#It is an absolute tragedy to live knowing that every moment could be your last

[purgatorygrl]

Arthur had to face the reality of his mortality. With each passing day he knew that his life was coming to an end, with no possibility of a better tomorrow.

The dreams and plans he once had became impossible knowing that he would not be able to experience a future. The fact of not being able to think about anything but the present, without the possibility of planning for tomorrow, is something that surely filled him with deep loneliness and terror.

The uncertainty of whether he would wake up the next day or not, and having to live with the constant pain, both physical and emotional, is an unimaginable pain.

The fear of the unknown, of what would come after death, is something he probably struggled with in his final days, in addition to the sadness of the emotional weight of knowing that his death would affect those he loved, leaving a void and causing pain

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Two

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Inspired by the movie "Life as We Know It"!

Masterlist: Here

It had been three days since you’d found yourself in Rafe’s house, a place that now felt more like a cage than a refuge. You hadn’t had much time to adjust to the new reality. Between the funeral, the endless meetings with lawyers and child services, and the sudden responsibility of Willa, everything seemed to blur together in a haze of exhaustion.

You had told yourself you’d stay at the house more often, that you’d help Rafe get into a routine with Willa, but the sheer weight of everything had left you in a constant state of uncertainty. It wasn’t just that you were suddenly her guardian, it was that you were also navigating a delicate, complicated dynamic with Rafe. Every time you thought you had a handle on things, another obstacle seemed to rise up in front of you.

But life didn’t stop, and the bills still needed to be paid. So, you found yourself at the local café by 7 a.m. every morning, working the early shift as if it were a lifeline to some semblance of normalcy. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries helped ground you, a comfort amidst the chaos.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

That morning, you found yourself staring blankly at the coffee machine, lost in thought as you tried to get a fresh batch brewing. Willa’s laugh echoed in your mind, that small, joyful sound she’d made when you’d managed to make her smile that morning at Rafe’s house. But then there was Rafe—his disheveled hair, his barely-contained frustration as he tried to make breakfast, as if he were a stranger in his own life.

You shook the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand. You couldn’t afford distractions right now.

"Hey, [Y/N], you okay?" Jess, your co-worker, asked as she slid into the back room, eyeing you with concern. Jess had been your friend since you started working at the café, and while she wasn’t a mind reader, she could always tell when something was off.

You nodded quickly, putting a smile on your face. "Yeah, just a little tired. You know how it is."

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press further. "Well, the morning rush is about to hit, and we’re already behind, so I’ll let you catch up. Just take it easy when you can, alright?"

You offered a grateful smile, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. Jess had a way of reading you, and the last thing you wanted was to let her know the extent of what you were juggling.

The morning rush came and went, the familiar frenzy of orders, refills, and people coming and going. By noon, the crowd thinned, and you finally got a break. You slipped into the back room, sitting on one of the crates as you checked your phone, hoping for a distraction.

You had a few missed texts, mostly from Sarah’s family offering condolences, a few work-related messages, and then... one from Rafe.

Can you come over tonight? Willa’s been fussy all day. I can’t figure out what she wants.

You stared at the message for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen. You’d been trying to keep your distance from Rafe, only coming over when absolutely necessary, and still, he was asking for help. He hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with his emotions, but there was something about the way he’d written this message that gave you pause.

You knew it wasn’t just about Willa—it never had been. There was still tension between you and Rafe, an unspoken rift that neither of you had quite figured out how to cross. Yet, here he was, reaching out.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. You’d been trying to balance it all—work, helping Rafe, and processing the grief that seemed to be dragging you under—but it wasn’t easy. You needed to be there for Willa, but you also needed to keep your job, and your sanity.

After a moment of contemplation, you typed out a reply. I’ll be there around six. I can stay for a few hours.

You didn’t know what you expected, but you sure as hell didn’t expect the quick response. 

Thanks. I’ll make dinner. She’s been restless.

You felt a strange knot form in your stomach at the offer. Dinner? From Rafe Cameron? A part of you wanted to laugh, but another part—an irrational, confusing part—wondered if this was his way of trying to do something right, for once.

The rest of your shift passed in a blur. You tried to focus on the coffee orders and the chatter of the customers, but all you could think about was Rafe and the odd, fragile dynamic that had begun to take root.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

By the time you pulled into Rafe’s driveway later that evening, you could feel the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. But Willa needed you, and whether or not you wanted to admit it, Rafe did, too.

You took a deep breath before getting out of your car, trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever awaited inside.

The house looked even bigger at night, the lights from the interior casting long shadows across the front yard. As you walked up the stone path, you noticed the faint scent of something cooking—garlic, herbs... something surprisingly warm and inviting.

When you stepped inside, the familiar coldness of the house hit you, but this time, there was something different. The warmth of a home-cooked meal filled the air, and for the briefest moment, it almost felt like things could be normal again.

Rafe was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up as he stood over the stove. He looked up when you entered, a slight tension in his posture as if he was still waiting for you to call him out on some unseen mistake.

“Hey,” you said quietly, watching him carefully. “Dinner smells good.”

He nodded, but didn’t meet your eyes. “It’s nothing fancy. Just pasta, I—uh, thought it might help if she had something warm.” His voice faltered, just a little, but he quickly recovered.

You glanced over at Willa, who was in her high chair, her small hands gripping the edge of the tray as she watched Rafe. She looked so small in the expansive room, and the sight hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You walked over to her, gently picking her up from the chair. “Hey, little one,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Rafe turned away from the stove, his hands gripping the counter as he stared down at the floor. "I don't know what I'm doing. She won’t stop crying, and I... I don’t get it."

You felt a pang of sympathy, despite everything. You moved toward him, your voice soft. “It’s okay. You’re doing fine. It’s all new for both of us. You don’t have to have all the answers.”

Rafe looked up at you, his expression tense but vulnerable. "Yeah. I guess I just... I want to do right by her. I don’t want to screw this up."

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The sound of Willa’s cries echoed through the vast kitchen, filling the space with a noise that felt almost too loud for the house. She was tiny, yet her cries were fierce, relentless. It had been over an hour, and you were beginning to feel like you were running out of options. You had tried everything.

You’d fed her, changed her, rocked her. But no matter what you did, she wouldn’t stop. Willa’s little fists clenched and her body writhed in your arms, the tears never slowing, never quieting.

“Come on, Willa,” you muttered, trying to soothe her with the kind of gentle rocking you’d seen Sarah do a million times. But nothing worked. You glanced over at Rafe, who was standing across the kitchen with his arms crossed, looking both helpless and frustrated.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Why the hell won’t she stop?”

You didn’t have an answer. Honestly, you didn’t know why she was crying, either. She had been fine all afternoon, playing with her toys, laughing when you made funny faces at her. But now, she was inconsolable, and it was starting to tear at your patience—and Rafe’s too.

You rocked Willa more gently, trying to keep calm. "I don’t know," you said softly, your voice low and soothing. “Maybe it’s... something else. She could be tired, or maybe she’s just upset. Babies have their moods.” You spoke from experience, but your words felt thin in the moment. You hadn’t expected to be thrown into this role, and you were starting to feel every bit of the weight of it.

Rafe glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “Do you think she’s sick?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

You shook your head. "I don't think so... I mean, she doesn’t have a fever. Maybe it's just... a bad moment." You were doing your best to sound confident, but even you didn’t believe the words you were saying.

Willa’s cries intensified, her tiny body wriggling in your arms, making it even harder to calm her. Your chest tightened with frustration, helplessness. It was hard enough to balance everything with the weight of the situation, but right now? You felt completely out of your depth.

“I don’t know what else to do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You looked over at Rafe, who hadn’t moved an inch since you started holding Willa. His face was tight, his eyes narrowed in frustration, but there was something else there, too—something you hadn’t expected: vulnerability.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. After a few more seconds of Willa’s crying, he finally broke the silence.

“Maybe I could try,” he offered, his voice a bit softer, tentative.

You were surprised at the offer. You’d never seen Rafe with kids—never even imagined him with a child this young. But there was something in the way he said it, a quiet desperation, that made you nod.

“Yeah. Try.” You handed Willa to him, careful not to jostle her too much as she continued to wail. She was still kicking her legs, her face scrunched up in distress.

Rafe hesitated for just a second before adjusting her in his arms, awkwardly holding her against his chest. His expression was uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with this tiny person who was now his responsibility.

“Hey, Willa,” Rafe said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We got you.”

He bounced her lightly, just enough to make her feel the rhythm of his movements. For a moment, nothing changed. Willa’s cries didn’t soften, but Rafe didn’t seem to mind. His focus was entirely on her, like he was determined to make it work.

You watched him for a moment, trying not to show your surprise. You didn’t think you’d ever see Rafe in this light. The way he moved, the way he spoke to Willa—there was something different in his tone, something real.

But the crying didn’t stop. Willa’s cries just seemed to escalate, as though she was testing him, testing you both.

Rafe gritted his teeth, adjusting his hold on her again, more firmly this time. “Alright, little one,” he muttered under his breath, his voice still trying to stay calm despite the rising frustration. "We’re gonna get this right. I swear."

He then shifted, trying a different approach, gently patting her back. He’d seen Sarah do it before, you knew, but it still felt foreign coming from him.

You, not sure what else to do, knelt beside him, trying to be as calm and soothing as possible. You placed a hand gently on Willa’s leg. “Shh… Willa, sweetie, it’s okay,” you cooed, matching Rafe’s rhythm.

And then, something unexpected happened. Slowly, gradually, Willa’s cries began to soften. Her body stopped wriggling as much, her little fists loosened. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t magic, but her wails started to turn into quiet sobs, then sniffling, then, finally, she rested her head against Rafe’s chest.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

"See?" you said softly, your heart still racing. "I told you it was just a moment."

Rafe, his face still a bit tense but now with a faint trace of relief, looked down at Willa. Her eyelids fluttered as she finally, finally, drifted off to sleep.

“I don’t get it,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I tried everything, but... she calms down when you do that. When we’re both here.”

You shrugged, feeling the exhaustion in your own body. “Sometimes... it just takes both of us. Babies are unpredictable.” You didn’t know what else to say, because, truth be told, you didn’t really understand it either. But you knew one thing for sure—despite your differences, despite the chaos, this was something you could do together.

Rafe shifted his weight, still holding Willa carefully. “Thanks,” he said quietly, as if he hadn’t just gone through a whirlwind of frustration. It was brief, but there was sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t think... I mean, I wasn’t sure I could handle this.”

You glanced up at him, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something different in his eyes—something that wasn’t defiance or anger, but something closer to gratitude.

“You’re not alone in this,” you said softly. “We’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The house had fallen into a strange stillness after Willa finally settled into bed, her little form bundled up in the crib, tucked in for the night. The hours of chaos, the endless crying, the uncertainty—it had all melted into a tense kind of quiet that felt almost too heavy to breathe through. You and Rafe were both exhausted, physically and emotionally, but the weight of the situation hadn’t lightened one bit.

You leaned against the counter in the kitchen, your fingers wrapped around a mug of warm tea, trying to find some semblance of calm. The silence was comforting in a way, but also suffocating. You and Rafe hadn’t exchanged many words since Willa had fallen asleep. There had been a brief moment where you’d both sat at the kitchen table, exhausted, sipping coffee in silence, but now it felt like the quiet was pressing in from all sides.

Rafe was standing by the window, his arms crossed, looking out into the darkened yard. He had been quiet for a while, but you could feel his presence like a weight in the room. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

"You know," he began, his voice low but firm. "I’ve been thinking. Maybe it would be better if you just moved in here."

You froze, your fingers tightening around the mug in your hands. "What?" You turned to face him, the surprise evident in your voice. "What are you talking about? Why would I—"

He cut you off, not giving you a chance to react. "Look, we’re both her guardians now, right? I get it—you have your life, your job, but you can’t keep going back and forth between here and the café. Willa needs us both, and we both need to be there for her."

You blinked, trying to process his words. "That’s... a huge thing to suggest, Rafe." You shook your head, stepping away from the counter, moving to the other side of the room. "You think it’s easy for me? You think I don’t have a life outside of this? I’ve got my job, my own responsibilities. I can’t just—move in here."

He turned, his gaze sharp as he watched you. "I’m not saying it would be permanent, but Willa... she’s not going to be okay if we’re both stressed out all the time. You’re already running yourself ragged. This way, you wouldn’t have to go back and forth. You could be here when she needs you, and you wouldn’t have to worry about missing shifts or running out of time."

You felt your pulse quicken, frustration creeping in. "You don’t get it, do you? It’s not just about time. This is my life, Rafe. I’m not just going to—what?—move in with you? Because that’s what you think is best?"

Rafe’s face hardened. "It’s not about what I think is best, [Y/N]. It’s about what Willa needs. You think it’s easy for me, either? I didn’t sign up for this. But here we are, and we both have to step up. We both have to make sacrifices."

Your breath hitched, your voice shaking with the weight of it all. "You think I haven’t thought about that? But this isn’t just about ‘stepping up,’ Rafe. This is about our lives. You can’t just dictate how things are going to work because you suddenly want to play house. I’m not some—"

"Not some what?" he snapped, cutting you off, his jaw tightening as his temper flared. "You think I’m asking for you to live with me because it’s some great idea? I’m trying to help you. You can’t keep doing this alone, and neither can I."

You felt a sting of anger rise in your chest, the frustration of everything spilling out. "I don’t need you to help me, Rafe. I don’t need you to fix everything. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this!"

There was a long, painful silence that hung between you both, a tension that had been building ever since that damn phone call, and now, it seemed like it might tear everything apart.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging slightly as the heat of his anger cooled into something more complicated, more raw. "I’m not trying to fix everything," he muttered, his voice quieter now, laced with frustration. "I’m just trying to do the right thing. I didn’t ask for any of this, either, but I can’t keep pretending it’s just going to work if we’re both barely holding on. You need help. I need help."

Your heart ached at the words, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. But you pushed it aside, unwilling to let the floodgates open.

"I don’t need you, Rafe," you repeated, more firmly now. "I need to figure out how to do this on my own. We’re both her guardians, but I’m not going to make this—whatever this is—worse by complicating it. I can’t just move in here and pretend like that makes everything better."

His face tightened, the walls going back up, the Rafe you knew slipping behind his defenses. "Fine," he said, his voice flat. "Then keep living your life. Keep juggling it all, and see how far that gets you."

You shook your head, your words coming out in a rush. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t care? I care, Rafe. But this isn’t just about what’s easiest for you, or me, or anyone else. It’s about Willa. And right now, she needs more than just two people fighting over what’s best for her. She needs stability. She needs peace."

Rafe was silent for a long moment, the tension still thick in the room. His eyes flickered to the hallway where Willa’s room was, the soft rise and fall of her tiny chest visible through the crack of the door. His face softened for just a fraction of a second, but then he steeled himself again.

"Yeah," he said, his voice quieter now, though there was still a trace of frustration. "She needs peace. And maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t the right call." He turned his back to you, his body tense as if he was still holding onto something you couldn’t see.

You felt your anger begin to ebb, replaced by a quiet weariness that settled deep in your chest. You wanted to argue more, to fight for your space, for your independence. But the truth was, Rafe’s idea, crazy as it seemed, did make some sense. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree.

You stayed silent, the space between you growing more and more uncomfortable, until Rafe finally broke the stillness.

"I guess we’ll just have to figure it out, huh?" he said, his voice distant.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you were agreeing with him—or just acknowledging the mess you’d both gotten into.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I guess so."

