#Also it seemed like it affected the shadows in the sky somehow like.. you can see in the lower pictures how the

[icewindandboringhorror]

An interesting rainbow around the sun sort of thing from today :0

[mononijikayu]

the other woman — ryomen sukuna.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.” But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.” And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was always going to be long, because it's heartbreaking. and heartbreaking ones have to be something that has to be expressed well. i listened to this in a audio software like its a podcast and i actually liked it. the other woman by nina simone was the constant in the writing. also, this is the aftermath of ashes of love, which is a series i did about heian sukuna. anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

YOU KNEW THAT YOU WERE THIS UNLUCKY. The moment you were born, there would be a bleak fate for you to live. You were an accidental child, and multiple times, your own mother had nearly miscarried. Perhaps even as a fetus, you had always known this. How cursed you were. Even if you had done nothing. 

When your mother brushed your hair as a child, she would tell you of how you were born. She said that when you breathed the air for the first time, you were melancholic in the silence to the world. Somehow knew that you were built for this miserable world. And every day since that day, you knew. You were meant to live life without true joyous jubilation.

It did not help that the day you were born, there was a lone dark star in the morning sky, one which had been considered a bad omen. And with that, the whispers of fate echoing long before you had even had consciousness to know. Your village nestled in the shadowed valleys of Hida province, a place of whispered dread and ancient pacts. And for the longest of times, the once prosperous Hida province was in turmoil. 

And so, in those days, if there was anyone who controlled the ruins of Hida, it was that god-like curse user Ryomen Sukuna. His name alone was a talisman against the unknown horrors that lurked beyond the mountains, a deity whose power and wrath commanded fear and reverence in equal measure. And all either quivered at the sight of him or drew fanatic fervor. 

The Ryomen clan, his kin at one point, were at war—embroiled in brutal conflicts with neighboring clans for so long. And this had been going on before you were even born. The blood had soaked the earth for so long that the soil seemed to thirst for it. And the people were exhausted. 

The clan struggled to maintain control over Hida for a long time now, their influence fraying like an old tapestry torn at the seams. And with that, a power vacuum had long been in existence. The chaos of the era was a tide that threatened to drown them all, and Ryomen Sukuna's protection became the last fragile hope for those who called this land their home.

Your parents spoke in hushed voices of the offerings, the sacrifices made by the villagers to appease their god, the man who can save them,  this man to fear and worship, Ryomen Sukuna. To ensure his protection, they said. For years, the sacrifices continued, the chosen ones becoming mere footnotes in a history written in blood and fear. 

It came upon you rather quickly when you were young and it struck you—that the villagers saw you not as one of their own, but as a piece on a board, a pawn destined for slaughter. A sacrifice to their god. You would be among the countless, one more life to be cast into the jaws of the demon god they all feared.

The day of your sacrifice came as the sky was painted with hues of blood and gold, a cruel irony that did not escape you. The air was heavy with incense and prayer, but there was no comfort in their muttered words, no solace in the chants that pleaded for Sukuna's mercy. They adorned you in ceremonial robes, marked with symbols and sigils, your skin painted with the sacred ink that was supposed to cleanse your soul before the offering.

You were led through the village, a procession of death that seemed to stretch on forever. The eyes that watched you pass were filled with a mixture of pity and relief—relief that it was not them, not their child, not their blood that would be spilled today. Mothers held their children close, men bowed their heads, and the elders chanted in a low, continuous hum that sent shivers down your spine.

At the shrine, they bound you to the altar, thick ropes biting into your skin as you stared at the sky, searching for a sign, a miracle that never came. The high priest began his incantation, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. You could feel the cold seep into your bones, the air around you thickening as if the very world held its breath.

And then, you felt it—the shift in the air, the heavy presence that pressed against your chest like a vice. You had never seen him before, but you knew it was Sukuna. The villagers gasped, a collective intake of breath as his form materialized from the shadows, a figure cloaked in malice and power.

His eyes, crimson and unforgiving, swept over you like a cold blade. You felt your heart hammer against your ribcage, fear clawing at your throat. You were nothing to him, just another offering, another desperate plea from a village clinging to survival.

Ryomen Sukuna smiled, a slow, cruel smile that sent a tremor through the crowd. He stepped forward, each movement a ripple in the air, as if reality itself bent to his will. You met his gaze, defiant in your fear, knowing that you were one of many. Countless lives had been given to him, countless souls lost to his hunger.

And now, it was your turn.

�� 

══════════════════

YOU HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO MEET THE MAN IN THE FLESH. But before you stood this man, this god, with dark crimson eyes. Taller than any tree, intimidating than any curse. Frightening than hell itself. You could remember when you were younger. The whispers reached you before you even stepped foot in the shrine, everyone has. Tales of Ryomen Sukuna had traveled through the villages like the wind, carrying with them rumors that were both terrifying and tragic. 

You had always known that the man was delighted with the worship of the human people. But they said he had taken no other concubines, that he showed no interest in any woman who dared come near him.

And if he did, they were more likely to be servants than anything close to a concubine. And some were not so lucky. Some spoke in hushed tones, their voices trembling with fear, that he was a monster of unspeakable debauchery, one who had killed the women for even daring to breathe in his presence.

But the truth, as you had come to understand it, was far more tragic. At least from how you see it. The people of Hida knew—oh, they believed—the story was told long ago. There was someone who had been so loved long ago and most of all, by Sukuna.

Ryomen Hiromi, the one who had captured Sukuna's heart, the one he had loved beyond reason. There was another Sukuna a long time ago, many were aware. But there was nothing proven.

If anything, the children of Hiromi reject any notion of such a relationship. But the tale was woven into the very fabric of tales told, whispered among the elders late at night and shared in riddles among the children who barely understood the weight of what they spoke.

Hiromi, they said, had been his sun, his moon, his stars. A woman of beauty and strength, whose laughter could calm the wildest storms and whose voice was like the sweetest song. She had been the only one to ever touch his heart, to see the man beneath the demon god. But she was gone now, lost to time and tragedy, leaving Ryomen Sukuna to languish in his grief. 

No one dared speak her name aloud, not when Sukuna’s rage could split the earth itself. People have seen it. It was said he mourned her loss every day, that his fury was born from the emptiness she left behind. And that was why he would not tolerate any other woman. No one was going to be like her. None would match her wit, her beauty. Why should the king of curses settle for less when he had the world? 

As you lay on the cold altar, the ropes cutting into your skin, your thoughts were consumed by the stories. What kind of man—no, what kind of creature—was Sukuna? You wonder about this paradox of a man, this creature like god.

Did he truly mourn, or was that just another tale spun by terrified villagers to make him seem more human? What was he, actually? You had a million questions, and you know they will never truly be answered.

A gust of wind stirred the trees around you, the leaves rustling like whispered secrets. You heard the shuffle of feet, felt the eyes of the villagers upon you, their fear palpable. Then, you heard his voice. You could feel it all, that powerful cursed energy, coming from one direction. For a moment, you had no words. Only uncertainty.

"Why do they send another?" Sukuna's voice was like a low growl, rumbling through the air with the force of a storm. "Do you think I am so easily appeased, you fools?"

You dared to lift your head, the ropes pulling at your skin as you met his crimson gaze. He was tall, imposing, and every bit as terrifying as the stories had painted him. But there was something else there—something in his eyes that spoke of deep, simmering pain.

"Do you truly want to know why they sent me?" you found yourself saying, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your throat.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Speak, then, girl." he said. "Tell me why I should not turn you to dust where you lie."

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "They send me because they fear you, because they believe you will protect them if they give you what you want. But… no one knows what you truly want, do they? No one speaks of her. Of Hiromi."

His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. The air grew colder, a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

"Hiromi is dead." he said, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that could cut through steel. "And no one speaks her name. It is what I command.”

"But you still mourn her…." you continued, unable to stop yourself. "Do you not, my lord?”

His dark gaze bore into you, the weight of it almost unbearable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched on like an eternity. Then, slowly, he laughed—a sound that was bitter and hollow.

"You dare ask?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "What do you know of it all, little one? What do you know about such a life lived?"

You felt a tremor run through you, but you did not look away. "I know enough, my lord." you replied softly. "I know enough to see that your anger is not born of hatred, but of grief."

Sukuna's cruel smile quickly faded, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly swallowed by the darkness. He hated how you said it, you know it too well. But there was no other choice. You were here for a purpose and you must fulfill it. You must. 

"You are bold, little one." he murmured. "Bold….for someone so close to death."

"Perhaps, my lord." you whispered back to him. "But if I am to die, I would rather die knowing who you truly are, rather than the monster they say you are."

He stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the power that thrummed through him like a thunder strike.

"Then you are a fool, little one." he said quietly. "For believing that I am anything more than a monster."

But there was something in his voice, something that made you wonder if perhaps… he wished you were right.

For the meantime, you were lucky to have your life, despite speaking so boldly, despite saying her name aloud—the name that everyone else dared not utter. Sukuna’s silence stretched on, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours, unreadable, cold yet burning with something darker beneath the surface. He could have ended you with a flick of his wrist, reduced you to ashes for your insolence. And yet, he did not.

He leaned closer, the edges of his form blurring into the shadows that seemed to ripple around him like stabbing waves in the ocean. His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat a drum that signaled your fragile hold on life.

“Perhaps you are simply foolish. Many have died for far less than what you dared to speak.” Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “Huh, you speak brashly.”

The villagers around you seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his judgment. They looked at you with a mixture of horror and awe, unable to believe you were still alive after uttering the forbidden name. You, a mere sacrifice, a lamb thrown to the wolf, had survived what so many others had not.

“Why do you think I will let you live?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone curious, but with a dangerous edge. “Do you think I find you interesting? Amusing? Or perhaps I see something of her in you, something worth sparing?”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation settling in. You had survived speaking out of turn, but you were still bound to this altar, still at the mercy of a being who could destroy you on a whim. Yet, something in his words gave you pause, a flicker of something unspoken that lingered just beneath his surface.

“I do not presume to know your reasons, my lord.” you replied carefully, choosing each word like a step on thin ice. “But if you see something of her in me… then perhaps I am not so different from you after all.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Not so different?” He laughed, a sound that was both mirthful and bitter, filled with a deep, aching emptiness. “You compare yourself to me? To Ryomen Sukuna? You are a child, a mere mortal who knows nothing of gods or demons, of love that scorches the soul and burns the world to ash.”

“And yet…..” you dared to continue, feeling the tightness in your chest. “If my lord felt nothing, you wouldn’t care enough to be angry… or to remember.”

He stiffened, and for a moment, his expression faltered. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, his aura flickering like a candle flame caught in a strong wind. You sensed that you were dancing on a razor’s edge, but you could not stop now. There was something here, something raw and real beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Enough.” Sukuna hissed, his voice a sharp command. The air grew colder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You dare much, human. Too much.”

You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, the moment when his patience would finally snap. But instead, Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that did not reach his eyes.

“Perhaps I will spare you.” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “If only to see how long that fire burns before it is extinguished. Or perhaps to see if you will end up like the rest—broken, hollow, pleading for mercy where there is none.”

He turned away from you then, his back a wall of power and darkness, his form towering against the dim light of the shrine. The villagers started, stunned, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You will reside in my temple.” Sukuna commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will remain there, under my watch. Let them see what comes of those who speak of things best left forgotten.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of fear and shock. They did not understand why he had spared you, why you, of all people, were allowed to live. Perhaps they thought you were cursed, or perhaps they thought Sukuna had some darker plan in mind. But you knew better. You knew that, in some small way, you had touched on a wound that had never healed, a scar buried deep beneath his monstrous exterior.

And as Sukuna vanished into the shadows, you realized that your fate was no longer in the hands of the villagers, or even in the hands of the gods they prayed to. No, your fate was now bound to his—a god who mourned like a man, a monster who remembered what it was to love.

══════════════════

IN A WAY, IT IS NOT SO BAD, BEING HIS CONCUBINE. You spent your days in isolation, your life confined within the walls of Sukuna's palace. You were nothing more than a servant, though they called you a concubine. The title meant little, for you were given no special privileges, no adornments, no tokens of affection. 

But it was a life. Your life. And it lived in some comfort, more than what is experienced by the rest of Hida province. You had multiple meals a day, you had rooms to yourself and even servants that address every bit of your needs.

Still, your world was small, your days filled with the quiet tending of the gardens, watching the shifting sky as the hours bled into one another. The flowers you nurtured became your only friends, their petals a fragile comfort against the cold indifference that surrounded you.

Perhaps the peace came from the fact that you did not see Sukuna often, and when you did, his gaze never lingered on you for long. He had no interest, no affection, no fondness to spare. You were simply there, like a shadow in the corner of his realm.

A figure lost amidst the vast emptiness of his domain. And perhaps that was for the best. It was better than being forced into Sukuna’s bed. You think that all women in the harem think that it was better that way.

But slowly, ever so slowly, something changed. His dark scarlet eyes began to linger, just a fraction longer than before. You felt the weight of his gaze like a chill running down your spine.

The other servants noticed it too, their whispers growing louder, bolder. You finally caught his attention. But it wasn’t because he had come to care for you, to see you as anything more than the nothing you were.

No, the truth was much crueler than that.

You were a spitting image of Ryomen Hiromi, the woman who haunted his every step, the ghost who lived in the shadows of his mind. At least that’s what the people say. But you did not want to believe them. Yet, looking at the murals at the glass gardens, the resemblance was uncanny.

It was obvious somehow. It was similar, everything. Your eyes, your hair, the curve of your smile. Every feature, every gesture seemed to remind him of her. And though you knew you could never be her, you had become a cruel echo, a reflection of something he had long lost.

And soon enough, the people talked. Of course, they did. They always talked. You tried to shut them out, but the more they whispered, the more people listened. And the more they listened, the more people spoke.  

“She reminds him of Hiromi, I am certain!” they whispered. “She is nothing but a shadow, a poor replacement for the one he truly loved. She lives in her image, as if she could ever hope to fill her place.”

You became the other woman, even when you didn’t want to be. No, not even that. You were a pale imitation, a mockery of a woman who had captured the heart of the king of curses. Every glance Ryomen Sukuna spared you was not a look of admiration or desire—it was the gaze of a man staring into the past, into a memory that was forever out of reach.

And so, you lived your life as another woman. No, the other woman. To a dead woman. To a love that had died long ago, but never truly left. 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the silence was so thick it pressed against your skin like a heavy shroud, you would wonder about her. About Ryomen Hiromi. Who was she, really? What had she meant to him, this fearsome god, this creature of darkness who now watched you as if searching for something he had lost in her eyes, now reflected in yours.

He never spoke of her. He does not want to. He does not dare to. Not to you, not to anyone. Some servants have been here longer than you and they have seen people killed over even a mumble of a prayer for the lady. And so you don’t ask. 

Not even when there were times he would come closer, when his dark eyes lingered on your face, searching, always searching. Yet he will never truly find it. He knew this, as much as you did. But it was as if he was trying to see her again, trying to find her in your skin, in your voice, in the way you moved through the gardens like she once had, perhaps. It was hope, a foolish hope. And yet you cannot escape this foolish hope.

The weight of her memory suffocated you. You were not allowed to be yourself, to have your own name, your own identity. You were always, always compared to her, measured against a ghost that you could never be, never touch. And Sukuna, with his cold gaze and his empty eyes, reminded you of it every day.

"You’re not her, little one." he said once, his voice low, more to himself than to you, as if testing a truth he could not fully accept. “You’ll never be her.”

His words cut deeper than any blade, leaving you with the bitter taste of something unnameable, something that tasted like defeat, or perhaps longing, or perhaps both. You had never wished to be her, to be anyone but yourself. But here, in his domain, under his shadow, you were not allowed that freedom.

You were trapped, forever bound to a life that was not your own, in the shadow of a dead woman who would never release you, and a man who could never let her go.

Days bled into nights, a blur of routine and solitude, and you began to feel like a ghost yourself, haunting the corners of Sukuna's palace, where life seemed to move around you but never through you. The servants kept their distance, wary of your resemblance, as if fearing you might be some ill omen, cursed to echo the tragedy of the past.

And Sukuna… he watched you, always watching, his eyes a deep crimson that saw too much and yet revealed nothing. He was like a storm contained within the fragile walls of the palace, his presence a force of nature that you could neither escape nor fully comprehend. His mood was mercurial; one day, he would barely acknowledge you, and the next, his gaze would linger on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Do you enjoy the garden?” he asked one afternoon, his tone deceptively casual, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather.

You glanced up, surprised that he had addressed you at all. He rarely spoke directly to you, even when his eyes seemed to follow your every movement. “I do,” you replied, careful, measured. “It is quiet there. Peaceful.”

“Quiet…peaceful.” he repeated, almost as if tasting the word. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, she liked the quiet too. Always wandering among the flowers. Trees too. She’d like that then.”

You stiffened at the mention of her, the ghost you lived with every day, who lingered in every corner of this place. “I am not her, my lord.” you said, a tremor in your voice. You had repeated these words to yourself countless times, but they sounded fragile, almost insignificant when spoken aloud.

Sukuna's expression did not change. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin. “No, little one.” he agreed softly, almost mockingly, “You are not her. But you will do… for now.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let him see the fear that coiled within you, like a snake waiting to strike. “Why do you keep me here?” you dared to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why do you watch me as if you expect me to become someone else?”

He laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You misunderstand, little one. I do not expect you to become her. I know you never can. But you… remind me of her. And that is enough… for now.”

The way he said it, the way his eyes darkened with something unreadable, made your blood run cold. You were nothing more than a stand-in, a living, breathing reminder of something he had lost. A cruel joke played by fate, a shadow dancing in the place of the one who truly mattered. To be kept alive, your village kept alive — because you look like a ghost. 

“I am not a replacement, my lord.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, surprising even yourself with the strength behind it. “I hope my lord knows that I will not live my life as a mere echo.”

His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “You think you have a choice?” he asked, leaning in closer, his face so near to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You are here because I allow it. You exist at my whim, not because of who you are, but because of who you resemble. Do not mistake this for anything more than it is.”

The reality of his words hit you like a blow, the finality of it sinking deep into your bones. You were nothing to him, nothing but a passing fancy, a painful reminder of a past he could not reclaim.

“I am not her, my lord.” you repeated, your voice shaking with defiance, with a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. “And I will not be her for you. You must understand.”

For a moment, something flickered in Sukuna's eyes, something almost like surprise, perhaps even respect. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he always wore.

“Brave words, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But words mean little here, in my domain. You will learn that soon enough.”

He turned away from you then, leaving you standing alone in the empty hall, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides. The silence closed in around you, heavy and oppressive, and you knew that nothing had changed. You were still trapped, still living in the shadow of a dead woman, still bound to the whims of a god who mourned like a man.

And yet, deep inside, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of hope. You might be a ghost to him, a reflection of a lost love, but you were still alive. You were still you, and as long as you drew breath, you would not allow yourself to be consumed by his shadows. Not without a fight.

Time passed slowly in Sukuna’s palace, and with it, your heart began to change. You did not notice it at first; how could you? Day after day, the monotonous routine of your existence lulled you into a sort of numbness. The gardens became your refuge, the sky your solace.

Yet even as you tried to find comfort in these simple pleasures, you found your thoughts wandering back to him—Ryomen Sukuna, the fearsome god, the monster, the man who mourned like a human.

At first, you hated him, hated him for what he represented, for what he had made you into: a replacement, a mere shadow of someone who had meant everything to him. But as you watched him, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you began to see more.

You began to notice the things others did not—the subtle tension in his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he spoke of her, the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, and the mask slipped, just a little.

You were in the garden one afternoon, trimming the roses, when you heard footsteps approaching. Sukuna rarely came to the garden, but today he seemed restless, pacing along the paths with a dark expression on his face. He stopped by the old cherry blossom tree, his eyes distant, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Without thinking, you moved closer. "Is something troubling you, my lord?" you asked quietly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You had learned not to provoke him, to keep your words soft and your gaze steady.

Sukuna looked at you sharply, as if surprised you had dared to speak. "Why do you care?" he snapped, his tone harsh, but you had seen the flicker of something else—a fleeting vulnerability, perhaps? “Such matters are none for you to care about, little one.”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I see you every day, my lord.” you replied softly. “I see how you… struggle over something. And I cannot help but… care.”

He scoffed, but it was a hollow sound. “Care?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You think you understand me, mortal? You think you can comprehend the depths of what I am, of what I have lost?”

You bowed your head, feeling the sting of his words but refusing to back down. “I don’t pretend to understand, my lord.” you murmured. “But I see the pain in your eyes, the way you linger in places she once loved, the way you… look at me.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense, his hands unclenching. “You are a fool, little one.” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. “A fool to think you can feel anything for me.”

And maybe you were a fool. A fool to care for a man who did not care for you, who saw you only as a shadow of someone else. But you could not help it. You could not stop the way your heart ached when you saw him, the way your breath caught when he looked at you with those sad, tired eyes.

Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him, not by his power or his beauty, but by the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching. The moments when his face softened, and you saw the man beneath the monster, the man who had loved so deeply and lost so terribly.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the places where he had been wounded, and you wanted, desperately, to reach out and touch them, to soothe the pain you knew he carried.

You found yourself thinking of him when you were alone, wondering what had made him this way, what had broken him so completely. You imagined him before all of this, before the darkness, before the loss, and you felt a strange, deep sorrow for the man he might have been.

One evening, as you were leaving the garden, you saw him standing by the cherry blossom tree again, his face turned upward, staring at the pale blooms against the darkening sky. He looked so lonely, so unbearably alone, that you felt your heart tighten in your chest.

Without thinking, you approached him, moving slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My lord, look.” you said softly, and he did not turn away. “The blossoms… they’re beautiful this year.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hiromi loved them.” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you could not quite name. “Fond of them.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I imagine she did, my lord.” you replied. “They’re… peaceful.”

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flowers. Then he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was… my peace.” he admitted, his tone so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten painfully. “And now… there is only emptiness.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his hand, to tell him that he was not as alone as he thought, but you knew he would not accept it. So you stood there, beside him, sharing the silence, hoping that maybe, in some small way, your presence could ease the ache in his heart.

And slowly, painfully, you realized that you were falling into the saddest position in the world. You were beginning to care for him, truly care for him, despite knowing that he did not, and could not, care for you. You were beginning to understand him, to see the depths of his sorrow, to feel the weight of his loss as if it were your own.

You were living as a shadow, and yet… you found yourself wishing, hoping, that someday he might see you as something more. Even if you were just a reflection of a memory, even if you could never be her, you wished, desperately, that you could become someone to him.

But as you looked at him, at the emptiness in his eyes, you knew that day might never come. And still, you could not help but care.

Days continued to slip by in a blur of silent moments and stolen glances, and though you tried to keep your heart guarded, you felt it slipping further and further away from you, like water through your fingers. You had resigned yourself to your fate—a concubine in name, a ghost in truth. You had accepted that Sukuna would never see you as anything more than a mere echo of what he had lost.

But as time passed, you noticed a subtle change in him. It was in the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, or how his tone softened when he spoke to you. It was in the quiet moments when you would catch him watching you, his expression inscrutable, as if he were trying to decipher some mystery he could not quite solve.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, you found yourself in the garden again. Sukuna was there, seated on a low stone bench beneath the cherry blossom tree, his face turned upward as if searching for something in the dying light.

You approached cautiously, unsure if he wanted your presence or not. He did not turn to look at you, but he did not send you away, either. You took it as a small mercy, a silent invitation to sit beside him.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, delicate and unbroken. Finally, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “You are always here, little one.” he murmured. “Always watching. Why?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I see you, my lord.” you replied quietly. “I see the way you carry your pain, the way you hide it behind your eyes. I… I understand it, in a way.”

He turned to you then, his gaze piercing, searching your face as if trying to find the truth hidden within your words. “And what do you think you understand?” he asked, a note of challenge in his tone.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his stare. “I think you loved her more than life itself, my lord.” you said softly. “And I think losing her broke something inside of you that will never heal.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. “You presume to know my heart, mortal.” he said, but there was no true malice in his voice, only a deep, hollow emptiness. “You think because you look like her, you can speak of love and loss?”

“I do not pretend to be her, my lord.” you answered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “But I know what it is to lose, to live with emptiness. I know what it means to be alone, even in a crowded room.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could almost see the man beneath the monster, the one who had loved and lost, who had once been capable of kindness, of tenderness.

“You think you know loneliness?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “You think you know what it is to love someone so deeply that their absence is like a knife in your soul, cutting you with every breath?”

“I think I’m starting to understand, my lord.” you whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”

He looked away, his jaw clenched tight, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You are a fool.” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only a weary resignation. “You should hate me. You should despise me for what I am, for what I have made you.”

You shook your head slowly. “I can’t, my lord.” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because I see the pain in your eyes, the way you look at me… the way you remember her. I can’t hate you for that. I just… I wish things were different.”

He turned to you sharply, and for a moment, there was something raw and desperate in his gaze, something that spoke of a longing he had buried deep within himself. “Different?” he repeated, almost scoffing. “There is no ‘different’ for us. This is the world we have been given, and we must live in it.”

You felt your heart clench painfully, knowing he was right, knowing that no matter how much you wished for it, you could never truly reach him, could never become more than what you were—a shadow, a reflection of a woman long gone.

But you could not stop yourself from caring, from hoping that somehow, someway, he might see you, truly see you, not as a ghost or a replacement, but as a person in your own right.

You sighed, turning your gaze to the blossoms above. “I know, my lord.” you murmured. “I know that better than anyone. But I still… I still want to understand you. I still care, even if you don’t care for me.”

He was silent, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much, crossed a line you could never return from. But then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand in his, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You are a strange one, little one.” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “To care for a monster… to care for a man who has nothing left to give.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you did not bother to hide it. “Maybe I’m just a fool, my lord” you whispered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t help but care for you, even when I know you can’t care for me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for some answer he could not find. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it took your breath away.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”

But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”

And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

══════════════════

TIME FLEW BY AND WITH THAT, YOU AGED TOO. Slowly, like the steady drip of water carving its path through stone, Ryomen Sukuna began to accept your presence as something constant in his life. At first, it was subtle—the way he no longer sent you away when you appeared by his side, the way he allowed you to linger in his chambers or the garden without a word of complaint.

Over time, it grew into something more. He began to call for you, not often, but enough that you noticed. Sometimes, it was just to sit in silence while he read or stared into the fire, and other times, he would speak to you, his voice low and distant, as if he were speaking to himself rather than you.

He did not love you; you knew that much with painful certainty. His heart belonged to another, to a woman whose name he whispered in his dreams, whose memory seemed to haunt his every step. You were not her, and you never would be. You were a shadow of what he had lost, a pale reflection of a love that had burned too bright and consumed itself in the flames.

But he tolerated you, and in this dark, twisted place where fear ruled and love was a forgotten dream, that was enough. You had learned to find solace in the little things—the way his gaze would occasionally soften when he looked at you, the rare moments when his voice held a note of something other than indifference. 

You knew you would never escape Hiromi’s shadow. Her ghost lingered in every corner of this place, in every whispered word and hushed breath, in the way his eyes darkened whenever he spoke of her.

You were not foolish enough to think you could ever replace her in his heart, nor did you wish to. You had come to terms with your fate, with the cruel twist of destiny that had brought you here, to this palace where the walls seemed to whisper her name.

