

Fuck. You needed to—BANG—Jesus Christ!

Your eyes snapped open at the abrupt noise, your friend cackling wickedly as she took in your shock.

"Hey, silly." Mathilda Grace—of The Split River Graces, not that she'd ever say it like that—grinned proudly at the reaction she'd gotten out of you. "You ready to fail this test with me?"

You could still feel him hovering, but it seemed he'd put an appropriate amount of distance between you. Shaking your head to clear the last of the muzziness from a moment ago, you plastered on your most natural smile and responded, "Let's go disappoint our parents."

You managed to undo the lock and grab the right textbooks, transferring what you didn't need from your bag into your locker while Mathilda regaled you with what you'd missed after Simon had dragged you outside.

"What did he want, anyway?" Mathilda asked, more concerned than curious.

"To talk about Maddie." You replied as close to the truth as you dared. It had the added benefit of making Mathilda feel awkward enough to change the subject immediately.

"K, c'mon, bell's about to go and I need to grab my book, too."

Shutting and locking your locker, you chanced a sideways glance and were relieved to find that it was just you and Mathilda and the regular stream of other alive-and-well students making their way to their next class.

Still, as you and Mathilda walked toward Ms. Fields' class, you felt the tingle of his gaze on the back of your neck.

The next couple of days would be white-knuckle hard, but you'd dealt with it before and could do it again. Had to do it again.

What you didn't anticipate—and probably should've, given what you knew about him—was Wally Clark's steadfast determination and his refusal to let sleeping dogs lie for a second time.

💀___________________________

PART TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #October Sun

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theunsinkableship1 · 1 month ago

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Lukolaship: Why are you here?

I have one simple question for you: Why are you here?

If you’re a fan of Nicola or Luke individually, there’s no reason to be so deeply invested in their private lives. Supporting them as actors and celebrating their professional achievements should be enough. If your goal is to see them happy in life, you could simply assume they are, because nothing publicly suggests otherwise. Why concern yourself with what others think about their personal lives? Focus on your own and sleep peacefully at night.

Here, however, we are focused. We are here for a specific purpose, and that purpose is rooted in a belief in the bond between Nicola and Luke as a duo. We don’t ship them with just anyone, nor do we treat this connection as trivial. We see something rare and precious that transcends the superficial dynamics often seen elsewhere.

We believe they are uniquely compatible in every way professionally, personally, and emotionally. As they’ve described themselves, they are very similar, and their connection is something that doesn’t come easily. It’s not the kind of bond you let slip away without a fight.

If you don’t share the belief that the best foundation for their love is friendship, then it’s worth asking yourself what you’re doing in this space. Because staying here while harboring doubt or skepticism will only lead to frustration, disappointment, or even resentment. And why put yourself through that?

Of course, this is a space open for discussion, but we must acknowledge that engaging in conversations centered on ideas completely opposed to what we’re collectively rooting for is both unnecessary and counterproductive.

This space is for those of us who see, believe, and hope. For those who recognize something special when they see it and want to nurture that belief, even from afar. If you don’t share these wishes and expectations, perhaps this isn’t the place for you and that’s okay.

But here, we celebrate, support, and believe in something extraordinary. If that resonates with you, welcome. If not, it’s best to part ways now to save yourself and others unnecessary grief.

I want to start by emphasizing that I don’t know the truth in this situation. I don’t know these people personally, so I can’t claim to speak for their reality or their intentions. What I have are beliefs and speculations based on the reality they have chosen to present to us. And among all these uncertainties, one belief stands unshaken: they belong together. That belief is the cornerstone of my presence in this corner of the internet.

Now, let me clarify I’m not opposed to the idea of Lukola being in relationships with other people. They could very well be in relationships with entirely different people, and we wouldn’t have any way of knowing.Life is complex, and these things can happen. Nor am I opposed to the idea that they might already be together but keeping it private. In fact, that’s the outcome I’m openly hoping for.