And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you both wasn’t just filled with tension. It was filled with uncertainty.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 

It had been weeks since the argument, weeks since you and Rafe had first clashed over what was best for Willa, what was best for the two of you. You’d spent those weeks bouncing between your place, Rafe’s, and the café, and with each passing day, it was becoming more and more clear that you couldn’t keep it up. You were running on fumes, your mind spinning with the constant demands of work, the responsibilities of being Willa’s guardian, and the weight of your personal life crumbling under the strain.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

It was a quiet morning when you finally made the decision. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft, golden glow across the living room of your small house. You hadn’t been home in days, had barely slept in your own bed. Willa was still adjusting to the routine, and the nights at Rafe’s were becoming more frequent. The constant back and forth was wearing you down.

You stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the coffee mug in your hand, the warmth barely reaching you. It was still early, and the sound of Rafe’s truck hadn’t yet filtered through the house. But today, you had to make it right.

You had to admit you couldn’t juggle it all.

The idea of moving in had been haunting you for days, but admitting it was another thing entirely. Rafe’s offer wasn’t just about practicality—it was about more than that. About Willa, about what you and Rafe were going to have to become for her. You’d been resisting it, pushing it away because it felt like giving up control of your life. But you knew you couldn’t keep going on this way.

And so, you made your decision.

When Rafe finally walked through the front door a few hours later, his presence filled the space like it always did—big, heavy, almost too much to ignore. He didn’t say anything at first, just kicked off his boots and moved to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water before leaning against the counter, his gaze flickering over to you.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but not unkind.

You set your mug down, taking a deep breath before you spoke. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, your voice steady but with an undercurrent of hesitation. “And I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep bouncing between my place, yours, and work. It’s... it’s too much.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed slightly. “So what does that mean?”

You met his gaze, the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on you. “I’m going to move in. I can’t juggle all of this alone. But there are some conditions.”

Rafe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing just slightly in curiosity. “Conditions?” he echoed, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “Like what?”

You took a breath and laid it out, clear and firm. “First, I’m not giving up my job at the café. I need that. I need a space where I can breathe and do something for myself. I’m going to be there on my shifts, but I won’t be running myself into the ground. So, we need to find a rhythm that works. I can’t just be at home all day, every day. I have my own life, too.”

Rafe nodded slowly, processing the first part. “Okay. Makes sense.” He crossed his arms, waiting for the rest.

“Second,” you continued, your voice unwavering. “I’m not going to just be a ‘housewife’ or whatever. I need to be treated as an equal, I’m her legal guardian too, not some babysitter. I’ll help with Willa, but I can’t take on the full load. If we’re doing this, we’re both sharing it.”

Rafe didn’t argue with that. He gave a slight nod, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were preparing for the next condition.

“And third,” you added, stepping forward, your gaze never leaving his. “We set some boundaries. This is for Willa. We’re doing this for her, but I’m not moving in here for any other reason. We need to keep things professional—for her sake. I’m not moving in here just to... make things weird.” You paused, feeling the tension rise between you. “If we’re doing this, it’s for Willa. Nothing more, nothing less.”

There was a long silence between you two as Rafe absorbed your words. He was silent for a moment, then exhaled through his nose, a sound of reluctant agreement. “Fair enough,” he said. “I can deal with that. We both need to be in this equally. No one person doing more than the other.” He glanced over at you, a little more seriously now. “And about the boundaries... I’m not trying to make this any more complicated than it has to be. I get it. You’re here to help with Willa, and I’m not going to make that weird.”

It was strange, the way things were shifting between you both. There was a subtle shift in his tone, something closer to understanding. As much as Rafe might have wanted to fight you on it, you knew he respected the fact that you were being clear about your limits.

“So, what now?” he asked, breaking the silence. “You move in today?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But, you’ll have to help me get my stuff together. I’m not just leaving everything behind, Rafe.” You allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Rafe smirked, the tension breaking between you two for the first time in weeks. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll help. Just don’t expect me to pack your clothes.”

You laughed quietly, feeling the weight on your chest lift just a little. “I don’t need you to pack my clothes. I just need you to be... not a pain in the ass while I get settled in.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “No promises there.”

You shook your head, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. It was a step in the right direction, you told yourself. A step toward figuring out how to make this new life work.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe it would take time, patience, and more compromises than you had ever imagined. But one thing was clear: you couldn’t do this on your own. And maybe, just maybe, with Rafe by your side, you could figure out what it meant to be a family, even if it wasn’t the family you’d ever expected.

With a deep breath, you took the first step.

"Alright," you said. "Let’s go get my stuff."

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[tornado1992]

The world does not deserve some things.

It doesn’t deserve destruction, hate or cruelty.

Sonic has known this for quite a while, being some sort of fighter for nature or a so called “protector” of it by a lot of people, he’s not so sure about that though.

Just as the world can be beautiful it can become dreadful, the world gives origin to everything in it, and that everything is part of the world itself.

The people that live in it are the part that shows the contrast the most clearly, just as some inhabitants are kind, take care of each other and enjoy the wonders it has to offer, there was a few of them that seemed to spite everything that wasn’t like them, everything they didn’t like, and everything that wasn’t theirs. Sonic knows that, he’s been fighting that enough time to be named a protector.

All things considered, to him the world still meant kindness, endless opportunities, adventure… and it meant freedom.

Then it meant something else.

Between all his fighting and running, he met and befriended a lot of the ones that called him a hero before he could even process the title, some of them energetic, some hotheaded, and some unbothered, they reminded him that even if there was despair or tragedy, the world he knew and loved was still there.

At least it was there to him.

Getting to know all the world meant getting almost as much deception and anger as happiness, every new place meant new sceneries, new ways, and new people, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if it meant taking all the damage himself, getting to know everything personally was better than blindly trusting anything he was told, he knew it was worth it; he confirmed it when he went through one of the worst parts to find the absolute best one.

The place wasn’t even bad looking, the nature growing harmoniously beside the artificial work, it gave a peaceful kind of vibe, the people seemed kind and respectful, kids playing and chasing each other while adults looked out for them from afar, even welcoming him with open arms not caring if he was a stranger, “a united and caring community”, no sight of conflict or cruelty came to view, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them. Only kind words and even warm chilli dogs greeted him. He thought this was the kind of place he would fight for.

That thought lasted less than an hour.

It really doesn’t take much longer than 10 minutes to completely change your perspective of a so called perfect community when after thirty minutes of an apparent peaceful environment you notice the sick looking child they suddenly chase down the woods so he doesn’t “steal their food and gives them bad fortune”. Sonic gives them a full minute of doubt, doubt to himself as what he’s hearing and seeing, because that can’t be right, because it must be a mistake. What reason could there be for a kid to “give bad luck”? Why would a kid need to “steal” food? And why would he be called a “curse”?

Some villager takes a long four minutes to explain the reason for all that, falling down to “that mutant was born with two tails”.

Sonic spends the next five minutes looking for the kid, and restraining himself from committing several crimes.

He had to focus, ending a full village’s whole career can wait, what cannot wait is the fox kit that just ran away from a group of kids leaving a trail of blood behind him. Even in the thick forest tundra it’s easy to see the big droplets of blood on the tree branches, the ground, and the tiny bush that kept trembling.

That’s where he found him.

A fox kit, didn’t looked any older than two, but by what he heard he could even be four. He looked way too tiny to be around four.

Big baby blue eyes greet him, a glassy sight, sorrow, confusion and sadness behind them.

The moment the fox noticed the speedster he tried to run, but the bush was too thick around him, and his back was facing a big tree log, he was trapped, the kid flinched every time he moved towards him, whined whenever Sonic rose to stand, and even started silently tearing up while curling around his tiny bruised body when he tried to reach for him. This kid thought Sonic wanted to hurt him.

How much does a kid has to suffer for his first reaction to some one approaching him being to cry, tremble and try to protect themselves?

Sonic can’t decide what enrages him more, the matted brown fur that surely must mean a long time without proper care for it, the bruised skinny body that trembled every few seconds as if it couldn’t stand by itself, the obviously recent bleeding nose that made the fox kit whimper every time he breathed, or the so clear loud sound of an empty stomach.

This was the result of long period of abuse and neglect, and by the way the kid hugged his twin tails while crying, Sonic would even call it torture.

Sonic couldn’t help him without getting close to him, but the kit wouldn’t let him near him without flinching. Putting the kid through more distress was not an option, but leaving him alone wasn’t one either, and the kid needed help, so he stayed. Sitting beside the trembling bush, taking watch in case some of those hollow hearted villagers came back while thinking of a way of helping the kid.

This is not the kind of help Sonic is used to offer, but he cannot just leave the kit alone. Even if he didn’t know anything about taking care of younger kids, even if his first aid kit was almost empty in his plane far away from him, even if the fox cried at the very sight of him, Sonic won’t leave him alone.

He doesn’t remember feeling like this before. Frustrating, he remembers some adults calling it, a feeling of helplessness, anger, and even sadness that consumes one self through the impossibility of effective action, in his case, the impossibility of helping.

And so he found himself, frustrated, sitting on the forest ground while rubbing his eyes with his hand, who knew, frustration is stressful; he kept at that for a few long minutes, until he felt a slight touch in his back. Finding those big blue eyes when he turned his head, a tiny gloveless paw patting him gently, careful with his quills but yet touching them, trying to comfort him.

This kid could barely stand, was obviously scared, at the verge of tears, and hurting from the beating the other kids gave him; and he was trying to make Sonic feel better.

It was clear now, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them because they put all the cruelty and hatred in a kid, an innocent, tiny, and so kind hearted kid. The same village that greeted Sonic with kind words and offered him warm food was willing to let a literal toddler starve, if he wasn’t killed by the village’s youngest inhabitants first. All over something that wasn’t even bad, it wasn’t even his fault.

That won’t do.

Looking less distressed than before but still trembling wasn’t an ideal state to approach the twin tailed kit, but again, the kid needed help, the most urgent now being probably first aid, but Sonic sadly knew that the thing that would calm down the kid more would be something to eat.

Sonic offered him a smile, an attempt to soothe him, standing as slowly as he could not to scare the kid, and running as fast as his legs allowed him to return with four chili dogs was the game plan, managing to startle the kid a little bit with his rushed return, with the most difficult part of the plan being convincing the kid that the food was for him, that he could eat, that it wouldn’t hurt him, that Sonic wouldn’t hurt him.

Words might be useful to communicate that, but they just might, this kid was obviously casted away from society, who knew since when, he might not even understand him, well, if he used words that is, for now he hopes his smile would do (that and him eating a chili dog himself so the kit would know it’s safe).

It took a while, but it seemed like the fox’s empty stomach finally convinced him to eat, his hands trembling as he grabbed the supper, eyes getting a different kind of teary as he took his first bite, his twin tails wagging as he devoured his second chili dog.

Sonic wasn’t much of a baby person, sure they were cute and all he didn’t saw the big deal, all babies were the same. But seeing this little kid, a hurt toddler, starting to smile and wet his eyes over something as simple as warm food.. while a part of him was burning with rage, another part of him couldn’t help but think that he wanted to see this kid truly smile.

He wonders how could anyone see this kid with anything but love.

So he stayed around him, always with a smile, but even bandages, chili dogs, and big smiles couldn’t help much with the kids perspective of the word, much less the perception of himself.

The only world the fox knew before Sonic was a merciless one, rejection, hate and cruelty being its main traits, with bad people who would hunt him down, hit him and hurt him because he was the bad one, just for existing in the same time and place as all of them, but not being the same as them. He believed he really was the bad one for some time.

Sonic wouldn’t allow that for any longer, so he took the best part of the world with him and never planned to return it.

His life wasn’t the ideal deal for a toddler, he couldn’t give him a traditional family structure, a roof over his head, or a warm bed, but he also didn’t trusted anyone else to take care of him, he didn’t trusted the world to take care of him. So he would take the job himself, this kid wouldn’t go a day without warm food, he would never lack shelter, and as long as Sonic was around, he would always protect him.

But Sonic still was a hero.

Sonic fought and ran, ran and fought, and when the running and fighting from him alone seemed like not enough, the kit didn’t even doubted risking his own life to help him.

After a life of suffering, as little and scared as he was, at barely four years old, he still wanted to protect the world that wronged him.

The world doesn’t deserve this kid.

But it was the world itself that gave Sonic the title of protector, guardian, and hero; he knows there are things worth fighting for, far more than the things that wouldn’t deserve any kind of protection.

He won’t deny the title, ever.

Because even if some day everything around him comes down, everyone gets mad and bad, and his own hope is questioned, he’ll still have a reason to fight.

After all, this kid is his world.

[darthpastry]

Welcome to part two of my official Henry-hate crusade. Time to cover the true ending of Pizzeria Sim! For this one, I want to take one of the fandoms favorite moments, the connection terminated speech, and shred it to piece while explaining why Henry isn't really a hero in this instance. So! Let's go over certain lines. Maybe compliment some of my favorite ones so this isn't just hating and recognizing he isn't the absolute worst.

"And to you, my brave volunteer."

Idk about you, but it doesn't exactly seem to me like Michael knew what he was volunteering for.

"Who somehow found this job listing not intended for you."

If it was anyone else, they probably would've died. The only other person by this point who was known to be able to survive the animatronics was Jeremy and I doubt that even if he was still around, he would be able to fend them off due to brain injury. Also, not so much a complaint, but did Henry have someone else in mind or just threw the job listing into the void?

"Although, there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be."

Why not ask. Or at least tell him what the way out is instead of just assuming he hasn't found anything to live for and effectively murdering him?

"I am remaining as well. I am nearby."

Yep. Just make sure everyone who knows what's going on dies even though it's not like William hasn't escaped a fire before. Very responsible of you.

"This place will not be remembered. And the memory of everything that started this. Can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should."

I'm a firm believer in when history is forgotten it repeats itself, so quite frankly wanting people to forget seems a bit stupid. I agree that they shouldn't be trapped in the agony of it, but "this place will not be remembered" seems wrong.

"Although, for one of you. The darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole. So, don't keep the Devil waiting, old friend."

I can complain about Henry all day, but William is objectively far worse, and this line is absolute fire. Pun intended.

"My daughter, if you can hear me. I knew you would return as well."

Might be due to that animatronic you made to capture her and deliver constant controlled shocks and also somehow ended up in a magazine? Idk though. Just a theory.

"I'm sorry that on that day. The day you were shut out and left to die. No one was there to lift you up in their arms. The way you lifted others into yours."

But why. I get that being a parent can be hard and you can't have an eye on your kid 24/7, but he should've at least made there was a responsible adult present.

"Not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now."

Yippee. Negligent dad who can only making up for leaving his child without a responsible adult which led to her early death by using Lefty so that she can finally move on. Yayyyy /extreme sarcasm ofc

“Congratulations on completing your work week. We apologize if your situation wasn't presented to you In a completely honest fashion when you first started, but it was important that your intentions and actions be genuine.”

I cannot emphasize enough that Michael was not told what was going to happen and given the last sentence it seems like he didn't even feel the need to be suspicious of what was going on.

“Please accept this Certificate of Completion. Goodbye for now, and thank you for taking this journey with us.”

More of theorizing but it's kind of weird that this whole monologue was recorded and delivered if Michael is supposed to be actually dead. I know it's for the player, but I feel like they could easily spin this and bring Michael back.

Tune in next time where I cover the other endings, possibly rant about how everything in FNaF is awful for everyone, and miscellaneous if there's any!

@uvanuva

[infuckingdestructible]

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in here and even longer since I’ve used this page as a One Direction fan account but the 16 year old me found therapy in writing here and screaming into the void so I figured 26 year old me might find it cathartic too.

Mourning someone you admired and loved so much as a girl while being a woman and acknowledging the terrible things he did while alive is such a hard thing to navigate. I feel so angry that the victims will never feel justice but so sad that this beloved singer, father, son, and brother has so tragically passed away.