For the finite years of your mortal life, you would be what you were to him—an echo, a shadow, a living memory of something lost. You could have fought against it, could have railed against the injustice of it all, but you chose not to. You chose to make peace with what fate had given you, to find what small joys you could in the fleeting moments he allowed you to be near him.

There were times when the weight of your existence threatened to crush you, when you longed to scream, to demand that he see you for who you were, not for the woman you resembled. But those moments were few and far between, and you had learned to push them down, to bury them deep within your heart where they could not hurt you.

Instead, you found contentment in the little things—in the way his presence filled the room, in the rare, unguarded moments when he would speak to you of things he had buried deep within himself. You listened to his stories, the ones he told in quiet tones when he thought no one was listening, and you treasured them like precious gems, tiny fragments of the man he had once been.

You learned to be grateful for what you had, even if it was not what you had dreamed of. You accepted that you would always live in the shadow of Hiromi, that you would always be the "other woman"; the one who was not loved, but merely tolerated. And for as long as you had breath in your lungs and life in your veins, you chose to find peace in that.

You sat beside him by the fire, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression thoughtful. He did not look at you, but you could feel his presence, warm and solid beside you, a reminder that you were not entirely alone in this world.

You turned your gaze to the fire, letting the heat warm your face, and you whispered, almost to yourself, “I do not ask for more than this. I am… content with what I have.”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand your words. “Content?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “You are content being nothing but a shadow?”

You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Contentment is a choice, my lord.” you replied. “I chose to be content with what fate has given me. It is not happiness, but it is enough.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are wiser than I thought now, little one.” he murmured. “To find peace in a place like this… it is no easy feat.”

You nodded, knowing he spoke more to himself than to you. You had accepted that you would never be more than a shadow in his life, but even shadows had their place, their purpose. You would be content with that, for as long as your mortal years allowed.

The days passed with a creeping heaviness that settled into your bones, a fatigue that no amount of rest could cure. You began to feel the strain in every step, the way your breath came shorter, the way your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. At first, you dismissed it as exhaustion, a lingering effect of sleepless nights and endless thoughts that twisted in your mind like shadows.

But then came the coughing fits, each one more violent than the last, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a sharp pain in your chest. You ignored it at first, waving away the concerned glances of the servants who attended you. You kept your back straight and your face serene, refusing to acknowledge the way your body seemed to betray you.

Yet it grew harder to hide. The pain became more frequent, stabbing through your lungs like a knife with every breath, every step. The first time you coughed up blood, it was a shock—a bright, vivid red staining your hand. Your heart raced as you stared at the crimson stain, panic rising like bile in your throat.

You quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, you were alone in your chamber, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. There was no reason to be afraid, you told yourself. It was just a momentary lapse, nothing more.

But it wasn’t. It happened again, and again. You found yourself waking in the night, gasping for air, your throat raw and burning. The servants began to notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you would clutch your side when you thought no one was looking, the way you moved a little slower, a little more carefully.

There was a day that you sat in the garden, trying to find solace in the soft petals of the cherry blossoms, a violent fit seized you. You doubled over, coughing hard, and felt something wet and warm splatter against your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and saw the unmistakable smear of blood.

A sharp gasp came from behind you. One of the younger servants had seen, her eyes wide with fear and concern. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady you.

“My lady, oh my!” she whispered, her voice filled with worry. “You’re… you’re bleeding.”

You shook your head, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “It is nothing.” you said, your voice hoarse. “Do not worry yourself over me.”

The servant looked unconvinced, her brow furrowed with concern. “I must tell Lord Sukuna.” she said quickly, glancing toward the entrance of the garden as if she expected him to appear at any moment. “He must know—”

“No, no…..” you cut her off sharply, your voice firmer than you had intended. “There is no point in that.”

She hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. “But, my lady… you are unwell. He should—”

“He would not care, little girl.” you said softly, looking down at your blood-stained hand. “There is no use in troubling him with this. It would make no difference. Sukuna does not love me, nor does he care for me in that way. Do you think he would be moved by something as trivial as this?”

The servant bit her lip, clearly torn between her duty to you and her fear of Sukuna’s wrath. “But… if he knew, he might—”

“Might what?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a quiet resignation. “Send a healer? Take pity on me? No, he would not. I am nothing more than a reminder to him, a shadow of a past he cannot let go. He tolerates me, yes, but that is all.”

The servant looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, but she nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words. She knew as well as you did that Sukuna’s heart was a barren, desolate place, filled with ghosts and haunted memories. There was no room for you there.

“Promise me, little girl.” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I promise, my lady.” she murmured, though you could hear the doubt in her voice.

You leaned back against the tree, closing your eyes and letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. You knew there was no point in hoping for more than what you had. Sukuna had given you a place by his side, but it was not out of affection. He had lost the woman he truly loved, and you were only a semblance of her—a shadow he tolerated, nothing more.

You were dying, that much was clear. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way to free yourself from this liminal existence, to escape the torment of being a living reminder of what he had lost. You could find peace in that, you thought. At least, you could try.

You would not burden him with your illness, with your slow, inevitable decline. You would carry it quietly, with dignity, for whatever time you had left. After all, what was one more life in the grand, cruel scheme of his world? You were just another fleeting moment in the endless march of time—another sacrifice, another offering to a man who had already lost everything he had ever cared for.

══════════════════

YOU DECIDED TO LET FATE RUN ITS COURSE. You let time pass by, letting the illness be hidden in the shadows of low whispers and painful tears in your long suffering days and nights. And sure enough, Ryomen Sukuna had returned from his long and exhausting trip within the next few days.

He had been famished from his trip and sent word that he would be having supper with you that night, which you had obliged without another word. You dressed in your finest, watching the servants prepare the table in your chambers and calmly thanked them one after another as they left.

The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, with the two of you sharing dinner in the dimly lit chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and simmered vegetables filled the air.

It was a routine you had come to accept with a resigned sort of familiarity, a ritual that offered a small measure of normalcy in your otherwise constrained existence.

You sat across from Sukuna, picking at your meal with an absent-mindedness that spoke more to your weariness than any lack of appetite. His presence was imposing, yet tonight, he was unusually subdued, his attention focused on the food in front of him rather than on you. And somehow, you were a bit more grateful for it.

As you took a sip from your cup, you looked up at him, your expression earnest. "My lord, do you not think you should be more understanding of your subjects?" you began, your voice gentle but firm. "I must implore you once more to be more lenient with the people. The fear you instill is one thing, but mercy could win you their loyalty and respect."

Sukuna's eyes, dark and inscrutable, met yours. He did not respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing your words. This was not the first time you had made this plea, and it was not likely to be the last. You had grown accustomed to his silence, to the way he would listen but rarely act upon your suggestions.

"It is not for me to coddle them, little one." he said finally, his voice low and dismissive. "Fear is a more effective tool than mercy. It ensures obedience."

You sighed softly, knowing well that your words often fell on deaf ears. Still, you persisted, driven by a conviction that even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference. "I understand your perspective, my lord,  but sometimes even the harshest rulers find strength in showing compassion. It can—"

Before you could finish your thought, a sudden, sharp pain gripped your chest. You gasped, doubling over slightly, and a violent coughing fit overtook you. You struggled to steady yourself, but the force of it was too strong. Blood splattered onto the table, the vibrant red stark against the white of your kimono and the pale wood of the dining surface.

Your heart raced as you quickly wiped the blood away with your sleeve, hoping to hide the evidence of your distress. You tried to maintain your composure, but your hands were trembling as you looked up at Sukuna, who had gone still, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain.

For a moment, there was a silence so thick it felt like a physical presence. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze was heavy and unyielding, his red eyes locked onto the blood that had marred the table and your attire. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his silence, a heavy burden that pressed down upon you.

"It's nothing, my lord." you said hurriedly, forcing a weak smile as you tried to brush off the incident. "Just a momentary lapse. Please, continue with your meal."

Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He did not speak, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or concern, or something deeper that he quickly masked.

You could feel the tension between you, an invisible thread connecting your quiet plea to his unspoken thoughts. It was clear that your condition had not gone unnoticed, even if he chose not to acknowledge it openly. You had always been a presence in his life, but tonight, the reality of your fragility seemed to cut through the usual indifference.

He took a deep breath, his gaze finally shifting away from you as he turned his attention back to his meal. The silence that followed was filled with the soft clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversation from the servants who hovered at the edges of the room, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed concern.

You ate in silence, each bite of food tasting like ash in your mouth. The pain in your chest had subsided, but a deep weariness remained, a lingering reminder of your deteriorating health. You glanced at Sukuna from time to time, but he was absorbed in his meal, his expression unreadable.

The conversation you had tried to initiate was now buried beneath the weight of your illness, and you knew better than to press further. The battle for his leniency would have to wait for another day, another time when you were not so overshadowed by your own suffering.

As the meal drew to a close, you felt the oppressive silence settle around you once more. Sukuna’s gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly occupied with matters beyond the confines of the dining room. You could only hope that, in some small way, your presence had made a difference, even if it was not the kind you had hoped for.

When the servants cleared away the dishes and the room began to empty, you excused yourself, retreating to your chamber with a heavy heart. You knew that your time here was growing shorter, that the end was approaching with each passing day. But for now, you would carry on, finding what small measure of peace you could in the fleeting moments you had left.

And as you lay down in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you could not help but think of the blood you had tried to hide, of the way Sukuna’s eyes had lingered on it. You could only hope that someday, he might see you not as a mere shadow or a reminder of what he had lost, but as a person who had tried, in her own way, to make a difference in his world.

The next morning, you awoke to a disorienting cacophony of shouts and harsh reprimands. The once-familiar silence of your quarters was shattered by the sounds of chaos from the courtyard. Your heart sank as you stumbled out of bed, a sharp pain reminding you of the night before.

As you made your way through the hallways, the noise grew louder, mingling with the harsh, angry tones of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice. Your mind raced, dreading what you might find. You knew it already. You have seen it in the other households of the other concubines. And you can only know what had caused such a commotion. When you reached the courtyard, the scene before you was both startling and terrifying.

Your servants were gathered in the center of the courtyard, their faces pale with fear and their postures crumpled under the weight of Sukuna’s wrath. He stood at the center of the commotion, his expression thunderous as he raged at them. His anger was palpable, his words a relentless storm of fury directed at those who had failed to inform him of your condition.

Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The courtyard fell into a stunned silence as Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

"My lord, please." you began, your voice trembling as you bowed deeply, your forehead nearly touching the ground. "This is my fault, not theirs. I beg for your forgiveness and mercy for my servants."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took in your contrite posture, his anger momentarily faltering. He regarded you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, his dark, unforgiving, gaze sharp as he assessed your sincerity.

"It was my decision to hide my illness, my lord." you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to trouble you or cause unnecessary concern. Please, spare them your anger. They were only following my wishes."

Ryomen Sukuna remained silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The servants, though still shaken, dared to lift their eyes to you, their expressions a blend of relief and apprehension.

Finally, Sukuna's gaze softened, a hint of resignation creeping into his expression. He took a deep breath, his anger dissipating as he looked at you with a new intensity. "You would take the blame for them?" he asked, his voice low and edged with incredulity.

You nodded, maintaining your bowed position. "Yes, my lord. It was my choice, my responsibility. I could not bear the thought of them being punished for my actions."

Sukuna’s expression hardened slightly, but the fury in his eyes had dimmed. After a moment of consideration, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. You will accept any punishment I shall put upon you.”

You swallowed the bile down your throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then I will call for healers. You will see them immediately." He says, as though it was the final verdict. “You will see them, all of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes…yes, my lord.” You whispered back to him.

He turned away from the servants, his gaze now fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity. "Go." he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "See to your health, you foolish girl. Your servants too can go. They will tend to you, no matter what you ask.”

You straightened slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over you. You dared to look up at Sukuna, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to address the servants.

"Thank you, my lord." you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude. "You have done nothing wrong. Please, return to your duties."

With a final, respectful bow, you turned and headed back toward your quarters with the help of your servants. As you entered your quarters, you felt like you had lived a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. Your servants were bowing at your feet, asking for your forgiveness. But you had all but shooed them away, telling them it was your duty as their master.

You wanted to be alone right now. At least when you still had the chance. When the healers arrive, you would have a life to yourself any longer. You would be stuck in their mercy, with their potions and their whims.

You must prepare yourself for the arrival of the healers. You groaned lowly as you clutch your chest, a wave of pain hitting one after the other. It will be over soon, that’s what you hoped. That’s what you want. You want to be free from this pain. You wanted nothing more than to be free.

══════════════════

THE PAIN WAS RELENTLESS. The days dragged on in a relentless cycle of pain and futile hope. Despite the best efforts of countless healers, none seemed able to bring you any real relief.

If anything, your condition worsened, each new treatment only seeming to accelerate your quick decline. Ryomen Sukuna’s frustration was palpable; his anger had become a regular presence, casting a long shadow over the already bleak atmosphere of the estate.

You had heard the whispers of the fate that befell each healer who failed to improve your condition. It was a grim reminder of Sukuna’s volatility, a dangerous mix of desperation and rage. The once-bustling quarters were now filled with an air of fearful tension as new healers arrived, only to face Sukuna’s wrath when their efforts proved ineffectual.

On one of the rare days when you felt well enough to leave your bed, you chose to sit by the garden. The fresh air and the sight of the vibrant blooms were a welcome distraction from the constant ache in your body. You had managed to position yourself on a stool under the gentle shade of a cherry tree, finding some small comfort in watching the birds flit about, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the turmoil that had become your life.

Sukuna appeared in the garden, his presence as imposing as ever. He walked with a deliberate pace, his gaze scanning the surroundings with an air of detached observation. As he neared, you looked up and greeted him with a smile, though the effort felt heavy, as if each movement was a strain against the burden of your illness.

“My lord.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The skies are beautiful today, aren’t they?”

Sukuna stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your serene expression. The silence stretched between you, an unspoken tension that lingered like the heat of a summer day. He said nothing in response, his gaze fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity.

After a moment, he broke the silence. “How is it that you can accept death with such… calm?” His voice was low, edged with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, taken aback by his question. A laugh escaped you, soft and brittle, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Accept death, my lord?” you repeated. “I haven’t accepted death, in truth. But there is no way to avoid it.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained on you, his expression unreadable as he listened. You continued, your voice tinged with a philosophical resignation. “Death will come for all of us, eventually. It’s a natural end to this life. We all must face it in our own time. In that way, we are all freed from the burdens of this world.”

He studied you with a mixture of skepticism and something akin to contemplation. “You speak as if it is an inevitability you embrace, little one.”

“Not embrace, my lord.” you corrected gently, sighing. “But acknowledge. It’s a part of life, as much as the beginning is. We can fight it or we can accept it, but it will come regardless.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He seemed to be weighing your words, his usual fierceness replaced by an unusual quiet. “And you are not afraid, then?”

“Fear?” You tilted your head, considering the question. “I suppose I am afraid of the pain that might come before the end. But fear of death itself? Not so much. It’s merely another step in the journey, my lord. That is what I believe, at least.”

For a moment, there was a stillness between you, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. Sukuna’s eyes flickered to the sky, perhaps contemplating the vastness of existence you had spoken of. The anger that had once seemed so consuming in his presence now appeared subdued, replaced by a contemplative silence.

“I see.” he said finally, his tone carrying a trace of grudging respect. “Your words are… unusual.”

You smiled faintly, a tired but genuine expression. “Perhaps. But sometimes, facing the truth can be a way to find peace, my lord.”

Sukuna stood there for a while longer, his presence a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the garden’s tranquility. Finally, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his demeanor less harsh than before. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded as he walked away, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As you sat there, watching the birds and the shifting clouds, you felt a small measure of contentment. Sukuna’s visit had brought a moment of introspection, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death. Even in your suffering, you found a semblance of peace, understanding that acceptance was not about surrendering to fate but about finding a way to live with it, even as the end loomed ever closer.

And just like that, the day you had dreaded finally arrived. And truly, you were left feeling an unbearable weakness that signaled the end was near. The once-familiar confines of your quarters now seemed like a distant world, and the pain of your illness was a constant, gnawing presence. Each breath was a struggle, each moment of consciousness a battle against the encroaching darkness.

To your surprise, your lord Sukuna appeared by your side as you lay on your bed, his imposing figure contrasting sharply with the fragility of your own condition. He had not been a part of your daily existence in the past weeks, his visits sporadic and his presence usually marked by anger and frustration. But now, he was here, seated beside you in a rare display of stillness.

You looked at him through the haze of pain and weakness, your voice a mere whisper. “My lord, it seems this is my time to part from you.”

Sukuna’s eyes were steady, his gaze betraying an emotion you could not fully decipher. “I know, little one.” he replied simply, his voice holding a note of finality.

A pained laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with a shuddering breath. “I only wish… I could avoid being reborn into such misery again. To be the other woman, to be nothing to you.”

Sukuna’s silence stretched between you, a weighty pause that seemed to deepen the divide between you. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were something.”

You shook your head, the effort to move even slightly causing a fresh wave of agony. “You lie easily, as you breathe, my lord.” you said with a faint, sorrowful smile.

The silence that followed was heavy and palpable, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship. As you lay there, the end drawing closer with each passing moment, you found a strange clarity in the finality of your situation.

“I love you, my lord.” you said softly, the words carrying a weight that transcended the physical pain. “As sad as it is, I do. But I have no intention of having it returned. I hope that, in the next life, I never meet you again.”

Sukuna’s expression remained impassive, but there was a softness in his gaze that belied his usual stoic demeanor. As you took your final, labored breaths, his sigh was a mix of resignation and something deeper, something that spoke to the complexity of your intertwined fates.

“I hope so too, little one.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare touch of vulnerability.

With those words hanging in the air, you felt a sense of release, the weight of your suffering beginning to lift. As your consciousness faded and the pain finally ebbed away, you left behind the world that had been both your prison and your refuge. Ryomen Sukuna looked at your lifeless body, pursing his lips into a flat line.

“Live on in a better life, little one.” He whispered, his fingers brushing against your hair. “May you be loved by someone who loves you. May we never meet again, my other woman."

[fangirlandtheories]

as a steve lover my body vibrates at the thought of someone like eddie just smothering him in love and appreciation and touching on him sweetly BC HE DESERVES IT EVERY TIME. SO when you write this or give us fics like this i get so happy i feel like ill explode.

Omfg Anon, get ready to eat. This request took over my soul and left it on autopilot. It's honestly not even a request but I took it as one anyway. Thank you for your love and support, it means everything to me. I really hope you love this as much as I do. Here is a link or you can read below!

***

“-A high of 64 tomorrow, but watch out for this weekend because it’s looking like it’s gonna-” The news anchor was cut off by the high pitched sound of static as the tv turned off, not that Steve had been paying any mind to what the weatherman had been saying anyways. He was in one of his ‘weird moods’ again. The kind where the quiet of his house overwhelmed him, sleep escaped him, and conversation exhausted him. 

The sun shined outside, but it was a gray day. Not the sky, the sky was blue, but the air in his house, his tomb on bad days, was thick with smog. It was a random Thursday in October, nothing noteworthy about it, but it also marked 4 months and 13 days since he’d seen his parents, not that anyone was counting. He tried counting once, when he was a lot younger and much more desperate, he made it to 43 days before he gave up, feeling a bit too much like a prisoner counting the days in a life sentence. He didn’t know if he feared the corrupt guards that would beat him into submission or the loneliness more.

Michael and Janet Harrington weren’t really physical, not anymore at least. They preferred to barb their words of affection with the sting of hatred, but they hadn’t laid a finger on him since he was little, before he knew better. He knew the gray would give way to a pit of darkness, what with the way his mind was moving, wishing for those sharp smacks and subtle shoves because at least he could feel it. 

Maybe he was just tired. 

It felt like he was always a little tired nowadays. He wished more than anything that he could just get a fucking grip. Poor little Steve, who never got hugs from his parents between the lavish gifts and large allowance. Some people had real struggles. 

His mind always supplied him with the pale face of Will Byers. Eyes surrounded with dark shadows, a kind kid that always feared violence because he’s seen it at such a young age from Lonnie. He saw Max and Billy who lived in constant fear, both of each other, but also of Neil. He caught himself imagining a young Eleven on many occasions, head shaved in a military lab with nothing but a number to differentiate her from the kid in the next white room. Hell, he sometimes even thought about Sarah Hopper. He’d never met her, of course, but he could imagine what a tough little girl she’d been. He wasn’t a parent, but knowing the kids the way he knew them, he couldn’t fathom how Hopper could even breathe every day, knowing what he’d lost. 

So, yeah, maybe his skin was crawling with an itch he couldn’t quite reach, but he had no right to complain.

***

“Sunny and breezy today, but the weekend doesn’t bode well. If you track th-” 

“Why the hell do you look like that?” Robin mused as she changed the channel on the store tv.

“I somehow overslept and underslept.” Steve grumbled, running his hands through his disheveled locks of hair. They weren’t falling right and with the state of his mind, they were working their way to being the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Days like this make me miss the hats from Scoops.”

“How do you even manage that, oversleeping and undersleeping?” She gave him a confused look while scanning through the shelves, looking for their morning movie.

“Didn’t fall asleep until like 6 this morning, and then I slept through my 7:30 alarm.” He sighed. “Absolutely not.” He shot down Little Shop of Horrors, a bit too early for Rick Moranis.

“Did you have breakfast? You seem like you’re hungry grumpy.” Robin jumped beside him with a squeak. God he’d love some of her energy. “Soon you’ll be saying ‘Feed me Seymour!’” She grinned as she popped the movie in the VCR. 

“No, but I’m fine with just coffee.” He nodded towards his mug as he opened the binder of check out logs, flipping through the pages for the correct date. 

“Are you…” She frowned as glanced at his cup, chipped handle and all. “...Feeling okay? You seem different today, very glum.”

“I’m fine, Robbie, you are just nosy and thinking too much about things that don’t exist.” Steve stuck his tongue out at her.

“True, but I don’t buy it.” She poked his cheek, sending a sharp spike of anxiety through him. If she noticed the subtle side step, she didn’t mention it. “You’re definitely glum.”

“I’m not fucking glum.” He laughed, spinning to face the door as it opened. “Welcome to Family Video!” Dustin rolled his eyes from the doorway.

“Just returning my movie.” He brought the case to the counter. “What’s up with two of my favorite adults?”

“What do you need?” Steve crossed his arms.

“Who said I needed anything?” Dustin smirked at the tired expression on Steve’s face. “Okay fine, but before I start just know it’s a very noble cause.” Steve sighed deeply before gesturing for him to continue. “My mom is working the late shift and was stressed about not being able to go grocery shopping before the big-”

“4 O’clock.” Steve cut him off, turning and walking out the little gate attached to the counter, walking Dustin’s returned movie back to the sci-fi shelf. He glanced back at Dustin’s confused expression, feeling a little smug about the swapped positions. “I’ll pick you, and any other dweebs that need a ride, up from school and I’ll take you. I get off at 4.” He turned his attention back to the shelf, scanning for misplaced titles. He gasped suddenly as Dustin’s arms wrapped around him, letting go just as quickly.

“Thank you!” He beamed. “You’re going to take the title of ‘Mom’s Best Boy’ from me.”

“Hey remember when we talked about things that will get you made fun of?” Steve smirked as he leaned against the shelf. “Add saying shit like that to the list.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Dustin held up his hands before pulling his backpack on. “We can’t all be High School Royalty.”

“No, but maybe, just maybe,” Steve stared at the cases of movies on the shelf. “You’ll be something better.” He sighed, thinking of ruffling Dustin’s precious curls, but he knew Dustin preferred to let a very select few people touch them, something he wasn’t feeling privileged to at the moment. “Now scram before you’re late to school.”

***

“Why the hell are there no parking spots?” Steve banged his hands on the steering wheel, the slight sting vibrating through his finger tips. 

“You could always park in the expectant mother’s space.” Max sucked on a lollipop, lips slightly stained blue from the sugar. 

“Yeah fucking hilarious.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes peeled until he spotted a pale yellow beetle pulling out of a parking space far from the entrance to the store. “Everybody hold on.” With that he pressed his foot to the gas, flooring it to the spot and quickly turning on his blinker before one of the other circling cars could swoop in.

“Finally!” Dustin shuffled his feet. “I was afraid that if we didn’t go inside soon, I’d pee all over your seats.”

“Jesus, alright you weird little poodle, run inside and take a piss.” Steve pressed a hand to his brow, peering at the other kids in the car. “Max it’s a bit of a hike to the doors, do you want to chill here or come inside?”

“I’ll…” She thought for a second, clearly appreciating the options. “I think I’ll stay here. We had an assembly today so I had to walk down to the auditorium from the east wing and now my legs are really tired.”

“I’ll stay here too.” Lucas, unsurprisingly supplied, never one to leave Max by herself for long. 

“Me too.” Erica added with a grin. It was nice to see the blossoming friendship between the two, although the possibilities that arose between them terrified him. Erica was like a blow torch on her best days, Max like an atomic bomb on her worst, between the two they could destroy anyone or melt their souls in just a few smart quips. “But can we keep the bat…?”

“You want me to leave the three of you unattended in a crowded parking lot with a nail filled baseball bat?” Steve raised his eyebrows as Max glanced past him. “Yeah why don’t I just call the cops awhile and save them the trip to my front door.”

“Well Hopper would never arrest you.” A hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump and gasp. “But I can keep an eye on the pipsqueaks while you run inside.”

“Ah yes I see the headlines now,” Erica smirked. “Ex Wanted Murder found in a Marsh’s parking lot holding three teens hostage with a nailed baseball bat.”

“You, my ferocious little tyke, are a preteen.” Eddie booped her nose. “So suck on that.” He stuck out his tongue at her before pushing past Steve to get in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the radio controls. Steve was still a bit shell shocked, the heat of the hand lingering on his shoulder causing shivers to run up his spine. “You alright there, Stevie?”

“Yeah… I um…” Steve squinted before facing him fully. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later…”

“Yeah well I needed to grab some tylenol and wonder bread. Wayne insisted on stocking up befo-”

“Steve what the hell?!” Dustin hollered from the entrance, hands cupped around his mouth. “Hurry up, we don’t have all day.” Steve rolled his eyes as he flashed Eddie a smirk.

“Run along Little Red, the Big Bad Wolf is waiting.” Eddie winked. Despite the childish grin that came along with seeing his boyfriend, Steve couldn’t help the jolt of fear he felt as he realized it wasn’t just a one off thing. Something was seriously wrong with him and his inability to touch people without having a reaction of some sort. He just needed to relax, get over his issues, and move on. If not that, then maybe he just needed to hide it better.

***

“Dude I’m not letting you spend that on an 18 pack of eggs when it’ll just be you and your mom at home.” Steve rubbed at his arms gently, feeling the goosebumps across his skin. 

“My mom likes to bake when she gets nervous, you know how she is.” Dustin justified as he piled the carton into the shopping cart, crossing off one of the items on his list. “Are you going to rough it at home this weekend or…?”

Steve took a deep breath, the nosiness of his friends killing him. “You know I don’t really have a plan yet. I’m going to be at Eddie’s tonight for movie night, but otherwise I might hang out at home or pick up a couple of extra shifts. I’m sure you guys will hassle me into giving you rides at some point.”