The truth is, either theory whether they are in other relationships or together in secret is just that: a theory. Speculations woven from bits of information and perception, none of which constitute definitive proof. I resist accepting either scenario at face value because, frankly, this story isn’t straightforward. There are too many inconsistencies, too much plausible deniability, and far too many coincidences for it to be simple.

Some individuals are actively seeking out this space, a niche corner of the internet that is not easily found unless you are deliberately looking for it solely to challenge the idea of Lukola being real. They argue that it’s all just PR and treat the very notion of their connection as if it’s utterly impossible or absurd. What’s puzzling is the intensity with which they dismiss it, often acting as though the mere suggestion of Lukola’s reality is offensive or preposterous.

This behavior raises several questions: Why does the idea of Lukola trigger such strong reactions? Why do these critics go out of their way to invade a space they fundamentally disagree with? A psychological phenomenon like reactance might offer some insight.

Reactance is a reaction to perceived threats to autonomy. When people see others confidently supporting a theory or belief they don’t share, they might feel compelled to push back, not necessarily because they have concrete evidence against it, but because they view it as an encroachment on their sense of "truth."

What’s even more contradictory is that these critics often engage in behaviors strikingly similar to those they criticize. They comb through interviews, scrutinize body language, and form conclusions all while claiming to be grounded in “realism.” If Lukola isn’t real and this space is so misguided, why invest so much energy here? The truth is, some of these individuals may be grappling with their own unspoken doubts or insecurities about the narrative and find it easier to ridicule others than to explore those feelings honestly.

Ultimately, this space is built on a foundation of speculation, patterns, and observed dynamics not absolute certainty. If the concept of Lukola is so untenable to someone, perhaps they should question why they feel so compelled to disprove it rather than simply disengaging. This kind of behavior only underscores the uniqueness of what’s being defended here. Why else would they care so much ?

This brings me to what I believe is happening with certain Lukola shippers who react under the guise of pragmatism and so-called reality. When the facts are murky and there’s no concrete proof one way or the other, it’s natural to feel uncertainty. But for some, the fear of being wrong of committing to a belief that might not hold up pushes them toward the opposite stance. It’s a kind of cognitive dissonance avoidance or fear-based contrarianism. Rather than risk the emotional discomfort of being wrong, they align themselves with a narrative that feels safer because it seems more grounded in realism, even if it goes against what they truly want.

But this reaction isn’t as rational as it appears. By clinging to the guise of pragmatism, they often ignore the layers of meaning, patterns, and behaviors that suggest this situation isn’t as clear-cut as it might seem. They risk dismissing the extraordinary connection that brought us here in the first place, the looks, the smiles, the synchronicity, and the undeniable intimacy.

What’s unsettling, however, is the behavior of certain non-believers. Some have started attacking others, calling them delusional or crazy for holding onto their beliefs. What’s ironic and frankly hypocritical is that many of these people were doing the exact same thing not long ago. They were analyzing smiles, interpreting body language, and weaving narratives just like the rest of us.

Psychologically, this could be explained by reaction formation, a defense mechanism where individuals suppress emotions or beliefs, they are uncomfortable with and adopt an exaggerated opposite stance. For example, someone who once believed in Lukola but feels betrayed or disillusioned may go to great lengths to ridicule others who still believe, as a way to distance themselves from their former vulnerability.

Another phenomenon at play is projection. Those who call others delusional may actually be projecting their own internal conflict and doubts. It’s easier to label someone else as "crazy" than to confront the discomfort of one’s own cognitive dissonance.

Finally, there’s the bandwagon effect. When a few vocal individuals start asserting that believing in Lukola is irrational, others may follow suit to align themselves with what appears to be the majority opinion. This creates a cycle where dissenting voices are silenced or shamed, even though everyone in this fandom is ultimately speculating and interpreting limited information.