I sit here at 26 thinking of the last times I really paid attention to One Direction. I was 17 when Zayn left. I was 18 when the band broke up for good. Both had me devastated, knowing these were such pivotal moments. Now I sit on my bed in my apartment with my partner of five years crying while he rubs my back, trying to explain the complex emotions I’m feeling. Because how can you really describe the feeling of a part of your youth, your transformative years, your girlhood being shattered?

I was just a girl when I last listened to them. I remember so fondly so many memories of jamming out to them with my middle and high school best friend. I think about how my old high school friend went to their concert and called me so that I could listen to them singing live because she knew how much it would mean to me. I think about how when I met my closest friend we were able to form such a fast friendship over Niall being our favorite. I think about how I would set alarms on music video release days just to wake up early and watch them as soon as they dropped. I think about how I would beg my dad to let me buy their albums on iTunes so I could download them on my iPod to listen to in my bedroom. I remember learning that Zayn left and feeling devastated. I remember the infamous beef on twitter. I remember the break up. I remember slowly phasing out of that interest and moving on. And every now and then I’d hear What Makes You Beautiful and remembering all these wonderful memories.

I also remember the feelings I had learning about the allegations, about the stories women would tell and feeling so angry that this person I looked up to becoming a monster. I think about how I was just telling someone at work the news as it was happening just a few weeks ago.

And I don’t think I’ll ever forget the feeling of my partner texting me while I was at work that Liam had passed away and I don’t think he understood the absolute devastation I felt in that moment. I felt like I was my 17 year old self learning new news about one direction all over again, feeling absolutely beside myself, mourning a person who meant so much to me in my most formative years. God. I feel sick to my stomach.

I wanted accountability, not tragedy. It shouldn’t have ended like this and I’m so sorry that it did. May his family find peace in this time. May his son be okay. May his girlfriend have support around her. May his victims not feel guilt or responsibility. And may the four boys grieve how they need to, in private and away from fans.

To my 15-18 year old self, mourn however you feel is right and to my 26 year old self, be kind to her with how she chooses.

May all other women around the world find comfort knowing that we’re mourning together. I know I have.

This is all so dramatic but I don’t know how else to express feelings regarding this. Fuck.

[harocat]

I really want to babble about how thematically, this ending makes no sense, and it's so contrary to what we've seen up to this point, and how it's not just that it's sad and that TTJ deserves better (though both are true); it's a story about a man who wanted to die that ends up with him… basically committing assisted suicide to save the world, because well, I guess he was right to want to die all along, even though his reasons were ALWAYS because of the cruelty of others, not because of his own self.

Then he finally gains agency and a life that he wants to live, a simple life filled with love and fulfillment that is enough for him, and he doesn't want to die any longer. And it’s taken away from him and he is forced to go back into that mindset of seeking death. He was ready to live. He’d defied fate and he was ready to live. It’s bad. It’s not fulfilling. We already KNEW he would do anything to save LSS and her world. We didn’t need that proven.

It doesn't matter how hard you fight against your fate, how much you love and how much you strive to be a better person, if you are doomed to suffer and die, you will, is what TTJ's story tells us. And if you want to die, you may as well give in, because happiness never lasts.

I also want to ramble about how unfair it was to LSS, who at the end was deprived of agency and essentially just shifted around wherever she was needed, not being allowed to make decisions of her own. How episode thirty-five WOULD have been a much better ending, and if anything, what we see in TTJ's bo’re life in episode thirty-nine reinforces this.

But more than that it's just upsetting to me because this was such a good show, that presented such compelling ideas and did so in SUCH an entertaining way. And yes the scenery and costumes and aesthetics absolutely slapped. It's gorgeous as hell. But also the character dynamics were interesting and complex, and their relationships were easy to get invested in. There were fascinating relationships among the entire cast as well, not just between the leads and couples (XL and TTJ, LSS and Pian Ran). Yes, there were missteps along the way; the dream arc was about twice as long as it needed to be, and even Clam Gege and his sparkles could not save it, the show plodded along a bit in the early thirties (episodes like thirty-three were super disjointed because of time cuts), Mo Nv was added in as a new character for who knows what reason, etc. But nothing is perfect. This is still one of the better shows I’ve watched in a long time, and I was on edge for every new episode. A genuine enemies to lovers story with chemistry and anguish, hatred and tenderness, sometimes all at the same time. I was obsessed.

And… Tantai Jin is one of the best male leads I’ve seen for years. He’s so layered, so interesting, and so heartbreaking, and Yunxi does a beyond incredible job with every moment of his portrayal of him. He’s legitimately a tour de force in the role. Yunxi and Bai Lu both deserved better than this. But a great lead requires deserves a story that lives up to him, and TtEotM isn't that.

I hate that TTJ is going to probably kind of fade into obscurity, at least among English speaking fans, because people are going to be rightfully wary of recommending this drama now. And I can’t blame people, because if I’d known the ending, I probably wouldn’t have watched either. It left me feeling so empty today, and not in a ‘wow hurts so good’ way that true, well done, and cathartic tragedy does.

One can hope youku releases a ‘fix it’ clip like has happened with some other shows, that at least gives a happier ending for TTJ and LSS. Even then, that’s kind of putting a bandaid over a gaping wound, because a lot of the issues with the ending will still exist, but at least it might make it so I can recommend it with a ‘yeah the ending isn’t great, but it’s overall really good.’ And no the audio clip does not cut it.

[faceless-mirror]

CHAPTER 2

Ship: Hozier and Farren(ONBC)

Andrew and Farren have been traveling through the centuries. Andrew remembers each time, when each of their times together ended in horrible tragedy. Farren never remembers, but their hearts call to each other in every life time, even if it brings pain. Andrew is breaking now, just needing one happy ending where they don't die crushed to death- sacrificed to old gods- hunted for their love- or torn apart in battle.

All he wants is to have Farren and live in peace. Hopefully, the Gods will grant mercy at last for his past transgressions that led to this cycle.

Taglist: @rowanballard @likehipsters @darkcloverme @holy-shitposting @cwooley1999-blog

(If you'd like to be added or removed please let me know)

Farren woke the next morning to golden rays burning across their face, causing them to hiss softly in pain, rolling over trying to throw the bed cover over their face grumbling softly and angrily at the sun for daring to wake them, even if it was their own fault for not closing the curtains.

It was a moment of quiet contemplation, eyes held shut, breathing in and out easily. Finally when their brain decided that it did, in fact, want to be alive and awake, they slipped out of bed steadily, bare feet hitting the floor. After going through their morning routine, they sat down at their desk, ready to get started on their projects for the day. Though upon opening the laptop, it was an email that caught their attention. 

An interview for the bartender and artist position. Responding quickly they decided that if they could interview today they would. Starting by the next week would be divine. It didn’t take too long to get started on their commissions, though they were anxiously awaiting to hear from the venue.

Almost two hours later, they got a phone call, offering an on the spot interview. 

***

A few hours later, Farren was there in front of the building, dressed in a white button down shirt and bell bottom stretch pants, wearing platform shoes. Looking around they were a bit shocked, it was a nice large venue, with some historic undertones. All they could think of was hoping to be a candidate for the job.

Stepping in, they couldn’t help but appreciate the red brick walls and the hardwood bar that greeted the doors. There was a man sitting and waiting, for them it seemed. The way he jumped to his feet, moving close hand extended, blond locks tied back neatly. “Avira Swan- It’s lovely to meet you- Farren was it?” he questioned warmly, gently pressing a hand to their back guiding them to an office with a smile. 

“We just came under new management- and we’re determined to put in a beautiful mural-” he explained. It seemed this man had visions for the venue and was insisting upon it. Already pulling out a contract. “Feel free to sign, Mx. Doven.”

“What about the interview-?” Farren started to question, reading through the contract curiously. It was fairly standard. Some things were… odd. Riches and prosperity for as long as they obeyed, if contract is broken, owned by one (1) Avira Swan for ten years. That was the line that stood out.

“Don’t worry about the interview. Your art skills are exactly what I want for the mural- Absolutely beautiful.” he said reassuringly, devilishly green eyes watching them like a hawk, except focused on the pages in their hands. 

They hummed softly, they’d be stupid to turn this down. It paid so well… but the one line worried them. “What does this mean… can you clarify…?” Farren questioned, “I would love to accept so long as i can understand this or have it removed-” they said licking their lips nervously. Something felt wrong with this- but the money they couldn’t refuse.

Avira frowned in concern and looked over, and sighed, “Oh- I can have that removed. My lawyer must have taken a joke too far- I apologize.” He took the contract away and the feeling subsided, “Thank you that could have been a lot of paperwork later on.” he chuckled.

The beautiful man smiled fondly, “Let me get that taken care of.” he said softly, standing and moving to a filing cabinet throwing out the old contract and bringing over a fresh one and offered it to Farren. They looked through it firmly, humming softly as they did. A melody that haunted their head. “That’s an old song, dear,” Avira commented thoughtfully, elbow on the table his fingertips supporting his chin as he watched them. “Take care of what it may summon, my dear.”

“You know it?” they questioned, attention diverted.

He smiled softly, “It’s an old song… very old. Legend says it was written by a fae who fell in love with a mortal despite the warnings that he shouldn’t, that he would be cursed as they would be. Whenever the song is hummed or sung… played… he shows up searching for his love. Destruction follows him…”

Something… something itched in the back of their mind at the story. It couldn’t… it wouldn’t be real. They hummed running their fingers through their black and blue hair. “It sounds like a tragic love story… but just a story.” Their lips quirked, eyes returning to the contract reading through it. Nothing was jumping out this time at least. 

“If it is just a story its a story that’s unfinished, dear.”

They didn’t know what to say to that, so they asked a different question. “What is the mural to be of?” they asked.

“I’d like it to be a mural that depicts the fae… and music of course. Just whatever feels right to you. I’ll show you the spot for the mural.” he added as those almost glowing green eyes focused on her hands signing the contract. 

“Of course. Can I get a copy of the contract please? For my own records.” she clarified.

“Of course.” Avira said warmly, pulling out a contract from the same folder passing it to her, letting her glance through it before standing. “Now… let’s get you that tour to the place for the mural.” he purred, a sound that seemed to soak into her mind.

- - - - -

Andrew had been getting ready to perform feeling a tremor along the red cord coming from his chest making his throat tighten. They remembered the song. It had vibrated many times over the years. It always happened at odd intervals but… that was a sign. His long fingers touched the cord lightly. “Beloved… I’ll find you. I’ll find you no matter where you are.” he breathed out, muddy green eyes focused on the translucent cord. “My beloved.”

[crowncrown]

MORE GENLOSS BRAINROT LETS GOOO

!!!MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!!!

Generation loss’s ending is so incredible I can not STAND IT OH MY GOD I need to write out my thoughts before my brain explodes because I haven’t been able to think about anything else since.

The first episode was an absolute curveball to everyone who’s been keeping up with the spooky ranmail and everything and I’m not gonna lie I was a little nervous about what this show was really gonna be when I was watching it. But the thought process it took behind every detail to make something so goofy actually be horrifying once you understand the context of the next two episodes WAS BRILLIANT. Every piece of the puzzle just adds more and more to the storyline and it makes me want to dissect every detail of the vods for hours.

But I think the most bone chilling part of this-very intentionally I must add- is the final sequence. We witness every one of the characters sacrifice themselves for GL!Ranboo and GL!Slime isn’t any different spending his last breaths being killed by the wire creature (for lack of better words) to make sure Ranboo hits the finish line. But as soon as you feel any level of triumph you realize that Slime is just like Sneeg in the episode before sacrificing himself to ensure the show goes on.

Because it was never about the hero.

Ranboo isn’t special. He’s just another pawn in the game with the illusion of being the protagonist to make it more interesting for the desensitized viewers watching these people die over and over.

He was never meant to win.

And then that leads to us.

The audience.

Given the illusion of choice.

Do you publicly execute this man? Or do you let him live to be tortured the rest of his miserable existence until he is inevitably killed by Showfall for breaking the rules. If you spare him, is it a fate worse than death? We fight with this moral dilemma, trying to decide if it’s our decision whether people live or die.

But he’s a murderer! He killed people and showed no remorse! Showfall metaphorically whispers in our ear that he earned this fate for the terrible actions he committed. But was it him? Did he have any control over the actions he committed throughout the show or is he a victim?

He begins begging to be let go. To just escape from this snare he never asked to be trapped in the first place. The audience heavily leans towards letting him live because maybe being alive in this horrible show is better than the execution. But he knows that was never an option for him. He watches as a cartoony figure jokes about his demise and a audience poll decides his fate. And in that moment he realizes his choices were never his own.

So he gives up.

Begs to just be put down because being part of the cast means he will hurt more and more people the way he’s been hurt. That he will be the cause of more and more pain, and very likely more murderers.

And the audience decides death is the best route for him to take.

Maybe he died believing this is his fault. That the audience decided he should be dead for the horrific things he chose to do. But did he ever really choose?

His story was a tragedy before he could even pick up the pen.

And then there’s Showfall. Once again the ever present voice in our ear. Whispering that we are just the same as he is.

You just chose to murder a man. Is that not any different than him killing the innocent to progress in this game? Showfall now has the audience in the same grip as the man in the guillotine.

Your story as an audience is a tragedy long before you will ever pick up the pen.

[madefate]

HI TELL ME STUFF ABOUT SHADYVERSE ADRIEN AND HIS DAD. Because I see Gabe being caring and affectionate to his son but Emodrien is too distant/guarded because he thinks his dad doesn't mourn his mom enough [he's seen how Gabe looks at Nat]. But also Gabe maybe comes on a bit too strong and it seems forced, but he's just /garbage/ at proper emotional inflection sometimes. He genuinely ADORES his son but respects his desire for space. LIKE I WANT YOUR THOUGHTS ON THEIR RELATIONSHIP FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER. / @nerdynanny

HI YEAH LET ME SCREAM ABT THE AGRESTES. the hardest thing is that, no matter the universe, they do love each other. that's where the grief and the tragedy come from !! if they didn't love each other, it wouldn't hurt as much or mean as much that they're on such opposing sides - in the fight of good vs. evil, but also ideologically, emotionally.

the biggest difference between r!adrien and his mainverse counterpart is support. shadrien is living in a world that's already asking for your worst self and feeds off your bad choices - your violence and anger. when his mother died, he would have always gone through a period of anger, but in this world he grabs onto that anger with a white knuckled grip and doesn't let go. in the absence of friends, in the absence of hope itself, it's the most tangible motivation he has.

he doesn't know how to feel about gabe. this gabe is kind in a way that adrien has to see as soft, lest he allow himself a moment of vulnerability and be weak, and it infuriates him - largely because it shames him. he knows how much he's let himself spiral, and when he sees his father trying - when he sees him trying to move on, make healthy choices, adrien is ashamed of himself - furious that it feels like his father is just leaving emilie behind - empty because he's searching for his mom's arms but he'll never get them back.

but he does fundamentally and absolutely loves his father. at his core, adrien is clinging to the last scraps his family - which, really, is his father, and eventually nathalie. when he gets the chance ( chance, i say, as if it was really a choice ) to wield the cat miraculous, he's doing so on the false promise that the supreme can give him back the thing he misses most. but this is also the first chance he's ever hard to access the power to fight - to not be helpless - and part of his decision is the power to protect the family he has left.

maybe when mom is back, they can just ... go back to the way things were. maybe it'll be okay - maybe all that anger will leave him. maybe it won't be so terrifying to expose the love and pain and anger and grief to the one person left who would understand him.

because at it stands now, adrien has no idea how to talk to gabe. every time he tries, it's just that mess of emotion that comes up and he has to mask it all with anger because that's easier. that's something he understands. honestly, and especially since becoming claw noir, the thing that scares him the most is that his father will see him - for exactly what he is. that he'll be disappointed. that possibility that his father would be ashamed of him is terrifying.

but - how could he not be ? adrien knows what he's looking at when he's looking in the mirror. he'd deserve it. he just - can't let that happen yet.