“Family Video is staying open?” Dustin squinted at him while grabbing a loaf of bread from the shelf.

“Yeah man, believe it or not weekends are huge business days.” Steve tapped his fingers against the cart, trying to ignore the bum wheel that made the whole cart veer to the left.

“Yeah but- Oh batteries!” Dustin sprinted ahead to a display for Duracell. “Triple and double, score!” He turned back to put the packs in the cart before giving a pointed glare at Steve. “If you were cold, you should have asked Eddie for his jacket, you know he'd give it to you.”

“I’m not… what?” Steve glared at him, quickly dropping his hands from rubbing at his shoulders, immediately longing for the simulated touch that they created. “Ok are you finished? They’re waiting outside for us and I want to get out there before Eddie destroys my car.”

“You’re being weird.” Dustin bit at him thumbnail. “I know because I’m an ambassador of weird, but I also know that trying to get you to talk about it is pointless, so let’s just go.”

“Hold up, Dipshit,” Steve closed him eyes against the anxiety battering him from inside his skull. Dustin always brought out the best and worst in him, the fear of upsetting the younger boy overruling his bone deep weariness. “I’m not trying to keep stuff from you, you know that right?”

“You’re not exactly going out of your way to tell me, or anyone else for that matter, anything that matters to you.” Dustin’s eyes met his, flashing with hurt. “It’s like you decide that no one is going to care before you ever give us a shot.”

“I’m not…” Steve sighed. “It’s complicated man. I am entitled to a little privacy, you guys need to understand that. You might have grown up with friends and people that allowed you to feel comfortable about expressing how you feel, but I didn’t. I’m still learning and that takes time, but I’m also very much allowed to not tell you guys everything, capiche?”

“Capiche.” Dustin muttered, a bit shamefully. “Just… talk to someone… when it gets bad I mean.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever you say.” Steve smirked, pushing the cart into Dustin quickly, causing the younger man to jump out of the way. “Is your list done or what?”

“Yes, Mother. We can go check on your precious baby now.” Dustin laughed as they walked toward the checkout line.

“Easy Henderson, just because you’re one of my favorites, it doesn’t mean you can make fun of Eddie and I.” Steve huffed as he stuck out his tongue. “Besides, I don’t call him my precious baby. Our pet names are way better than that.”

“Yeah I was talking about your car, Stevie.” Dustin snickered. Steve could try to deny it, but his blush would always give him away.

***

“What the actual fuck?” Steve peered out the window of Eddie’s trailer, wind whipping through the trees, the sky a dark gray behind it. “Since when was there a storm?”

“Seriously?” Eddie gave him a small smile. “They’ve been talking about it all week on the news and radio and shit. That’s why the store was so packed, people trying to stock up.”

“Well shit…” Steve sighed, turning back from the window, eyeing the flickering porch light warily. “Is Wayne going to be okay?” 

“He’s crashing at the warehouse with some of the other guys he works with. They have cots and stuff there, nice and cozy.” Eddie shrugged as he walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboards. He searched for a few moments before letting out a deep breath and closing them without taking anything out. Steve couldn’t help but notice the restless, antsy energy that Eddie was carrying himself with.

“We aren’t thrilled about that.” Steve didn’t need to guess, it was fairly easy to read Eddie, but it wasn’t fair to assume.

“We are not.” Eddie sighed as he leaned into the counter. “I just…” He paused, considering his thoughts. “It’s stupid, nevermind.”

“Hey woah.” Steve swung around the corner, into the tiny kitchen where he hopped onto the counter beside Eddie. “I doubt that it’s stupid, if you feel like talking about it.”

“Sometimes it feels wrong to complain about the upside down when I only really experienced it for a day or two.” Eddie’s eyes stared into Steve’s looking for a sign of defensiveness, finding none. “Like you and the kids and everyone else… you guys are almost used to this shit and I don’t know how to get there.”

“Well none of us are really there, to be honest.” Steve leaned onto his knees, hair falling forward. “It’s not that simple, I don’t think. We all have things that make us react differently, you know? Robin hasn’t been to the mall, not since last year. Will hates the cold, Hopper too. It’s stupid to think that you’re above it, it’s not stupid to be affected by it.”

“You’re pretty smart, Steve.” Eddie grinned.

“I’m trying to be nice, asshole.” Steve chuckled , blush across his cheeks. “If you’re going to make fun of m-”

“I’m not.” Eddie reached out, grasping Steve’s hand. “I’m not making fun of you… I think you’re smart, don’t you?”

“I um…” Steve was distracted by the feeling of Eddie’s hand on his own. He stared at it, flinching and pulling away as Eddie adjusted his grip, purposefully ignoring the look the other man shot at him. “It’s not that I don’t think I’m smart, I just that I don’t think I’m as smart as everyone else.”

“Well that’s bullshit.” Eddie placed his own hand back on his own lap.

“So I’ve been told.” Steve muttered, glancing up at the roof as the sound of rain hitting the metal filled the trailer. Eddie’s eyes were glued to the window as the wind whipped the fallen leaves into a tornado of reds and oranges. “Is it the storm? Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Sad isn’t it.” Eddie didn’t move his gaze. “I can’t even deal with natural shit.”

“Well the last time it stormed like this-”

“I know what happened the last time it fucking stormed like this, Steve.” Eddie snapped, silence filling the small room. Eddie pinched his brows, regretting the tone.

“Don’t yell at me like that, that’s not very metal.” Steve pouted, crossing his arms.

“No, I know.” Eddie frowned as he finally met Steve’s gaze. “I’m sorry, I just hate this. Our power already kinda sucks here and now this shit’s going to knock it out entirely and we won’t be able to have our movie night.”

“What would help you feel better?” Steve decided to take the direct route.

“I need to just like…” Eddie hopped down. “I think I need to go out there.”

“In the storm? Isn’t that like… counteracting?” Steve glanced at the  now determined look on Eddie’s face and he knew that somehow, by the end of the night he’d end up soaking wet from the rain.

“Yeah but I think that’s the point.” Eddie moved into the living room, grabbing a jacket. “I need to prove to my brain that bad shit won’t happen out there.”

“Then I’m coming out too.” Steve winced  as he hopped down, following Eddie.

“Congratulations!!”Eddie smirked. “You’ve been in the closet a long time, love.”

“Very funny.” Steve deadpanned, grabbing one of Wayne’s hooded jackets from off the rack.

“It’s what I do best.” Eddie gave him a cat-like grin, grabbing onto the door handle. “Are you sure you wanna go out here? You could get sick.”

“So could you.” Steve noticed the shaking hand that held the door knob. “But we’re a team, right?” Eddie winked in lieu of an answer, opening the door, a gust of air hitting them as his breath caught in his throat. “I’m right behind you.”

“This is stupid, this is so fucking stupid.” Eddie muttered, knees gently shaking as he walked slowly down the steps of the porch. “I literally died right there, what the hell am I doing?”

“Okay well maybe don’t picture dying.” Steve gestured to him unhelpfully. “Picture something that doesn’t make you think about death. Something that makes you smile.”

Eddie’s creased brow slowly released as he took a deep breath, mental image coming in clearly. “I think it’s working.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiled gently, watching as the tension began to leave his boyfriend���s frame. “What are you picturing?”

“You doing the polka in a poodle skirt.” He giggled, a sound that always made Steve melt, even when he was slightly embarrassed of the image Eddie was concocting. “Think I can get a real life vision of that?”

“No.” Steve shot down instantly. “I don’t know how to polka and I don’t own a poodle skirt.”

“Too bad.” Eddie sighed, feeling much more at ease as the light banter continued. “The world is missing out.” A streak of lightning flashed across the horizon, making Eddie jump.

“I do um…” Steve took a deep breath. “I know how to slow dance though…” Eddie’s eyes lit up in an instant. “Provided I have the right music, of course.”

“I think I know a tune or two that you would like.” Eddie reached out, entwining his own fingers with Steve’s, pulling them together. Steve sucked in a breath, trying to supress the urge to run. He could feel his palms sweating, couldn’t stop thinking about how gross that was, he could smell the ozone in the air, sharp and all encompassing as lightning flashed in the quarry beyond the trailer park, the thunder rumbled in his chest and for a moment he was unsure if that was just his heart. His head was spinning, his knees shaking, eyes stinging, the lightning was closer now, seemingly between his and Eddie’s fingers and-

Holy Shit.

He felt Eddie chuckle against him as they continued to sway. There was no fucking way in the world, Steve was almost convinced he was dreaming. “Are you…” He took a deep shaky breath. “Are you humming ABBA to me right now?”

Eddie didn’t respond, continuing the low hum as he stretched his arm out, distancing himself from Steve before pulling him closer again, tucking his arms around his waist. “And how could I ever refuse?” His voice was soft, the way old tee shirts were after too many washes. “I feel like I win when I lose.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s neck, shivers racking up the man’s spine as he breathed the tune like fog on a mirror. “Waterloo. I was defeated, you won the war.” He moved his lips against Steve’s ear, the storm far from him mind. “Waterloo. Promise to love you forever more.” With that, he spun Steve slowly, before pulling him directly to his chest, mouths inches apart, the magnetism pulling them together. Closer and closer, Steve’s heart was pounding and his head felt muddled, the storm raged on around them, seeming like nothing compared to the storm between them, they were soaked at this point, the rain starting somewhere in the middle of their slow waltz. Maybe it was the way his clothes stuck to him, maybe it was that Eddie was sticking to him in a way he craved for so long, but suddenly it was too much. Far too much. With a yelp, he pushed Eddie away, arms clutching around his own shoulders as shivers racked his spine.

He felt so stupid. 

This was what he was wanting, what he was so desperate for, why couldn’t he just let himself be happy, even for a moment? Eddie’s hands on his were warm and gentle, not like any touch he was used to, it was electric and sharp but in the way a lemon was, not the way a knife was. Eddie’s hair was plastered to his cheek, a strand or two in his mouth, his eyes drawn to Steve’s distressed expression. He had to play this off. He had to think! Something! Anything! “Sorry that lightning messed with my mind for a second… I don’t… I don’t know what just happened.” He kept his hands close to himself. He couldn’t tell if his fingers burned from the lack of touch or from too much touch, but he was afraid to find out. 

Eddie was a very physical guy by nature, but Steve was always far more reserved. Something along the way made Eddie think that Steve hated to be touched, maybe it was something he and Robin shared, so he tried to avoid the hand holding and casual draping of his weight, for fear of pushing too hard too fast. Yet here he was. Eddie was no fool, despite the struggle in school, he could tell there was a correlation between touch and Steve, but maybe he was wrong from the start. Maybe Steve didn’t just like touch, maybe he loved it, craved it, and was starved for it. 

“Let’s head back inside, Dancing Queen.” He wrinkled his nose playfully, avoiding touching Steve while trying to make a plan. “We’ll get pneumonia if we’re out here any longer and I really don’t feel like storm chasing anymore.”

***

“Hello Lover.” Eddie laughed, opening the bathroom door, steam pouring out behind him. “Now I know that it’ll be hard, but try to behave yourself, okay?” With that, he exited the condensation filled room, hair wrapped high in a towel, acne cream dotting on his chin. He smelled like cinnamon toothpaste, a fact further proven by the drip on his dark green tank top. He was wearing gray sweatpants, bottoms raggedy from being too long and walked on over the years. He was far from the bravado that he performed and Steve felt truly honored to be let into his smaller, quieter world.

“I make no promises.” Steve smiled, leaning back on Eddie’s bed, hair wet from his own shower. He was wearing… decidedly less clothing. Nothing lewd, the time didn’t feel quite right for that yet, but enough that he looked soft and felt smaller. He was swamped in an oversized tee shirt, hanging down to just below his hips, Eddie’s flame boxers peeking out from under the edge. “The Great And Powerful Eds.”

“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” Eddie giggled, tossing himself onto the bed beside Steve, propping his head up on his hand. “We can’t all be perfect.”

“I am definitely not perfect.” Steve stared down at his own fingers, tangled in his shirt.

“I know, no one is Babe.” Eddie reached out gently, brushing a hair from Steve’s face. “But you’re the closest person I know.”

“You flatterer you.” Steve let out a small chuckle, but it turned into a gasp as Eddie stroked his cheek. “You’re too good to me, Munson, I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

“Life and death.” Eddie corrected. “Sounds like bliss to me.” He snuggled in, laying his head on Steve’s shoulder. He had a theory, one he intended on testing. “Sorry movie night was a bust.”

“I had fun either way, I always do with you.” Steve was trying to quiet the beating of his heart, feeling like it could be heard from under floorboards like that tale he read in English years before. He squeezed his eyes shut as Eddie placed a gentle kiss onto his collarbone, a small yelp of surprise slipping out before he could stop it.

“Why do you always make that sound when I touch you?” Eddie sat up, eyes full of concern.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve winced, knowing his argument was weak.

“Baby, come on, you know I won’t judge you.” Eddie shifted, turning to fully look at him. “Do you not like it when I touch you?”

“No! That’s not it!” Steve breathed quickly. “Okay it is but it isn’t.”

“Wh- Steve… that doesn’t make sense.” Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I know!” Steve could feel his energy pulsing, he was getting worked up rather quickly. “I know and it’s stupid. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want you to touch me, so fucking badly… like constantly… but it’s also the most overwhelming feeling in the world.”

“Ok, that makes sense.” Eddie held out his hand, eyebrows raised, asking for permission before he settled his hand into Steve’s. “I can work with that.”

“It’s not just you…” Steve sniffled. “Mrs. Byers hugged me like a month and a half ago and I thought I was going to combust. Robin or Dustin poke at me and it’s like a static shock. You’re a goddamn atomic bomb. I don’t get it.”

“There’s not really much to get, Steve.” Eddie leaned in a bit closer, slowly invading Steve’s space as the man grew more comfortable. “People need physical affection, our body craves that shit, it’s why babies and little kids have to get held so often. People don’t thrive without it.”

“I don’t unde- babies?” Steve had a haunted look about him. “Like how old?”

“Newborn…” Eddie narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah but like how old can they get before it’s cool to just like… not touch them anymore.”

“Steve, love, there’s not an age for that. People need contact from birth to death. Is there something deeper than that happening? You sound a little stressed.” Eddie knew. He knew but he didn’t want to press. It wasn’t exactly the world’s best kept secret.

“Mrs. Byers hugged me a month and a half ago.” Steve whispered. “That was the last time I had a hug. It was so quick too, just a little side hug, nothing extraordinary, just a goodbye on her way out while I was watching the kids… but that was more than I’ve had from my own parents in years…”

“I’m sorry baby.” Eddie squeezed his hand gently. “Really I am. I feel like a shit boyfriend because I thought you just weren’t a touchy person so I was trying to avoid touching you, but that’s not what you needed and I wish I could go back in time and fix it.”

“No…no that’s just it though.” Steve sat up, a lightbulb nearly visible as the thoughts began to jump into his head. “Jesus if you would have pressed harder about being affectionate, I would’ve caved but not for me… that’s what I do.” He let out a frustrated groan. “Jesus fucking Christ they fucked me up.”

“Love, take a breath.” Eddie hushed him.

“No because I have been throwing my body at everything for fucking year, Eddie! Years!” His voice cracked. “I thought that if I gave my body to someone else and they were happy, that must mean I am, but I was just trying to trick myself into thinking that it was love or affection and not just a means of getting off. If I throw myself in front of every goddamn monster, every person that tries to hurt someone I love then maybe…” His voice croaked as a sob ripped through him. “Maybe then I could finally fucking earn it. Eddie you didn’t do anything wrong, don’t you see? By not letting me throw myself at you, you helped me find the answer.”

“What’s the answer, Steve?” Eddie’s eyes were wide, he was quietly trying to take in the small breakdown Steve was having, trying to minimize the damage as much as he could, fingers lightly scratching Steve’s back.

“You love me…” Steve smiled. “You love me, and so do my friends. You really love me.”

“Yeah, Stevie. We really love you.” Eddie felt his heart ache at the thought of Steve doubting it, even for a moment.

“You love me more in 9 months than my parents have in 20 goddamn years.” Steve laughed, edging on hysteria. As the laughter died down, only a wobbly lip and teary eyes remained. “They don’t love me, Eddie. Why don’t they love me?”

“I don’t know.” Eddie lifted his chin, wiping away the tears that leaked down Steve’s cheeks. “But fuck them, and fuck anyone else who doesn’t see you the way you deserve to be seen. I know it’s not that simple, but it can be. You never have to see them again, okay? Just say the word and we’ll run away from all of that bullshit.”

“I’d like that.” Steve gave him a watery smile. “Can you um…” He hesitated, blush high on his cheeks. “Can you just like…hold me for a little?” It was clear he wasn’t used to asking for things for himself.

“Steven Harrington, I would hold you for eternity if you asked me to.” Eddie smirked, theatrics coming out to make Steve smile. He shuffled himself lower, opening his arms up for Steve to wiggle into. It was unbearably hot and the room smelled like weed. The record stopped playing several minutes ago, leaving only the sound of rain pelting the roof to be the soundtrack for their love. It was perfectly imperfect, but hey, that’s love.

[bloodycassian]

anon request - READER X AZRIEL - sorry if this wasn’t exactly what you want! I got a bit carried away in my own idea of Azriel being supportive but protective at the same time!

some hurt/comfort with Azriel where he and the reader get in a huge fight over protecting Elain (like they travel to a different court and Azriel is overprotective) and then the reader goes scouting to also cool down a bit and they get ambushed, the reader gets injured and the mating bond snaps. Hope it's not too much trouble!!

Elain was absurdly still as the conversation played out. Conversation being a loose term for the shouting happening around her. You didn’t leave her side though, even though your anger flourished while they spoke as if she wasnt there. Azriel was packing her things, shoving them haphazardly into a bag. The bag that Feyre had given her from their first trip down to the markets after Elain had started acting somewhat normal again. The happy memory seemed so distant now, compared to the anxiety ridden emotions that played about in the room.

“We are not going to the continent.” Az’s tone shift was abrupt, a snap of anger leaning into it. He tied the top of the bag closed and set it roughly atop the living room table. The scattered odds and ends of survival gear and weapons scraped against the wood. You watched the stare down between the high lord and his shadowsinger patiently. Waiting for your moment to speak rationally to them.

Rhys’ power roiled above, his eyes did not hide his frustration with his brother. His gaze was simmering with that dark power he possessed. Azriel did not back down. “The continent is the only place that may be safe. If the King finds out she’s a Seer he will never let her go. We can’t risk losing her as a hostage.”

You knew she would be a hostage too. Feyre would never let her sister be taken without a fight. Rhys knew his mate well enough to know not to risk just Elain, but Feyre too. Cauldron knew what Nesta would do if she were in that room during the conversation. Likely spitting fire and shoving Elain out the door to wherever she seemed to think was safe. Thankfully, both sisters were scouring deep in the library for any way to help win this battle.

Azriel did not break eyecontact with his brother as he made to speak again. You interrupted before he could make the situation worse. “I have somewhere in mind.” You spoke softly, urging the staring contest to end. Azriel looked away first, and you were surprised at that. His eyes met yours with something like relief. “Autumn. We have Eris on our side if we’re caught. I have a spot we can stay until-” Azriels scoff sent anger shooting through you. You clenched your teeth together to keep from lashing out at him as he had been doing just moments before. 

“Autumn is possibly the worst place we could send you right now. We’re on the brink of war with them potentially being on Hyberns side. We would be sending you straight to Hybern himself.” 

“Exactly. It’s stupid and they would never expect it.” 

“You’re not going. Beron exiled you. Don’t you remember what that means?” He looked at you with actual concern now that he knew you were serious. As if you had been injured and you were speaking a different language.

“It means we will be safe from Hybern when they come here to look for Elain. Isn’t that the point?” You wrapped an arm around her small shoulders and pulled her close. Az couldn’t argue with that. The other courts were not an option, as it would be harboring a target against one of the Night court Allies. And Winter court was nowhere to be spending the night. Not many survived the night there without shelter.

Rhys’ sigh was long and exhausted. Left without another option, he nodded to himself. He held out a hand and summoned two necklaces, both with pendants of black onyx that shimmered in the firelight. Az’s brows pinched together at the sight of them. The dull glow behind him shone through his wings, highlighting all the delicate structures there. You found his wings more beautiful than the enchanted stone Rhys handed you.

“Hybern won’t be able to sense your magic. Keep these on.” 

Azriel was already tensing, his fists balling at his sides ready to make it physical if Rhys refused to listen. He knew with his entire being that something was off. Something would go wrong this night. His shadows warned him of something. And he couldn’t shake it no matter how hard he tried. “Rhys-”

“And you will be going with them. Keep them company while Feyre and I investigate just how many ships and forces they plan to bring.” He ordered in that indisputable tone of the high lord. With only a hint of friendliness. He gave Az a long look before turning back to you and Elain. “Do not take those off.” The nodded to the necklaces and started to winnow. Elain stood abruptly, startling you. 

“Thank you.” She said softly to the high lord. He seemed taken aback for a second, before giving her a gracious nod and finally disappearing. You rose to Elain’s height and took her hand in yours. It was warm, welcoming. “We’re going to be fine.” You promised, not caring if Azriel saw the care you gave her. She had been there for you just as you needed to be now. She had practically kept you alive with her soft humming and reading to you when you were at your worst after being exiled. 

 “I know.” She said, voice soft as rose petals. But that dark power within her were the thorns of that pretty, perfect rose. The reason Hybern even knew to look in Velaris for Elain. That cauldron calling power that she couldn’t control to save her life. You grimly smiled at her.

“We need to leave.” Azriel ordered, tone neutral. Just a warrior needing to move troops.

“Let me get your bag.” Elain said, giving you a squeeze of her hand, disappearing up the stairs. Leaving you with the brooding Illyrian. You grimaced in his direction. He ignored you as best he could, hoping that the time for babysitting would pass quickly. He had always found it strange how you and Elain moved like magnets together. Found the soft way you comforted each other somehow upsetting. He paced quietly in front of the fire while you gathered your gear. Two small blades - one for Elain - and your sword. You rubbed at a speck on the hard steel of the sword. 

Perhaps his lack of family had made that rivaling jealousy turn into hatred for the display of affection. He contemplated to himself. Had he become cold to everyone? Too harsh? Had the darkness he possessed taken him over? He tore his eyes from your short sword and locked them with yours. The thrill he felt wasn’t from anger or terror. His cheeks flushed slightly and you fought the grin that you wanted so badly to flaunt at him. The innuendos regarding the sword that you wanted to say were cut off by that look he gave you.

“Do not get into a situation where you have to use that.” He warned with a stern look. You couldn’t help the angelic smile you gave him.

+

The smell of rotting apples and decaying leaves was all you needed to sense to know you were home. You took in the court border slowly, adjusting to your orientation after being winnowed. Elain clutched your hand tightly, the bag in her other hand quivered only slightly from her shaking. Your hands became slick with sweat at the familiar sights and smells of Autumn. You hadn’t been back since being exiled.

“We wont be able to have a fire.” Azriel stated, gazing towards the sky. It was far too clear of a day out to risk it. The slight chill in the air filled your stomach with dread for the night to come. 

“This way.” You pulled Elain along with you, leaves crunching under your feet as you entered Autumn court. She didn’t move. Her eyes were blank, staring lifelessly into the orange and yellow forest. “Elain?” You asked softly.

“Five foxes will die tonight. Three more in the morning.” 

Her words sent a chill down your spine.

Az took the lead, territoriality putting himself a few paces in front of you. He wasn’t subtle about it either, occasionally jogging ahead to scout for any enemies around piles of bramble when you came across it. 

By the time you found your hideout, you were fed up with waiting for him to give you the all clear everywhere you went. You let you go of Elains now calm hand and stormed into the small shack with familiarity. Azriel hissed and seethed when you lit a lantern inside. “Get over yourself, Shadowsinger.” You laughed, taking in the small piece of home you made for yourself long ago. 

It indeed was a long time ago when you’d last been there. But it still felt homey to you. The small space was just big enough for a stove, the table you’d found, and a bed pushed against the far wall. The fireplace hadn’t been used in years. Soot marked small animal prints along the light plank floors.

The dusty blankets on the makeshift bed were pocked with holes from mice and moths. The fireplace was nearly caved in on itself. The bramble covering that acted like a second roof was growing through the actual roof in some places. But it was still home. Your small exit from the world when things got too tough. Even after being exiled Beron hadn’t known about this place. He would have had it destroyed if he did know of it.

Elain pushed in passed Azriel. His shadows went wild. Searching every surface of the cabin. The long beams of the floor were hardly visible through the darkness he brought. 

+

You knew you should have brought more blankets. You held back the teeth chattering as best you could, letting Elain sleep. She would need all the rest she could get. You could tell she’d been tired after the days walk. She rested peacefully under the layers while the wind shuddered the leaves outside. You pulled your coat tighter to your body. 

“This was a stupid idea.” Azriel muttered from the corner. He didn’t seem cold, but the dark curls of shadow wrapped around him protectively. While you were left with nothing more than a coat. Your own magic couldn’t save you from the stormy wind, the necklace Rhys had given you also weakened your power enough that you couldn’t use it. Even in your homeland. It bothered you endlessly, feeling so useless in such a dire situation of needing to help Elain. 

“Then maybe you should just leave.” You barked back simply. He didn’t have to come in the first place if he was going to be so bothered. 

“I just mean-” He sighed, and sat on the creaky old table that took up half the small kitchenette. “We could have done this better. We could have planned… Differently.” 

“We didnt have the time. We’re here now, so we just need to deal-”

“I know that. I’m just bothered that you’re so recklessly looking for danger everywhere we go.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m from here Azriel. I know what areas are dangerous.” 

“Maybe once.” His eyes were not angry when he said it. They were full of pity and doubt. Your rage spilled over, and you were ready to shout. Ready to scream at him about what a piggish idiot Illrian he was being. But Elain turned over, sighing softly to herself. 

So instead, you clamped down on that burning anger and walked out. And of course he decided to try to follow you. He made it a few steps outside the cabin before you turned on him, ready to roar. “Be safe at least.” He tossed his red jeweled dagger to you. Your heart squeezed, choking you up slightly. You brushed it away as best you could before he could see. You couldn’t yell at him. 

So you took the dagger and walked briskly away, into the brush of autumn forests. Laced with the smell of heavy fruits and warm trees. Leaves fluttering in your wake as the wind tossed with ease. 

You held his knife close at your side the entire aimless walk. Then, the sound of twigs snapping and males laughing heartily made you pause. 

Far to your east was a dull glow beyond a knoll. You backed away slowly. Trying to be as soundless as possible in case they could scent you. The breeze whipped at your skin, blowing in their direction. The trees above you shuddered sharply, and you swore as a heavy weight fell upon your shoulders.

+

Azriel paced in the kitchenette, his shadows swirling around him relentlessly, waiting for a target. It felt wrong letting you go. It felt like letting his hope sink. His shadows even seemed upset about it, as they now whipped around him angrily. 

He swore he was going to run a rut through the plank floor. He sighed, glanced to Elain’s sleeping figure and forced himself to sit. You had the dagger. You were capable. You knew the area and knew what you were doing. He tried his best to soothe himself. It didn’t help much.