It’s not just hypocritical but it’s unkind as well to attack others for believing in something extraordinary. We are all here because we were drawn to the same connection, the same magic that transcends the mundane. Whether you still believe or have chosen to step away, there’s no need to tear others down.

The truth remains elusive, and it’s okay to admit that we don’t know everything. What’s not okay is to dismiss or ridicule the hope, joy, and creativity that others bring to this space. What is absolutely unacceptable is harassing Lukola, their friends, or their families online simply because they aren’t aligning with or reinforcing our preferred narrative. Such behavior crosses the line from passionate support into harmful intrusion, and it reflects poorly on this community as a whole.

We must remember that Nicola and Luke are real people with lives, relationships, and choices that extend far beyond what we observe or speculate about. Their friends and family are not all public figures and certainly not part of this fandom discourse. Dragging them into the conversation or pressuring them to validate a narrative diminishes the respect and admiration this space claims to hold for the pair.

Moreover, harassing anyone be it directly through comments or indirectly through insinuations and speculation achieves nothing. It doesn’t bring clarity or truth; it only fuels division and hostility. This behavior contradicts the very foundation of why many of us are here.

If anything, such actions could damage the very dynamic we cherish. It creates an atmosphere of distrust and negativity that might push them to withdraw further from public interactions or force them into making statements or actions they wouldn’t naturally take.

As fans, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard. Our actions should reflect kindness, respect, and understanding, not entitlement or hostility.

Let’s remember why we’re here and not go overboard, this ship is rare and beautiful, even if its true nature isn’t yet fully revealed. Until clarity comes, let’s choose kindness and patience over judgment.

In conclusion, we are not required to take a definitive stance right now. There’s wisdom in waiting, observing, and letting the truth unfold in its own time. For me, this isn’t about being right or wrong. It’s about honoring the belief that their bond is rare and worth rooting for, whether the evidence for it is subtle or glaring. Until clarity comes, I will continue to hold space for the possibility that love complicated, layered, and extraordinary is at the heart of this story.

#lukola #lukolaland

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unabashedlyfuriousenthusiast · 2 months ago

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A Christmas Eve Gift from the Heart

As Christmas Eve approaches, a sense of peace and joy that can permeate the thickest strata of grief fills the air. While the holiday season is often marked by gift-giving and festive cheer, I find myself grateful for a gift that transcends the material: the incredible community of bloggers with whom I’ve had the privilege to connect with. Throughout the year, you inspire me. Your words, your…

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 4 months ago

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Hello everyone! I'm back with another Merlin au! This one is a horror-themed au for spooky season! Enjoy!

This au is Inspired by the story of King Pedro I of Portugal and Ines de Castro (which is a heartbreaking story that deserves to have more people talking about it), and it's set in a world where Merlin and Arthur are already together in season 3. After a magic reveal gone wrong, Merlin's magic was revealed while Uther was still alive, leading to Uther ordering Merlin's execution while Arthur was away on a hunting trip. When Arthur returns, he's met with the news of Merin's death, but he refuses to believe such horrible news until he rushes into Gaius's chambers, screaming for Merlin, only to find Gaius and Gwen sobbing over Merlin's body.

Arthur is overcome by grief and, after a few hours sitting in Gaius's chambers staring at Merlin's unnaturally still form with tears streaming down his face, Arthur marches off to face his father, to make him pay for his crimes. Uther is, of course, furious over Arthur getting so worked up over a treacherous sorcerer, but Arthur fights him like a madman, fueled by grief and rage.

In the end, Arthur wins the duel, and while the shocked lords and knights watching the whole ordeal were expecting Arthur to run his father through with is blade, Arthur does something that no one expects. He uses his blade to carve open Uther's chest, cutting out his heart, saying that Uther had been so heartless as to take Arthur's love from him, this ought to be his fate.

While the lords and knights were all shocked and horrified at the display, there was little they could do besides acknowledge the prince as their new ruler. Within a couple days, Uther's funeral and Arthur's coronation were organized, but Arthur still felt numb, even as the crown was placed on his head. He could almost feel the empty consort's throne next to him, where Merlin was always supposed to be, mocking him viciously.