[llondonfog]

Hello, I would like to make a request if possible. I'm translating through a translator, so I'm sorry if something is not too clear. I hope that the request meets your criteria and does not cross the line. You can change it as you feel more comfortable or completely ignore it. So the essence of the request is that Silver dies in childhood because of Mellius. Perhaps he will find out about the origin of the child or just an accident. But Silver is dead and Lilia is going crazy. Mellius himself is plunged into a sense of guilt. And in their grief, they decide to bring him back to life. Whether it's an attempt to revive it or replace it. It doesn't really matter. Just distraught from the loss, they begin to live in the illusion that Silver is alive. But Silver himself is just an empty shell acting on orders and possibly imitating the behavior of the original. Most of all, I am interested in the reaction of the other characters to this. Sorry, it's a little hard for me to put the whole idea together. I would like to see how they live after the tragedy in complete denial and reassurance that everything is fine, continuing to live as before. But perhaps it breaks down when they try to destroy this illusion. As I wrote earlier, you have every right to ignore my request or change it as you wish. The main thing is that the essence of the idea remains. I also wanted to ask if it is possible to make multiple requests? Of course, taking into account not to spam and not to burden you. Anyway, I'm glad I was able to get this idea out of my head. Thanks for attention.

drabble fic posted here! <3

first, thank you so much for taking the time to share this incredible request, i absolutely LOVED writing it and i hope the spirit of what you wished to see was conveyed!! <3 please don't hesitate to ever jump into my inbox with ideas or twst thoughts that you'd like to share! it may take me some time to get to it, and i'll make it known if it just isn't something i can't get to at this time :)

as far as the direction i went with for your request, i was fully OBSESSED thinking about the mundane, agonizing horror of silver dying by a simple and natural accident— a slip on the wet rocks of the creek in front of their cottage home, losing his grip on a mountainside during a bout of rock-climbing, etc. something so blameless that it would RUIN lilia because it was such an ordinary accident that he couldn't prevent.

i really wanted mal to be the one to bring silver back to life out of a desperate bid to heal lilia's near overblot levels of grief, but also out of this childish way (because he's still a child himself!!) to save lilia's wish to so desperately know if he could love a human— plus of course, mal is obviously fond of silver at this point too and is similarly grief-stricken and absolutely NOT thinking clearly when he tries to resurrect the child.

something that i wanted to be key is that whatever mal brought back, it is NOT silver. silver is permanently dead, and whatever spirit is inhabiting his body is one that mal sees as a complete abomination. lilia, too deep in his grief, latches onto the child regardless even if he has moments of clarity when he can't look at the new 'silver' or be around him for some time. so both mal and lilia know the truth, but nine year old sebek has been pretty much kept in the dark so far with only a few play dates to start seeing a weird behavioral difference in silver and the others.

(but the illusion can't last— this silver can never grow past the age in which the body died, and the spell has to be reapplied after so many weeks or else the corpse starts, well . . . becoming a rotting corpse again. also i'm kind of insane over the idea that the spirit inside silver is malicious and has bewitched lilia into trying to kill himself to reunite with his dead son so that it can take his magic and now mal has to figure out how to undo the awful that he did BUT I MIGHT BE GOING TOO FAR DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE NOW LOL)

[darylsgirl]

You found me. Part 2

A/N Hey guys! Here it finally is! the part two of you found me, Looks like there going to be another one! You are absolute angels for having so much patience with me not updating in awhile! Let me know if you want adding to the tag list! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Lots of love!

Jen :)

The beginning 

It was strange to be alone now, the last few years having just been the three of you, It cut you deeply knowing that it never would be again. Your hand cradling your steadily growing stomach, Your other hand pushing through the dense underbrush in front of you. There was only a few hours of daylight left and you were desperate to find some sort of shelter before the night fell and the temperature with it. 

6 months without a word to another living person, You feared if you didn’t find someone soon you and the baby would be lost. Finally you came across a small street pausing you took in all the sounds around you searching for that familiar growl. When it didn’t come you continued towards the houses slowly and as silently as you could. Forgoing the first few houses you decided it would be safer to pick one in the middle as if someone unfriendly were to come you would at least have a few minutes before they checked the house you were in. 

Tapping your way down the corridor you checked each room carefully for any signs of the living or dead, When you found none you hurried back to the front door and barred it as best you could with what you had around you. Continuing on to all the windows and the back door securing them well enough to keep you from the dead. 

The house was almost untouched. Magazines still sitting open on the table, Flicking through you gave a sad smile at the dusty grinning woman in front of you. In your life before you would have never given a gossip rag like this a second thought but now you found yourself staring at the pictures in it painfully homesick for the life you never got to experience fully. 

Once the light had faded to the point that you could no longer make out the people on the page, You made your way to what would have been the master bedroom, Much like the magazine on the table everything in here was also covered in a thick veil of dust and grime, holding your arm over your face you took the duvet cover off trying your best to keep the dust inside. Laying it back on the bed and repeating the process with the pillowcases, At last you could flop down and relax. 

Pulling the quilt over you it was hard to remember the last time you had been so comfortable. Thanking god for your good fortune you quickly fell asleep. 

Your dreams however didn’t give you any respite, Playing behind your eyelids you saw all the moments that had led you here. Merle snarling over you, Running away from your home, The month you spent wandering and sleeping on the cold ground before you had found a small house that you had made a sort of nest in the bottom of a cupboard feeling safe for the first time. After that it was just a string of bad luck. 

Everywhere you had scouted and thought you may have found a group or somewhere to hunker down in tragedy struck. 

The farmhouse surrounded by hordes of undead. The burning prison and the gunfire from the safehaven advertised as terminus. In everyone of those memories your grief had added him to them. First it was just his voice, You couldn’t tell what exactly he was saying but as you lay in the dark damp cupboard you heard him. Next you saw him riding away from the hoard. Running out of the prison supporting a blonde girl as he went. 

You knew it was your mind inventing things but you couldn’t pinpoint the moment those memories had changed or if they even had. This forced time alone was pickling your brain.  

Even with this knowledge there was a gnawing in your stomach. Like at every stop on the way there was something pulling you forward like safety was just in reach if you would have been brave enough to reach out for it.

The next day you set off again walking aimless and seemingly endlessly into the wild, The baby would be here before you knew it and you couldn’t do this alone, You had to be brave for the both of you now. 

Present Daryl’s POV

Those three words had broken his joy at seeing her again. How could she keep this from him? Yes the world was fucked up at the time but she still could have told him, He wouldn’t have left her that day if she did. He wouldn’t have left her any day. Y/N had been the only one to ever give it to him straight, She had never lied to him. Until now.

The world was crashing back down on him again, With his mind running a million miles a minute he hadn’t realised that his body had taken over, Trying to shield him from the hurt his feet had retraced the same path he had taken a hundred times.

Still on autopilot he climbed the rungs of the ladder at the back of the church and through a small hatch, Into a tiny room that very few people even knew existed and the ones who did knew to stay clear or risk Daryl putting an arrow through their brains in anger. There was only about a foot between the top of his head and the roof and it was about 6 foot wide. Just enough to pace his problems away. 

Every so often he would stop pacing to look through the small gaps in the slats, Even as confused and hurt as he was right now he was always keeping an eye out for any danger, Especially now with the meeting between them and the commonwealth. They could be up to anything. 

What if they knew he was there and sent in Y/N as a spy to take them down from the inside. No she wouldn’t do that….Would she? His head slamming into the palm of his hands. He didn’t know anymore. It had been 12 years.. people change, He certainly had. 

Some may find it hard to believe now but before. He was a lot different. Still not really the social type but since he had met Y/N the world had been brighter. The people within the town that had always avoided him not meeting his eye assuming he would be like his brother had started making an effort with him, People weren’t as bad as he always thought. There were a few in the end he even saw as friends. 

Y/N had always thought she was an outcast with them but the truth was she was their way back to humanity. Before her it had always been Merle dragging him into the worst situations making everyone including himself think he was a complete thug, A waste of air. 

All it took was that one day to change things for the better. He was working at the garage for his ‘Uncle’ Kenny. He wasn’t a real uncle. He wasn’t blood or anything but since his mother had died when he was young he had taken him under his wing. Made a promise to her that he would always watch out for them and he had, which made him blood to Daryl. Merle hadn’t liked it much but Kenny was just as much family as he was.

Pulling himself out from under a car, there she was the sun gleaming behind her making her look like a ray herself, Her long curly hair whipping around her waist in the fall wind. With one glance Daryl’s heart stopped in his chest and he was completely mesmerised.

She had greeted him with a beaming smile sticking her hand out to shake his, Embarrassed he had searched for a rag to wipe some of the grime away. Chuckling she had grasped his hand anyway. Not seeming bothered at all by the dirt that had transferred onto her beautiful manicured fingers. 

From that moment on he had seen her everywhere; he didn’t usually believe in things like fate but she was definitely his. Within the year they were married. They had become a regular fixture in the town, She was the interpreter at the local middle school. After what seemed like a wave of meningitis had hit there had been a few children who had lost their hearing. The school board had brought in an interpreter to teach those kids sign language and help with their lessons. 

Once the county had heard of this a few more kids were redirected to the school leaving her with a group of 15. Soon she had also convinced the school to allow her to run a night class for the parents, Since she was doing it for free the school couldn’t say no. 

As these new classes cut into their time together he decided to start sitting in on them. He would come into every lesson determined to actually learn something, But without fail the glint of the departing sun on her hair or the way her eyes dilated when they looked at him would soon override his other senses and he would no longer remember where they were just that she was with him. 

Even with his daydreams he still couldn’t believe she was his. He would have to constantly tap the ring on his left hand to remind himself it was true, She had chosen him. Lucky son of a bitch he was. 

He did remember now how she had changed in those last few weeks, She had been more reserved than she had usually been with him, Quieter. He had always assumed it was just fear at what was going on in the world. But come to think of it, fear wasn’t something she usually allowed to hold her back from anything. He wouldn’t say she was fearless but it invigorated her. 

Daryl was the opposite, He was always afraid. Fear paralyzed him so instead of working through it he shut it out completely and shut out anyone and everyone that could make him feel that again…Until her. 

Daryl had once asked Y/N how she had managed it; she had always told him that she had seen and felt enough of it to last her a lifetime and she wouldn’t waste another second cowering over it. He never pushed this knowing that if she wanted him to know she would tell him, Just like she had never pushed to know too much about his past choosing to live in the moment together. 

The overwhelming fear the three of them felt together those days before the end were now hazy and blurred, Maybe his mind was trying to protect him from the trauma of what had taken place. Maybe too many traumatic instances had happened since that the details got muddled in his mind. It was more likely that his biggest fear was realised. He lost the person he loved more than anything in the world. All he had wanted to do since was join her, Once he had realised that he had no need for fear anymore. He didn’t go looking for it but he welcomed those frightful situations in the hope it would bring him back to her again. 

Letting out a frustrated grunt he slammed his hands down the wall in front of him, his mind whirling trying to figure out how he had missed it all. Suddenly all of that was replaced in his thoughts again by those three words. He was so stupid to just leave and not let her finish there was so many questions he needed answering. 

She said she was pregnant….What does ‘was’ mean? Alive? Dead? Boy? Girl? He needed to know and he needed to know now. But that horrible little fear demon was tearing through his chest. How could he go out there now and face her again…. 

Y/N’s POV

You stood staring at that empty room for what felt like hours, at the space his body had previously occupied. Your tears had long since dried on your skin. A knocking at the door pulled you from your trance, Suddenly on guard again you took a deep breath to steady yourself. A quick glance around the room reminded you that you were still topless, Swiftly grabbing your shirt you pulled it back over your head and walked to the door. 

When you had swung the door open a part of you had hoped he would be stood there with that dopey apologetic look on his face, Instead you were met by an older woman who took no notice of you to begin with. 

Manoeuvring around you she swept into the room after a quick scan around she finally faced you. 

“Who are you?” She demanded her hand grasping the handle of the knife on her hip. 

For the first time since being in Alexandria you felt vulnerable, Your weapons had been surrendered at the gates and there was nothing within a close enough proximity to use to defend yourself either. 

Taking a defensive stance at the door, “I could ask you the same” You retorted your words coated in disdain. The two of you stood and studied each other for a few moments. From a first glance she was a slight woman but the look in her eyes told you she had seen some horrific things and done even worse. She was not to be underestimated. Still if it came down to it you were confident that with your training you could disarm her and get her to the ground fairly quickly. 

You could tell from the cocky look in her eyes she was thinking the same, oh how wrong she would be. You raised your eyebrows at her daring her to come at you. 

After a few more moments had passed she finally released her grip on the handle. 

“My name is Carol. Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” 

“I thought this was Daryl’s house?” You asked confused.

“That’s right. We live here together….It’s the last time i'll ask…Who are you? And why are you in our house?” You had never been great at deciphering the meaning behind people’s words but you were sure her words mixed with her behaviour she was telling you that they were together. 

The implication stung you. It had been 12 years he had every right to move on but a part of you had always hoped that he would have held on all this time just as you had. There had been temptation along the way but you had always stayed true to your vows…

You repressed the urge to throw yourself at her “I’m Y/N…..Y/N Dixon” The shock at your name was reflected in her eyes but you definitely weren’t expecting what came next. 

Carol’s face changed from one of protective aggression to the perfect housewife. With a big beaming grin she waltzed past you down the corridor. “Dixon you said? Come join me for some tea and you can tell me all about it” 

You followed her anxiously, the fake facade she wore not fooling you for a moment, Carol busied herself for a few minutes in the kitchen whilst motioning at you to take a seat at the table. Picking the seat that had its back directly to a wall and a direct sight to any entry/exit points. 

Not a word was spoken between the two of you until she sat across from you handing a cup of what looked like dandelion tea. Grimacing you took a tentative sip Ugh disgusting, You longed for a latte, The coffee was one of the only good things about the commonwealth. It certainly had better facilities than this place seemed to. 

Staring over the top of the mug you both observed each other, She was the one to break the silence. Continuing with the fake pleasantries she asked. 

“Y/N Dixon….Is that any relation to my Daryl or his brother Merle? They never mentioned a sister so a cousin maybe? ” 

Scoffing you held up the hand he had not so long ago finally replaced your most prized possessions. “Not a cousin…I’m Daryl’s wife”

It was Carol's turn to scoff now, “He never mentioned a wife.. I have been with Daryl since the beginning. He wouldn’t have kept that from me, We know each other better than anyone else in the world” 

Raising an eyebrow at her “Clearly not as well as you think if you didn’t know he was married” 

Silence again her eyes searching your face for any trace of dishonesty. 

Your patience was wearing thin, You couldn’t give a fuck if this woman believed you or not. At this point you couldn’t care less about anything but him, You needed to find him soon, It wouldn’t be long until your son would be here and You didn’t know what Mercer was telling him they were coming here for. Hopefully he wasn’t telling him about Daryl. At Least you prayed he wasn’t. 

Fuck this you thought getting to your feet. Pushing the chair back into the table you rested your arms on it leaning forward towards Carol. 

“If you know him as well as you say you do, Then you can tell me where he has gone” 

“That’s not my place to tell. He’ll come back when he’s ready…..Probably once you’ve left. Who let you in here exactly?” 

Deciding you probably wouldn’t get much more from this woman, You turned your back on her ignoring her repeated questions and slamming the kitchen door behind you. Evasively moving around the buildings you took a moment's pause to check you weren’t being followed before continuing on. 

The sky was dark and now you would be able to walk around without suspicion. You could easily walk around and be mistaken for someone else in the distance. 