The old chair creaked under his weight, and he smiled. For someone who claimed they couldn’t work around the house, you were quite the crafter making such a nice hideaway for yourself. He finally took a moment to pause, and actually look at the cabin.

The stove may have been older than he was. The missing burners on top were replaced with a few forks placed carefully around them. The ancient shelves were dusty, along with all the jars and cups atop them. Cobwebs spotted the entire house, but his shadows had gotten rid of most of them after the first one clung to his face upon walking in. 

Then he came to the table he sat at, the four unmatching chairs circling it. The table itself was solid oak, he could tell that much. But he wondered how you’d gotten it inside at all. Out of curiosity, he pulled on it. It didn’t budge. His eyebrows knitted together, and he stood slowly. The curiosity consumed him. He gave the table another tug. Still, no movement.  

He crouched down, and noticed the planks around the single leg of the table had been cut out. Then he noticed the intricate roots weaving their way up the trunk. The table wasn’t just a table. It was an entire tree - or what was a tree once… And you’d built the entire cabin around it. His awe was quickly quieted by Elain.

“A part of you is missing. The foxes will die.” She muttered sleepily, her eyes blank. And he lay back down as if it hadn’t happened. “Elain?” Azriel called. Dread, cold and stinging coarse through him. “Elain?” He asked quietly, approaching her side. She flung the covers from her lithe body. Azriel jumped back, holding his hands up defensively. “It’s okay, its me.” He calmed her, noting the wild look in her expression. 

“Find yourself.” She breathed, her eyes going wide with concern. Azriel’s heart sped, and he felt like he’d been dunked in a cold ocean of dread. Terror drug him under the deep waves and threatened to drown him the first chance it got. He took Elains hand and started walking the direction you’d left. 

Leaving behind the supplies and the living table that you’d created.

+

A glance at the oversized uniforms told you all you needed to know. The fox sigil pinned to their tunics proved that the uniforms were stolen from Autumn soldiers. Your blood boiled. Elain had been right. But they would die. Five of them, at least. But you had only glimpsed at three so far. You tugged at the ropes that bound you. Firm, and not able to be broken.

Their campsite was large, and full of small boxes of different fruits. Several different types of weapons leaned against their low lying tents. And with how many scars their fae leader had, you knew the rest of their story in an instant. Bandits. Filthy trade merchants that lived for thievery and making a quick gold mark.

And you’d be worth their weight in gold once they turned you in to Beron.

“We’ve got a live one!” The male shouted to his comrades. They cheered drunkenly, their voices carried far by the wind. Their fire sparked and popped against the blue night sky. And you knew that your death may not come in glory of battle, or in the name of your home. But in being stupid enough to be caught by bandits. You could have died that instant if it would mean you didn’t have to feel that kind of shame.

The male cut the opal from your neck, and you felt your magic explode from you. Your thoughts were racing, searching. Finding something cold and dark in the depths of your mind and tugging on it. Then, it was a live beast beneath your mental hands. It coiled and rose, ready to strike. 

The same one cut a long line down your cheek with the blade that had just cut your only protection against Hybern from you. You prayed to the mother that Hybern was too busy to notice a small blip of magic from an Autumn fae like you. You hissed in pain as the blade stung its way down to your neck, stopping at your collarbone. 

You pulled on that coiling beast that called to you. Beckoned it to find you, to help you from this pain. Maybe you were begging for death, or at least unconsciousness so you wouldnt have to feel the pain anymore. The male stood back to let another scaled lower fae get a look at you. His tongue lashed out over your bloodied neck. He hummed in approval, letting his forked wetness slither across your wounds.

You felt them seal and itch with every pass as he took your blood. “Good.” the one with the blade ordered, then… to your dread, he pulled a glowing rod from the fire. They would brand you. Then take you to the high lord. Only after they’d humiliated you though. The males clucked at your involuntary reaction. They huddled close around, waiting for the screaming to start. Their excitement coated the air with a tangy adrenaline filled scent. 

You reared away from the burning metal as best as you could. The ropes around you seemed weaker now that you had your weak magic back, but still too constricting to do much with. 

You closed your eyes as the glow approached your chest. It warmed your face with the heat. They were going slow on purpose. Wanting to savor your reaction. It made your stomach go queasy. You hoped you would pass out. Better yet, just die of the agony. That way Beron wouldn’t have the satisfaction of killing you himself. 

There was a thump, and sizzling. You cracked open your eyes, waiting that searing pain to hit you. But it didnt. The males stood back, bewildered. Across the camp in the dull glow of the fire as the one that had been lowering the branding stick to you. It was speared through his chest, pinning him to a tree. His mouth gasped, eyes wide and glowing a haunting orange from the fire. You would never forget the sight of it. The smoldering that came from the tree behind him as the hot iron burned into it. The wet sounds of his mouth opening and closing. 

Then, the gasp and thump each male that Azriel incapacitated before you. Elain stood at the edge of the trees, her eyes still puffy from sleep. Azriel kept the kills quiet and concise. None resembled the one pinned to the tree, now sagging under the weight of death. No, the rest of them had easy deaths at the hands of one skilled at dealing killing blows. The wet splatter of blood leaving a body pulled you back to the scene in front of you. Az’s scowl as he cleaned his blade was that of a warrior who had seen much worse. Done much worse. 

“I told you not to fucking-” He snarled, his hands on the rope at your wrists. He stopped though, and stared. The shadowed light of his eyes seemed to be blooming with awe. You couldn’t look away. The beauty in the deep irises, the way small freckles played about his dark skin. All new and exciting things you’d never noticed before. His scent alone was like a punch to the gut. 

Him. Azriel. It had been him to find you. Him to respond to that silent plea that you so badly needed to be heard. He was that coiling darkness that had saved you. Your breath was a gasp, and you nearly fell to your knees before him. 

+

His hands didn’t work anymore. The world stopped turning all together. His heart was no longer his own and his soul belonged wherever you were. It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a foreign court’s borders. It didn’t matter that Elain trembled in the corner of the clearing. He was yours, and you were his. 

He vowed it, for eternity that was how it would stay. He’d never leave your side again. Never choose to be without you for as long as he may be alive. His very being was now shared. With you. His soul intertwined your yours, wrapping delicately around your earthy light that contrasted his darkness so perfectly. If you were the sun he was the moon, always chasing, always following and living in your light. 

The words weren’t needed but he managed to utter them. Around a shuddering breath and a shattering explosion of love he managed it. “My mate.”

[the-passenger-if]

one of my favorite angst tropes is someone breaking up with their partner in order to keep them safe! how would the ros handle this if newman did this to them? (also, would any of the ro’s break up with newman to keep them safe?)

combining it with

How would the ROs react to Newman who just texts them out of nowhere and the message just say "I love you always bye sorry" as if Newman was in a hurry and no matter how hard they try to contact them, no one picks up.

also

some angST!! How would the ROs react to Newman breaking up with them after being together for a looooong time?

and

ROs reaction to Newman wanting to break up with them after a while of being together?

Jonny and Horizon would break up with Newman to keep them safe. Fiama knows she can keep both of them safe, and Roach will do their best but if they have to die then they will die together xD

Combining Newman just up and disappears one day with Newman breaks up with RO after being together for a long time.

Long angsty scenarios under the cut.

“Mommy… kisses me… on the… cheek. Cheek. Cheek, Bruno. Listen, cheeeek. That’s chek.”

Bruno mutters the word ‘cheek’ under his breath a few times before adding another ‘e’ just on top of the first one.

“No,” Fiama tells him. “Erase the word and rewrite it. Well this time.”

Her son scowls but he does as he’s told. His round eyes slip away from the exercise book to the front door and stay there.

“Bruno,” she calls him. “Bruno.” He looks at her, and she knows. She just knows what he’s thinking about. Who he’s thinking about. “Cheek.” She points at the book.

He writes down the word very slowly and forcefully on the page. She still can read the wrong word under it, but she decides to let it go.

“The chick eats corn,” Fiama continues, “The… chick… Chick, Bruno.”

He bites his lower lip, staring at her.

“Remember the chicks? Grandpa took you to see them…”

Bruno mutters ‘chick’ under his breath a couple of times, then his eyes go to the front door again.

“Bruno,” and she doesn’t want to lose her patience like this, but she’s tired and she wants to… she doesn’t know what she wants to do yet, but doing homework in the living room with a very distracted Bruno isn’t it.

Her boy scowls at her, pencil shaking in a tiny angry fist. He opens his mouth to retort when someone knocks on the door. His eyes widen, the scowl vanishes. He jumps off the chair, homework and pencil and Fiama completely forgotten.

“Bruno!” she calls out, but he’s already dashing to the door and yanking it open.

“Oh! Hi there, rabbit,” Fiama’s mother says.

“No!” Bruno replies trying to close the door again.

That’s when Fiama stands up and grabs him by the arm. “Don’t you shut the door in your grandma’s face!”

“Don’t you grab him like that!” her mother yells at her, and she lets go of Bruno as if he was a hot iron.

“Why are you here?” Bruno screams at Fiama’s mother. “I wanted it to be them!”

“Bruno!” Fiama scolds.

“No!” her boy yells at her. “This is your fault! You did this!” Then he’s running off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Fiama isn’t the type to care about metaphors, but right now she completely understands what people mean when they say 'it felt like a bucket of cold water'.

The one that breaks the silence is her mother. “Well, didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

“Not now, mom.” Fiama grits out.

“Let us hope it doesn’t affect Bruno too much…”

“I said not now.” The glare she sends her mother’s way is enough for the woman to shake her head and turn away.

Fiama closes the door very carefully, and then rests her back against it, scowl set on the table where Bruno’s homework was left unfinished. A thought like a flash; the table toppling over, books and pencils, and the ceramic fruit basket flying in the air. It passes quickly. Fiama is taking slow deep breaths. She still remembers what happened the last time she let her emotions get the best of her. That familiar wave of shame and guilt washes over her as she remembers Bruno’s stunned silence when he found her sobbing in her room, sat in the midst of broken pieces of whatever she had lying about in there.

A single tear rolls down her cheek, one Fiama swiftly washes away. She promises herself this is the last she’ll ever waste on them.

---

There's one lonely cloud floating in the blue sky and Jonny's eyes have been following its snail-like march for the last ten minutes or so. His neck is starting to feel stiff but he doesn't shift his position; watching the lazy parade happening outside of his window has kept his mind in silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

It isn’t surprising that it doesn’t last. Somebody is knocking on his bedroom door and Jonny really doesn't have the energy for this. He closes his eyes shut, focuses on the inverted shadow cloud burned in his tired retina. The door clicks open and he keeps still on his bed, chest barely moving. It's childish, he knows this, but it's the only thing that seems to keep Joaquin and Lucia from asking how he's doing or commenting about his love life, or even worse, trying to give him advice.

The visitor lingers there where they stand for another moment, before closing the door again. Jonny thinks he’s been left alone to go back to what apparently has become his favorite hobby as of late, when he hears approaching footsteps.

“I know you’re awake.”

“Don’t tell me they called you,” he says in a drawl, opening his eyes and fixing them on the man sitting on the bed across from his. Quino has the same green eyes, straight nose, and wavy brown hair Jonny has, however, his twin chooses to wear it shorter and well out of his face. He is, after all, the good-looking one.

“They didn’t,” Quino assures him with a conciliatory smile. Jonny’s skepticism must be written all over his face because his brother crosses his heart and shrugs.

“Why are you here?” Jonny knows why, but he also knows Quino too well and his twin has never been the type to start awkward conversations unless Jonny opens that door for him first.

“Do I need a reason? Can’t I—?”

“They broke up with me,” Jonny cuts him off, “I’m feeling like shit, I just want to sleep until I forget I ever met them, but every time people ask about it I think about them, and every time they tell me ‘it will pass’, and that I’ll ‘find someone new’ I just want to jump in front of a car.” Quino doesn’t say anything, he just nods while picking at his nails. Jonny rolls on his back, stares at the ceiling. “I know I’m way too old to be acting like this, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“You aren’t too old to feel like shit, Jonny. You loved them, and they left you. It’s completely understandable.”

He presses his lips together. He did love them. He does love them still. Stupid, so stupid.

“If you want to cry—“

“Screw off.”

“Not in front of me, heaven forbid,” Quino says with mock horror, “but you should cry sometimes. Crying is good for you, you know?”

Maybe it is, Jonny guesses, but he might have cried himself dry the night Newman broke up with him over the phone. Over the fucking phone, of fucking course. He rubs at his dry eyes. He doesn’t want to think about that. “Yeah,” he mutters.

The silence stretches until Quino clears his throat. “So, do you want to know why I’m here or not?”

Jonny turns his head and then frowns at the tickets in his brother’s hand. He blinks twice, recognizing the iconic font printed on them at once. He sits up an instant later. “You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m inviting you to see Metallica in Columbia.”

“Their last two albums suck,” Jonny says, yet he still takes the ticket from Quino’s hand.

“What doesn’t?” his twin asks with a laugh, and this time Jonny can feel himself smile.

---

One of the humans is awake. Shit. Roach thought they had at least another hour or two, now they’ll have to deal with them and their overfamiliarity and their hands and their faces.

The stub between their lips trembles and they realize it has gone out. They take it, frown at it and then flick it off. It flies in an arc, landing among its dozen of dead brothers. Roach knows at least ten of those are theirs—not that the parking lot of this dingy motel could look any worse by having more dead cigs lying about.

They look for their smokes in the denim jacket they are wearing—a gift from a trucker with a tendency to comment on people’s appearances and leave his jacket behind when going to the restroom—and almost drop the entire pack when the door at their left opens.

“Those things will kill you,” says the woman coming out of their shared motel room.

“Life is killing me,” Roach replies without missing a beat, but they don’t smile; she won’t see their face anyway, not when the sun has yet to come out, and the only lightbulb over their head suddenly burned out.

“Do you have another one?”

She comes to sit next to them on the bench and Roach doesn’t need light to see the deep crow's feet at the corner of her eyes and the dark circles under them. Their conquests always look immensely better under synthetic lighting, once outside, once they’ve used one another, it’s like the spell breaks.

Roach holds two cigs between their lips and lights them with practiced ease. They offer one to their broken Juliette. It’s the least they can do; they do remember biting her hard at some point in the middle of their sexcapade… or maybe they bit one of the others, they aren’t sure anymore.

She accepts it with a thanks and takes a long drag. She sighs out the smoke, peers at Roach as if she could somehow pierce through the shadows and take a good look at them. “You are young, darling,” she croaks out. “Way too young to be doing this shit.”

“Smoking?” Roach asks innocently. Words read out from a script, tone sweet, face immobile. The face of a ghost really, one that haunts and judges them.

The woman shakes her head and then points with her thumb at the room behind them. “I bet you aren’t even thirty yet.” She tilts her head at them, eyes narrowing and still trying to see. “Whatever happened to you… you can opt out. It isn’t easy, but you can move on, you can leave your old self behind. It’s never too late…” A coughing fit interrupts her fortune cookie monologue, and Roach is super ready to skedaddle now.

They stand up, rub their hands together. “Speaking of,” they exclaim with fake enthusiasm, “I should hit the road now. It was a pleasure, really,” they add just as if they were wrapping a 5-cents bow around used pair of socks. Here, happy birthday.

Roach jogs off before she can add anything else.

“Hag,” they mutter around their cigarette. They stop as they catch a glimpse of their reflection in the window of a stripped car. The face scowling at them is silently judging them for stealing it and then using it to lure in humans. “It’s poetic, ok?” Roach explains with a tense grin. “You fucked me over so this is my way to return the favor, pet.” The reflection doesn’t reply, but Roach doesn’t care. They don’t care. They never cared, actually. Who said they ever did?

---

Slow, deep breaths. Inhale, one… two… three… four. Exhale, one… two… three… four… five… six…

Horizon opens their eyes. They are crouched in front of the ceremonial pitcher. Looking down at their reflection in the water makes something like a thumb-size metal ball roll in the back of their skull. They wince in pain and lose whatever little balance they had before. Horizon doesn’t yelp when they fall back on their ass; the sudden waves of nausea coming up like lava inside a volcano could turn a bad situation into a nightmarish one at the flip of a hat.

“Ah,” they whine in a whisper, “if there truly is anything out there, up there, or around, please make it stop.” They run a hand down their face, suppress a fiery belch.

They blindly look for the pitcher and submerge their other hand in the cold water. Dominus Dove and Domina Basil would blanch in horror and anger, but right now, this is the best Horizon has felt since Velour dragged them out of bed, wrapped their robes around them, and pushed them into their office.

Running wet, cold fingers through their messy hair is the best feeling in the world, so they continue this little ritual for a while… and another while… and a little longer…

The door opens just a crack and Horizon’s gaze jumps to Velour’s so fast that the metal ball comes back with a vengeance. An arrow piercing their brain back to front.

“Ahh!”

“This isn’t happening,” Velour hisses as they slink into the room and close the door behind them. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

“This isn’t happening,” Horizon mutters trying to smile through the pain. They open their eyes to find a very frowny, very serious Velour staring down at them. The smile slips off their face like a slug going down the drain. “I’m so sorry, Velour.”

“As you should,” they reply coldly, and Horizon wants to cry because there’s so much more to their tone than just scorn; they are truly disappointed and they have all the right to be.

“I’m a mess,” the words sound strained to Horizon’s ears, and they can feel new tears threatening to spill down their face again.

Velour’s jaw tightens before they crouch down shaking their head. “You are drunk,” they whisper in a mellow way. “And we can’t let anyone know that.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Alright, I’ll tell them you are indisposed. Wait here, and please, stop playing with the sacred water, Domini.”

Horizon can feel themself blushing in embarrassment, but they nod nonetheless and almost don’t wince when the metal ball ricochets around their skull.

Velour steps out of the room, their voice booming in the cabin, “Domini Horizon has fallen ill with a fever. Today’s prayers will be under my supervision.”

“Are they ok?” somebody asks.

“Yes, but they are very tired and would appreciate being left alone in their cabin. Any concerns or questions you have can be brought to me.”

Efficiently, they march into the office again. “Lean on me, Domini,” they instruct and Horizon does as they say. A few moments later, The Domini is back on their feet and being herded out of the office and through the cabin. They keep their head down, letting their hair cover their face.

“Poor Domini,” another person loud-whispers, “they are drenched in sweat.”

Next to them, Velour tenses up, but they don’t let their discomfort show in any other way.

Once in Horizon’s cabin, their assistant sits them on the bed and fetches them a glass of water.

“They aren’t worth any of this, Domini,” Velour says, and Horizon keeps still, lips barely touching the water. They look up at their assistant but say nothing. “That’s all I wanted to say, and that’s all I’ll say on the subject.”

Horizon puts down the glass on their lap, both hands holding it still. They lower their gaze before softly replying, “Noted.”

Velour makes to leave. They open the door before saying over their shoulder, “And stop drinking. If I come back to find you drunk again, I swear I’m leaving. For real this time.”

Horizon nods slowly, and doesn’t look up until Velour closes the door behind them. Once they are out, the Domini puts the glass down, next to the bed, carefully lies down, and lets the ugly sobs come gushing out of them like muddy water from a broken levee.

[skiitter]

Also in my roundabout way I would like to request a Lann ficlet, start with angst but make it happy? or just happy. Or just anything because you are a great writer!!

okay so uh this got away from me but here's 3.8k words of lann pining after the commander and being an idiot in love.

He is not staring. He is restringing his longbow after their latest run in with the remaining demons still lingering in the area, that's it. He is absolutely not staring at his two companions huddled together across the fire. He is not watching with rapt, singular focus at their every interaction, seeking answers in her soft words, his sardonic remarks. The Aasimar gestures rudely with his hands, and she laughs loud, the chorus of it echoing through the empty ramparts. When Daeran dips his head low to whisper in her ear, the skin of her neck flushes and Lann forces himself to look away.

He's pretty sure they're sleeping together. It's hard to know for sure, thanks to his complete lack of experience in interpersonal relationships, not to mention his one and only lover having been someone he'd known since birth. Wenduag was a blunt edge of expectation, and Lann always knew exactly what was happening between them. When it comes to the Commander and Daeran, however, he isn't totally sure.

That unknowing, that gray area of wretched hope, is killing him. Falling for her was not on the agenda, seeing as she'll live for hundreds of years and he's lucky if he's got a decade left. Not to mention that she's (probably) gonna save the world and he's just some Mongrel who's legacy won't extend beyond the small role he's played in the crusade. He's never been a glutton for punishment, what with life underground being horrid enough already, but there is a sweet sting in accepting his unrequited love for her that he can't shake. It drives him, despite it's doomed end, to do whatever he can for her fight. If he cannot give her his heart, he will give her his life.

"You're staring," Seelah whispers, her hulking form crouched next to him as she sharpens her longsword.

"Can you blame me? Looking forlornly into the campfire is just one of my many talents."

Seelah chuckles and jerks her head slightly towards the Commander and Daeran. "Oh you're looking forlornly alright, but it's not at the flames. You should talk to her."

"I do talk to her. I talk to her everyday. Are you saying you don't? Honestly Seelah, she's your commander, you--"

"Fine fine, play coy. I'm just saying Lann, we could die at any minute. Do you really not want her to know how you feel?"

Lann swallows, the ugly reminder of mortality and how the sword strung above him dangles far lower than the Commander's tightening the sinew around his heart. "Sh--she doesn't need any more burdens. The Commander's got enough going on, what with that pesky Worldwound thing." He spares one last glance before turning his body away, enduring the biting cold as the heat of the fire leaves his scaled skin. "She doesn't want to deal with a lovesick Mongrel and really, who could blame her?"

"How could you possibly know what she wants if you don't talk to her?"

"Because it's not her wants I'm concerned with, it's her needs. And she needs me to be good ol' reliable Lann. She needs me to shoot my arrows and kill the baddies. She needs--she needs something she can count on and that something is me."

The Abyss happens all at once and it's a miserable experience for them all. Their time in Drezen made him soft, he thinks, because the camp at the Nexus is horrifically uncomfortable. The ground is somehow colder and harder than any other he's slept on and no amount of fire really chases away the shadows.

They spend a significant amount of time in Alushinyrra, and a significant amount of money staying at the Bad Luck Tavern just to avoid the discomforts of the Nexus. It's on one such expensive stay that a group of frankly moronic thugs try and rob the Commander while she sleeps. Her ever-present and ruthlessly protective Velociraptor dispenses them in quick measure, ripping the throat out of the final victim before Lann even has his bow drawn.

Up until that point they'd opted for three rooms, in groups of two, but they downsize to one after the attack. The Commander's life was hardly in danger but playing with fate isn't something she likes to do, chaotic nature be damned. The tavern owner grumbles but, with a golden incentive, allows them to drag one of the other beds into the room so the sleeping arrangements aren't quite so cramped.

Ember curls up into the Commander's side, her sisterly affection having transformed them from companions to near family. Woljif takes the other bed, offering half of it to Regill. The severe gnome answers him with a severe look and Woljif extends the offer to Lann instead. He glances at Daeran but the Aasimar is already tucking himself into the space between the Commander and the wall. With not a small amount of jealousy, Lann resigns himself to his fate and joins Woljif.

A soft rustling pulls him from a restless slumber some time later and Lann wakes just in time to see the Commander whisper something to Regill, who is stationed at the door, before slipping into the hallway with Daeran in tow. He watches them until they vanish and, as he looks away, makes uncomfortable eye-contact with the gnome. Regill's face is as impassive as always, but Lann feels guilty for some reason, like a kid caught with his hand in the rat cage.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Regill asks him as they head out the next morning. Well, not morning since there is no sun or sky or joy in Alushinyrra.

"Hard to say, this city does tend to be a bit on the rough side," Lann responds.

"The Commander has assured me any physical relationships she has with the party aren't going to be a problem." It's not a question but it's not not a question and Lann looks around to make sure the others aren't paying attention.

"We uh, we aren't in a physical relationship?"

"I know."

"Riiiiiight."

"But you want to be, which is arguably worse. So I'll ask you again, is this going to be a problem?"

It occurs to Lann that he should probably do a slightly better job of keeping his apparently obvious feelings on the Commander to himself. "Uh, no. No, it's not." Regill doesn't seem satisfied but then again, when does he ever? "Is uh, I mean, are the Commander and Daeran--"

"I do not gossip," Regill snarls. "Bother the thief with nonsense like that."

Lann does not, in fact, bother the thief with nonsense like that. Instead, he pushes down the swelling of affection he feels at every interaction with the Commander and focuses on the mission. It goes well enough, all things considered, until Savamelekh shows up and nearly kills him.

The demon's revelations are a bit too much for his overtaxed heart to bear and the subsequent bender doesn't help at all. When the Commander finds him, though, he just babbles on about wanting to prove to her he can be what she wants, what she needs, and that she can trust him. "I want to be somebody you can count on. I don't have anything to offer apart from my bow and my dumb jokes....and my life. And they're all yours, if you want them." He glances away, shame and discomfort crushing him from the inside out. "But I doubt you do, not now that I've let you down."

"....I could never turn my back on someone I care about just like that." She's been talking this whole time but it's these words that register hard and fast. Lann stares at her, and she stares back, and the weight of things unsaid on her face is a blessed curse. He forces a smile, bashful but steady, and pulls away from the conversation. It's too much to think about, especially because hope is not his friend, despite its insistence on hanging around.

Later, back at camp, away from everyone but her sharp-eyed Velociraptor, the Commander comes for him. He's not avoiding her, not that he really could thanks to the nature of their new normal in the Abyss, but he's not not avoiding her either. He's sitting at the edge of the cliff, staring out over the sea of fire and the city of demons. She sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and they are quiet for a long time.

"Next time I get drunk and come to pour my heart out to you, I'll jot down notes first," he says lightly, glancing at her. Her face is hard to read, not the open expression she'd given him back at the tavern, but he knows her well enough to know she's bothered by something. "I'm kidding of course. I'd never do that -- I don't do notes, I improvise."

"Why do you do that?"

"Improvisation is just one of my many skills, honed from my illustrious life as a Mongrel hunter. Sometimes, you got out to hunt for some rats and end up fighting a--"

"Lann, stop." He does, if only because her tone is firm. "Why do you always demean what you say with humor?"

"I'm....funny like that?"

She scowls at him and her raptor lets out a soft hiss. He's pretty sure they're connected, somehow, because otherwise that would be just plain freaky. "I love that you're funny, Desna knows we need something lighthearted with Regill around, but sometimes I--" She falters, his rocksteady monument of a Commander, and it scares him. "Sometimes I just want you to tell me how you feel."

His heart races, and hope is such a dangerous, cruel thing. "I did tell you how I felt...I meant what I said, back at the tavern. I...I'd do anything for you." The confession settles between them, demanding to be addressed.

"For me, or for the crusade, for the cause?" She's asking him a different question, he thinks.

"I--"

"Because Lann, I--you are--"

"What about Daeran?" He says it in a rush, because he can't handle whatever it is she's trying to confess.

"What about Daeran?"

"Aren't you--ya know--"

"Lann, would you do anything for me or for the crusade? To whom are you pledging your life too? Is it me? I need to know because I cannot carry on like this."

More shame, some more guilt, all for Lann. Of course his unwanted affections made her uncomfortable, of course he took her caring treatment of him to mean more than it was supposed to. He wants to leave, because he also kind of wants to cry. "Commander..."