But then, an idea formed in Arthur's not-quite-sane-anymore mind. Merlin had always deserved to sit at his side, to be honored as any consort to a king should be. Arthur had to see this through, to ensure that Merlin received the honors that he was denied during life.

Arthur ordered the servants to, under Gaius's supervision, collect Merlin's body, dress him in royal robes, and have him carried to the throne room. There was no way to make any of this right again, no way to make Arthur feel whole once more, but there was a way to make sure that Merlin's memory and all that he meant to Arthur lived on.

When the doors to the throne room finally opened, shocked and horrified gasps rose up from the assembled court at the sight that awaited them. There, being carried in on a stone slab, lay Merlin's pale, prone body, dressed in royal finery from Arthur's own wardrobe. His colorless pallor against the rich red robes created a striking and distinctly disturbing contrast, which was only heightened by the colorful jewelry that accompanied the outfit.

Arthur imagined what a magnificent sight Merlin would have made if he were alive and yearned for such a vision with all of his heart. But the reality of the situation was as grim as the expressions of the knights carrying Merlin's body. Merlin was gone, taking Arthur heart and all of his joy with him, and all that was left for Arthur to feel was somber determination to make at least one thing right: Merlin would be honored and remembered as a king.

The crowd's shocked whispering didn't cease as the procession passed them and made its way towards the thrones, reverently placing the slab in front of the steps to the throne, but they were shocked into silence as Arthur picked up Merlin's body and cradled him gently before carrying him over to the consort's throne and placing him on it with the greatest care.

The court was silenced at the disturbing sight of a limp body sitting in the queen's throne, but horrified gasps shot up from the crowd as the king suddenly turned around to face them, his eyes bloodshot and glaring at them all.

"You, all of you, stood by and let my father do this! And now, you will show your respect to the man you had forsaken. Merlin was everything to me, and I never had any intention to rule without him by my side. Living or dead, if I am king, then so is he."

Arthur slowly made his way back to his own throne and sat down, a picture of royal power. His eyes darted over to Merlin for a second, before shifting back over the crowd. Still, was it just Arthur's desperate imagination, or was there now a slight flush in Merlin's skin that wasn't there earlier?

"Just as you all knelt before me and took an oath of fealty, you will do the same for him. You will give him all of the honor he deserved in life."

At first, the lords in attendance just looked at him in utter disbelief, but the fierce glare Arthur sent them confirmed that the king was being entirely serious. Slowly, each of the lords knelt before the consort's throne, not daring to look up at the disturbing sight before them, and recited their oaths of fealty, feeling the king's burning gaze on them all the while.

Finally, after all of the lords had taken their oaths, a pale Geoffrey presented Arthur with the consort's crown, a treasure that had not been seen by anyone since Ygraine's passing. Arthur gingerly lifted the crown and made his way over to Merlin.

As he stepped closer, Arthur wanted to weep. Perhaps it was some cruel trick his mind was playing on him, put it looked like Merlin's color had returned to him, making him appear like he was only sleeping, like he would wake up and everything would be fine again.

Taking a steadying breath to hold his tears at bay, Arthur finally stepped right in front of Merlin, holding the crown over his motionless head. It wasn't fair, Arthur decided. It wasn't fair that Arthur had finally become king, was finally in a place where he could openly profess his love for Merlin, but Merlin wasn't here by his side to see it!

Still, he could let everyone else see his love for Merlin. Slowly, he lowered the crown onto Merlin's head, letting rest on his limp head. Arthur took a shaking step back, trembling with rage and grief as he looked at Merlin, bedecked in royal robes and wearing the crown that Arthur had always longest to give him. Arthur's own mind still mocked him, making Merlin look almost alive again, like he was only sleeping, when Arthur when that Merlin was gone, and all that was left of him was this pale, empty shell and a terrible hollowness in Arthur's chest where his heart was supposed to be.