Stepping out from behind the building you walked slowly around streets the houses were astounding to you, Only the houses for the incredibly rich could come anywhere close to these. 

The houses you walked past reminded you of the small suburban neighbourhood near where you had once lived. Even though you had loved the little cabin you had lived in, a part of you had always longed to live in one of these kinds of houses. How different life would have been in a house like this, Watching your child’s first steps in the living room Daryl laughing and chasing behind them. 

Completely lost in your thoughts, you wandered aimlessly thinking how different your life would be now if none of this would have happened. 

Footsteps at the side of you brought you back to reality, jumping away quickly as you surveyed the area. From what you could tell there was only one man around who was staring at you now with a puzzled but friendly smile on his face.

Releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding you ran a hand through your hair. 

‘Sorry I guess my instincts are on high alert’ you chuckled with an apologetic shrug. 

‘I wouldn’t expect anything less in these times but within these walls it would only be your mind that you would need to fear.’

Giving him the puzzled look now you waited for him to say more before you decided if you were going to excuse yourself as politely as you could. 

After a few moments he stuck his hand out to you ‘I’m Gabriel resident priest but I guess that’s not all I am anymore…and your Mrs Dixon I believe? But that’s not all you are either’ 

Your eyes zeroed in on his white collar finally adding it up. 

"Yes I’m Y/N dixon… smart move sending a priest to watch the outsider, wouldn’t want to go to any hell worse than this for killing you" you laughed. 

Completely unfazed by the veiled threat he asked ‘Shall we walk? Seems like I may have stumbled upon you at the right time, you look in need of guidance….’ 

Shrugging again like it was your first language you got into step with him silently walking letting the unease of earlier roll away with this silent companionship. 

Within half an hour you had traversed around the entire of the town with him now leading you towards the center. 

Opening a door he lead you into a small building leaving you in the door way while he quickly bustled about lighting candles. 

The lights from the candles slowly revealing more of the features of what you now knew to be a makeshift church. 

Taking a seat in the front pew you waited for Gabriel to come back to you and inspected the building. 

They had done a good job, you could tell this had been a labour of love, smiling as you saw hastily drawn children’s pictures tacked around. You felt a pang of sadness for a moment comparing them to your own child’s, it had only been a day but being away from him for even a moment was excruciating. 

Gabriel had managed to sneak up on you again. Holding a mug towards you he cleared his throat for your attention. 

Wrinkling your nose you asked ‘not dandelion tea is it?’ 

‘No not dandelion tea’ he laughed ‘hot chocolate, we found some powdered stuff awhile back that I keep around for moments like these’ 

You mumbled a small thanks before asking ‘moments like these? What moment exactly do you think this is?’ 

Wrapping both palms warmly around his cup he replied. ‘Moments of faith…crisis… grief… there’s nothing a cup of hot chocolate won’t help with. So tell me Y/N what had you wandering around on the night when most people would have been in the throes of reunion?’ 

Raising an eyebrow at him you decided to let that insinuation go, there was something about the ease in Gabriel’s voice and actions that completely disarmed you. 

Without realizing it you were pouring your heart out to him, all the words you wished you could have said Daryl, Gabriel listened carefully as you explained how you were separated and the life you had led desperate to find him again and now that you had you had ruined it. 

Gabriel took a few moments of reflection before he answered. 

‘Y/N I see nothing here that cannot be forgiven. Those were trying times and I understand why you would keep that from him in those moments. However you made a vow to him to always share each other's confidences and you betrayed that.’

‘Daryl as I’m sure you know is not quick to forgive but I’m positive he will come round…’ 

Daryl’s pov

From the moment he had heard the door opening downstairs he had stopped his pacing standing as still as a statue he listened as her voice wafted up through the floor he was standing on. 

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to go to her, to get answers for himself and not listen to them spoken to another. But he just couldn’t, frozen still he listened as she retold again what Merle had done to her. This time hearing how she had survived after that. 

Guilt washed over him as he heard how close she had been this entire time. If he had only thought to look at any of those stops he was certain he would have found her. There was always something in him that told him she was alive, but he took his stupid ass brother's word for it instead of trusting their bond. He was going to kill that lying bastard when he next lay eyes on him. 

After being stood in one position for so long he could feel himself cramping up, Taking a deep breath he steadied himself. In one quick movement he had swung the hatch open and was climbing down into the church. 

Y/N POV

You couldn’t help but admit spilling everything for the first time since it all began felt good, Sure you had told most of it to Mercer but there were parts that had never spoken until now. There was something about a man of the cloth that made you feel safe, It wasn’t like you believed in god, Well not any more anyway. But still the collar made you feel safe.

Thankfully Gabriel understood and trusted you enough to leave you to ‘quiet contemplation’ as he called it. It gave you a few moments without your head spinning to decide what you were going to do. 

In a few short hours Mercer was going to turn up with T and you had to figure out where to go from here, Either you needed to get Daryl to come around and meet him or you needed to write it off as a lost cause and go be there for your son. You prayed for the former with every part of your being. 

If this Daryl was anything like the one you knew before surely he would want to know him? Sure he was quick to anger but when it came to you he was always quick to forgiveness too. 

Even with everything going on just thinking his name brought a small smile to your lips. After all this time you were so overjoyed to have seen his face again.  So grateful to see that time and circumstance hadn’t hardened his beautiful features. Especially those beautiful eyes, The eyes you had seen everyday shining up from your incredibly wonderful son, T was 100% Daryl so much so you found it hard to see any of yourself in him. You were sure if Daryl had any pictures of his younger years they would be twins. 

The soft pattering of footsteps pulled you from your thoughts, When you looked up you were met with the same eyes that had enveloped your thoughts for the last few minutes. Well the last 12 years if you were to be honest with yourself. 

“Hey” You muttered with a small smile, “Hey” he uttered back. Taking a seat next to you he was quiet for a few moments before asking “What’s his name?”

You could see the joy in his face as you answered. 

“Tobias, Toby or T for short. But his  full name is Tobias…Daryl Dixon.”

“Tobias, You named him after me and ma grandpa?”

“Yeah, He’s named after two pretty special men. T knows all about it and he’s proud to be named after his incredible dad and the man who raised him to be like that.”

His small smile became a beaming grin “How much does he know about me?”

“Everything sugar, He adores you and believed as much as i did that one day you guys would meet and if your up for it i couldn’t think of anything better than him actually getting to meet his hero”

You were surprised when you saw that instead of being overjoyed Daryl looked furious, The eyes you knew so well had turned stormy and dark, His brow furrowed and his lips were tucked into a tight angry line. 

Before you had a chance to question it he Jumped up and started pacing the aisle next to you, For a moment you were relieved that he didn’t run again that was until you realized you were going to see the dark side of Daryl that you had only ever seen twice before and neither of those times was it aimed directly at you. 

Taking a tentative step towards him you decided to bite the bullet, Taking his wrist gently as he paced away from you. “What’s going on up there sugar? I thought all this would be happy news?” 

He wretched his arm away from you. “Happy news? HAPPY?” He yelled. “I would have been fuckin HAPPIER 12 fuckin years ago. But that selfish prick stole it. He stole those years and he woulda stolen more if we hadn’t seen each other today!” 

You knew better than to interrupt while the fire was still burning in his eyes, While he was talking it was safe, It was only when he brooded silently that he was dangerous. 

“He looked in ma damn face everyday and fuckin LIED, Fucker was always jealous of me. I had the hottest wife around and was gonna have a baby and he had to take that from me. What because i wouldn’ta give a shit about him no more? He’ll fuckin die for this”

You knew his next move before he did, Swiftly standing in front of the pew that held his crossbow you grabbed him by the shoulders. 

“Daryl…Look at me, You don’t mean that. Yeah, what he did was horrible…But”

“Horrible? IT WAS UNFORGIVABLE”  

“So help me god Dixon you better stop interrupting me and listen!” You waited a moment to see if he would interject again and when he didn’t you continued. 

“Yes it was horrible, I’ve had to live with this knowledge every day so I've had time to really think about all this. Trust me, I wanted him dead too for a long time and I know that right now you think you do too. But you don't.”

“Don’t even think about it Daryl!” You scorned watching his mouth open again about to protest. 

“You don’t want him dead, he's your family. He's Toby’s uncle and he has grown up with no family at all. Not able to talk about who his dad is just in case it got us into trouble! Do you not think he at least has the right to meet him before you put a bolt in that ugly head of his?”

“And please tell me why now of all times we are bloody arguing? Not once in before all this did you raise your voice AT me like that! I have been dreaming of this moment for years and all you can do is run away and yell, My Daryl didn’t do that.”

“Well maybe YER Daryl doesn’t exist anymore! He died when he thought ya did”

The words stung you more than you ever thought possible. All these years you stayed faithful and hoping but he had just moved on just like that. Both of you sat there in shocked silence not meeting each other's eyes. 

Your heart felt like it had shattered into a thousand tiny pieces and was currently residing in your stomach. The longer you sat there the more you reasoned with it, You had always known that one day you would have to face this. He thought you were dead. What did you expect? Surely you couldn’t have thought that he wouldn’t move on? 

He was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on of course he would have met someone else. Women would have been throwing themselves at his feet! 

When your head started getting dizzy you realized since his last words you had forgotten how to breathe. Swallowing what felt like razor blades you plucked up the energy to speak. 

“Well maybe that's for the best. Maybe I should have died that day and saved you all this trouble.” You spat. “Now you can go back to the woman you're now sharing your life with and forget today even happened.” Looking down at the rings on your finger. You ripped them off, throwing them at his chest. 

“I’ll be gone before daybreak. Goodbye NEW Daryl.” Turning away from him you choked away the sobs threatening to leave your throat.

10 paces was all it took for Daryl to come out of shock. Feeling a weight suddenly hit you from behind you fell forward feeling arms around your chest. You held your arms out and braced for impact just as you hit the floor. 

Luckily your swift movements were enough to stop you face planting the floor completely. 

“What the fuck Daryl” You groaned as you felt his weight leave you, Quickly he span you onto your back before trapping you again with his body.

Wiggling under him you moved your hands towards his chest in an attempt to push him off. But he had always had better reflexes than you. Using one hand to hold both of yours over your head he held you in place. 

“GET THE FUCK OFF ME” You yelled tears brimming your eyes. Fighting harder than before you bucked your hips trying to throw him off. 

Suddenly his lips enveloped yours taking you by complete surprise. You kissed back for a moment, your body betraying you desperate for his touch. 

When you realized what was happening you moved your head forwards in an attempt to headbutt him. But just like before he was too quick for you. 

Daryl let out a small chuckle which only enraged you more. 

“The fuck is so funny Dixon” You spat still not meeting his eyes. 

“This” He muttered before taking your lips with his again. Still using the one arm to hold yours above your head, His other hand grasping at your face pulling you tightly to him. 

Your senses were so overloaded by him, from the heat of his body against yours to the oh so familiar musk that surrounded him. it was only a split second before your body gave in again. Even after all these years he was still so intoxicating to you. You couldn’t stop the reaction he had over you as you ground your hips upwards towards him feeling that engorged bulge rubbing against your leg. 

Letting out a hungry groan, You moved your mouth faster against his while you wrapped your legs around his waist. In response Daryl let go of your hands using them instead to pull at the bottom of your shirt bringing it up and over your head. 

In a split second you had both worked all of your clothes off, The breath caught in your chest again when you saw the sheer size of him, You’d always remembered him being big but somehow a part of you had forgotten just how big. Taking a deep gulp you pulled his hips into yours. 

Screaming when in the first thrust he went deeper than you could have imagined. For the first minute it felt like he was ripping you apart until your body adjusted to his size. Now you had gotten used to it again you started meeting every thrust with one of your own. 

He took you by surprise when he wrapped his arms around your waist before standing up carrying you to the nearest wall still inside you, You felt yourself sliding deeper than you could have fathomed down his thick member. 

You saw stars as his slammed your back against the wall, Grasping your hips he held you in place. Unable to stop yourself you screamed out again feeling him repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside you. 

“Oh God…Daryllll” You moaned. Hearing you say his name seemed to spur him on bucking his hips into yours faster and faster. His eyes meeting yours he growled. “Ya fuckin like that huh?” “Yes. Fuck. Yes” You groaned. 

Mashing his mouth to yours once again he moaned into your mouth, You watched as his eyes rolled back into his head. Seeing how close he was made you teeter on the edge of climax. 

Throwing your head backwards “Daryl im gonna cummm, Fuckkkk '' you panted.

White lights flashed over your vision as you felt him get harder and hotter inside of you. 

His eyes were burning into yours as if daring you to look away, eyes that had always been so full of love had only raw lust emanating from them now. 

Once his hard rod started pulsing you knew he was as close to the end as you were. Still concentrating on only his eyes, you both leaped over the edge together. 

The feeling of his explosion deep inside you made your walls contract harder, desperate for every tiny drop of him. 

How long you were locked in that position still staring deeply into each others eyes you couldn’t say, it was only when you heard a door slam near by that brought you back to reality. 

Quickly but carefully Daryl dropped your legs to the floor and spun covering your body with his. 

Peeking out from behind him you searched the dark room and found no evidence of anyone around besides the earlier noise. 

Groaning in embarrassment you realized it could have only been Gabriel coming back to check on you. Stepping out from behind him you walked back over to the aisle to redress, making sure every step you took you moved your hips slowly and sensually, if this was the last time you were to see him you’d make sure he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. 

You were fully dressed by the time Daryl joined you that gawking puppy dog look on his face that he always had whenever he saw you naked. 

Trying to hide your smug smirk you turned away from him without a word walking through the doors into the crisp night air. 

Daryl didn’t miss a beat this time, chasing after you still bare chested pulling his shirt and vest on as he ran. 

Stopping suddenly you turned to him. “I’m taking the hint Dixon, that was goodbye stop following me.”

Quick as a fox he grabbed you from behind again damn those reflexes!, this time gratefully not knocking you down. 

“Fuck sake woman stop trying to walk away from me!” He growled in your ear. Taking a gentler tone he continued. 

“I let ya outta ma sight once Y/N I ain’t ever makin that mistake again!” 

“I didn’t mean what I said, i ain’t ever stopped being yers” 

The thrum of your heart picked up at his words. He paused as if waiting for a rebuke from you and when there was none he carried on. 

“Ya know I ain’t good with all this emotional shit, but there wasn’ta moment ya wern’ on ma mind. I missed ya like crazy….. I didn’ mean ta leave before, didn’ mean ta get angry at ya either…. Jus’ killed me knowin I had a boy out there all this time and I ain’t get to be his daddy. I missed all that shit because of that rat bastard… you’ve had time with all this I’ve only had a few hours gimmie a break woman!” 

In all the time you had known him you had never known him to speak that much in a day never mind in what seemed like one breath. 

Taking a deep breath you relaxed into his arms resting your head on his chest. He had a point and you couldn’t deny that. Hell he probably handled all of this a lot better than you would have. You would have already been on the road ready to tear them limb from limb. 

“Okay” you muttered. “I’m sorry… I get it but I’m just scared for me and for Toby. I can’t have you introduced to him and go off like you just did. Now I’ve found you if your going to be introduced to him, you need to be there, you need to be a father to him and not go running off to kill his uncle the first chance you get….” 

Pulling at his arms which we’re still tightly wound around your chest, you released yourself enough to be able to turn to face him. Relief crossed his features as you settled your hands lovingly on his face. 

“I get that it’s too late for us, too much time has passed and your new woman made it very clear to me who she was. And I won’t cause any trouble just tell me what you want.” 

You could see the confusion on his face when he asked “new woman?” 