"Not commander. Lann, please for this moment can I just be a person to you?"

She's crying, for some reason, and he doesn't know what to do. "You're always a person to me. I--you know that."

"To whom do you pledge your life?"

In the end, he knows what's more important. "The--the crusade." Lann knows that she needs to be able to rely on him without thinking he's reading into her every action, her every word. His wants are second to her needs, just as it should be.

Her face crumples, though, and the twist of her mouth breaks his heart. "Right. Okay. Of course." She stands, dusting her robes off and refuses to look him in the eye. Lann realizes immediately that he's said the wrong thing, despite his efforts to do the exact opposite.

"Commander--"

"Have a good night, Lann. Thank you for….thank you for clearing that up."

Her raptor snarls at him when he stands up to stop her and she is gone.

The next day, she announces they are heading deep into the heart of the Abyss. And, for the first time since he followed her out of the dark and into the sun, she leaves him behind.

Six months. Six long, bloody, dangerous months. He runs point with Greybor, struggling to keep the Commander's hoard of refugees safe, and spends each watch with Solsiel, pointedly not talking about their missing leader.

Several times the idea of her death comes up and he stops fighting against it. He's pretty sure they'd leave but there is no where to go. Groups of demons hunt them for sport and it's a miracle he's able to keep himself in one piece. Nenio is insufferable. Seelah is too positive. He misses Ember, and Wolfji. He misses Regill and his cold practicality. He misses the Commander and the smile she used to shoot him when he'd struck down an enemy in their path.

Eventually, it's just the five of them left. Every other life she'd saved has been systematically eradicated by the horrors of the Abyss. Still, they wait because what else are they supposed to do?

She returns, of course, because she's more myth than woman these days. What was six horrific months in hell for those left behind, was less than two weeks for them. Two weeks. The Commander doesn't cry when she sees the devastation that's been wrought in the wake of her absence. Her left hand trembles, but she stays strong. Just as quickly as they'd come, she shows them the way home.

Drezen is in shambles and it takes another week just to kill the demon forces that have taken their city. In that week, she treats him as warmly as she does Greybor. That is to say, her polite indifference is breaking him.

As things return to normal, and he contends with the loss of his tribe, Lann considers what to do. He's messed up, somehow, and he's spent six months worrying over it. He's pretty sure she wanted him to admit that it was to her he swore his life. He's pretty sure he knows why. A (admittedly short) life spent hunting for things unseen and he completely missed the things she'd tried to say.

He misses her feverishly. She's busy, daily, managing the shambles left of her crusade armies after the Queen had her way with them. The party has yet to leave Drezen since returning and Daeran has yet to leave the Commander's side. Lann feels replaced, usurped, and he cannot take it anymore.

Her door is shut, but there is candlelight spilling out underneath. Before the courage leaves him, he knocks and calls out her name.

"Lann?" She opens the door and he's half expecting to see Daeran, arrogant and naked, sprawled across her bed. Instead it's just her, exhausted and anxious, looking at him with a guarded expression. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, ya know, just everything." He tries for humorous but it comes out pathetic and they both frown. "Can I--can I come in?"

She steps aside, allowing him entrance. He's never been here, in all his time in Drezen, and while he's not totally sure what he expected, it's still a surprise. Her quarters are small, smaller than the house she'd given him upon their initial taking of the city. The desk is covered in maps and missives, and her gear is in a pile by the door. The raptor has a bed, set up beside her own, and Lann is pretty sure it looks far more comfortable than the Commander's. There is nowhere to sit so they both just stand there, awkward and uncomfortable, as she closes the door.

"What's going on? Have you heard from the clan?"

That particular sting of worry rolls over him and Lann shakes his head to push it away. "No, not yet. All quiet on the Mongrel front."

"I'm sorry, Lann." She reaches out for a moment, as if to comfort him, but stops herself short. "We'll find them, I promise."

"I didn't come here to talk about the clan."

"Okay."

"Boy, is this awkward. Uhm," he clears his throat to buy time. "Do you remember that last conversation we had?"

Her expression becomes an echo of the one she wore that night. "I do."

"I uh, I would like to do it over again."

The Commander narrows her eyes. "Why?"

Lann runs a hand through his hair, and stares at the wall beside her because if he looks at her, he'll fall apart. "I think I messed it up."

"Lann, you don't have to do this."

"Yeah, I kinda do."

She shakes her head. "It's okay I know that--what you said it's--we're fine."

"You were gone for six months, ya know. Six shitty, ugly months. You've never left me behind before." It's not an accusation but she flinches anyway. "I had a lot of time to think. Not a lot else to do, really. Well, aside from entertaining Nenio and rejecting Camellia's frankly terrifying propositions."

"She asked to sleep with you?" The Commander is suddenly furious and Lann is shameless in how warm her indignation makes him feel.

"Well, not in so many words and really, I'm kind of dense, but sneaking into my bed at night was--"

"Did she hurt you?"

"I--what?"

"Did she hurt you?"

"I--I don't know what you think sex with a Mongrel is like--"

"You slept together?" Her fury simmers down and turns her face cold.

"No! This isn't about that. I don't want to talk about Camellia. It was only once and--no. She didn't--we--nothing happened."

"You could--"

"Commander, excuse the insubordination here, but please shut up. This isn't easy and I'm losing my nerve." She frowns, but stays silent. "I want to change my answer."

"To what question?"

"To the one you asked me that night. I lied."

"What?" The inflection is too hopeful and Lann forces himself to look at her.

"It's not for the crusade or the cause or the world. It's--it's for you. My life, I mean. I'm pledging it to you. I misread things, I didn't understand what you meant. I--my life, my bow, my dumb jokes, it's yours." He struggles not to fidget, or downplay what he's saying with humor. She's staring at him, and she's crying but this time he knows why. "And my heart. If--if you want it. It's yours."

"Lann," she whispers and closes the gap between them. Her hands come up to cup the sides of his face, and they are trembling. It's a perfect match to his own shaking nerves. "Are you sure?"

He laughs, and it's watery. "It's hardly something precious to me. It's just all I have to give you and--and well really, it's already yours."

"How long?"

"Ugh no, the last thing you need to know is how long I've been pining over you."

"It was the Gargoyle attack for me, the one at the camp." She confesses it so easily, and he's rendered speechless. "When it was you that came to find me and tell me everyone was taken, my very first thought was relief; relief because they didn't take you." She presses her forehead to his own, their noses brushing. "From the moment we left for Colyphyr, I regretted leaving you behind. I could barely focus for the first few days because I was so worried about you. Every day I woke up, expecting to see you, to talk to you, and you weren't there and it was my fault. I was so mad at myself for letting my stupid feelings get in the way but the thought of having you near and knowing you'd never want me that way it--" her voice breaks and he wraps his arms around her, holding her tight.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should have realized what you were asking, I--"

"No, I'm sorry," She pulls back to look at him. "I'm so sorry I didn't just come right out and ask you how you felt. I was just scared, scared of rejection and what I would do if you said no."

"I would never--I love you." He reddens from ear to tail and he immediately wants to take it back.

Her eyes widened. "You do?"

"Well, I didn't really want to just come out and say it. I was hoping for a little more romance. Some candles, maybe a rat shaped pastry or two. We could probably get someone to play--"

"I love you, too." She captures his mouth with her own before he can stumble over anymore words and Lann relents happily to her efforts. She kisses him like he's always wanted to kiss her, all passion and tenderness, and disgustingly sincere affection. Their arms wind around one another and she pulls him to her bed.

Lann stops her. "We don't have too, really. I know I'm not exactly easy to look at--"

"Lann. I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention.” She sets him down beside her and once more takes his face in her hands. “Don’t you ever, ever talk about yourself that way again, okay? I love you, all of you, every bit and I want you, in any and every way you’ll let me.” She kissed him again, softly. “We don’t have to rush into anything, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just--just please know that, regardless of what you’ve been told, you’re beautiful and--and I will happily take you to bed every night.”

“Just to bed?” He aims for suggestive and, every bit the archer, he strikes true. “But there are so many other places I wish to be taken.”

“We’ll have a veritable world tour of it, but for now, can I have you here? Because this is all I’ve thought about for months and if I don’t fulfill that fantasy, I may die.”

“Regill would have my head for that.”

“He is possibly the least sexy person you could bring up at this point in time.”

Lann crowds into her, forcing her backwards until he has her pinned beneath him. “Imagine the report I’d have to write: Knight-Commander of the Fifth Crusade dies because local Mongrel fails to fulfill her sexual fantasies.” He kisses her once before moving his attention down the breadth of her jawline, and onto her neck. Her breath hitches, pressing her body up into his. “Good thing that’ll never happen because I’m a terrible writer.”

“Lann,” it’s nearly a whine, only just, but it’s enough to make him shudder, “please.” He’s always been excellent at following orders and there is no reason to stop now. Whatever she needs, he thinks, whatever she asks, he’ll give. It’s a scary thought, but it’s the only one he’s had for it feels like his whole life. Her hands snake across the skin of his chest, pulling at his armor with frantic hands. “Let me see you. Let me touch you.”

He relents, and soon they are but a tangled mess of limbs. It’s nothing like he’s known, but he’s ruined forever now. He’s hers, like he has been since that serendipitous moment beneath the ruins of Kenabres, and to his unbelievable shock and surprise, she is his.

[joyfulhopelox]

White Lilac

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (war! au)

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: hints to major character death

Word count: 1.6k

Rating: pg13

Summary: White lilac- a symbol of purity and innocence, that is what he saw in you that day. He promised himself he would keep you safe and happy, but the cold hard reality has other plans for the two of you. The promise that he made under the lilac tree led to the ultimate sacrifice.

A/N: This is part of the Love Blossom Series (4/7) and square 5/25 of the @bangtanwritingbingo event (square: Jeon Jungkook). I want to thank my amazing beta @dinamitae. Eva you have been a gem for helping me with this one! <3 I have not written angst in a while and you have given me the confidence that i needed! I would also like to thank my best friend for putting herself through finding the perfect picture for me to make a banner out of! (I promise i am done angst-ing Jungkook for now!)

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner.

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

The scent of white lilacs invaded your senses, the sweet fragrance wafting along the warm spring breeze. Walking through the garden you giggled as you observed the bees, barely awoken from their slumber over the winter. It was cathartic, the stillness of the garden, the smells enveloping you offering a sense of peace you revelled in.

You sat down underneath the big white lilac tree, a bunch of flowers nestled in your lap. You hummed whilst your fingers worked diligently at making a flower crown. It was the only time you had to enjoy the nature around you and you were going to make the most of it. Humming to yourself you didn’t notice the man that approached silently on the pathway ahead of you.

Jungkook observed you for a while, his eyes taking in the picture of innocence that lay ahead of him. He would tell you this years later, but he fell in love with you as soon as he saw you. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight of your wide smile and childlike glee as you placed your finished crown on your head. He decided then and there that he would do anything in his power to keep that smile on your face. Determined to be the one to have your heart, he approached you. Finally noticing him, the wide smile you offered him sealed his fate.

“Jungkook!” you laughed in delight as said man picked you up in his arms, “put me down!” Your legs thrashed around trying to wiggle yourself out of his hold. Jungkook held onto you tighter, his laugh echoing around the row of lilacs towering over you.

“Y/N, you will fall!” he warned you when your incessant slaps on his back made him lose his grip on you. Laughing you stopped and just let yourself hang over his shoulder allowing him to carry you, the basket he had on his other shoulder obstructing your view.

“And here I present to you, the queen of the garden, Y/N” he made a show out of placing you back on your feet underneath the same lilac tree he found you months ago. The lilac tree that drew his attention, it being the tallest one standing like a beacon amongst the others. You chuckled and steadied yourself still holding onto his shoulder.

“You flatter me good sir, I am but a fairy of the garden” you mock curtsied, the dress you were wearing billowing around you. Jungkook took a moment to absorb the smell of the lilac and the sight of you. The sun shone through the branches, casting shadows over the ground and yet it seemed like the rays of sun managed to find you anywhere you went. The light shining around you gave you an ethereal glow. He couldn’t have been happier than at that moment.

You smiled at him and offered him your hand. “Come on, let's sit down and have that picnic” you beckoned him. He let himself be guided by you, in his head making a promise that he would follow you wherever you would go.

Playfully tugging at his hand you urged him to hurry up and set down the basket he carried over his shoulder. Doing so gave him the mobility he needed to tug back at you, his strength greater than yours. Yelping you stumbled backwards into him, your hands on his chest to stop yourself from falling.

“Jungkook!” you chided with a gentle slap on his arm. You tried to look serious in your mock anger but the crinkle at the corner of your eyes told him otherwise. He pretended to look apologetic for a second before a mischievous grin formed on his face. In an instant you were trapped in his arms, his fingers digging into your sides tickling you. Pearls of laughter fell from your lips, and Jungkook swore he’d never heard anything more pure.

“Stooooop” you pleaded but it was futile. When at last you forfeited, he stopped, but the grip he had on you tightened. He raised one hand to cup your face, your bodies so close together that you could feel each and every breath he took, each heartbeat. The laughter died from your lips and you inhaled sharply. He was beautiful, his kind eyes locking with yours. A surge of affection and happiness washed over you. Mirroring the hand he had on your cheek, your thumb caressed his.

“I love you” your admittance was nothing new to him, but each time he heard it, it felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest. His smile promised you eternal love and devotion and when his lips moulded into yours in a kiss, you believed it.

“Marry me” he whispered. You never thought you’d feel so incandescently euphoric, but as you nodded your head and whispered your acceptance against his lips, you felt like you were on top of the world.

The white lilac tree- your white lilac tree- stood once again in bloom, the fragrance caressing your sensitive nose. With your head buried in Jungkook’s shoulder you revelled in his warmth. You felt content, his strong arms around you, his palms resting on your hips tracing patterns that only he knew about.

“Y/N” his sleepy voice penetrated the daydream you had fallen under. You hummed in response, feeling too tranquil to speak. He paused for a couple of seconds and you allowed him to gather his thoughts. When he remained quiet you realised that what he wanted to say was serious enough to trouble him.You lifted your head up to glance at him, instantly reading the worry on his face. His brows were furrowed and he was biting his lips in concentration. Releasing yourself from his warm grip you cupped his face, a feeling of unease washing over you.

The relaxed atmosphere you have been basking in earlier is broken by the somberness in his eyes. You knew what he was going to say and with a pained smile you shushed him before he could speak.

“I know, I understand.” His eyes pleaded for you to believe that he had no other choice, he had to fulfill his promise. He prayed that you knew how much he loved you and what you meant to him. You understood but it wasn’t easier on you. “We will make it through this, I promise.”

That night you did not let each other go, under the white lilac tree, hands intertwined, the ring on your finger telling the story of a forever that would never be.

‘To Y/N,

With regrets we share the news of…..’

The scent of while lilacs no longer mattered to you. Walking through the same garden where you met your husband all those years ago felt like a thousand knives stabbing into you. The rain pelted down on the hard ground loudly, in a pattern that almost felt like gunshots. Your feet carried you mindlessly through the pathways you and Jungkook would walk through, hand in hand, very much in love. With him by your side the road felt too short, but the cold empty space next to you reminded you of how long the distance actually was. It felt like an eternity, your feet aching, your throat coarse. One foot in front of the other, one tear trailing another down your cheek, your fingers gripped tightly onto a piece of soaked paper. The words smudged, but you didn’t care, you knew them by heart. They burnt a hole through you, raged inside your numb heart.

‘Beloved Y/N,

It is getting dark here so I will have to write this quickly.

You have always been better with words than I have, but I will try my best to be up to par with your skills. I long to see you, see your warm smile, see your eyes crinkle when you laugh at my jokes, see the way you light up when we walk through the garden.

I long to be able to hold your warm hand. I have almost forgotten what they feel like, my hands can only remember the coldness of weapons and the dirt that they have gripped for so many months. But maybe I should not touch your hands from now on, my bloodstained ones would only taint them with the sins that I have had to commit.

Y/N, I am afraid. It is cold here. I am forgetting what the sun looks like, what the smell of the white lilacs on your skin feels like, what your lips taste like. I wonder if I will ever make it back and experience them again.

I know I have made you cry time and time again by now, please forgive me. I have never wanted to cause you pain. Had I known this is how things were going to end up, I would have not approached you that day in the garden. You were so beautiful to me, framed by the lilacs, a crown of flowers on your head. You looked like a princess. Pure and innocent.

I never meant to taint that innocence, I wanted to keep you safe and sound, warm and happy, keep the smile tattooed on your face.

I am here now holding onto the last bit of hope that I will fulfill that promise. I am writing to you now to make another promise. That somehow, someday, I will return to you.

I would continue writing but the sky is getting dark and the rain is making it difficult to hold the pen.

I love you, now and forever.

Eternally yours,

Jeon Jungkook’

And so the white lilacs never bloomed in your heart again.

Main Masterlist

[other-cullen-ficrecs]

MLM!Cullen Fic Rec List

Inspired by this post. Here is my fic rec list of some of my favorite fics with queer Cullen. Happy Pride :)  🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍🌈

Cullen/Dorian

Only True in Fairy Tales by Dragonflies_and_Katydids

Summary:  In which Dorian is a special forces operative, Bull is his partner, and Cullen is the guy they're sent to rescue. Hijinks ensue. // Words: 110150

Modern AU. Dragonflies_and_Katydids makes me read the weirdest stuff. But their work is always captivating. The more ridiculous set up the better outcome, I promise. This one is both ridiculous and absolutely perfect. And somehow one of the very few modern au fics in which Cullen's lyrium addiction is well transfered without making it literal.

Fashionably Late by tsurai

For the tumblr prompt: Cullen/Dorian Soulmates AU? <3 "Maker’s breath, this is absolutely the worst timing, he thinks distantly." // Words: 1038

This is but a tiny thing but I'm a sucker for a soulmate AU. Would I love it more if it was 150,000 words? Yes. But I'm just greedy.

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART by spicyshimmy, stonelions

Summary: Cullen and Dorian's friendship deepens. Cullen is a romantic. Dorian is literally cold. Cullen is no longer certain what he would consider surprising. Mages and Templars working in perfect cooperation, perhaps. Evil and corruption disappearing into the ground along with the blight, blood magic falling so far out of favor it ceased to be. A united Thedas: that would be a surprise. // Words: 25369

I think this is most recced Cullrian fic and for a good reason. Slow burn, drama, all the delights. 

Light In This Darken'd Time Breaks by RamonaDecember

Summary: Cullen wouldn't say he hates mages, not anymore, but he can't see himself ever trusting one again. Dorian is no exception. The mage is off-color, self-important, and all together too much for Cullen to deal with. So why is it that every time Cullen is at his lowest, Dorian seems to be the only person by his side? // Words: 121289

Slow burn with 121289 words, what more do you want?

Cullen/Bull

Jump In by Dragonflies_and_Katydids

Summary: In which Cullen is almost terminally awkward, Bull and Dorian are literally brothers (because why not?), and Bull tries really hard to be good. Or: In which Dorian tries to set up his brother and his roommate, if he can avoid killing them for being so clueless. (You might get cavities from reading it. Don't say I didn't warn you.) // Words: 33700

What did I say about Dragonflies_and_Katydids and ridiculous premises? But if you're as delighted with awkward Cullen as am I - enjoy.

Dragons from Stars in an Empty Sky by Midna_Ronoa

Summary: The one in which Bull takes Cullen dragon-hunting. // Words: 10423

Fluff and smut and dragons!

Stuck on the Puzzle by thespectaclesofthor

Summary: Once, back in Kirkwall, Cullen had an arrangement with a member of the city guard that satisfied his needs. But time changed all things, and he despaired of ever finding a similar arrangement again - that was, until he met The Iron Bull. Problem being that Bull seemed to care far more about sorting out the nitty-gritty of such an arrangement than Cullen ever has. // Words: 235586

No fic rec lists that can involve Bullen canot do without Stuck on the Puzzle. If you haven't read it - please give it a try. As far as I'm concerned - the best fic in the fandom. And definately one of the best fics in general. <3

Cullen/Dorian/Bull

Exit Light by Dragonflies_and_Katydids

Summary: In which Cullen is suicidally depressed, Dorian is a high-functioning alcoholic, and Bull just wants them both to be happy, except when he wants to crack their heads together for being emotionally stunted idiots. // Words: 77427

This premise is actually very close to canon, compared to some other stories by the same author recced here. The angst? Delightful. The smut? Delicious. The exploration of issues? Delectable! Cheff kisses all around.

to burn cool and collected by toomanyhometowns

Summary: Dorian hums. "Here is the function of the spell: Upon invocationne, ye caster's spyryt shal sterte to ye form of whomsoever mofte recently achieved releafe by hys hande." He taps the page in punctuation and looks back up. "And then there's a lot of text about the vast joys we may experience together, et cetera, et cetera." // Words: 16121

Ok, this list shows more than anything that my main delight is issues and angst wrapped in with porn. Anyway - cracky premise (body swap!), and angsty, sexy outcome.

Hold by queeniegalore

Summary: Everyone knows Cullen doesn't trust magic. But he trusts Dorian and Bull, so maybe they can make this work. // Words: 6654

Issues? Trauma? Kink? I'm a one trick pony when it comes to recs.

Cullen/Cole

Okay now that we’ve gotten the obvious out, let’s enjoy the trully unexpected enjoyment.

Into The Light (Cole/Cullen Ficlets) by Sinister_Kid

Summary: A series of what I hope are tasteful Cole/Cullen fics that don't exploit or overly sexualize Cole's developing character. Based on a prompt I filled out of boredom in which I imagined the spirit actually hearing someone's pain like a physical noise in his ears that caused discomfort. Explores the option of making Cole more human, with my own original take on how that affects him as a character, and depicts Cole developing romantic feelings for the Commander as he discovers what it means to be human. // Words: 20454

I admit I don't often read Cole shippy fics but this one stays true to the info in the summary and it is careful and tasteful. Also Cullen learning to speak with Cole properly - <333

Cullen/Varric

Verse & Volley Triptych by boycoffin

Summary: POSSIBLE TITLES: This Shit Was Even Weirder: A Surprisingly Not-Doomed Romance In The Shadow of the Apocalypse The Commander and the Rogue already taken, Antivan maritime smut with an elf girl in it How The Hell I Ended Up With That Guy: A Tale for The People Who Keep Asking Me About It In Bars The Short and Curlies that's just terrible Love Among the tropey garbage A Tale of Two Names pretentious and unclear The Penman's Paramour Memoirs of a Moron (That He's Going to Regret Publishing and Will Never Hear The End Of for As Long As He Lives) // Words: 133354

One of the very few fics in which I can not only accept but love 1st person POV. Crack. Slow-burn. Pennames. Lovable OCs. DELICIOUS. Also a fic that made me start this blog, so love all around.

Cullen/Krem

Last but not least, my delightful fave (maybe, possibly, probably) and involving a shameless self-plug because it’s the month of pride.

Swordplay by orphan_account

Summary: The Bull's Chargers are undisciplined, untested, and unprofessional; but Cullen can't stop thinking about their lieutenant. // Words: 3910

I have a soft spot for whoever Krem being shipped with not knowing he's trans at first. But also oblivious, pining Cullen <3

If you have been starving, a creature of bone by missivesfromghosts

Summary: Cullen is content with where he is. He has a life and a purpose. He’s doing the Maker’s work and he’s cut the Chantry’s leash on him. He barely thinks about the fact that he’s trans anymore. The last person who knew he was born anything different, barring his sister Mia, died during the Blight. This works for him. That is, until he starts falling for Krem. // Words: 769

A tiny thing but I have a soft spot for the idea. Also what's better than a ship with trans character? A ship with two trans characters. Keep that in mind for further recs actually.

Sweet, Merciful Andraste by Tainaron

Summary: PWP. Honestly, Cullen should invest in walls and a ceiling that don't have holes if he's going to keep having such loud sex. Pure, unapologetic smut between trans men who love each other. // Words: 4187

¯\_(ツ)_/¯  What more do you want from me? Sometimes porn is just porn. Enjoy.

Champions of the Just by Tainaron

Summary: En route to Griffin Wing Keep before the battle of Adamant, Cullen falls prey to an injury that reveals a shameful secret about his trauma with magic. As Cullen struggles with his past, his duty to the Inquisition, and his love life, he becomes increasingly uncertain if he’s the target of an assassination attempt or just his own personal demons. // Words: 67885

Well, I also have some plottier and angstier fics in my rec disposal. This one actually explores the problems Krem and Cullen could encounter in their relationship and all within the canon plot line. Plus bonus points of Cullen actually interacting with other Chargers.

cabbage: a love story by psikeval

Summary: Krem’s grin fades into a quiet smirk, his eyes warm and amused, and Cullen does not forget how to move his legs because he is a grown man, a leader of soldiers, commander of the Inquisition’s army. He breaks the silence by coughing loudly, because he is also an imbecile. // Words: 18932

Creme de la creme of Krem/Cullen fics <3 Fluff, crack, porn <3 This delightful series has it all! 

[gernades]

When the sound of the ocean reaches her ears, Nancy knows that she is inside a dream.

She’s had this dream before, but she can’t remember what it’s about. It’s all déjà vu, familiarity on the tip of her tongue.

Nancy sits up slowly. The wind is warm and heavy as it blows through her hair; the weight of it is a sure sign of a storm to come. She opens her hands and pieces of grass slide out. It’s thick, sweet, and growing all around her.

The wind shifts directions. Something like anticipation builds in Nancy’s chest. The first raindrop falls from the sky and hits her squarely on the forehead.

“Nancy?”

She turns. It’s Ace. He looks angry and very out of place in a white shirt and worn jeans.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, curling her arms around herself. “It’s not safe.”

Nancy doesn’t know why this place is dangerous- there’s nothing to know about this dream, nothing to remember. All she has is her intuition, and the prickling sensation at the back of her neck.

“I know,” Ace replies. He frowns, brow creasing. “I came here to find you.”

Nancy laughs. The rain is picking up; her face is wet with water. “I’m right here.”

A kaleidoscope of emotion passes over Ace’s face before settling on something like hurt. It’s a strange and uncomfortable thing to see. Nancy wants to reach out a hand, wipe a thumb over the worried lines of his brow.

Ace reaches out for her instead. He threads her fingers through his. When he speaks, the words are saturated with grief and affection. "I need you, Nancy. We need you.”

She stares down at their joined hands, throat tight. No, you don’t. All I ever do is hurt people. I’m better off here.

( Wherever here is. )

Ace’s voice is hoarse and trembling with an intensity Nancy has never seen in her friend before. “That’s just not true. You saved all of us.” He swallows, drags a thumb across the back of her palm. “You saved me.”

He heard my thoughts.

The waves crash and lick against the rocks below. Nancy shivers and tries to remember why she’s here- tries to recall what happens next.

This is a dream, isn’t it?

Ace drops one of her hands, reaches out and brushes the rain away from her eyes. “Nancy,” he whispers, “It’s not a dream. Please don’t cry.”

Nancy pushes at his hand, turns her face away. There’s salt on her face. “It’s just-I’m- no. It’s raining. It won't stop raining.”

(They’ve done this before. She can’t remember it, but it’s familiar.)

Ace cups her face in both hands and slowly- gently- tips her face towards his. His eyes are tired, shadowed with fear and worry- but there’s also determination, and heat.

