#alongside with pressure probably who knows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pellucid-constellations · 2 months

Text

If It All Fell (10)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: As always, thank you so much for reading :) You guys have really been in it for the long haul with this fic and I adore you for it. My brain only lets me write it about once a month. I hope you love it and I love you!!! Please let me know what you think!!! ❤️

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

The syllables of your name echoed, bouncing off the stark chamber of your mind that was now sullied by a beautiful memory with no context. You’d grown used to the quietness, the emptiness—however temporary that was to be. The new memory chafed.

Pressure remained constant along the back of your neck and you felt the awkward angle of your back as it rested against something sharp. Your body shifted. Another pained croak of your name vibrated in the air.

“Please, please.” Azriel, you determined, his voice restrained and tight. “Not again. Please, not again. I thought—I thought it would’ve been okay. It didn’t seem—”

He cut himself off, choking on the words and leaning down until you felt his face press into your shoulder. You wanted to open your eyes, but nothing made sense enough for you to do so. The memory of your laughter and joy lingered in your mind still, creating a dull ache that battled with the present.

“You wouldn’t have had to find me. I never would have left your side.”

Azriel had said that. This Azriel—right?

“I love you. I love you and I’m sorry, y/n,” you heard the words mumbled against your skin. “I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have pushed it. I knew—”

Was this the same Azriel who avoided the threshold of your bedroom for days after your return to Velaris? The one that refused a simple lunch with you and struggled to look you in the eye? Was this the Azriel you had seen in that memory?

He spoke as if he were—held you with a reverence that seemed to connect each and every discrepancy.

You let out a shaky breath, fighting for full consciousness. When your eyes finally caught up with your brain, Azriel was there, hovering over you with damp cheeks and a harrowed expression.

Last time—you thought, connecting dots as you blinked away the ache behind your eyes—you probably hadn’t woken up. Last time, Azriel had most likely approached this with much less delicacy and you had paid the price. Everyone said you were in too much pain to hear about your past.

Last time, last time, last time.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, his broken words a testament to your assumptions.

But you weren’t thinking about last time anymore.

Azriel was your mate.

You were Azriel’s mate.

And he had said—

“You said you wouldn’t leave my side,” you whispered. You were clutching at his arms with a white-knuckle grip, the action barely registering in your mind. “You said—”

“When, baby?” Azriel rushed, the endearment passing through his lips like a desperate prayer. His fingers made their way to your cheeks, brushing along your skin just as desperately.

“When we were married. You said… the first time… you wouldn’t have left my side if I never remembered you.”

Azriel’s expression widened. “When we were… Did you—”

His breath came out in quick huffs. He blinked, as if to clear the image of you in his arms, and then moved to sit you up in his lap. His shadows were a mess alongside you, wrapping and twining into odd shapes as they sought to ease the tension on the balcony.

When you were finally situated against him, your body still shaking with the events of the evening, Azriel licked his lips and spoke. “Did you remember something?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your gaze fixated on your fingers as they rested in your lap. You observed your tremors with an unnecessary acuity. “I think so. We were… in bed. After our wedding, I think. You said we were mates, right?”

You tilted your head up to catch his eye in a question, feeling no embarrassment at your question. Something had shifted after his admission. After your memory.

You felt more empowered with just a taste of your life.

“Are,” Azriel clarified. “We are mates. Now and always.”

“You said something similar in my memory.” You turned back down to your fingers. “How long ago was that?”

“If you remembered our wedding, that was 267 years ago. After we got you back from Day Court we had a ceremony—a public one. It was around a year after you were healed.”

“267 is very specific.”

“I could never forget the day I married you.”

You locked your fingers together and squeezed your hands until it hurt.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again. His tone was lower this time, almost scared.

You furrowed your brows and released your fingers. The shaking had stopped. You hadn't tried to remove yourself from Azriel’s lap and he hadn’t commented on how you nestled into his chest as if it were your right.

Because, apparently, it was your right to touch him in this way. You had been fighting that instinct for weeks, but right now you were confused and conflicted and although everything was becoming clear, it also felt as if your world was toppled once again. So you didn’t move from the one thing that made you feel sane. And Azriel did not move you.

“I think so,” you answered.

“Are you… angry with me?”

The furrow of your brow deepened. “Should I be?”

“Yes.” His answer was instantaneous. You turned your face up to inspect the guilt lacing his tone and found it in the clench of his jaw—in the wetness still evident in his waterline. “I have failed you, y/n. I have failed you twice and, this time, I have broken more than one promise.”

“Azriel—” you began, ready to reassure something you had no understanding of, but the shadowsinger hung his head and refused to let you stumble through your words.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness—not now. I told you I would stay beside you and then I ran in cowardice. I brought you to this,” he gestured with his shoulders. “To this confusion and isolation. I am supposed to be your mate, y/n. I know that doesn't mean much to you now, but it will. And you will be disgusted by me.”