“Yeah that lady you live with? She told me you were together” 

Letting out a hollow laugh he replied “Carol? Nah we ain’t together, just share a house tha’s all! I meant it when I said I never stopped being yers Y/N” 

This took you by surprise, Daryl was a lot of things but a liar wasn’t one of them. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he had companionship over the years. He thought you were dead so you couldn't have been mad but there was that little green monster inside of you that was finally able to take a long warm nap learning this. 

“I never stopped being yours either Dixon” you chucked pulling him closer to you. Beaming Daryl swooped forwards for a loving kiss. You channelled all you could into that one kiss and by the time you parted your lungs were on fire.  

Panting Daryl scolded “stop calling me bloody Dixon…. Dixon” 

“It’s Mrs Dixon to you Mr” you quipped back stomping your foot and crossing your arms in a mock tantrum. 

Swooping down he launched you onto his shoulder taking your breath away. “Hey! Lemmie down” you chuckled. 

Giving you a light spank on your ass he continued walking back the route you had taken to get here. 

“Nope little girls throwing tantrums, get sent to bed….” 

The rest of the night was an intense happy blur of passionate loving sex, emotional conversations and filling each other in on your lives before. Thankfully Carol had made herself scarce by the time you had both come back, with all the emotions flying high tonight you would have probably put a knife through her head. 

When the day broke you were pressed against each other still glistening with sweat after your latest romp. Who knew after all these years that you both had this kind of stamina, and now you had it back you were never letting it go again. 

With a bittersweet sigh you got up. “C’mon love within the hour T’s gonna be on the other side of those gates. Probably worrying that something happened to me when I didn't come home and instead he got dragged all this way!”

Daryl’s face changed from one of lust watching you dress to one of unbridled joy at the prospect of meeting his son. 

Within 20 minutes you had both wiped the sweat from your limbs and were dressed and heading out of the front door. It felt like a dream as your fingers intertwined strolling down the road as if the years apart didn’t matter at all. 

By the time you had reached the gates you could feel what felt like 100 eyes staring at you. Daryl must have felt you tensing up as he wrapped his arm around you pulling you into his chest. Inhaling his scent instantly unwound your muscles, setting you back at ease. 

Looking up at him through your lashes you gave him a grateful smile. In return he gave you a loving kiss on your brow. Savouring the feeling you cuddled into his chest further awaiting the call that there was someone approaching. 

All of a sudden it was like a ghost had walked over your grave. You felt him before he even said a word. 

Spinning around you met the eyes of a man you hadn’t seen in over 20 years. 

“Pumpkin?” He questioned. Your heart was racing in your chest as you replied. 

“Daddy?”

Full Master List Daryl Dixon Master List

Part one

Taglist

@jazzy1118 @one-shot-plus-size @marvelfansworld @phoenixblack89  @fuseburner @angelofthorr @pncnsc @jodiereedus22 @delightfullykrispypeach @Honeyswriting @Daryldixonstorm @browneyes528 @dixonsbike666 @writingdeadangel @fayythe @lilythemadqueen @webslinger-holland @katiemars

[bbobpul]

the last thing i wanted (is the first thing you do) — stsg

NOTE. my first ever jjk au!!!!!!! REBLOG! REBLOG! REBLOG!

PAIRING. satoru gojo x suguru geto

GENRE. angst, hurt/no comfort

SYNOPSIS. a person like satoru harbors no regrets, that was until he met a person like suguru.

WARNINGS. none

W/C. 1.3k

masterlist

Satoru, in the depths of his soul, harbors no regrets. From the second he took his initial breath as humanity's finest sorcerer, an immense feeling of pride flowed through him, leaving absolutely no room for guilt. He handles life with the weight of incredible power and the absence of regret, balancing the line between having everything and having nothing to lose.

Satoru sees the world as a vast tapestry embedded with fibers of triumph and loss. His intimate understanding of life's complexities rests not on the absence of obstacles, but on his unwavering embrace of them. Because he knows that remorse is merely a whisper in the wind, easily scattered by the stubbornness of a heart that pulses with purpose, the very essence of his being echoes with the harmonious music of living without the veil of shame.

That was until he met Suguru. He uncovered a void within himself that he had not known existed at the time. Suddenly, the concept of having everything became less clear than it had previously appeared. Satoru grew to understand the delicate intricacies of fear—the fear of losing something valuable—with each passing moment spent with Suguru.

Suguru became a vibrant thread in the monochrome patchwork of his life, bringing value to the hues of who he was. Their experiences together, laughter, and even moments of silence of understanding offered an analogy that went beyond the apparent contradiction of having it all. Satoru found himself navigating unfamiliar emotions, discovering that vulnerability was not synonymous with weakness but rather a tribute to the profound connections that may change one's fundamental being.

As the vibrations of his growing fear resonated in the haze, Satoru decided to carry on, confident that the might of both of them could withstand any kind of obstacle. After all, he was Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto was far more than a friend; he was a foundation in a world where weakness and power coexisted, and the dreaded feeling of abandonment was overpowered by the unwavering strength of their bond.

"Penny for your thoughts," Suguru's voice slipped in from behind, a soft interruption in the quiet ambiance. Sunlight streamed through the leaves of the tall tree hovering over the both of them.

Satoru's laughter, rich and warm, filled the air. "I'd pay you a million to know what's been going on in your mind these days."

"Funny how I should be the one telling you that, Satoru."

"Just some stuff. How to enhance my skills and all," Satoru replied, a thoughtful expression playing on his features. His words hung in the air, playing with the dust caught in the sunlight.

The conversation lingered in a brief silence, allowing the weight of unspoken thoughts to settle. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves beneath them, like the earth sighing in relief, creating a soft melody that accompanied the subtle tension of their exchange.

"You've lost weight, Suguru. Been indulging in too much Somen?" Satoru asked playfully, his eyes scanning his best friend with a discerning gaze. The school bore witness to the shared history etched in the lines of their faces, with vintage photographs adorning the walls and memories echoing in every corner.

Suguru, on the other hand, simply observed him. The sunlight accentuated the vibrancy of his blue eyes, turning them into a deeper shade. His normally white hair appeared softer in the natural light, free from the usual hold of styling wax. The subtle play of light and shadow seemed to come alive in the place, expressing the complexities of their thoughts without the need for words.

Perhaps it's the cascade of tragedies that unfolded in the past year, or maybe it's the weight of loss they've shouldered despite their youth. It could be the haunting number of bodies they had to burn that eclipsed Satoru's understanding of what was poised to unfold between them. The school, charged with an unspoken heaviness, seemed to hold echoes of sorrow and resilience, intertwining the threads of their shared experiences into a tapestry of unforeseen challenges.

"How have you been, Satoru?" Suguru broke the silence with the sudden question.

"Fine," Satoru replied, though the simplicity of the answer carried an unspoken weight that hung in the air.

"Will you be fine alone?"

"Huh?" Satoru's confusion was evident in his response.

Instead of clarifying, Suguru released a dry laugh. "Nothing."

Satoru, despite the facade of casual conversation, felt a certain gravity in the air that tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

"I have been thinking," Suguru began, his voice carrying a subdued intensity, "of a lot of things." The words hung in the air, poignant, unspoken thoughts and the echoes of a shared history that had weathered storms together.

The depths of Suguru’s silence and his rhetorical question were a dust storm that Satoru paid no attention to until they stood, feet apart from each other, where Satoru’s one and only fear came to life. The unspoken weight of Suguru's contemplations now materialized, hanging in the air like a dense fog, shrouding the space between them.

The words Suguru spoke carried a weight that only Satoru's heart could comprehend from a distance. "This is the life I've chosen. All I can do now is give it all I've got. This is what I was made for. Don't ruin it for me... like what you always do."

In response, Satoru's determination to challenge those words was evident. "I'll ruin it all over for you." There was a sense of defiance in his retort, a refusal to accept Suguru's chosen path without a fight. The exchange encapsulated the tension and complexity of their relationship, a clash of wills that hinted at a deeper, unspoken history between them.

The conversation between Suguru and Satoru unfolded with poignant intensity. Suguru, expressing a long-suppressed desire, explained, "You need to understand that this is the first thing that I wanted. Maybe the only reason why I haven’t done this is because of you, Satoru. Always having to compromise for you. Always having to break into your mind to have you understand everything. Your problems are always my problem. It was never easy with you, Satoru. And I figured that leaving you is the easiest thing to do."

Satoru, grappling with the weight of Suguru's words, countered with an emotional, "And the last thing I wanted is the first thing you do."

Suguru's response, delivered with a touch of resignation, reflected the complexity of life. "Well, life won't always agree with you, Satoru. If it was you in my shoes, you would do it without any hesitation because you could."

"What you want is impossible," Satoru asserted.

"You say it's impossible when you yourself could do it," Suguru countered, feeling the weight of Satoru's silence. "You have always been the righteous one, Satoru. Everything you do and will do is justifiable because you are the strongest. But are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest?"

Everything after that, to Satoru's mind, became a blur. The questioning of his identity and strength stirred a tumultuous whirlwind of thoughts, leaving him grappling with a reality he had perhaps never truly considered.

Satoru, in the depths of his soul, harbors no regrets.

Until he met Suguru, who altered his life forever. Satoru now regrets not following him, failing to realize the profound significance of Suguru's quietness in spite of his own noise. The load of accountability falls entirely on his shoulders, and he feels that he only has to blame himself, not Suguru. Despite his regrets, Satoru is willing to let Suguru reacquaint him with the nuances of life, which he had no opportunity to learn. Whatever happens, he's willing to let Suguru rain on his parade since he's learned to embrace the curse that he was taught to abhor. He's grown to accept the fear he used to keep buried, realizing it was just a fear with no real meaning prior to it ever striking.

Now, Satoru finds himself back to square one. He fears nothing because, in losing Suguru, he believes he has nothing left to lose.

[boundsoffateandfamily]

the hazel wood

An obsession that lasts two decades has to be kept alive with skill and care. Like the sacred fire of Zoroastrian temples, crackling unceasingly inside a glass chamber, it needs constant tending from its priest and regular offerings of something odorous and incendiary, bone-dry sandalwood or else. And that's the hunt and the thrill of the hunt, and it's the blood of innocent victims, and it's the gratification of avenging or preventing the same tragedy in different faces, different houses. Rage begets rage, people often say, but it might also be argued that all the productive violence and the satisfaction that comes from helping those in need of help could have given some personal closure, some peace of mind, at least to some extent. And it did not. John would return from a hunting trip, no longer the hunter but the angry wounded animal with the angry inevitable wound festering on his side (a hunter always arrives at least one victim too late), prone to thrash about, biting, kicking, and lashing out at anything or anyone within reach. The more rabid the longer he is inactive, as if he can only be hunter or beast, and knows nothing of what lies outside the chase and the woods.

Dean sometimes deems that the job does actually kind of console, does kind of make things more bearable, after having had a taste of it himself. No training is more effective, no endeavor is more absorbing. No moment of greater peace than the one that comes after seeing the ghost dissolve into smoldering ashes, the demon seep through the tiny fissures of the soft brown earth, the monster collapse into a jumble of flesh and viscera. But if his father felt that way all the years he worked alone, then Dean would have to wonder if John came back to them from those hunts not to seek some respite between gulps of rage but the opposite, to remember and take the fading, muddled, complicated pain and make it simple and sharp once again. Maybe he and Sam were, in a subconscious way, the dripping wound that Mary left, that the monster that killed her left, that had to be nursed and scratched never to close and scar, not much of a family but the insistence of an absence. Little faces haunted by absence, starving even for an annoyed glance or a distracted inquiry about their progress at school. Somehow their little boys, the last physical remnant of their union, the mixed blood in their little veins, somehow it had become the fuel of that mysterious fire that broke out in their home and still is burning, never to be quenched, not in his mind's eye.

What is the blueprint of the hunter? Is it being harshly touched by the otherworldly? Dean hasn’t met many hunters, but from what he’s gathered, every hunter has in their personal history that one tragic incident to which their never-ending quest can be traced back. A bloody initiation to the truth of this world, like a second birth: once your eyes are wide open, there’s no going back. The garden fades into dark woods like a dissipating mirage, it doesn’t exist anymore ­–it probably never existed in the first place. A false sense of security. One encounter with the abnormal to render all normalcy into a charade. One moment you're safe, home, surrounded by beloved ones and fellow human beings, and the next it's just you, alone, and the realization of being exposed and vulnerable in the middle of a vicious jungle, the pressing awareness of danger in every shadow and every noise. Evil in everything and everywhere, searching for crevices to seep through.

But knowledge can't be the only thing, not even if it has emerged in the most traumatic shape. Just how many of the people they have saved over the years and who have come to see behind the veil of what is explicable have decided to carry on with their ordinary lives. The absolute majority. It wasn't a question of spirit or righteousness, and it didn't matter if there was nothing left to return to: in the wasteland, the road could be formed in any direction, but no one chooses theirs. Eyes wide open is not enough. Eyes slashed open, eyes ripped open is not enough. The wound has to get infected; the infection has to poison the blood.

Messing to the marrow, tangling your guts with what you don’t even begin to understand requires a certain sort of insanity, some sort of impurity, of freakiness.

Dean realizes his father is doing the best he can within their circumstantial limitations. He’s a hero and Dean worships him, and like the old heroes of ages past, he seems to stand in a mythical plane of existence, beyond good and evil as they are understood today. Normal fatherhood standards do not apply to him either. It matters that he’s trying. But it's also true that pain can mutilate a man's ability to feel. He hasn’t forgotten that night, just a bunch of days after the fire, no matter how much he would like to bury definitely the memory. Perhaps the little instinct of self-preservation he has left prevents him from doing so.

They must have been still in Lawrence, most likely staying at the home of some family friends whose faces and names Dean can’t recall. The house was nice, better furnished and more cozily decorated, it displayed a slightly higher standard of living than what had been his parents', but Dean hated it there with all his heart and he couldn't wait to get back to his room and his toys, his smaller TV, his bathtub where mom helped him wash his hair every night, and the nursery where little Sammy babbled and wiggled his rosy little feet in the air while mom played with them and told Dean wonderous stories and answered his questions about tigers, space or guardian angels. He knew that if he sneaked out and crossed the few streets that separated him from all that he missed, he would not find it. Half the house was gone, the other half scorched, and it was not safe. But nothing was safe anymore, was it? Not even the place they were now, no matter how much his father tried to hide his anxiety by having them play catch in the backyard or getting him his favorite brand of cereal. Dad had deep dark shadows under his eyes, dad startled at the slightest noise, he often withdrew into himself for long stretches of time as if spellbound. And people seemed to act awkwardly around him, a mixture of frustration and pity; ‘you are in shock’ they would say, ‘you have to listen to what you’re saying’, then they would pass him a little amber bottle and a glass of water ‘take these, they worked wonders for me after the car accident’.

They were supposed to grieve and gather strength to rebuild their lives and move forward, but the nightmare didn't seem to end. The screams and the roar of the flames, the smoke crawling like a living thing through ceilings and walls, making his eyes hot and water as he ran with his fragile package downstairs, –and later­–, the howl of the ambulances, hearing his father yelling frantically at the firemen, seeing in the distance his blank stare as he repeated his testimony over and over like an automaton to a couple of policemen, –and afterwards–, sitting on the car hood, clinging to his father and finding a trembling body like his own, and then the eventual we're sorry, this must be very difficult for you, and the no evidence has been found to confirm her death, the disturbingly disconcerting there's no body, no skeletal remains, no teeth, his father’s Dean, please go with this kind lady, she'll give you some water while I talk to the officers, just a few minutes and the muted talk about ominous things he couldn’t understand like steel's melting point and temperatures higher than those of a crematorium, and the gradual confirmation that his mother was gone for good.