There’s rain leaking from his eyes, too.

“It can’t rain forever,” he promises, and the words have been said before- they’ve done this so many times, Nancy realizes in a moment of stone cold epiphany. They keep rewinding, somehow. Maybe it’s not a dream at all-

Ace kisses her.

The wind picks up. Nancy’s eyes slide shut. Ace’s mouth is warm and clever. He pulls her in, fingers sliding over her jaw and cupping the back of her neck. His skin is slick with rain.

For a long, breathless moment, Nancy feels safe. She feels like she deserves this. She wants more. She leans into the kiss, bites at his lip, her restraint crumbling away-

-and something yanks her back by the neck, tight and cold. They’re hands, clawed and blackened.

Nancy grabs at the ground for something to hold on to, but her hands come away with fistfuls of sweet-smelling grass.

Ace yells something, but the wind carries the words away so that only the emotion is left.

I’ll come back for you.

No, the thing says to them both, each word exhaled with a death rattle. Mine forever. You will not leave.

The Wraith, Nancy remembers. She blinks rapidly, and makes a move for Ace, who seems to be flickering in and out of existence. She gets ten feet before she’s yanked back again.

No, The Wraith wheezes. It slides a hand over her eyes, plunging her into darkness. Mine.

Nancy fights it at first, but she sinks into the dark eventually- in the same way that she has so many other times.

Ace, she thinks- sends the plea out with all the force she can muster. Come back.

And then she sleeps.

When Nancy wakes up, she can hear the roar of the ocean. The wind is warm; she looks down to find grass inside her curled fists. I must be inside a dream.

( She’s had this dream before, but she can’t remember what it’s about. )

[katymacsupernatural]

Not My Reality Final

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Story Summary: Y/N wakes up in a nightmare. Is it her new reality, or can she figure out how to fix it. How can she get pack to her husband Jensen?

Catch Up Here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Rain began to fall about two hours outside of Lawrence. Heavy, torrential rain quickly covered the road and made it hard to see. The SUV’s windshield wipers could barely keep up with the downpour. 

Everyone was quiet in the vehicle while Jensen’s full focus was keeping the SUV on the road. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting up the surrounding landscape quickly before turning pitch black once again. Thunder quickly followed, loud enough to shake the glass windows.

“I’m not sure if we should keep going,” Jensen muttered, his shoulders tense, his energy drink forgotten beside him as he fought to keep the SUV from sliding off the road. “This storm is ridiculous.”

As much as you wanted to keep going, you had to agree with him. This storm was dangerous, and it wasn’t worth putting you at risk. But you had no idea where you were exactly, or if there was anywhere safe enough to pull over. 

“Any idea where we are?” Jared asked, holding his phone up. “I’ve got no service.”

Jensen tossed his phone to Jared, who shook his head. “No service. No idea where we are. I guess we just go slow.” 

He had the SUV going at a snail’s pace, but it still fishtailed on the flooded road. Lightning flashed over the car, thunder immediately following. This was the worst storm you had ever been in, and you couldn’t help but be a little scared.

Jensen was a talented driver, but you could tell this storm was affecting him also. His jaw was clenched as he glanced over to Jared again. “How far away from Lawrence do you think we are?”

For a moment, it felt as if you were once again back in an episode of Supernatural. Jensen manning the steering wheel as Dean, Jared giving directions, sitting in the passenger seat. Your character, in her spot in the backseat. If only this was the Impala and not the SUV.

“I have no idea. Maybe half an hour or so.” Jared didn’t seem very convinced about his answer.

The air inside and out of the SUV was charged with electricity. The hair on your arms stood straight up, your heart starting to race. Your vision started to blur, and you called out to Jensen, not liking what was going on. “Jensen, please,” you pleaded, feeling as if your heart wanted to beat right out of your chest.

“Y/N, I’m a little busy keeping us on the road. Can’t it wait,” he muttered, not even glancing back. Jared turned as you leaned forward, his eyes widening. 

“Y/N are you feeling okay?” He asked as another flash of thunder filled the car. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Shaking your head, you tried unbuckling your car, but your arm refused to move. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’m scared.”

“Damn it,” Jensen exclaimed, suddenly pulling over and stopping the car. “What is it?”

Turning the cab lights on, his mouth opened and shut. Speechless. “What is it?” You asked. “Why can’t I feel my arms?”

“I can’t see them,” he whispered. “Y/N, you’re turning translucent.”

Peering down, you could see the seat straight through where your arm had just been. Terrified, you turned your attention back to Jensen. “What’s going on?”

“Maybe you’re going home,” Jared suggested. “Maybe this a good thing.”

That did put a smile to your face. “I hope so. I’m ready to see my Jensen.”

Turning in his seat, Jensen started to reach out when he remembered he couldn’t grasp your hand. “I know that your Jensen is really lucky to have you. I wish you all the best.”

With tears in your eyes, you gave in to the energy flowing through your system. Closing your eyes, you felt yourself drift away. Seconds ticked by before the weight of your body had you opening your eyes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. Beautiful hazel eyes shadowed by a long flop of hair. Then the familiar pine green eyes that you loved so much. Full of so much confusion. “Jensen? Is that really you?”

“Jensen? What the hell,” he muttered, his voice so much deeper, gravelly than normal. As your nerves settled slightly, you could notice the maroon flannel shirt he was wearing, the black t-shirt underneath. You were no longer in the SUV, and the sounds of the storm were no longer hurting your ears. 

“Where am I?” You asked, completely dismayed. Here you had been hoping to find yourself back in your Vancouver apartment.

“Emma, are  you okay?” They both asked again, using your character’s name.  Instead of answering, you stared past them, noticing the familiar design of the Bunker. The bookcases were completely full of empty texts. The prop knives and materials placed on top. You were sitting at one of the wooden tables. 

Cautiously peering up, you were expecting to see the open ceiling, the lights, and the bars of the sound stage. Instead, you were met with smooth plaster ceilings, completely meshed with the walls. “Not again,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes as your hopes dashed. 

Who you had thought of as Jensen, but was Dean, came crouching even closer, rubbing the back of his hand against your cheek. “Emma sweetheart, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Please, tell me. What’s wrong?”

Hastily brushing away tears, you gave him a slight smile. “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” Sam answered, scooting his chair closer. 

“I’m not Emma!” You blurted out. “My name is Y/N, and I play Emma. I’m married to Jensen. My Jensen and not that other one. But I was torn from my Jensen, tossed to the other Jensen, only to be thrown here. I have no idea what’s going on, I just know that I’m so tired. Of it, and of everything. I just want to go to sleep, and wake up and have everything be okay.”

Tears streamed down your face. Tears of frustration and despair. Of heartache and fear. Fear that you would never see your Jensen again. Or your house and the life you had made.

Dean pulled you into his arms, and while it wasn’t exactly the same as Jensen’s, it was still comforting. “Slow down, tell us everything.”

So you did. About your marriage to Jensen, and how everything had been perfect before being pulled away and thrown into utter chaos. You told him about somehow waking up in Austin, and finding out the person you were there was utterly horrible. You told them about driving towards Lawrence and the storm, and how you had slowly disappeared before Jared and Jensen’s eyes.

“Why don’t you go lay down and try to relax?” Dean suggested, eyeing his brother cautiously. “We’ll figure things out, I promise.”

Nodding, you let him guide you out of the library, and down the hallway. A hallway you had walked so many times before. But not as yourself, but as Emma. It felt so much different now. Slightly chilly, the marble tile cool and real under your fingers. “You can sleep in here for right now,” Dean guided you into his bedroom. Reaching into one of the drawers, he pulled out a ratty T-shirt and shorts. What your character normally wore to bed. “I’ll be back to talk in a little bit.”

Smiling at him, you clutched the clothes as he quietly shut the door behind him. 

The bed smelled of Dean, a deep musk mixed with gunpowder and whiskey. It was a mixture that you had always loved. Breathing deeply, you snuggled in, the scent lulling you to a much-needed sleep.

“We need to tell her,” you heard hush arguing as you slowly woke up. “She deserves to know.”

“Yeah, that’s a great awakening,” Dean muttered sarcastically. “But I do agree that she needs to know. Speaking of which, have you heard from Emma? It would be pretty awkward for her to show up, and see another version of herself sitting here.”

“No, nothing. It’s not like her to stay this quiet,” Sam answered. “You don’t think…,”

You opened your eyes to see both brothers in the corner of the room standing close together as they tried to whisper. “I don’t know what to think!” Dean raised his voice, glancing at you to see that you were awake.

“What are you talking about?” You yawned. “Is everything okay?”

Sam patted Dean on the shoulder. “I’ll leave this one up to you.”

He left the room, and Dean slowly came to stand by the bed while you slid up to a sitting position. “Can I sit?” He asked, nervously tugging on the red and grey plaid he had changed into. Nodding, you scooted your legs up, giving him room to sit on the comfortable mattress. “Is it about Emma? Is she okay?”

“We’re not sure,” he answered, his green eyes searched your face. “But that’s not our biggest problem.”

You could feel nervous energy settle through your system as you waited for the bad news to fall. It had to be bad news, that was the only reason he would be this unsure. You stayed quiet, waiting for him to talk, not sure if you wanted to hear anything. 

“This is the third reality you’ve been in,” he started. “Your original one, then the one with another Jensen and Jared. And finally, this one. Each place being an alternate reality of what Sam and I believe is this one.”

“That makes sense, I think,” you were having trouble wrapping your mind around it. “But…,”

He held up his hand and you let him continue. “We’re not sure why you’ve been transported between the three. Why you, and no one else. We’re also not sure if Emma switched places with you. We haven’t been able to get a hold of her for a good 36 hours now. And that’s not a good sign.”

You could see how that news was heartbreaking to him. Instinctively you reached out, threading your fingers through his. “This is what we do know,” his stared straight into your eyes as he continued. “Chuck is super annoyed with us right now.”

“Chuck?”

“I’m not sure what episode of our lives your filming,” he muttered sarcastically. “But here Chuck is now the big bad guy. Killing people, ruining everything. And right now, he is destroying things. Entire worlds.”

“Entire realities?” You gulped. “Including mine.”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” he answered softly. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I know that’s not the news you were hoping for.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, another one quickly joining. “And my Jensen?”

The pained smile on his face was all the answer you needed. Tears streamed down your face, your entire heart shattering in an instant. Dean pulled you into his arms, giving you as much comfort as he was taking for himself. “Do you think he’s dead?” You asked, sniffling. 

“I believe so,” he answered. “Chuck wasn’t gentle. And as much as it hurts now, there has to be a reason you were saved.”

You rested your hand on your belly, Dean’s gaze following it before his eyes widened. “Maybe that’s the reason.”

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82​ @acreativelydifferentlove​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278​   @bi-danvers0  @cap-just-said-language​ @colette2537​   @deansgirl215​  @flamencodiva​ @hamiltrash1411​ @its-not-a-tulpa​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @justanotherwinchester​ @just-another-winchester​ @karouwinchester​ @keikoraventeller​  @krys198478 @librarygeekery​ @magssteenkamp​ @misspygmypie​ @mlovesstories​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​  @mrspeacem1nusone​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420​  @screechingartisancashbailiff​   @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @squirrelnotsam​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @torn-and-frayed​ @tricksterdean​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @woodworthti666​ @beabutterfly987​ @pink-sparkly-witch​ @sexyvixen7​ @alwaysananglophile @supernatural3002​

Not My Reality Tags: @infinityspaceuniverse @supernatural3002 @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @thevelvetseries @lexeeehhh @erule

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @caswinchester2000 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing  @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman   @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek   @thewinchesterchronicles​ @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r  @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes​ @zombiewerewolfqueen

[mrsgiovanna]

Evanesce (Giorno Giovanna x Ghost!Fem! Reader)

This was quite a specific request from a nonnie mouse🥺 . This is a bit angsty, I hope I was able to do your request justice my sweet, 💖💕❤️🐞

TW: mentions of death, part 5 spoilers

Word count: 2.1k

The gentle, crisp spring breeze softly rustled the leaves of the tree overhead, dislodging a few, which fell about the handsome young man occupying the bench you had sat on daily for the past 6 months. You weren’t upset or anything like that, you were just a creature of habit and that spot provided the best vantage point of your surroundings.

“Excuse me, are you saving this seat for anyone?” The blonde boy briefly looked up at you, shook his head sharply and returned to what he was reading as you took a seat on the other side of the bench, leaving a respectable distance between the two of you. He furrowed his well-defined brows at the page he was currently perusing and finally resigned, snapping his book shut in one swift motion.

“What are you reading? Well were reading…” he scanned your face pensively before answering.

“Catch 22…”

“Ah, Joseph Heller, I’m familiar,”

“Have you read it?

“No… I haven’t got around to it,” you admit shyly.

“you should, it’s quite brilliant actually,”

“Hmm, damned if you do, damned if you don’t… it’s a metaphor for life really, if you think about it,” you knew that feeling all too well, but that was a story for another day. In the time you had spent there you had learned the young man’s name was Giorno Giovanna, and he when he wasn’t a “freelance cab driver” he went to school a few streets away. You both chatted for what felt like a few moments, but in actuality, was the rest of the afternoon. Alerted by the changing colors of the sky as the day had started turning to dusk he had excused himself to make it back to his dorm before dinner. Watching him walk away, you sat there and wondered how different things might have been had you met him earlier.

Giorno was preoccupied with his thoughts too, wondering where you had come from and why he hadn’t seen you before… he had been to that park enough times, and if you frequented it as much as you claimed to have done so, surely he would have come across you before…

“Giorno, a few of us are going to work on the science project in the rec area after dinner, do you want to join?”

“Oh, Lorenzo, thanks for the offer, but I really need to finish this report tonight, sorry,”

“No sweat, catchya later,” the sprightly boy left Giorno to his own devices pondering silently over the events of the day.

Over the next few weeks, Giorno regularly visited the spot in the hopes of running into you, which he did, and slowly you both had learned so much about each other. Favorite foods, music, books, shows… hopes and aspirations… there was never a dull moment when you were around each other, and he had somehow enabled you to find your smile again, while you were certain you had done the same for him. He grew closer to you, connecting on a different level almost… he found himself wanting to spend more time with you than he could afford to, but your company was just too intoxicating. Savoring each smile, laugh and shy sideward glance, you were altogether too lovely, and too unaware of the effect you had on him. As much as you were unaware of his growing affections, so too was he unaware of yours. Falling in love with his wry smile when he teased you over the silly anecdotes you thought up, and the way in which the wind made his lovely, golden hair dance about in the sunshine, your heart both leapt and stung, lamenting the inopportune timing at which you had encountered your possible savior, but still being thankful that you could experience something as pure as this, nonetheless.

As much as you were happy, you remained unfulfilled, having such a specific set of circumstances during which you could interact with Giorno. In the beginning it was much easier, catching him in his quieter moments, but now, those moments barely ever occurred, each time you made a move to get closer to him, your plans were thwarted by his new groups of friends… allies? Watching him rapidly traversing Italy, cheating death at every turn, despite your yearning, you hoped with everything you had that you would not encounter him in your space between the two realms. You weren’t sure what kind of force kept you bound to earth but you knew the reason was because you had yet to truly experience love before your untimely passing. You found it altogether ridiculous and unfair, so many others with regrets much more intense than your own had encountered and passed you as they were finally able to cross over, so why were you still here?

You had wanted to tell him the truth of your semi-existence on so many occasions, but his sweet smile had forced you keep up the pretense, enjoying for once, the feeling of being a teenager with a crush, whether it was something more than that, you were unable to tell. When you hadn’t seen him for a few afternoons, you decided you needed to look for him, remembering where he had gone to school, you saw him in what looked like the throes of a fight near a white haired man, and something that looked nothing like anything you’ve seen before… was it a wraith? A monster? It seemed like the two men also commanded such apparitions, appearing and disappearing, it seemed, according to their will. Suddenly, you felt like the normal one in this scenario, which was rare for you. You knew that what he was going through was bigger than the both of you, and thus began your journey with them, keeping your distance and trying to provide support from your position in the shadows. One by one, you saw his comrades fall, each time grieving with him. When everything was finally over, you resolved to approach him directly, waiting for an opportune moment in between his duties. For now, though, you frequently visited the spot that held so many happy memories for you, knowing what you needed to do.

During his eight-day mission, in his quieter moments, Giorno had found his thoughts drifting back to you. He knew that you probably were there, at the usual spot, looking for him. he wished he could tell you about what he was doing, but the stakes were too high, there was too much to lose and not enough time to work with, so he made up his mind to find you once everything was over, but for now, he was on a mission that he could not back down from. There were moments during which he could have sworn he saw your silhouette from the corner of eye, smelled the pleasant scent he had come to associate you with, but those moments could not be dwelled on with how much was left to do and the unyielding assault from Passione’s elite.

With the battle being won, and his precious allies laid to rest in the manner they deserved, Giorno’s thoughts returned to you once more. Deciding he had avoided the place enough, he went the rendezvous spot, without any of his guards. He was confident in the ability of his stand to protect him from danger, the requiem arrow safely ensconced in his breast pocket if the need arises for him to use it. Seeing you perched under the tree, you cut a forlorn figure.

“(y/n) …”

“Giorno… oh gosh! I didn’t expect to see you here today…” you were taken aback by the sight of him, looking completely different in his black suit, embodying an entirely unapproachable, otherworldly beauty, but somehow the energy he radiated still felt warm and familiar.

“You’re probably wondering where I’ve been all this time… I’ll explain everything,” he intended to take your hand in his, but you flinched, deepening the grimace on his face.

“Cara, I’m sorry, I know you must be upset with me, as you should be, but if you allow me a chance to explain, you would understand, please…”

“It’s okay Gio… I know everything… please, sit down, there’s something I have to tell you,” with confusion replacing his pained grimace, Giorno sat down and looked at you expectantly.

“I know about everything that happened to you Gio, I was right there. The reason I recoiled from your touch, or never took you up on a coffee date is because I no longer exist in this world… my physical body has already perished Giorno,”

“April fools has already passed (y/n) and Halloween is only in October… either way, it’s still a terrible joke, not funny at all,” Giorno tried in vain to conceal his irritation.

“It’s not a joke Giorno, have you ever wondered why the area becomes deserted when we’re interacting? How I can disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye? I’m already dead… I’ll prove it to you,” in an instant, you had disappeared and the people had magically appeared in the distance. With his eyes locked on those, he suddenly saw them vanish again as you appeared.

“I don’t understand… where are we then?”

“This is the dimension I exist in, half way between the two realms. My soul refuses to pass over, being bound by a regret,”

“What regret? If you’ve been with me this entire time, surely you know my ability, and of the other ghost that inhabits the turtle… there must be something we can do,”

The desperation in his voice hurt you, you knew that he meant well, but you couldn’t allow him to live like this, being bound to someone who didn’t really exist. In the time you had observed him fighting for his life and for those around him you realized that regardless of how much you both would try, nothing would materialize from these interactions, so you made the painful decision to not pursue this any further, regardless of how much it may hurt you both.

“Face it Gio, there’s no way that anything can happen here, and hanging on to this is just going to hurt the both of us…”

“Don’t say it…”

“Giorno, this is going to be the last…”

“Please, (y/n), don’t say it. I already know… it’s just like me though… the first girl I fall in love with turns out to be a ghost… yet another one of my bizarre escapades… (y/n) … you’re glowing,”

You looked down at your hands and body, seeing a warm cerise glow taking over your body, you felt odd, -weightless- as if you would float away… and then you realized what Giorno had said to you. He loved you, actually loved you, and this was your moment of ascension. After all these months, finally, you would get your repose.

“I think it’s time, you’ve given me something precious, something I can’t even begin to return. I’m finally able to rest because of you…”

“Falling in love hey? Usually a declaration like this is supposed to awaken the princess, not send her away…” he said dejectedly, knowing well enough from recent events, that a spirit cannot remain longer than intended regardless of how much you willed it to.

Reaching up to try and cup his cheek as your image grew ever fainter, “Giorno, these past few weeks have allowed me to feel things in death that I couldn’t have even imagined when I was alive. You’re the reason I can finally rest, and I’ll always be thankful to you, I know you’ll be happy and will love again, all your dreams will be realized, I love you Gio,”

With a sorrowful smile, he watched you fading away from his sight, a warm gentle breeze swirling the loosened leaves around him, and just like that you were gone. Being unable to speak after what happened, he just sat for a while to gather his thoughts before returning to his life as the don of Passione.

It has been a few years since your final encounter with Giorno just before your ascension. Over the years you still watched him, this time from your vantage point above him as opposed to lurking beside him. Your spirit was at ease as he grew from strength to strength, realizing his dream, with a resolve that only he possessed. You watched as he matured, confidence growing in leaps and bounds… as he fell in love- again- just like you promised he would. She was perfect for him, the ray of sunshine he needed to compliment his golden soul. You smiled knowingly, the young man whose pure feelings granted respite to your soul, would be just fine, and even though it may have felt as if you had faded away on that fateful day, the memories of you will always live on through him, adding gravity to your existence- ironically, his memories of the beautiful ghost who had captivated him, would serve as evidence that you had lived…

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @dreadfutures! I really appreciate it! <3

Still working on the never-ending snippet (they’re chapters, really XD)! To be fair, this is a great exercise because it’s helping me utilize dialogue more! So, without further ado...

...The Anchor being a buzz kill. :3

---

“Fane..”, Solas said, slightly breathless as Fane explored and showed the warmth of a balm.

“Hm,”, Fane hummed as he finally found Solas’ pulse, fluttering and skipping. He pulled away a bit, eyes hooded as he watched the beating patch. “You’re getting excited already. Dangerous, my sky. Very, very dangerous.”

Solas let out an airy laugh, turning in his embrace a bit to rest his side against Fane’s front. He had to adjust his hold a bit and take his hand holding the mage’s jaw away, but he kept his eyes on the butterfly before him. It was tempting to...well, snatch it from the air, but Fane kept himself in control, even as he felt the sky begin to lay kisses along his neck. They were as light as air and near reverent, but no less hot with their underlying heat. It was making his mind haze with a different kind of smoke this time.  

“Ma’isenatha,” Solas murmured against where he was kissing, tender and sweet, but there was a note of...concern in its cadence? “...May I see your hand?”

What?

Fane blinked, the smoke clearing a bit. “Huh?”, he uttered in question, shifting his gaze away from the steadying butterfly to glistening orbs--lavender branching out from where the pupil was. Oh, he loved that hue. That hue, that very few saw…

Solas offered him a tiny smile. “Your hand.”, he repeated, a tentative touch appearing against an...oddly warm, blazingly warm, palm. Why was his hand so damn hot? It almost burned.

Fane drew his brows together, confused. “...My hand? Why do you--?”

Suddenly and before he could get the words out, the Anchor cracked within his palm--ancient magic still very much volatile from his earlier outburst. Fane hissed sharply. Damn it all! He forgot all about the Void-taken thing! Fuck! Just when he had been sure everything was as it should be again! Foolish! Foolish!

“Easy, vhenan,”, Solas soothed, one hand appearing upon his cheek and the other within his spasming hand. Within an instant, their fingers wound together, interlocking like a masterwork latch. “Breathe, and let us move from the floor. I can examine your hand better that way.” Blue orbs connected with his own, questioning and full of tender concern, even if they were a bit hard to make out from the suddenness of sharp daggers under his skin. “...Can you do that for me?”

Fane gritted his teeth at another pulse, growling deep in his chest, but he managed to jerkily nod. He could move, but by anything that was holy, he didn’t want to. The damned Anchor tended to skyrocket in its anger every time he jolted it, but...he could endure it. He could endure it if it meant it would just stop.

Solas gave him another reassuring smile, gingerly lifting himself off of where he was leaning against Fane’s front to stand. Fane nearly dragged the elf back down when another deep pulse of magic shot up his arm, but thankfully, not his head. It fucking burned like acid, however. The magic was less than it had been earlier, but it was still managing to seep from the slit and snake up his arm like ethereal vines.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”, Fane cursed over and over, growling and snarling in the interim. “Fuuuck!”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, trying to fight through the pain and nausea as he, none too gracefully, pushed himself off the floor with his free hand. To Fane’s surprise, the Anchor didn’t protest too awfully, only snapping against his wrist like a hand slapped another in reprimand. Still, it ached, burned, and screamed.

Solas’ hands appeared on him the moment he stood at full height, using both to lift the acid spewing hand up to his line of vision. Fane swallowed hard around pooling saliva and took in deep breaths through his nose as he let the mage work his magic. 

He watched as a slender finger glided along the brightly glowing opening, testing, teasing the familiar magic out with a gentle blue glow. The tendrils came outwards, but then abated minimally, cowing at calming blue, but they still carried fury underneath--pulsing and crawling. Fane grimaced at the sensation, stifling a pained growl. It would never end unless he chopped his arm off, would it? Or, well, if Solas took it away. Sadly, his sky didn’t have the capability or power to do that yet. Fane would be both relieved and not relieved the day that he did. For various reasons. Reasons they also needed to discuss sometime, but not right now. Not when his fucking arm was feeling like it was getting pulled through a rift!

Solas gave him a tiny smile, glancing up from his work. “You are doing well, my dragon.”, he praised before concentration hardened features that held the shadows and dual glow of magic, eyes going back down to focus. “What do you feel right now? Describe the sensations for me.”

Fane took in another deep breath. “Uh, c-crawling. F-Feels like there’s worms under my skin. Worms that are--are on fire.”, he tried to explain as best he could, but those blazing worms were wriggling, writhing as Solas gingerly ushered more of his magic into the mark. “I-It keeps knocking against that f-fucking ward, too.”

Solas glanced up again, but didn’t halt his ministrations. “It has not pierced through, correct?”

Fane shook his head with a shaky sigh. “No, but that’s because I’m…” He gasped a bit, a hard pound slamming into the walls of his mind like a drum. “...fighting it.”

That seemed to be all Solas needed him to say, going back to his task with a furrowed brow and a determined look in his sky-line eyes.

Slowly but surely, the Anchor began to die down as the more Solas guided his magic to make the more volatile counterpart heel. The tendrils of sickly, but sparkling green abated, the ever present glow dimmed, and best of all, the pain ebbed away like a lazy wave. Fane sucked in a deep, deep breath as that reprieved was granted to him. He still felt nauseous as all got out, but the worms were dying down, the knock upon a locked door floating away as chaotic magic slithered back down his arm. He could honestly sob from relief. Truly, he could. 

Solas let out a quiet sigh of his own, tired and relieved all in one, as his eyes met Fane’s own again and for good this time. They were speaking to him, asking a typical question and it filled Fane’s heart with tender affection.

Fane smiled tiredly. “Better. Thank you.”, he said. He was utterly exhausted, stomach tender and head aching duly, but the pain had stopped, the magic driven back to the hole it crawled out of.

Solas let out another relieved sigh at his words, a tired smile of his own appearing, cracking the mask of concentration, and giving his marked hand a gentle squeeze with the two still holding it.

“It’s nothing.”, the mage downplayed, shifting tender eyes down to gaze upon the Anchor forlornly. “I simply wish I could rid you of this burden, to wipe away this pain. If I had known it would be you who would somehow pick the orb up, I would have been--”

Fane sighed softly as he tapped the underneath of Solas’ chin with a few fingers of the hand he was holding. The elf blinked, steely orbs snapping up to him instantly and that only made Fane smirk more. How the sky heeded a dragon’s call. It should be the reverse, but this world continued to show how much it defied itself.