Arthur tenderly gasped Merlin's chin, tilting his head up to face him. This was goodbye, Arthur knew it. After this, Merlin would be laid to rest with all the honors of a king, and Arthur would be left ruling over his kingdom alone and heartbroken for the rest of his days. With tears flowing freely down his face, Arthur leaned down and pressed a kiss onto Merlin's lips. Once again, Arthur's mind took pity on him, as he could swear that Merlin's lips were warm with life under his own.

Arthur drew back, gazing at his love's face for what might be the last time, attempting to commit every minute detail to memory, such that Merlin's likeness would never fade from his mind even as the years went by. As Arthur eyes scanned over Merlin's face, however, there was one thing that struck him as odd before his mind caught up to what he was seeing and his heart, which had felt cold and frozen fir days, started beating at a frantic rhythm.

Because Merlin's eyes were open.

(Yes, Merlin was immortal the whole time, but his magic was just taking a while to heal him lol!)

And that's all for now! I hope you all enjoyed this au! Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin au #arthur pendragon #merthur #merlin prompts

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lizzy06 · 7 months ago

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Jujutsu Kaisen Fanfic Recs!!(AO3)Pt.1

Main Masterlist

[For part 2 -> Pt.2]

The Blind Date Show by NatoriousJANExo (Humour, Blind dates) Each chapter has a different blind date which they shoot in a studio.{ALL CAN BE READ STANDALONE}

No Pairing(The fic that nourishes/ destroys your soul)

The Burden Of Grief by Redwarrior2003 (oneshot, angst, family feels) Kong shiu gives megumi a clarity to his past.. [COMPLETED] Animals of regret by tteokcrossing (oneshot, toji tries to be a good parent) Toji lives. Neither teaching nor parenting are his strong suits, but he ends up stuck with both. [COMPLETED] Piano Joint by KatInnRotato (oneshot, Domestic fluff, humour) When Toji told Gojo his last wish instead of killing him, Gojo asked him to 'take responsibility' ...so now Toji's domestic life began. [COMPLETED] Father of Mine by oceansgrey (fluff, humour, toji tries to be a good parent)- Toji upon being left by his now ex-wife is stuck taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki and he also ends up getting the job of combat specialist at jujutsu tech [ONGOING] Blackout by Xhoi (Mystery, Toji as shikigami)- In an attempt to improve himself after his fight with sukuna, megumi summons a shikigami he has never seen before. It doesn't listen to him and acts on his own. Also he doesn't why his teacher is so scared and alert. [ONGOING] End of Beginning by may_aar (No curse au, Uncle sukuna, hurt/comfort)After the sudden passing of his brother and his wife whom sukuna hasn't met in 13 yrs, he has to take guardianship of his nephew.{This is so good!!} [ONGOING] Out of the Night That Covers Me by rainyconcrete (Angst, Hurt/comfort) An ancient necromancer resurrects Toji and Megumi is to acknowledge the loss of family along the way. [ONGOING] Terminal by jules(talefeathers) (oneshot, Angst, Hurt/comfort, death) Megumi Reunites with his family in after life. [COMPLETED] Yuji's adventure with his big brother Sukuna by semisEmi - sukuna did not know he has a brother until he turned 26... with the help of his friends he traverse through his new life.[ONGOING] In Another Life by Yunaminayuna (collection of oneshots, fluff and humour) collection of Fushiguro family drabbles and short fics [COMPLETED] Three times Toji apologizes to his Son by calmthyself (Domestic fluff, Hurt/comfort)And the one time Megumi apologizes to his dad.[ONGOING] The Problem with Ms.Itadori by PsychaoticButterscotch (Alternate au, toji trying to be a good parent, fushi mama lives) Yuuji's mother , she's weird - But Megumi doesn't say anything about it, Mama always said to not say anything at all if it's something not nice. [ONGOING]