She had been entirely devoured by an inexplicable fire, a monster with sharp yellow teeth and sharp yellow claws that fattened up with her flesh and painted yellow the insides of the house and made the windows seem to stare down at them like bright yellow eyes as they waited and waited for the night to end. Sometimes the wind would rise, and a shower of ash would fall on them, but they would not move, just like the first lovers, powerless and transfixed, looking at the flaming swords that would separate them forever from Eden.

The fear that had crept up inside Dean at that moment hadn't left him. It was inhabiting him; it had robbed him of his voice, holding it inside like a hostage. He hadn't uttered a word since that night, he hadn't had a restful sleep since that night. And so, he remembers tossing and turning, then waking up to the sound of faint weeping. He remembers, mouth tightly closed, eyes wide open, walking barefoot down shaded unfamiliar corridors, lured by the cries of his baby brother, to a room also shrouded in shadows, and seeing a pale and noisy bundle through the rail of a portable crib, tiny hands escaping the tight wrapper and grasping nothing, and a black figure sitting in a chair across the room, just watching the baby cry. Standing at the doorway, Dean bloomed in cold sweat. His heart raced wildly, and he couldn’t breathe. He felt the urge to grab little Sam and run away, but the air inside the room was paralyzing and eerie, it felt like a trap, a decoy, the dark silhouette waiting in the corner for something to happen, someone to come. He wished he could scream and call his m-his father, but soon enough the instant of absolute panic gave way to confusion as the shadow sighed heavily and buried his head into his hands just like his father did all the time those days. It was dad, of course it was just dad. Tired sleepless dad. But why wasn't he taking care of little Sammy? He's right over there, dad! You just have to rock him in your arms and sing softly to him, maybe that song mom used to sing about a mommy and her baby, so he’ll r-ah-, but something was off, a scene frozen in the first frame. Dean almost turned around expecting to see his mother walking past him in a hurry to take the baby in her warm arms and scold the callous, indolent dad. John, what are you doing, what's up with you tonight? John, don't you see he's crying out for you? Daddy, what if he burst into flames? What if I burst into flames too? The silence around the crying was thickening by the minute and Dean couldn't stand it any longer. He entered the room heading directly towards the crib, he saw his father straightened up at his presence and raise his hand, he said ‘don’t’ and slammed his mouth shut as if he had just unwittingly admitted to a crime. The two stood still for what seemed like forever, just looking at each other through the mounting sounds of mourning, and Dean thought his father’s eyes were oddly lusterless in the dim light.

Let your baby brother need her. Let us all need her and cry and be hungry.

Dean still couldn’t move or breathe. Cold slowly seeping into him through the soles of his feet. How could his father feel so far away when there seemed to be no air between the two of them? Between the three. It was like all three of them were being pressed together and compressed by the lack of air, vacuum-sealed, petrified and isolated, coalescing into a small, solid stone. Maybe a lump of coal.

Let’s all burn in the need for her. As long as she’s dead.

for @spnyuri's John Winchester Week prompt: Cycles // Grief // Pre-series (Day 1) The title is a reference to The Song of Wandering Aengus, a poem by Yeats about a man infatuated with an otherworldly woman whom he only sees once before she disappears, launching him into an obsessive search to which he devotes his entire life

[nellyofthevalley]

spawn, ch.1

astarion x fem!tav…

rating: explicit content: NON-CON, tragedy, violence, lots of cazador, dead dove, probably death at some point, i don’t know it’s a lot, fuck or die summary: cazador uses the one thing astarion cares about to exert control over his favorite spawn in the worst ways.

“My boy, you’ve not been paying attention. I never needed you to be my spawn to control you. Leave if you like,” says Cazador. “But first, tell me, what do you think I will do with her if you leave? And where will you go running off to?” Tav just looks at Astarion across the room, accepting of what’s to come, eyes begging him to leave. She shakes her head, telling him not to stay; to save himself. If he left, she would be granted a fate worse than death, he knows it. To kill her would be a mercy. Cazador has never shown mercy. 

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3

read it on ao3 or below the cut:

No. No no no. Anything but this.

When Astarion rises that morning from his nightly trance, Tav is gone without a trace. No sign of struggle, no note, nothing. Only an empty bed. He panics, pacing around the room, trying to think. 

Maybe she’d had enough and left him. Maybe it was too much for her—he’d warned her of that, that he came with a lot of baggage, and he thinks that maybe she’s finally wisened up. Still, Tav was never one to be so cold, he’s certain she wouldn’t just leave, right? She’d have the decency to tell him. 

Cazador still lives, perhaps she’s gone to take care of him herself. He’d hate that, but she’s always been pragmatic and the worry in her voice when they talked about facing him was evident. Tav had asked him so many times how he was feeling about the ritual, clearly hoping he’d changed his mind since the last she’d asked, and he’d gotten frustrated with her. She could have taken things into her own hands to prevent him from completing it. 

No. No, he knows the truth, and he knew it from the start, much as he’d rather deny it. It was bound to happen, he’d given Petras and Dalyria an earful, and his siblings had come for him once already on Cazador’s orders. Cazador knew he’d taken a lover, he had to; he’d watch from the shadows and force every last minute detail out of the mouths of his brothers and sisters. 

Cazador has her, he’s sure. He took her. Worse, Astarion’s sure this means they’d been watched for longer than they thought; it’s the first night they’ve stayed in separate beds for awhile, and now, only tonight, she’s gone?

It’s hard to believe; they’d already won the battle against the Absolute, and Cazador is nothing compared to that. And yet, he’d managed to whisk her away, right under his nose, having perfected the art of capturing people, by many means, over the centuries. Astarion blames himself—they’d put off facing Cazador for too long and now she paid the consequences for it. 

He has to go alone. If he doesn’t, Cazador will surely kill her as soon as he dares to step foot in there with allies, and he can’t risk it.

For a brief moment, Astarion wishes she’d simply left; he thinks it and holds onto it with a little naive hope. She’d shown him how to feel again, and he could re-learn that, even if it took centuries. But he couldn’t re-learn it if her very essence had been stolen from this world. Not in a century, not in forever. 

Cazador is waiting for him in the ballroom. There, with his six siblings, and by Cazador’s side, Tav; her hands and legs tied, her mouth covered with tape. He would give anything to trade places with her. Gods, just seeing her like this—she hardly looks like herself, bound and helpless, but those amber eyes and braided hair he’d recognize anywhere.

She looks, outside of the restraints, to be untouched. No blood, no bite marks. Still her. 

“Welcome home,” Cazador announces with a smirk, tightening the grip of his hand resting on her shoulder. “Are you done with this… outburst of yours? Are you ready to take your place as my good little spawn again?”

Astarion disregards his words, trying to focus. He can’t get distracted, can’t let Cazador’s manipulation work on him. It’s not about him. It’s about Tav. He can’t be imperfect. Not now.

“She has nothing to do with this,” he says. 

“Ah. You thought you could disobey me and go unpunished? You’re the same stupid boy you’ve always been,” Cazador mocks. “She has everything to do with this.”

“You can’t compel me anymore, you can’t order me!” The desperation in Astarion’s voice shows; already, he’s losing his composure as the walls close in around him. He’s wrong, and he’s aware of it the moment he speaks.

There’s no way out. The moment Cazador got his hands on Tav, it was sealed. It doesn’t matter if he can be compelled or not—he has no choice in the matter. The only variable now is how cruel it will be. If he can get Tav out alive.

“My boy, you’ve not been paying attention. I never needed you to be my spawn to control you. Leave if you like,” says Cazador. “But first, tell me, what do you think I will do with her if you leave? And where will you go running off to?”

Tav just looks at Astarion across the room, accepting of what’s to come, eyes begging him to leave. She shakes her head, telling him not to stay; to save himself. If he left, she would be granted a fate worse than death, he knows it. To kill her would be a mercy. Cazador has never shown mercy. 

“This is your home, we are your family. The only ones you’ve known and will ever remember,” Cazador taunts him, reminding him of the old life long lost to his memories. Astarion is already his, malleable and ready to serve him, ready to bargain with his life.

“Fuck you! Just take me. Take me back,” he pleads, his lips burning with shame as he does it. “Let her go. Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“Oh, I won’t lay a hand on her. Foolish child of mine,” Cazador says. “You will.”

“What—? No…”

“Can you imagine how much I loved to hear about your ego and boasting when Petras ran back to me? Spending all this time thinking you’re the master. You’re still nothing but a putrid, hopeless spawn. Look what you’ve done to her.”

“No,” he repeats.

“Come now, don’t be difficult. If you want to be a master so badly, take it. I’ve taught you how, now prove to me you’ve learned your lesson. Take the pleasure you crave from her body, make her yours,” Cazador commands, beckoning him forward. “Whisper little apologies into her ear while you defile her, tell her how sorry you are. We’re all dying to see your performance. Do it well enough and I’ll let her leave.”

How did they get here? How did they fall from grace so fast? It was mere days ago Astarion had fantasized about how he’d kill Cazador, how he’d take the ritual for himself. How sweet it would be to get his revenge and walk in the sun again. 

Cazador leans over, ripping the tape off Tav’s mouth and leaving a streak of red behind. “Go on,” he says. “Talk. Put on a proper show for your audience.”

“Don’t you fucking listen to him,” she immediately insists; the words had been clawing at her mouth for release. “Leave me. Please! Go.”

“You don’t understand,” Astarion replies, his face resigned to anguish, any fight he had left gone. “You don’t know what he’ll do. I can’t leave you here.”

He approaches her—what else can he do?—and kneels. He can’t stand to look in her eyes anymore. He needs her to become any another victim to him, but it’s an impossible task. He turns her around and shoves her forward, putting her on her hands and knees, just how he’s done so many times before.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her ear, how Cazador told him to. “Forgive me, my love.”

“This isn’t you,” Tav says. “It’s okay.”

Even now, she sees the good in him; he doesn’t deserve her, he never did. She doesn’t see the truth. This is him. This is what he was made to be.

Astarion places his hand on her back, shaking, still trying to find it within himself to be this person again. This monster. His hand slides up her neck, to her hair, grasping at the strands and craning her back. A little sparkle of tears welling at her eyes dampens his very soul. 

With what small freedom he retains, he positions himself to drink from her. He inhales, taking in her sweet scent; Tav, by habit, leans to offer herself. Before the opportunity can pass, he breaks skin with his fangs, biting hard and indulging in her. Reaching for the only thing that can bring him any sort of relief.

Cazador doesn’t intervene; he watches, relishing in witnessing his favorite spawn’s barbaric display. Astarion’s messy, painting his lover’s skin red; his lack of care is reminiscent of a wild animal. It’s exactly the point. To turn him into a creature and to take away the last bit of his humanity. His siblings ache, the metallic smell of blood in the air intoxicating them, drawing them in. All they can do is watch their dear brother fall apart, piece by piece. 

Tav utters a harsh groan as Astarion sinks his fangs deeper, drinking more; he’s aggressive, he’s taking too much and she can do nothing about it with her hands tied and her voice tired. He forces himself to separate from her, and the sight of blood trickling down her shoulder and collarbones rouses him in a visceral way he can’t control.

Astarion lets her hair go and violently pulls her pants down to her knees. He frees himself, moves her underwear aside and pushes into her. She cries out for him, in despair he’s sure, but he tosses the thought away; he must. Has to pretend every noise she makes is no different from the ones she made for him in the forest, so many months ago. 

Tav whimpers beneath him as he takes her, burying himself as far in her as he can, each thrust fiercer than the last. Drops of blood seep from his death grip on her hips. He tries to remember a better time, but what better time was there? When he’d slept with her before, that wasn’t real—he was manipulating her, charming her as he’d done to so many others for Cazador. How their relationship blossomed later didn’t change that or make it any less of a tainted memory.

Now he’d missed the opportunity to touch her, to really touch her how he’d wanted to. Astarion had dreamt of the day he’d be ready to lay with her again. In his fantasies, he’d be reborn again with her, forgetting his countless experiences and learning everything anew with her as his lover. He’d imagined discovering what he liked together, how he’d awkwardly kiss and touch her all over, paying close attention to what made her warm, what made her heart accelerate, and the spots that made her melt to his touch.

“I love you, we’ll be okay,” Tav reassures, a quiet murmur under the sounds of him ruining her heart and body.

Cazador’s words echo in Astarion’s mind: ‘whisper little apologies into her ear while you defile her’. He can’t do it. An apology, like this, is meaningless. How do you tell someone—the person you care about most, the only person you care about—you’re sorry while you hurt them like this?

He always did love how patient she was with him, and how their sexless relationship didn’t seem to take up even a moment of her thoughts. She was just happy to be with him, showering him with kisses and affection he’d never known before. And this is how he’s repaying her. 

His hand finds her hair again and he pushes her face down to meet the cold tile floor.  Astarion can’t hear her, can’t face her, can’t see those tears he knows are there. He has to separate himself from her. His eyes close and he focuses on the feeling, the best he can. 

In his mind, he pictures the forest. In spite of the pretense, they had fun, and he can still remember how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. She rolled and offered her neck to him, trusting him, something she never should’ve done. Drinking from her then was such a rush—it was still new, to drink from a thinking creature, and he could feel her body awaken and warm for him when he did it. She enjoyed it, and that made it all the better. There was satisfaction in knowing he was giving her something, too. 

Astarion thinks of what he’d do to her now in better circumstances. How he’d fuck her slow, fast, in every position and every surface. He’d tease her and make her beg for it, denying her finish until she did. Her body would writhe beneath him, a silent plea, but he would take his sweet time with her until she was sweating and feisty and yelling at him to fuck her proper.

Then he’d finally let her come undone. He’s hardly aware of his own undoing when it arrives, lost in his thoughts of what could’ve been. When he looks down at her, he feels disgust, like when he’d turned away, his body had been taken over by another that moved and felt for him. It hurts to see her now, her lovely skin coated with disheveled trails of thick crimson, her face glued to the ground, and his own shame spilling out of her.

“No,” he says only, cursing himself again, spirit shattered. With what little pieces of his mind remain, he tries to redress the both of them and then sits there, wishing it all away in a futile effort; the Gods never answered his calls, and they wouldn’t today. 

Cazador’s voice booms across the ballroom again, but the words go right through Astarion’s ears, his senses shut off to the world, and his soul a thousand planes away or more.

It’s not until one of his siblings comes to take Tav away that he’s back in his own body. 

“No! You can’t,” he yells in disbelief; foolish for it, foolish to believe Cazador would do anything less than the worst. “I did what you asked!”

“Yes, and you did such a poor job of it. You’ve let yourself become too soft!” Cazador’s laugh echoes through the ballroom and shakes Astarion’s core as reality settles in. “Because I so kindly believe even someone as arrogant as you is worth teaching, I’ll show you how to be a real master. Godey will see you back to the kennel.”

“Fuck you,” Astarion cries, but his body is subservient, yielding to Godey’s grasp. “What will you do with her?”

“She will stay in my chambers,” Cazador answers, taunting him, flaunting his power. “At least you can do one thing right—this one is quite lovely. You picked well.”

Stripped of his weapons, armor, dignity. He has nothing. Nothing but her. Maybe, just maybe, together, they could get out… they could escape… Not now, another time. Though he doesn’t understand why, he still hasn’t felt the call of Cazador’s magical pull after ridding themselves of the tadpoles. It means all they need is a leg-up, some sort of advantage, and they can be free.

So long as Cazador doesn’t make her his spawn.

Astarion retches at the thought of it. If Cazador turned her and became her master, that would utterly and truly destroy him. It makes him sick, just thinking of her in Cazador’s chambers, in his bed, him touching her—what does he have planned for her? It was rare they ever saw Cazador taking a special interest in anyone, and the spawn had learned to never show love. He’s learning that again, now, the image of her after he’d finished is burned into his memory, and the knowledge that he’s the one who made her that way. 