“Stop. Observe and accept. Observe what happened, and accept that it was beyond your control to predict. You will fix things, Solas. We will fix things.”, Fane assured as he leaned in to lay a light kiss against the mage’s lips. It was reciprocated with ease, a tiny hum escaping from his sky and it made him reluctant to pull back, but he did to murmur, “All of it will come in time, ma tarasyl. You know that. I know that. Be patient.”

Solas let out a chuckle. “Using my own words against me? Wisdom is a concept in you, I see.”, he teased.

Fane sneered a bit. “Cute.”, he replied dryly before shrugging. “I only used them because you used my own earlier, and I figured you’d be more amenable listening to yourself when in concern to what happened at the Conclave and whatnot. You do like to hear yourself talk, after all.”, he teased with a growing smirk. They were coming full circle now, and hopefully, his jokes would land more gently this time.

“Insufferable.”, Solas quipped with an exasperated sigh, but it was fond underneath, he knew. “Why do I--?”

Fane blinked as Solas suddenly froze up, face going blank and glittering eyes staring at him, but not registering. He furrowed his brow at that, pulling his head back a bit to get a better look at blue and grey. Now, that wasn’t normal. The hues were still bright, aware, blue with lavender branching from the middle, but Solas’ face and posture screamed, ‘disconnected’. Fane felt himself grow more worried at that. Had he fucked up again?

“Solas? Are you--?”

He went to ask after the man, thinking his joke had hit a nerve yet again, but a slender finger suddenly darted up to his lips, stilling them. It was telling him to wait, to be silent. Fane blinked. Well, at least the mage was responsive? Yes...a corner of a mouth was moving a bit, eyes were blinking slowly, and a…

...nose was twitching?

Before any more questions could be voiced or even thought up, Fane saw Solas’ face pinch a bit, nose screwing up before sucking in a slow, deep breath, and then…

“Achoo!”

We have it all in this story! Pain, sadness, Solas tears, Fane rage, fluff, cockblocking magic, and sniffles~ >:3 Watch this turn into a sick fic now. XD

Tagging forth (with love and potions to ward against sniffles!)

@oxygenforthewicked @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age @hoochieblues @whataboutbugs @1000generations @blueheaded @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share! It’s Wednesday~! X3 (no pressure, of course! <3)

[nikkoliferous]

Phase One: Avengers (Part Two)

Apparently I had so much to comment on this crappy book that I had to break this up into two parts (you can read part one here). No, I have nothing to say for myself. Lol

Let’s continue.

Clint Barton and Loki’s hand-picked strike team were in a stolen Quinjet with a faked S.H.I.E.L.D. call sign, 26-Bravo. That got them close enough that by the time the air-traffic officer on the Helicarrier knew something was wrong, it was already too late.

Whoa whoa whoa. I thought you said Loki didn’t care about the details. I thought you said such things were beneath him. Make up your mind.

With a last heave and twist, she freed herself from the fallen beam and ran. At that moment, the Hulk turned and saw her. She vaulted up a stairway and onto the next level. The Hulk swiped at the stairway and shredded it into scrap metal. Loki had gotten what he wanted. He must have been trying to time it so he could manipulate Bruce into becoming the Hulk right as his soldiers came to attack the Helicarrier. The Hulk would do at least as much damage from the inside as the rogue Quinjet could do from the outside.

Yes. Yes, he did. Lol

Natasha kept running, and the Hulk came right behind her. For a moment, she thought she’d lost him, but then he came at her out of the shadows, roaring. He was like walking rage, a single-minded engine of destruction. She shot a hole in the pipe over his head. Steam shot out of it into the Hulk’s eyes, stopping him for just the moment she needed to get a head start. She ran as fast as she could, but she knew she wasn’t going to stay away from him for long. He came after her, smashing through bulkheads and doorways like they weren’t even there and roaring the whole time.

Mood, though.

Steve got to the edge of the turbine mount about the same time as Tony. “I’m here!” he called out.

“Good,” Tony said, dropping into view and hovering in the Iron Man armor to survey the wreckage. He had the suit on, and Steve could hear his voice through the earbud microphone all S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel wore. At least that channel was still intact; if they lost communications, they’d be done for.

Convenient. Clint would absolutely know this, which means either 1) he's incompetent, 2) he's not as mind-controlled as we think, or 3) Loki allowed/arranged for his own team's semi-failure.Take your pick.

“What’s it look like in there?” Tony asked.

“It seems to run on some form of electricity,” Steve said.

Tony was shoving loose huge pieces of debris that prevented the turbine blades from rotating. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he said.

Steve fumed. He wasn’t here for technical support. But that was all he could do at the moment.

Ironic for Steve to call out Tony for being useless without his suit when Steve is apparently useless at anything other than beating people up. Lol

Tony stood inside the turbine housing, looking at the blades. He’d cleared most of the debris jamming the rotors. “Even if I clear the rotors,” he said, “this thing won’t reengage without a jump. I’m going to have to get in there and push.”

“If that thing gets up to speed, you’ll get shredded,” Steve said.

Hey hey hey now, I thought Tony wasn't the type of guy to sacrifice himself??

The Hulk stomped around the flight deck, roaring. He saw Thor and swung a fist twice the size of Thor’s head. Thor caught it in both hands, straining to hold both the Hulk’s arm and his attention. “We are not your enemies, Banner,” he grunted. “Try to think!”

Now, where have I heard that before...?

In answer, the Hulk punched him through the wall.

Jealous.

Thor got up and watched the Hulk coming after him. Now this was a fight! He held out a hand, waiting for Mjolnir to return to him. Mjolnir smashed through another wall and reached Thor’s hand just as the charging Hulk came within striking distance.

What's a little bloodlust between friends, amirite?

The Hulk caught the hammer, and a fierce grin spread over his face… then he toppled backward and Mjolnir pinned him to the floor of the hangar.

None but I can lift Mjolnir, Thor thought. Not even this giant.

Yes, yes. You're very special, Thor. We're all super impressed, promise.

“You like this?” Coulson asked, meaning the gun. “We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don’t know what it does.” He powered it up, and rings along its barrel glowed bright orange. “Want to find out?”

But Loki wasn’t there in front of him. Thor saw it too late to do anything. That Loki was an illusion… and the real Loki was behind Coulson.

Lokiception.

“You lack conviction,” Coulson said. He did not move from where he sat against the wall. Blood trickled at the corner of his mouth, and the enormous gun lay uselessly across his lap.

Of all the things Coulson might have said, this was perhaps the one Loki expected least. I have moved worlds out of conviction, he thought. Made bargains with beings who snuff out planets as an afterthought. “I don’t think I…”

"bargains"

“Tasha,” he said. “How many agents did I—?”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.” Better than maybe anyone on the Helicarrier, Natasha Romanoff knew you couldn’t blame yourself for things you did while you were brainwashed. All you could do was try to heal and get things right the next time.

OH? DO TELL.

“Yeah, takes us a while to get any traction, I’ll give you that one,” Tony said. “But let’s do a head count here. Your brother the demigod, a Super-Soldier, a living legend who kind of lives up to the legend, a man with breathtaking anger-management issues, a couple of master assassins… and you, big fella, you’ve managed to piss off every single one of them.”

“That was the plan,” Loki said with a grin.

“Not a great plan,” Tony said.

YOU'RE RIGHT, TONY. IT'S AN OBJECTIVELY TERRIBLE PLAN. NOW ASK YOURSELF WHY HE WOULD DO THAT ON PURPOSE.

“You’re missing the point!” he said, and his tone got sharper. “There’s no throne, there is no version of this where you come out on top. Maybe your army comes and maybe it’s too much for us… but it’s all on you. Because if we can’t protect the Earth, you can be sure we’ll avenge it.”

Weeeeeell...

With those last words, he tapped Tony on the chest with his scepter, just has he had Hawkeye and Dr. Selvig. Nothing happened. The Arc Reactor in Tony’s chest countered the scepter’s effect.

Loki tried it again. “This usually works.…”

“Well,” Tony said, “best-laid plans. You know the saying.”

Uncomfortable with mild swear words and dick jokes, I see. Lol

Look at this!” Thor shouted, holding Loki and forcing him to gaze out over the destruction in the city. “You think this madness will end with your rule?”

“It’s too late,” Loki said. Thor thought he was beginning to understand what he had done. “It’s too late to stop it.”

“No,” Thor said. “We can. Together.”

Loki looked him in the eye… and then betrayed Thor again, stabbing him in the side with a knife hidden in his sleeve. Thor dropped to the ground, clutching the wound. “Sentiment,” Loki said mockingly.

OH MY GOD. HE'S MOCKING HIMSELF, YOU ABSOLUTE KNUCKLEHEAD. I swear to god, this author sat down and went, "Hmm. How can I systematically erase any and all complexity this character possesses so he's as generic a villain as possible?"

CASE IN POINT:

On a bridge, Cap huddled behind a destroyed car with the Black Widow and Hawkeye. “Lots of civilians trapped up there,” Hawkeye said, indicating the nearby buildings. A flight of Chitauri went over, and Cap noticed something different about one of them.

“Loki,” he said. He was shooting at the civilians fleeing through the streets. “They’re fish in a barrel down there.”

It can be admittedly hard to tell because most shots of the Chitauri vehicles firing on people are from too far away to tell who's piloting... but I checked the clips from the Battle of NY and the only person Loki can definitively be seen firing at is Natasha. On another Chitauri whatever-you-call-them. Not even aiming for the street.

Thor was still watching the Chitauri zipping overhead. “I have unfinished business with Loki.”

“Yeah?” Hawkeye said. “Get in line.”

“Save it,” Steve said. “Loki’s going to keep this fight focused on us, and that’s what we need. Otherwise those things could run wild. We’ve got Stark up on top—”

Almost as if... according to plan...

Look, I have historically not bought into the full "Loki formed the Avengers so he could lose on purpose" theory because I feel that it contradicts the canon explanation that he was being influenced by the sceptre. But... you'd have to be an absolute moron to think he wasn't sabotaging himself, whether accidentally or on purpose. I suppose one could argue that just because it was amplifying his negative emotions, that doesn't necessarily mean it prevented him from working against his "allies". But if it wasn't affecting his actions at all, I don't know why they'd bother to confirm the theory as canon.

Also, like... according to this book, Loki is somehow targeting civilians and not targeting civilians at the same time ?? lmao

“Dr. Banner,” Steve said. “Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”

Bruce was already walking toward the Leviathan. “That’s my secret, Captain,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m always angry.”

Same, tbh.

Thor reached the top of the Empire State Building and lifted Mjolnir. Storm clouds gathered and lightning struck down, hundreds of bolts reaching for Mjolnir. Thor turned the Empire State Building’s iconic spire into a lightning rod, gathering the force of the elements into it. Then he thrust Mjolnir in the direction of the portal. All the energy he had built up blazed out in a single forking bolt. It struck and destroyed every single Chitauri between the Empire State Building and the portal itself. Hundreds of them exploded and tumbled from the sky at once, including several of the Leviathans that tumbled down to smash into buildings below.

...so why didn't Thor just keep doing this for the rest of the battle? Too draining, or not exciting enough? Lol

Satisfied, Thor nodded and glanced over at the Hulk. Perhaps the scales were evened from their last fight against each other on the Helicarrier—

The Hulk shot out his left fist and smashed Thor all the way across the block-long gallery. Then it was his turn to look satisfied.

Jealous. Again.

Maybe that was just Loki, but Steve was starting to feel like the Chitauri were going to absorb every punch the Avengers could throw. They had to close that portal, or nothing was going to stop the invasion.

Well then. It sure is fortunate that Loki allowed Selvig to install a failsafe, huh?

Fury stood and listened to the World Security Council explain that they had decided to take the operation out of his hands. They were going to use a nuclear missile to destroy the Tesseract and close the portal—but at the cost of untold civilian lives. Fury protested as strongly as he could and one of the councilors cut him off. “Director Fury. The Council has made a decision.”

These crazy motherfuckers would have killed so many more people than Loki it's not even funny.

...and tbh, it probably wouldn't even have destroyed the Tesseract, so they would have killed them for literally no reason too.

The Hulk paused, confused.

“You are, all of you, beneath me!” Loki raged.

Not yet, sir, but I would very much like to be. 😏

She knelt next to him and said, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

Selvig digested this for a moment and then said, “Actually I think I did. I built in a safety to cut the power source.”

Of note and as alluded to previously:

1) The mind control over Barton and Selvig was not absolute either; therefore, if they are not responsible for their actions over the course of this movie, Loki is not responsible for his either.

2) If The Other could hear everything Loki was up to, it's very likely that Loki could hear everything Barton and Selvig were up to as well. Meaning that, at a minimum, he knew about the failsafe and did nothing about it.

The missile had a lot of momentum built up, and Tony’s Mark 7 suit was not operating at full capacity after the amount of energy he’d expended in the battle already. It was no easy task to get the missile angled up sharply enough to clear the tallest buildings in Midtown—especially Stark Tower. That was where the missile seemed to want to go. So, Tony thought, the World Security Council is jealous of me, too.

Look, I get that he's mostly just being witty, but seriously... this dude is out here accusing Loki of being an egomaniac? Lol

He got underneath the missile and angled it upward, straining against its stabilizers, which tried to keep it on course. But slowly he forced it up, and once he got its warhead pointed at an angle, pushing it into a steeper climb got easier. A little.

Steve Rogers’s voice broke his concentration. “Stark, you know that’s a one-way trip?”

So... you're admitting you were wrong, then? 🙃

The Avengers looked up. On the roof of Stark Tower, Natasha said, “Come on, Stark.”

They saw the explosion through the portal, brilliant as a new sun. There was no way Tony could have survived that.

I was wrong about him, Steve thought. When the time came, he did make the sacrificial play.

Thanks, Steve. That's really all I wanted.

Loki had just gotten himself put back together enough to get out of the hole in the floor. Painfully he dragged himself toward the door. Never had a mortal damaged him as much as that green monster. He would be healing for a long time.

He's literally in better shape now than when he came through the portal. And the author made zero mention of his health there.

But heal he would, and then he would have his revenge. Even though the portal had collapsed and he had lost the Tesseract. Even though his Chitauri army was destroyed. Loki would show the so-called Avengers they never should have opposed him.

Raise your hand if you watched Avengers and thought Loki was thinking about revenge right after getting Hulk-smashed. Why aren't any of you raising your hands??

Seriously, there are two emotions I felt from Loki at the end of Avengers Assemble: relief and anxiety. I have no idea why Alex Irvine is so intent on turning him into a boring, one-dimensional villain, but it made this book absolutely insufferable to read.

Anyway, that's it! I hope you all found this as entertaining and cathartic as I did. Lol

↩️ Back to Part One

[vespertineart]

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓲𝓽'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗."

Jotaro kujo x Fem! reader

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Life moves so fast. Too fast, for your liking. Maybe it's because your childhood wasn't the nicest, so you have wallowed in the sadness it brought you too much that you weren't aware of time, or the fact that you were so wrapped up in one future, you thought your life depended on nothing but academic purpose. At least then. Or maybe it's because you never realized how much you've wanted to do in your life until three years ago. You're still young, though a young adult, and you shouldn't be worried about the consequences of things you never did. Though, maybe they would affect you later on.

It's always been overwhelmingly depressing when you realize you can't relate to that flurrery feeling every one of your classmates told you about when bungee jumping or simply touching a manta ray. Never have you had the chance to visit a very famous amusement park because of how expensive it was. All of that would make you the odd one out in any friend group, which is why you never bothered to start a close friendship with someone.

However, this year was different. Let aside the fact that you missed out on all your school year's material, you experienced something far more exciting than anyone's ever had. Your mind still finds itself boggled by the sudden event. One second you're with your classmate who you knew nothing about at the time, and the next he's in jail, and you're with his grandfather trying nag get him out.

You can't even bring yourself to comprehend how you even got a grip on the whole situation, how you managed to have yourself thrown into the formula, from going to Egypt and saving Miss Holly, to fighting Dio and even almost dying with Kakyoin and Avdol who are currently in different hospitals. It all still feels so surreal.

Unconsciously, as you reminisce, your fingers brush the large scar that lays unveiled on the surface of your forearm, reaching from your wrist to your cheek, a few scabs still blanketing random edges on it. Soon, your hands found themselves reaching your currently broken and cast ankle. Your crutches lay limp on your leg. Your skin is cold, and so is the wind hitting it. For May, this is probably the longest it has taken to become warm.

"Oi, yn." You're snapped out of your daze when a certain deep voice calls out to you, a coherent tinge of worry trailing at the end of the person's greeting.

The all-familiar, stinging scent of cologne immediately assures you of who this person is. You let out a sigh, dipping your head down, eyes closed, a delightful sense of relief washing over you.

"Hey, Jojo. Thanks," you greet as you take a weak hold of the beer can your companion bought you. After a while of shuffling, both of you got your backs comfortable on the strong walls of the school's roof, taking in the cool wind as it brushes through your hair. The sun is set, but there is still a bit of sunlight left, it mixes beautifully with the soft white streetlights and spots of yellow, red and blue in the far distance which homes and billboards emit. If you focus enough, you can see a light silhouette of hills.

Jojo. Jotaro kujo. You recite that name on your tongue every night, sometimes in fear you might forget it. Some of his admirers despise you for it. For having the advantage of calling out to him whenever you want and he'd answer you, and only you. Your classmates say you're extremely lucky, like you've won a million-dollar bet for being his first and closest female friend. He's never down to open up, but from your experience, he's desperate for any type of companionship. However, the so-called advantages were never what this was all about for you. If it was, you'd know barely anything about each other, and you're glad you could become more than just classmates after the whole Egypt thing. To you, his friendship depended and revolved more around trust and means of comfort than just mainly using him for safety and assumed attention. The fact that he's truly a hard to crack shell of a man—that you somehow managed to turn into ash the moment you told him to 'get the fuck out of the jail room, you look ridiculous' —never mattered to you more than how closer you wish to get to him. Focusing in front of you again you watch the colors of the clouds merge with the dark purple of the sky. The stars are already out, and a beautiful half-moon is shining brighter than ever. You pout, disappointed of the incoming inability to see it in full display due to the sky's current cloudy state.

"Old man called me yesterday." You turned your head to Jotaro, eyes immediately locking with his. Just the simple fact that both of you go out of your ways to fully focus on each other makes your relationship all the more mutual. Jotaro, especially, he's never felt as easy with anyone as he has with you, and kakyoin, too, but he'd never say it directly to any of you . At night, when he's lost in his thought, he finds himself thinking of you. How kind you are and how you never seem to see the bad in anything despite having a bad past. He'd never admit it let alone say it with his tongue but he tries to take advantage of that kindness, in a way to make sure nothing will happen to you. He can't afford to lose anyone else. He also doesn't know if the fact that he thinks of you is more embarrassing, or the fact that he secretly wants to let his walls down in front of you one day. The thought comforts him, but, as usual, he's too meek about it, since there were many times his 'kindness' would be misunderstood as romantic intent. Well, he's doubting that, anyways, specifically with you.

"hm?" you reply, taking a sip of the refreshing drink in your hand. Your fingers wrap around each other, holding the can in a tight and secure grip. You're prone to dropping your drinks now and then, so you found this to be the most practical way of 'protecting them'. Yes, you look stupid when you end up dropping them either way. You two always get a good laugh from it, so at least there isn't any embarrassment happening.

"He was wondering if you wanted to stay with us for a couple more weeks. Mom misses you already." Jotaro exhales, smoke filling the air around you and mixing with his musky cologne to create an unbearable scent you never wanted to forget. The mention of Mr. Joestar for the third time this month makes your eyes widen. It was all for the same reason too. You lived alone for a long time now, and you've gotten very used to the lonely and eerie feeling of your dark home at night. However, of course, after meeting the Joestars, Joseph couldn't possibly leave you without pampering you so much, especially after helping with saving his precious daughter. You were grateful. You always are for what he does for you, but just enough for him to make you basically live with him is something you can't quite afford. Not money-wise, it's just that you don't have anything to give them in return, and offering your life also meant living with them. The cycle goes on.

With a grunt, you twist your form to face Jotaro, your hands pushing hard on the floor to support your frail physique.

"Jojo...I really appreciate it, but I have things to do at my house. I need to clean it, take care of the food that's been in the fridge for almost a month now. Maybe another time, but I really don't want to trouble you guys like this. You've done way too much for me already," you excuse, trying your best to scoot closer to your friend. As a final task for the day, you set yourself up on your knees and wrap your arms around the much larger man, patting him on the back a couple of times before planting a heavy peck on his forehead. "And you can stop worrying about me so much now, Joot. I'm really fine, thanks to you." A warm smile graces your lips as you speak your soft words to Jotaro, seeing his panicked eyes slowly close as he scoffs, pushing you away and hiding his rose-tinted face with the shadow of his hat.

"I'm still walking you home."