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader

Flowers for u- 1.Dandelion 2.Sunflowers by yuukiqwq(temporary unrequited love, love confession) 1.Dandelion- His heart beats only for you while yours beats for someone else, so he made a wish on a dandelion, hoping it would come true. 2.Sunflower- He only has eyes for you so why won't you look his way [COMPLETED] Not Many women by Lemon_Pepper_Fox (modern au, smut) you have a crush on yuji but you really like his brother sukuna. [COMPLETED] Blooming Cactus by poeeee(fluff, humour, idiots in love) Transferring schools in the middle of the year is never easy and then you are stuck with an uncooperative partner for history project. [ONGOING] Yuji's Caretaker | Sukuna by Sukunasuka (slowburn, family fluff) You are a new kindergarten teacher who loves your job. One of your new students, yuji, gets in trouble frequently forcing you to call in his caretaker quite often who also happens to be your neighbor. [ONGOING] With you, I Hurt. With you, I Love by VinVictory (High shool au, fluff) You are busy taking care of an injured Yuji as his caretaker and his older brother is busy falling in love with you. [ONGOING] Intrusive Thoughts | Sukuna/Reader by Visaliar (High school au , stalking, psychology) After becoming a forfeit to someone's bet, y/n is left heart broken. To add to her troubles, she has a mysterious stalker who daily send pictures he takes of her secretly. [ONGOING]

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Fair game by yemyem (Angst, Friends with benefits, Jealousy, Fake dating) Gojo is kind of your boyfriend but he fucks other girls too as he doesn't want anything serious so geto offers to help u out...that's fine..right? [ONGOING] Hello Again by MixyX21 () You are the new staff at jujutsu tech and one of your coworkers is Gojo Satoru, you ex fiancé who left you on your wedding day 10 years ago. [COMPLETED]

Gojo Satoru x Leiri Shoko

let us stand a chance by keouil (oneshot, fluff) gojo and shoko are invited to megumi's pta meeting.[COMPLETED] Close isn't enough by randsomprose (oneshot, getting together, making out) shoko confronts satoru about his stupid 'nobody will ever need to be alone again' comment before the fight with sukuna. [COMPLETED] To Say the Least This Is ... by starrybride (oneshot, slice of life, fluff) Shoko comes home a little too late for Satoru's liking. [COMPLETED] It’s past 3AM (I see you again) by moonlightsonata(mintedcaffeine) (oneshot, angst, hurt comfort) Both shoko and satoru can't sleep so they spend the night together. [COMPLETED] Sunny with a chance(with Gojo) by tiressian(fluff and humour, tooth rooting) Satoru comes back again.[COMPLETED] six step backwards by dickwackerlao (Time travel fix-it, sugushoko and satosugu on side, angst, fluff and humour) Shoko goes back in time and makes things different. [COMPLETED] Tale as old as time by starrybride(old japan, werewolf shoko) Japan is ruled over by three clans, descended from the gods, populated by humans and supernatural creatures. When one of those ruling clans kills Shoko's childhood friend, she heads to Kyoto to seek vengeance on the clan that killed him. Along the way she receives help in her quest from an unlikely source. [ONGOING] The Infinity Between Us by OddLittleSpider(Slice of life, Friends to lovers, slowburn) Gojo asks shoko to marry him, what exactly are his intentions? [ONGOING] Companion Proposal by jokerxpanther (Friend to lovers, slowburn, Domestic Fluff) Gojo asks shoko to marry him. [ONGOING] My Best Friend? by Kate_Loves_S4toshoko (friend to lovers, gojo is an idiot) [ONGOING] i hold the longing of the winter in my hand by Anonymous (friends to lovers, mutual pinning) Shoko saves satoru's life at the cost of her soul [ONGOING] COLLECTION: satoshoko mixtape by tiressian- standalone satoshoko stories in one place for our brainrot

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