When he’d refused to bring his master that lovely boy he couldn’t stand to hurt, he’d been locked away for a year, alone, in silence and darkness. The worst year he could remember. But he’d never stopped to consider what had happened to that sweet boy.  

[magicalqueennightmare]

Sins & Amends Chapter 19

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Time moves on rather you want it to or not. Turns out you had more left than you thought [mention of violence/injuries]

 "C'mon Y/N. We'll order in or I'll cook then we can watch movies and you can just hang out with us" This was the third time Alice had asked you to spend an evening with her and Kenzie. You knew her heart was in the right place but you just couldn't stomach the idea.

You hadn't been in the best of headspace the last few months. Kenzie of course noticed and every time she got a few spare moments either texted or called trying to get you to talk to her. Alice would do her best while the two of you would be working to get you to communicate more but the station house always provided easy enough distractions.

"I'm gonna swing by Curt's meeting later. Make sure he has enough hands for the soup kitchen this week so I won't be alone" you hoped that would be enough to get her to back off but she stopped counting gauze and laid the clipboard down on the stretcher in the middle of the ambulance.

She took a deep breath then reached across and grabbed your hand "Y/N what Billy did was not your fault. He used the fact that you were in pain to get you back in bed. If he can't face the fact that he let the best woman in New York slip through his fingers that's his damage, not yours. I hate seeing you beat yourself up for loving him. Maria nor Frank would want this for you"

You snatched your hand away from her not missing the look of hurt that quickly crossed her face but not knowing what else to do  "They're not here to say what they would want for me are they? How dare I have the thought that the tragedy of losing most of my family could've somehow made Billy change his mind. That's my damage and I don't need you or Curtis or Kenzie telling me otherwise. You've got to let me work through hating myself and get to the other side. I love all of you so much but I refuse to burden any of you with this. If it gets where I absolutely can not handle it I promise I will ask for help but until then please Alice just drop it ok?"

You could see what you said had bothered her and started to apologize just so you wouldn't have to risk losing anyone else but she smiled softly "Ok sweetie just know no matter what we have your back too ok?" "Thanks partner" you all but whispered and she nodded then picked up the clipboard "Let's finish this restock in enough time and I may be able to buy you a coffee before we part ways for the evening dear" you let a small smile slip onto your face at her words so you replied "Now you're talking my language"

--------------------

You knew you'd be welcomed to stay for the meeting. After meeting some of the regulars you found out Curtis had mentioned you in passing during a few stories. You weren't really considered a civvie because of how much you'd seen not only through being in the lives of a Navy Corpsman and two marines but in your job as well.

The ones who'd been coming to the group or the soup kitchen for a while knew your face and knew you could be trusted but you didn't want to stick around in fear that Curt would try to rope you into sharing your trauma and you weren't exactly in the mood to do so.

Of course he walked you out to the sidewalk and made sure you were safely in a cab before heading back in the building. You just wanted to go home.

----------------

You'd just fell asleep a little after one in the morning when you were startled awake by the sound of someone pounding heavily on your door. You instinctively reached into your nightstand tapping the code on your lock box where you kept the 9mm Frank and Billy had long ago talked you into buying. You took a deep breath to try to remain calm as you clicked the safety off and walked cautiously towards the door.

Right before you leaned up to glance out the peep hole you heard a voice you never thought you'd hear again say "Y/N it's me" you threw the chain lock off and made quick work of the deadbolt and handle lock. When you opened the door Frank was standing there obviously wounded but very much alive. He gave you a half smile then nearly collapsed into your arms

"Woah Frank. I got ya" you were moving on pure instinct overriding the shock to your system at seeing him. You struggled under his weight to get him into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind you. You half drug him to the couch and dumped him on it with a grunt from you both.

When he leaned back you saw the blood that was covering most of his body "Frank they told me you were dead" You were trying to make sense of the chaos in your mind as you laid your gun down on the coffee table then told him "Stay still don't move" and ran into your bedroom to grab your med bag out the closet.

When you made it back into the living room he was struggling out the hoodie he had on so you moved to help him. Your breath caught in your throat when the skin underneath was revealed. Dark purple bruises were piled on top of yellow ones that were still healing and what looked very much like a bullet graze was still bleeding on his side.

"What happened Frank?" You asked while you pulled gloves on and started digging for supplies you'd need "How's about patching me up then I'll answer any question you have Y/N"

You worked in silence except for a grunt from Frank when you stitched his side then put a few staples in his head where a gash was leaking over his eyebrow. Once you were done you gave a quick once over of his chest to make sure you hadn't missed anything then said "I don't have any pants that'll fit you but I have a couple shirts that I sleep in that should be big enough if you want" he nodded so you walked to the kitchen to throw the bloody gloves and gauze in the trash then headed into the bedroom to grab him a shirt.

-------------

 You opened the dresser drawer and took in a deep breath. Frank was alive. That meant you'd been right. It was all a cover up, someone in a very high place was behind all this. They'd even went to the extent of giving you someone else's ashes as Frank's. Where the hell had they gotten his wedding ring? Where had he been all this time and what had he gotten himself into to be in the shape he was in?

You didn't realize how long you'd been standing there staring into the drawer until Frank cleared his throat from the doorway. You hoped the little jump you gave went unnoticed as you grabbed a shirt and turned to hold it out to him "Frank what is going on? I was told you were dead. Hell i was given ashes along with your wedding ring and the photo you've always carried of Maria and the kids."

He took the shirt from your outstretched hand and looked it over intently before finally saying "I thought I was dead. Hell I wanted to be dead kid. I woke up in a hospital guess I caught a bullet too. Some um some janitor helped me get out"

"Why didn't you come to me sooner? Or Curt? Hell even Billy?" Just saying his name made your stomach lurch but you had to know. "Y/N I know you well enough to know you've connected the dots. This goes so much deeper and I..i couldn't risk pulling any of you into it while it was still hot. It was a set up. What happened that day...Y/N I'm going after everyone who had a hand in it"

You grabbed the dresser to steady yourself when the weight of his words hit you. There had been three different gangs involved that day and now one of the people you thought you'd lost was standing here alive and mainly well telling you he was going to take them all on? "Frank" you knew he could tell what you were thinking just from the look on your face.

"I've got to do this. I don't want to be talked out of it and I wouldn't have came here but I couldn't make it back to my van. I watched for a while to make sure no one saw me come in. I don't want you in danger. I can't see you dead too" you didn't think your heart could crumple any more than it already had but seeing Frank a decorated Marine and one of the strongest men you'd ever known look so broken standing in front of you the last few pieces shattered in your chest.

Without thinking you wrapped your arms around him in a hug and felt him tense a moment but he finally allowed himself to relax "I've missed you too kid" he said after a moment. You pulled back and looked him in the eye.

"Frank I don't want to lose you too but I understand why you feel like you have to do this. They need to pay every last one of them and if whoever is behind this cover-up can pull it off the law won't be any help. I don't have the skills to help you go after these men but as long as you can either make it here or dial a phone I will come to you no matter when or where. Promise me if you get hurt again you'll let me help you every time. No matter what. I owe that to Maria, and to you. You're still my family"

He was silent for a moment then gave a sharp nod "I promise but you can't tell Curtis or Billy you saw me. Got it?" you nodded then hugged him once more and said "go get cleaned up. I'll see what food I can wrangle you up because I'm betting you haven't eaten a decent meal in a while"

-----------------

You watched Frank leave a little before six. He was wearing one of the old hoodies you slept in and you'd also given him one of your winter caps to help cover his face.He'd asked you to hold on to his ring and the picture for him which you'd agreed to under the pretense that he'd make it through to one day get them back from you. You hated knowing he was putting his life in danger but you also understood if whoever had started this ball rolling knew he was still alive his life would end then and there.

For the first time in longer than you could remember you said a prayer. You didn't know if anyone was listening or what it said about your soul begging for protection for someone going out to kill others but you didn't care. You wanted him alive at the end of the day to be able to watch whoever had ripped Maria, Lisa and Frank Jr from this world burn to ash.

--------------------

The next day you were headed to work but decided to grab a paper on the way. What could it hurt?

You tucked it under your arm and walked the rest of the way to the station house.

Jason spoke to you when you walked in the door and Alice held out a cup of coffee then followed you to the locker room after you greeted everyone lounging around the common room.

She plopped down on one of the benches and watched you as you stowed all your belongings in the locker but you didn't notice how intensely she'd been watching until you turned around "Yes Ms Hendrixs? Would you like to share with the class?" You asked with an almost genuine smile she shook her head slowly "No it's just you seem a little more I don't know lighter? Like I know you're still mourning and that is completely normal but you seem like a bit of your fire is starting to return"

You thought about it for a moment. Frank was alive and while that information came along with knowing the danger he was in and the fact that you'd been right about it all being a cover up it still helped the gaping hole in your heart even slightly just to know he was still breathing.

You didn't lose them all and those who were responsible for taking Maria and the kids would pay for it. You shrugged after choosing what you could say to Alice to appease her "I talked with Curt and I let some of what you and Kenzie have been saying sink in finally I guess. I'll miss them every day but I'm still alive and I can't lose sight of who I am. Maria wouldn't want that for me"

She stood then slung her arm around your shoulders "I'm glad it's finally sinking in. They loved you so much Y/N. I know what happened was horrible but these last few weeks I've been afraid I was going to lose my partner"

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you. You hadn't realized that by wrapping yourself up in your pain you'd shut out those you had left. "I'm sorry I made you feel like that Alice"  "No apologies needed my love. Now let's drink our coffee and maybe you'll even get to read your paper before the insanity kicks in"  you walked with her back out to the common area and couldn't help but laughed when she told Hunter "Off and on dude. Me and Y/N are calling the couch"

He shook his head but obliged choosing to join Andrew and Kayla at the table in the corner when it looked like they were playing poker already. Yeah it was gonna be a fun shift.

-----------------

It didn't occur to you that even subconsciously you were looking for who Frank had taken on already. Your eyes were skimming over the pages when a small portion that read "Gang wars igniting" caught your attention. According to the albeit small article that at press time all they knew was that several members of the gang Dogs of Hell had been slaughtered in what appeared to be gang violence.

It made sense. Three gangs had been involved in the massacre at the park. The Dogs of Hell, Mexican cartel and the Irish. You let out a breath and saw Alice cut her eyes at you "Bad news in the paper?" She asked so you folded it up and shook your head "Nothing unexpected"

Before your mind could attempt to play out a dozen scenarios of Frank getting killed instead of doing the killing a call came through requesting an ambulance at an apartment building across town "C'mon partner let's get on it" you said with a smile as you stood and pulled her up with you so both of you could head towards the bays.

Tags @intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

[b0kksu]

   

Ren asked for me to cook, who am I to deny a full course meal? Anyway, disclaimer this is particular how my own interpretation is of these scenes. This is not absolute, just merely a presentation of how this piece of media is interpreted. 

     I do have experience writing a living weapon (IE: Arima Kishou) the difference is that with the stripping of autonomy the mirror to this was keeping symbols of humanity. Those who grieve, remember the person after their death outside of their strength or miraculous abilities, they understand the crux of their humanity. Idk truthfully what the story formulation is trying to convey but, it does seem like a loss of humanity in order to thwart Sukuna who is having a great time && gaining humanity, so a paradox but poorly executed. It’s fascinating, certainly spicy, but if the pacing was different it could have been performed with expertise that would have heightened the intensity of horror. Though, there is a belief to make tragedy impactful we offset it with humor or moments of intimacy (friendship, quiet confessions, ect) when it’s back to back you do start to cause a fatigue that would be with Choso’s end who we can also argue was the last shred we had to a ‘heart of the party’. That’s not what this post is about, that critiquing will come at another time, another day. 

        Satoru’s birth was awaited for in 400 years, we do not know anything about the Gojo Clan except that Satoru is the one man bastion holding it down, giving him a lot of free reign but none. For clarification, this stems from the first time we are shown little Satoru with Toji in the snow. The woman who walks among him was most likely a nanny or handmaiden, we have never been shown Satoru’s family (mother, father, if he had siblings which is highly unlikely). He is revered highly as that of a cosmic force that keeps balance, if the balance falls, all plunges into chaos (as we see that in Shibuya) the mass deaths that follow along with a power vacuum within the higher aristocracy. Already, we’re breaking down the fundamentals of being human as birth means to be cherished (normally) by a maternal figure, we don’t know any of that, except this suggests his birth was that of an entity on the level of a modern God. Though, it’s common knowledge, most forget he is a human man at the end of it - 28 years old which is very young, merely a sliver of life that has been led.

   Toji’s awakening of the Honored One was violent && forced ascension. There must have been a high to fight a Gojo but not just a Gojo, the Gojo Satoru - heritor of the Six Eyes && all that is endless. When this news spreads, it must fit into every crevice of jushiki society despite being small && tightly knit, everyone now knows Satoru is awake. Recalling back to the first meeting, Toji may have already known this was going to be a problem that needed to be dealt with, it could have been blood begets blood, ancient feuds for the Six Eyes && Ten Shadows knocking each other out in a previous life. Whatever the cause, there is no denial, Satoru being awakened shattered a tremendous force but then it comes into, we cannot love a God as mortals && Gods cannot love mortals, it’s going to end badly. 

         Now, let’s move down to the infamous even somewhat meme-like question, "are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest?" congratulations to seventeen year old Getou Suguru for asking a question that wracks the brain to this day, existential dread does that to a man. If the entirety of your existence is to stand higher than humanity but humanity is your crux, what are you? That is the sole demise of Satoru, he is the Strongest. None can stand on his level, but in the past, someone did - someone who knew the burden but even then he exceeded that one special person thus leading to a gaping hole that cannot be filled. It is not solely on the basis of Suguru’s relationship with Satoru but the mere knowledge, no one will wear such a duty like him in their life, which is a curse. Strength is not always a good thing, it can sometimes leave one to feel alone within the world which is a common predicament that is often seen in Satoru’s case, the space between is a barrier of the world around him && those who are close. There is also a responsibility placed on his shoulders that as the Strongest, there is no time to show weakness, thus a suppression of emotion despite the silly && comical facade everyone has grown to deeply love. 

           Let’s conclude this with a cool portion that ties into this whole human vs weapon thing going on here. Satoru killing the higher ups was awesome to us readers because we want to believe the cycle has ended. It’s not, sadly, there were many instances of Satoru falling into the same obituary system (I’ll cite these later) primarily because that is the world he knows despite wanting to defy it. He is somewhat akin to that of a bird who does not know how to fly, if all they have ever known is a cage, how can they be expected to know freedom? The hunger though to change stems from personal experience, the grief, agony && endless violation to the youth within jushiki culture he has witnessed && he, himself, has been a pawn in.

            ( he really said: kids, I would prefer you do not witness man made horrors)

Which goes to show, even the Strongest could not escape the meat grinder that is their lives despite noble ideals && pure intentions. The act of murdering the higher ups with his own hands is personal, usually, stabbing or strangulation stems from a vendetta && Satoru had plenty of rage to kill them in such a terrible manner. Though, it does leave the question if he allowed them to ask questions, try to fight back, ect before demolishing through.

        (oh, to know the reactions of everyone in that room when Satoru walked in)

      It’s quite grim && gory the aftermath including his desire for his students to not see this offense trying to preserve a semblance of innocence despite them having gone through horrendous battles already. Though, it draws back to a previous statement made when chatting with other readers, perhaps leaving Satoru in the box would have been better, when he awakens - it’s a God’s rage coming out for all that was taken. It does feel in this particular panel he caught them by surprise. Anyway, this wasn’t as strongly written but, it was everything that was bubbling up. To be fair, this was also an overly detailed way of saying; he really would have been a horrendous villain, huh? Though, it’s wonderful to see that he was a soft hearted individual who did deeply care but could not connect && like so many, fell into the same victimization despite his high standing.