As much as you want to, you can't complain with a broken ankle. Who knows what might happen if you're too slow with walking? Over his dead body will Jotaro Kujo let anyone lay a finger on you...

~~~~~~~~~

The slow crunching of pebble and dust under heavy boots and the repetitive melody of crickets in the grass is enough to get you woozy in the freezing weather of tonight. The wind started picking up a long while ago, and you fear it might get worse before you reach your home. Clouds are grey and dull as they sway in a quick pace in the blue-black sky. The vigorous rustling of trees makes your ears tingle. Your pores are open with sweat, the droplets slowly trickling down your face and quickly drying out. Your arms over your crutches, your stomach hurting from excessive contraction, your breath becomes heavy, and your chest begins to hurt. It's been well over 20 minutes since you guys have been walking, and you're starting to hate yourself for letting Jotaro deal with your snail-paced struggle on a day like this.

Without a word, you sigh, then slowly crouch down to reach the floor. However, from how your ankle is positioned, the momentum you pushed yourself down with was faster than you anticipated, and you gasp. Bracing yourself for impact, you let go of your crutches hastily, spreading your arms in front of you to prepare support. Your eyes close tightly and you clench your stomach, a second away from hitting the concrete before feeling a soft barrier holding you up. Slowly, you open your eyes again, to find none other than Jotaro, encasing you in his large, jacket-cushioned arms. Without a chance to react, you feel yourself getting pulled up, hoisted up a millimeter high and huddled in your friend's arms again only this time in a better position for him to be able to swing your legs over to the side.

"Good grief, woman. What the hell were you doing?!" At this position, you can clearly hear the growl in Jotaro's voice. Heck, his breath is right in your ear. Inevitably, you shiver, letting out a huff of air. You feel yourself blush out of embarrassment when he gives you a side eye and you prepare to find a good answer to his question.

"Sorry, I wanted to sit down a bit...I uh..wasnt expecting to...fall-"

"Whatever, just stop talking or you'll die. And you're freezing ," Jotaro interrupts, leaning down to grab your crutches, still holding onto you. His head rests on your shoulder as he bends down, his fingers curling with ease around the handles.

Still shocked from the sudden ordeal, you start shuffling in Jotaro's arms, earning a grunt from him.

"Stay still, yn, for fuck's sake!"

"I-I can still walk on my own, JoJo!"

Annoyingly, or rather, smugly, Jotaro ignores your comment, only dragging his disagreement further by hoisting you up further so your figure is tucked snuggly between his arms. This proves his previous comment of how cold you actually are, seeing as you immediately melt into his arms, eyes almost instantly closing as you sigh, taking in the comfortable warmth of the thick fabric of his clothes.

when you look back at him, you decide not to complain any more when he raises an eyebrow at you and lets out chuckle. You just stare at the fading stars, keeping the image of his rare smile in your head along your little journey.

As you space out, your eyes having no place to stay still as the clouds move endlessly, you shake your head, feeling the pain in the back of your head from how dizzy you've become. This world is too big for even eyes to bear. you let out a mall sigh, the incoming comfort quickly cut off as you gasp. A wet droplet found its way on your nose uninvited. You look at Jotaro, expecting to see his face dotted with a bit if sweat, but that wasn't the case. Another droplet, and a third, and soon you see one slip off from Jotaro's hat. Oh... Ooooh...

Oh shit.

You gasp once more, suddenly sitting up and causing Jotaro to retract his head with a grunt.

"What the hell?!"

"Jojo it's raining!"

"And..?! Jeez you overreact."

With a pout, you hit the top of your friend's head, earning a stutter from him.

"C-can you walk a bit faster..? I can't have you getting sick, " you complain, clutching onto the chain dangling from JoJo's collar as a way to nudge him into agreeing to your order.

"That's not happening, y/n just sit back down-" As if to mock him, the clouds let out a loud clap of thunder, The rain quickly picking up with the wind. As fast as this happened, you and Jotaro are now almost drenched in water. You cross your arms, looking up at Mcedgy with a smug expression on your face.

He sighs heavily, tugging the brim of his hat and letting out his famous

"Good grief..." before wrapping his jacket around you like a stolen package and trudging quickly. A few moments pass before he starts to run.

Surprisingly, your house isn't that far away anymore. You'd expect that from someone twice your height running. Currently, your friend is huffing, occasionally spitting excess water away from his mouth.

"We're here."

He stops running, just jogging his way around a building before setting you down on the floor, waiting until you regained balance to give you your crutches back. You hiss at how cold the air is, your body quickly shivering.

You quickly find your keys from your pocket before limping to your front door and opening it with a satisfying click, taking your single wet shoe off and stepping into your house, again, cringing because of how cold the floor has gotten. As you manage to trudge to pull a shawl you found hanging on a chair, you turn back to the door, facing Jotaro again.

"Thanks for walking me here JoJo. It was definitely a pain, I'm sorry," you apologize, a wide smile on your face, rubbing the back of your neck.

"It's fine," says Jojo, already lighting his third cigarette of the day and placing it between his lips.

There's a long silence between the two of you, the heavy sound of rain and occasional thunder being the only thing breaking it. Your breaths are heavy because of the weather, and you do nothing but stare at each other. It seems none of you want to turn away for some reason. both of you are worried for each other. It takes another while before any of you finally move, Jotaro shuffling off of the steps in front of your door and turning around with a small farewell.

You, knocked out of your trance, call out to him again, making him stop. Now in your garden, completely soaked, Jotaro turns his head to you. His cigarette is barely lit anymore.

"Umm...I just realized your house is too far away," you start, catching your friend's attention. He slowly walks back to you, shoving his hands in his pockets. He only hums in response.

"Uh...I just...don't want you walking all that way again, and further so why-"

"I'm not coming inside your house," Jotaro cuts you off, causing you to stutter and blink a couple of times. However, you've already made up your mind and there's no way you're turning back now.

"No, JoJo, you are, and I'm serious right now!," you protest, trying your best to sound strict as you walk to take a hold of Jotaro's arm with your free one and pulling him under the dry safety of your door. When he realized he stepped in with his shoes, he quickly retreats, pulling on his hat and looking away.

"JoJo...!"

Jeez, you're so naïve. Little do you know, Jotaro is only concerned about causing you any harm. He'd rather shrivel up and die from hypothermia than have you affected by him. But...refusing is never an option with you at this point. If anything, he doubts you won't end up following him until he's already at his own house, still trying to nag him further. He grunts, shaking his head then looking back to you.

"Jesus, fine."

Your face quickly lights up with a smile, and you drag Jotaro inside your house —with a limp—and make him take his jacket off. As much as he somewhat doesn't want to be here, Jotaro sighs in relief, shuddering at the warmth of your home.

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

{2901 words}

This is just something to start writing here. I'm not sure how to feel about it but I hope you like it lol, you can imagine what happens next. this seems very random and messy, which it is but I promise I'll come back with better content lmfao.

--Poppie

[vannahfanfics]

Heavenly River

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

Hey, everyone! It’s my pleasure to share my story for Written in the Stars: A BKDK Tanabata zine!

Izuku held his hand flat over his brows as he stepped outside, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the sun burning in the azure sky. It was a cloudless day, so there was no solace from the bright sun rays spearing down from the heavens. However, there was a pleasant breeze to cool the hot, humid July air; it ruffled Izuku’s tousled pine-green hair and the fabric of his dark seaweed-colored yukata. He adjusted the emerald-hued sash around his waist, more to fidget than to actually fix it, and then pulled out his cell phone to check his notifications. He brightened when he saw a text from Katsuki, who had agreed to come with him to this year’s Tanabata festival. 

Almost there, loser. You’d better be ready, or I’m leaving without you. 

Izuku chuckled under his breath before shooting his friend a quick text to confirm that he was indeed ready and waiting for his friend to arrive, then stowed his phone back in his pocket. He slid his hands in the pockets of his yukata as he stood on the landing of his mother’s apartment complex. She had hung kuzukago on either side of the door; the white basket-like arrangements of paper strips swayed gently in the breeze, beseeching the winds for blessings of tidiness and thriftiness. 

The neighbor to the right had hung kinchaku patterned with pretty floral paper; they’d fallen under hard times since the husband had been laid off from his job. Izuku whispered out a quick prayer on their behalf, wishing them improved fortunes and good luck. Their other neighbor had hung several chains of paper cranes in their windows, as their grandmother had recently fallen ill with pneumonia. Izuku had recently heard she was on the mend, and he hoped that this information was still true. She was a lovely lady who always brought Izuku’s mother homemade cookies when she visited, so Izuku hoped she would recover and be discharged from the hospital soon. Along the underside of the balcony, fukinagashi streamers swayed in the breeze with their colorful tails ruffling along the wind like Orihime’s fabled weavings. 

People need wishes more than ever, Izuku thought as he leaned against the metal railing framing the walkway and looked out to the street below. Though All for One and Tomura Shigaraki had finally been defeated, the scars of their reign of carnage were still evident even months later. Across the street, they were still rebuilding the apartment complex that had been utterly destroyed in a fire; bits and pieces of the charred shell were piled in the brown grass to be collected by the garbage trucks later. Hope was still fragile in the community, so this Tanabata festival could hopefully restore faith and positivity in people. 

“Oiiiii! Nerd! Stop starin’ off into space and get the fuck down here!” 

Izuku glanced down to see Katsuki standing on the sidewalk. He was wearing that scowl Izuku had come to know as an odd symbol of affection, and his hands were buried into the pockets of his maroon yukata. Izuku called down to him in greeting and then took off in a trot, hopping down the steps and rounding the corner to join him on the sidewalk. Katsuki’s vermilion eyes burned in the harsh summer sun, but they were still less fierce than Izuku had known them a little over a year ago. 

“Yer mom ain’t comin’?” Katsuki questioned as they set off in a leisurely walk down the sidewalk, subconsciously matching each other’s strides.

“No,” Izuku confirmed with a shake of his head. “She went the other day, so she’s spending the day making yakitori and takoyaki for dinner! If your family doesn’t have plans, Kacchan, you’re more than welcome to come by after and eat with us!” 

Katsuki tilted his head to the side, an expression of consideration on his face. 

“My folks somehow got roped into workin’ today, so I might take you up on that. Sure as hell beats cookin’ for myself.” 

Izuku couldn’t help the happy smile that appeared on his lips; they hadn’t hung out for summer vacation very much due to their respective training regimens, so Izuku was delighted that he would not only be able to attend the last day of the festival with Katsuki but also have him over for dinner. “Wait, though, they aren’t doing the paper boat ceremony until midnight.” 

“That’s right! I was thinking that we would spend the day enjoying the festival, go home for dinner, and then go back to do the paper boat ceremony. I know that’s a little past your bedtime, though, Kacchan,” he grinned teasingly and elbowed his friend in the ribs. “Will you be able to handle it?” 

“Who the hell do ya think you’re talkin’ to?” Katsuki cried indignantly, jostling Izuku’s shoulder with his own. “O’course I can handle it! Damn nerd, where do ya get off thinkin’ you can insult me like that?” 

Izuku laughed as Katsuki flung his muscular arm around his shoulders and jerked him against his side to grind his fist into the top of Izuku’s head. It was a good thing that his hair had always been unruly anyway, because Katsuki couldn’t muss it up too much. Izuku laughed airily when Katsuki shoved him away. The blond buried his hands back into his pockets with a snort, looking away at the large fukinagashi the city had suspended from the light poles. The large ball of yellow, orange, and white flowers hung from the streetlamps, the sunlight catching on the rustling streamers to cast playful shadows along the ground as the pieces curled and fluttered. 

“Do you know what you’re going to wish for?” Katsuki asked him after several minutes of silent walking. This caught Izuku by surprise, and he turned to blink at him with wide emerald eyes. Katsuki was still staring out at the road, eyes lidded as he watched the cars trundle by. 

“Actually, no,” he said and rubbed the back of his neck while he looked up at the clear blue sky. My goal is to be the number-one hero, but… for some reason, I don’t feel like wishing for that, he thought with a small frown. He’d been wrestling with it leading up to the event, and here it was the first day of the festival— he had to make a decision at some point. “I’ll figure it out when I get there!” He laughed nonchalantly and then looked back at Katsuki. “What about you?” 

“I don’t know either.” Katsuki’s voice was flat, and Izuku could tell that he was thinking hard about it. I guess he wants his wish to be important… After all they had been through, Izuku could understand that. They’d endured so much together and grown up so fast. Smiling wanly, Izuku gently bumped his shoulder with Katsuki’s, prompting the blond to look at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll figure it out!” 

Katsuki blinked at him, then turned away with a small “tch.” However, Izuku could see that the minute tension had left his shoulders and the stoniness had eased out of his expression. 

It was a short walk to the shrine where the festival was held. The street leading up to the shrine was laden with the handcrafted paper ornaments strung from the oak trees that framed the path. On either side of the cobblestone walkway, local vendors had set up their wares; the savory scent of yakisoba floated on the air, making Izuku’s mouth water though he’d just eaten breakfast not too long ago. There were vendors selling handmade ornaments, the pair of them walking past the hairpin maker who came every year, their stall a huge hit with the local girls. Izuku spotted several of them already decorating the ornate updos some of the festival goers chose to wear that night, the hair pins adding just that much more to the look. In the corner, a small troupe of stage actors were recounting the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi for an enthralled crowd. 

“Wow, look at the crowd— and everyone looks so happy, too,” Izuku marveled. It seemed that the fair bit of hope the festival offered had drawn many people out of their homes, and he was relieved to see most of them wearing genuine smiles. 

“Well, it’s been a shitty few months,” Katsuki shrugged. “They’re gonna latch onto anything positive that comes their way.” Izuku supposed that was true, but it still made him happy for the civilians. They’d all endured a lot— they deserved to celebrate a festival, to wish for mundane things instead of seeing tomorrow. 

What did he want to wish for, though?

They walked to the end of the small street, where long fronds of bamboo framed the entrance to the shrine. Paper strips hung from their dainty branches, colored rectangles that swayed among the bright green leaves. The wishes of hundreds were imbued in those simple tanzaku— everything from pleas for academic success to wishes for love to grand hopes for world peace. Beneath the sprawling bamboo were small circular tables, where the colorful bits of paper sat beneath glass paperweights. They waited in a short line to walk up to the table; when Izuku picked up the pen and grabbed a blue strip of paper, he hesitated a moment while he debated what to write on the strip. 

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Katsuki silently debating as well. It was strange, their mental debate. After everything they’d done, everything they’d seen, did they feel invincible? Is that why they had nothing to wish for? Or perhaps there was so much they wanted to see the world become and so much they wanted to do themselves, there were infinite possibilities to wish for now. Izuku smiled wanly and looked down at the blank rectangular strip of paper, the canvas to paint a wish of goodwill. He twirled the pen around in his hand, trying to think of what he wanted to wish for most in the world right now. 

Finally, it dawned on him. He hunched down over the table to neatly scrawl on the tanzaku: A world where people’s wishes can come true. 

Katsuki was still writing as Izuku stepped aside and walked to the bamboo fronds. He stood on his tiptoes to use the small loops of string to tie it on an empty bit of the plant, suspending it among hundreds of other wishes. He stepped back to admire the bit of blue fluttering among the rainbow of colors, while Katsuki passed by him to hang his wish beside his. 

“What did you wish for, Kacchan?” 

“Idiot,” Katsuki huffed as he turned around to walk back. “If you say it out loud, it won’t come true! I’ll tell ya after midnight, maybe.” Izuku blushed sheepishly at that; he’d quite forgotten that bit of superstition. He didn’t know if Katsuki actually believed it or was simply giving him a hard time, but it really didn’t matter. 

They enjoyed the small festival for the rest of the afternoon, starting with the play, since it was starting over as they came out from the depths of the path. They sat with their legs tucked underneath them on comfy cushions (among a bunch of little kids, Katsuki was eager to grouse about) and watched the rendition of the love story. Izuku had always found it kind of sad that Orihime and Hikoboshi were only permitted to meet one day out of every year, but he also marveled that there was a love so strong that not even three hundred and sixty-four days of separation could lessen it. At the end of the play, they joined the actors in singing the traditional song— well, Izuku did. Katsuki would rather drop dead than sing, especially in front of a bunch of elementary-schoolers. 

After the play, they stopped at the yakisoba stand for lunch. Izuku swirled the fried noodles around with his chopsticks to scoop bits of pork and cabbage, then spooned them into his mouth. As he slurped up the noodles, Katsuki glanced at him out of his peripheral vision. 

“It’s almost strange,” he remarked. Izuku raised an eyebrow at him, and Katsuki looked down into his half-eaten yakisoba with pinkening cheeks. “Going back to normal after, you know… everything.” Izuku swallowed his noodles, looking at Katsuki with widening eyes. Though they were better friends now, he’d never grow used to these melancholic moods Katsuki drifted into. Katsuki’s red eyes were lidded while he pushed the noodles around his plate, pulsing with a serious sadness so unlike his usual explosive personality. 

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed quietly. He found his own appetite waning, so he pushed the plate of noodles away and leaned his arms on the counter. “But… You can’t hang onto the past forever. At some point, you have to let the darkness fall behind you and walk toward the sun.” 

“Tch. What are you, a fucking poet?” Katsuki snorted, but as always, his words were in direct contradiction to the small smile curling over his lips. Katsuki gathered up a large chunk of the yakisoba and then continued contemplatively with his mouth full, “Towards the sun, huh?” 

Izuku smiled, then pulled his plate back toward him to finish it. He wouldn’t want to insult the chef that made the delicious meal, after all. 

After finishing lunch, the two of them headed to Izuku’s house. They joined his mother in the kitchen to help her prepare dinner. Katsuki worked on dicing chicken breast into small cubes to skewer, while Izuku prepared the batter for the takoyaki. While they worked, his mother regaled Katsuki with stories of Tanabata festivals past— particularly her favorite tale of Izuku wishing to be like All Might every single year leading up to his acceptance at U.A. Izuku hid his bright red face in the refrigerator while pretending to look for the octopus tentacles, while Katsuki just guffawed about what a groupie he was. 

The scent of frying batter and grilling chicken filled the kitchen as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. Izuku’s mother had begun singing the song, and Izuku had taken it up as well, annoying Katsuki with their repeated trills of the tune:

“The bamboo leaves rustle, shaking away in the eaves.

The stars twinkle on the gold and silver grains of sand.

The five-color paper strips I have written.

The stars twinkle, they watch us from heaven.”

Katsuki’s lips couldn’t curl into a deeper scowl as Izuku waltzed around him, poking him in the cheek with a leftover octopus tentacle. Katsuki snatched it away and slapped him lightly across the cheek with it, leaving a slimy mark on Izuku’s skin. 

“Oi! You sing that song one more goddamn time, I’m gonna fry you into a takoyaki ball!” Katsuki threatened while gesturing wildly with the floppy tentacle. Izuku and his mother just laughed, quite used to Katsuki’s angry outbursts. Katsuki nursed his irritation with a melon soda, clenching the can in one hand while flipping the chicken grilling in the skillet with the other. 

It was about seven in the evening by the time the three of them gathered around the kōtatsu table with the spread of food. His mother turned on the television to watch the annual specials— which were just more dramatizations of the traditional story— while the two boys tore into the food with relish. Katsuki had always praised Inko’s cooking skills like the foodie he was, and though he’d probably never admit it aloud, he loved her takoyaki. He plucked ball after ball from the plate to pile them into his mouth until his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s. 

“The hell you laughin’ at?” he grumbled when Izuku burst into laughter. Izuku just shook his head and used his teeth to slide a piece of the sauce-soaked, tender chicken from the skewer in his hand. He would have laughed if someone told him a year ago that he’d be sitting at the kōtatsu with Katsuki enjoying the Tanabata festival, even more so to be told they were exchanging friendly banter. The realization made a joyful smile spread over Izuku’s face, one that didn’t miss Katsuki’s attention. 

“Oi. What are you thinking about?” Katsuki asked, the scowl morphing into a curious look. Izuku’s smile just widened, and he reached out to pluck up one of the takoyaki balls with his chopsticks. 

“I’m just thinking about how nice this is, Kacchan. My mom doesn’t remember this, but,” he said, dropping his voice while his mother cried tearfully at the separation of Orihime and Hikoboshi playing on the screen, “A few years ago, I didn’t wish to be like All Might. I wished for us to be friends.” 

Katsuki’s cheeks flushed a bright pink as he released a choking noise. He covered his blush with a broad hand, and he averted his gaze. Izuku chuckled at his shy reaction and took the opportunity to steal another takoyaki ball. 

“Damn nerd,” Katsuki huffed with undeniable affection that made Izuku’s heart warm. “You can’t just say shit like that, you know. Now stop stealing my fucking takoyaki. Don’t think I didn’t notice. We may be friends, but I’ll still break your arm.” 

They watched the special programs until about eleven, then set off again back to the shrine to participate in the paper boat ceremony. This time, the crowd had gathered at the nearby river, which babbled along another pathway leading to the small shrine. Dew clung to the hem of Izuku’s yukata as he walked on the edge of the cobblestone path where the grass grew. He and Katsuki retrieved their wishes from the bamboo branches, then took one of the prepared paper boats to place the wishes inside. Afterward, they set off to find a nice place to set them adrift.

They sat down on the edge of the bank to wait for the clock to strike midnight. Izuku held the fragile paper boat in his lap while he eased off his sandals so he could dip his toes in the cool water. Katsuki sat next to him, cross-legged and watching the water current swirl in the concrete canal. It was a far cry from the Heavenly River from the story, but Izuku could imagine its beauty with the way the starlight played over the babbling water. 

“You know, we’re kind of like Orihime and Hikoboshi,” Izuku said after a while. Katsuki looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind, which made Izuku flush and hurriedly explain, “I-I just mean that at the beginning it felt like… You were on the other side of the river from me, Kacchan.” This made the blond settle down, so Izuku continued with a wan smile. “It felt like you were miles ahead, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up… But little by little, I did, and now we’re on the same side of the river. I guess. Sorry. That was a weird metaphor,” he laughed nervously, playing with the edges of the paper boat. 

“It was fucking weird,” Katsuki sniffed, then looked out to the water. “I get what you mean, though.” His voice was soft, a rare hint of gentleness that Izuku still couldn’t believe was sometimes directed toward him. “Just make sure you don’t fall back to the other side of the river, dumbass,” Katsuki said after a second, elbowing him gently in the arm. 

“Hehe, I won’t,” Izuku chuckled and elbowed him back. 

Then, fireworks lit up the moonlit sky, indicating that it had turned twelve. Izuku and Katsuki crawled to the bank to gently push the paper boats into the water. They watched them drift along the current, joined by hundreds of other little sailboats. Then, Izuku jumped to his feet while tugging eagerly on Katsuki’s arm. 

“Come on!” 

He ignored Katsuki’s confused sputters of protest as he dragged him up the bank to the walkway overlooking the river, which was lined by red railings. Izuku gripped the railing, searching for their two boats drifting alongside one another, and then pointed them out with a smile. The moon bathed them in a white glow, making them almost luminescent in the brilliant light. The light also played over the water to make it seem like they drifted on rivers of glittering diamond. 

“Hey… What did you wish for?” Katsuki asked him suddenly, and Izuku turned to look at him with a soft smile. 

“A world where people’s wishes could come true.” 

Katsuki raised his eyebrows. Under the pale moonlight, the pink hue that rose to his cheeks was rosy pale. Katsuki bit down on his bottom lip, but that didn’t suppress the little chuckles that bubbled out of his throat. 

“Me too.” 

Izuku’s smile brightened, and then he turned to look out at the water. It was full of paper boats now, all glowing in the white light streaming down from the cloudless sky. He felt Katsuki nudge him, because of course he couldn’t let the moment pass without another jab. 

“What a waste though, ‘cuz it’s my wish that’s gonna come true, nerd,” he teased. Izuku had to laugh and shake his head. Only Katsuki could make even traditional wishes during Tanabata into a competition. He supposed it didn’t matter though, if only one of their wishes were granted or both— either way, it meant happiness and peace for those who needed it most. That’s all Izuku could ever want. He watched those boats drift down the heavenly river, where hopefully the gods would pluck them up on the distant shore. They would read those wishes, and fulfill their hopes.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[sincerelystranger]

not enough 9

“Why do you even like, Cangse Sanren?” Jiang Fengmian asks petulantly.

They’re in Caiyi town, winding down after Night Hunting with the Gusu Lan disciples.

Wei Changze had been perfect as ever, of course. Silently guarding all the disciples and acting as support when they came across beasts and curses. More than half the disciples had been saved by Wei Changze tonight and they probably didn’t even know it.

It always was like that.

Only Jiang Fengmian ever saw Wei Changze.

And tonight was no different. Jiang Fengmian saw Wei Changze. And he saw how he stuck needlessly close to Cangse Sanren.

The pretty, lively rogue cultivator that had recently come down from Baosen Sanren’s mountain.

The rumor was that half the cultivators who met her were in love with her and much to Jiang Fengmian’s displeasure, it looked like Wei Changze wasn’t… immune to her charms.

He looks up at Wei Changze. Wei Changze’s eyebrows are a little bit furrowed, an expression of confusion on his face.

Honestly, he looks so cute that Jiang Fengmian wants to... touch him. But he’s also annoyed that Wei Changze isn’t denying that he likes Cangse Sanren.

“Do you not like Cangse Sanren?” he asks earnestly, as if the thought of Jiang Fengmian disliking Cangse Sanren is upsetting to him.

Jiang Fengmian almost wants to roll his eyes. Almost wants to scream at the sky. Almost wants to shake Wei Changze and yell ‘you’re not allowed to like anyone other than me!’

“She’s fine,” he says instead, because doing all that would be unsightly… and also troublesome.

Wei Changze’s eyebrows lift from their slight furrow – which for Wei Changze is quite a show of emotion. “She is kind and a strong cultivator,” Wei Changze says, “We all benefited from her joining us tonight.”

“Mm,” Jiang Fengmian hums. He feels like a child. Petulant and jealous. He feels a little bit mortified at himself and embarrassed at his jealousy. Cangse Sanren is a strong cultivator. Of course Wei Changze would appreciate that.

“She is strong,” Jiang Fengmian says, “but I don’t know about kind. She lit Lan Qiren’s beard on fire as a joke. That’s not very nice, is it?”

Wei Changze lets out a short audible breath from his nose, which is as good as an outright laugh from him. “No, not nice,” he concedes. “But she is kind.”

“What’s the difference?” Jiang Fengmian asks, turning around to fully face Wei Changze. “Nice and kind – they’re like the same thing, no?”

Wei Changze doesn’t respond right away. He looks at Jiang Fengmian for a moment, a strange look in his eyes. “Similar,” he says finally, “but not the same.”

Jiang Fengmian wants to ask what Wei Changze likes more.

But he’s suddenly scared.

He does a strange thing and reaches out to touch Wei Changze – to make sure that he’s still real next to Jiang Fengmian.

Wei Changze looks down at Jiang Fengmian’s hand on his arm but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either.

Jiang Fengmian could be brave now, he thinks.

He could.

“I’m tired,” he says instead, “I think I’ll go to bed.”

He could be brave… but it would be troublesome.

Besides, what did it matter what Wei Changze liked better? He would always be by Jiang Fengmian’s side anyways.

Always.

---

An eruption of commotion in the courtyard brings Jiang Fengmian out from his room.

The undead Wen boy is standing in the middle of the courtyard, a woman slumped over one of his shoulders and what looks like a child slumped over his other shoulder.

He stands there placidly looking at Jiang Fengmian, even as twenty disciples have their swords pointed at him.

It’s only when Jiang Cheng enters the courtyard that the Wen boy deigns to speak at all.

“Ah, Jiang-gongzi,” the Wen boy says, bowing awkwardly with the two bodies slumped lifelessly over his shoulders. “Sorry for bothering you so late.”

“What are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng says. He rushes over to the boy, signaling to the disciples to sheathe their weapons.

The disciples don’t even look to Jiang Fengmian for further confirmation before they sheathe their swords.

It seems the Jiang Cheng’s word is good enough.

“Is there a problem? Is Wei Wuxian in trouble?” Jiang Cheng asks as he takes the woman’s body from the Wen boy’s shoulder. He holds her gently and rests her head on his shoulder.

He declines when a disciple comes forward and tries to take the unconscious woman from Jiang Cheng.

The Wen boy hands the unconscious child to the disciple.

“Wei-gongzi is okay,” he says, “I’ve given him a draught that will leave him unconscious for a couple of days so he can heal, but other than that he should be fine.”

“Why are you here?” Jiang Fengmian asks, finally stepping forward. An almost tired sort of anger fills him. Why is this Wen in Lotus Pier? Why did he bring other Wens? Why didn’t he bring Wei Wuxian?

“Ah, Sect leader Jiang,” the Wen boy bows deeply. He stays bowed as he speaks. “I am going to turn myself in to the Jin Sect. I am the one who killed young master Jin. I am hoping that my life will be enough to soothe Sect leader Jin’s anger so that he will not attack Wei-gongzi.”

It’s a heroic act.

Self-sacrificing.

It’s a wonder why Jiang Fengmian’s heart isn’t moved by it at all.

“Then go to Koi tower,” he responds coldly, “Why are you here wasting time?”

The undead boy stays bowed.

“My sister and my nephew were injured by Jin-gongzi,” he says, “I fear that they will not be able to get better at the Burial Mounds. I know that this is too much to ask, but if they could stay here just a while. If they could just stay here, long enough to recover from their injuries… This would be my final request.”

Of course there would be a catch.

“And if I refuse?” he asks, “Will you stay in the Burial Mounds instead of going to Koi tower?”

“Father!” Jiang Cheng exclaims. He tightens his hold on the woman’s body. Holds her even closer.

Jiang Fengmian had thought that Jiang Cheng had been going to the Burial Mounds because of Wei Wuxian. Never in his life had he thought that Jiang Cheng might have been going to the Burial Mounds because of… love? Affection?

“What?” Jiang Fengmian asks sharply. He’s still sore from how Jiang Cheng had dragged him out of the Burial Mounds. How Jiang Cheng had defied him so brazenly. “What do you have to say to your sect leader, Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng looks at him with fire in his eyes.

Jiang Fengmian can see the way his jaw clenches. The way he visibly steels his resolve.

Undoubtedly Jiang Cheng will defy him again.

Jiang Fengmian is so tired.

He’s already lost a son and he’s in danger of losing a son again.

But maybe this son is also already lost to him.

After all, isn’t that Jiang Fengmian’s problem? He never knows when he’s lost someone until it’s too late to do anything about it.

“I will go to Koi tower either way,” the Wen boy says, interrupting Jiang Cheng and Jiang Fengmian’s silent stand-off. “My life right now is a gift given to me by Wei-gongzi. If returning this gift can spare him any more pain, I will do it happily.” He bows even deeper then. “But if I can make this selfish request – if my sister and nephew can be allowed to recover comfortably – I would die with no regrets.”

It’s then that Jiang Fengmian realizes why his heart isn’t moved at all by thie Wen boy.

His heart can’t be moved because it’s too deeply steeped in shame.

He looks at the boy bowed deeply before him.

He looks at his son still staring defiantly up at him.

“Take them to the healer’s quarters,” he says finally.

Jiang Cheng nods quickly. “Thank you, father,” he murmurs as he walks past Jiang Fengmian.

“Thank you, sect leader Jiang!” the Wen boy shouts, bowing even deeper. “Thank you.”

Jiang Fengmian can’t stand to look at him anymore. He can’t stand to even be in his presence. It fills him with so much shame that he can’t even breathe. He wants to cut himself open and walk out of his body. He wishes he was someone else. Someone braver.

He’s done nothing and he’s being thanked.

It disgusts him.

His wife is standing in the shadows as he walks back towards his room.

“Why are you protecting the Wens now?” she asks, and it’s cruel question, but there’s no malice in her voice. Somehow she sounds almost as tired as Jiang Fengmian feels.

“You saw Jiang Cheng,” Jiang Fengmian answers quietly, “He would not take no for an answer.”

She turns to him then, and her face is shadowed. He can’t make out what expression is on her face, but he assumes it must be disgust.

He’s disgusted with himself too, after all.

“I always dreamed about the day Jiang Cheng would outgrow you,” she says, “But I never imagined I’d find you so pitiful.”

It’s almost enough to shock laughter out Jiang Fengmian – but he’s too tired to laugh.

Too tired and too ashamed.

He gives her a weak smile instead. “It’s a wonder you only find me pitiful now,” he says. He’s always been pitiful. Always been pathetic.

Making the wrong decisions. Choosing peace over happiness. Running away from troublesome things.

Losing.

Losing.

Losing.

“Don’t sound so sorry for yourself,” his wife says, “Aren’t you the one who said a good parent raises children who are better than them?”

She steps into the light then, and it’s the first time he can see her face.

Her tone is sharp and her words are mean but…

But the look on her face is…

She’s the only one who’s ever fought to stay by Jiang Fengmian’s side.

It’s the act of a desperate man, and it’s so much less than what she deserves, but he walks over to her and embraces her.

She’s stiff in his arms.

“What--?” she starts, “Have you finally gone insane? People will—“

“Didn’t you say you pitied me?” he asks, resting his cheek on her head, “Just a little while. Just…”

And she stays stiff in his arms but she doesn’t move.

They stay like that a long while.

Until Jiang Fengmian can muster enough courage to stand himself. Until his disgust loses the knife sharp edge. Until his shame ebbs enough so he can breathe a little.

And his wife.

His wife stands there and endures it with him.