“Azriel, that can’t be true,” you argued. “I know this has been so hard and I don’t blame you for your actions. I was angry before—I am still angry—but not at your fear.”

Azriel’s teeth came together even harder, grinding as his wings coiled tightly at his shoulders. He took a long breath and released it through his nose, frustration emanating from him in waves. But not towards you, you gathered, as he finally looked down to meet your gaze and his eyes softened to match the dried tears on his face.

You wanted to reach up and soothe some of the torture written across his expression, but Azriel gave you a sad smile that stopped you in your tracks.

He rested his hand on your cheek. “Always too good for me,” he whispered, a too-quiet preface to his next declaration. “I’m going to take you back to your room. Your body and mind must be exhausted. We can talk in the morning.”

“But Azriel—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. “Tomorrow.”

You lasted about two hours in your room.

Calling it “your” room was a bit of a stretch. You had confirmed your suspicions that something had been off about the space after learning of your mate. There was no way you lived in this room alone when you had a relationship like that.

You began pacing after Azriel had left you at the door. He had placed a lingering hand on your shoulder and waited until you shut the door behind you to leave. So, still fraught with confusion and pent-up frustration and newfound hope, you started pacing.

Azriel had told you to rest, a futile recommendation with so much battling within your mind. But above it all, you were thinking about him—about the memory and his words and him being your mate.

You had meant what you said on the balcony. You were still angry at the way everyone treated you like glass. There was still much that needed to be said and feelings that needed to be revealed, but you felt no ill will toward Azriel. Not in the way he expected you to.

Still, part of you felt a sense of betrayal. The Azriel from your memory had seemed so devoted to you, so sure that he would stop at nothing to rectify any distance between the two of you. And you had seen glimpses of that Azriel in this strange state you were in now, but some of that was missing.

You were having a hard time balancing his fear with his love, but more signs pointed towards love.

Didn’t they?

It didn’t help that you were contemplating this alone in an empty room, leaving tracks in the carpet and stringing your body so tight a soreness had begun creeping up your heels. You huffed and sat on the bed instead, biting your nails.

Azriel was your mate.

He loved you.

You’d heard him say it multiple times now, in more ways than just the explicit words.

Hadn’t you?

“Our souls are linked—mates I mean.”

“Fuck, I miss you.”

“Yes, my love?”

“You’re okay, angel. You’re okay.”

“Y/n, spending time with you—being around you—it’s as natural as breathing for me.”

“You are the one sure thing in my life.”

You rose from the bed abruptly, your body making a decision before your mind. You flung the door open to “your” bedroom and walked approximately six steps to the next room. You had assumed Azriel was staying close after spotting his shadows beneath the door a few weeks back, and there was no denying it now.

You rapt your knuckles against the wood three times, his door flinging open before you could go for a fourth.

The shadowsinger looked frazzled, his hair askew and his sweats haphazardly thrown on. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You ignored the clear panic in his tone as you asked, “Do you love me?”

“What?”

Taking advantage of the confusion and shock rendering him vulnerable, you swept under Azriel’s arm on the door and stood your ground in his room. You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as Azriel robotically shut the door and turned around to face you.

“I asked if you love me,” you repeated. “I only have one memory back and you say we’re mates. I… I’m inclined to believe that you do. I think I’ve heard you say it but only when you think I can’t hear you and—”

“I do,” Azriel hurriedly replied, remaining rooted by the door. “I do love you. I love you so much that I haven’t been able to help myself in those moments. You have heard me say it. I’ve been saying it to your back for weeks.”

Your chest heaved, emotion weighing it down. “Were you only staying away out of fear?”

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed. “And it hurt—being around you. I was a fool.”

Shadows swirled beneath your feet.

“This is just hard for me. I don’t really understand where I fit in here. I have this memory of you saying one thing and then—”

“I know. I’m so sorry, my love.”

You blinked at the unabashed way he addressed you.

Azriel did not flinch.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you unleashed the question that had been plaguing you since you began pacing two hours ago.

“Do you love me when I’m like this? Even now?”

Azriel deflated, the panic extinguishing from his body and his expression falling. He took two long strides to meet you across the room, his hands hovering over your arms for a moment before he shook his head and touched you—perhaps despite his better judgment, his fear.

“I will love you until the day I die, y/n. Even if you cast me aside. Even if you have no idea who I am.” He winced and shut his eyes, giving into instinct and pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you and it hurts. And I would take that pain to the grave if it meant I still had the privilege of belonging to you in some way.”

You brushed your hands up to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your eyes open while his remained shut—like it pained him to even speak the words.

You wanted to say something back—a reassurance, a reciprocation, anything. But everything that would come out of your mouth would be a half-truth. You loved him, but did you? Did you really love him yet, or did you just love the way he spoke to you and how he made you feel? Did you know enough about him in the context of your life to love him? And if you couldn’t say it back right now would he—

“Hey,” Azriel’s slow tone brought you back to the present, his gaze now soft upon yours. “I can feel your panic. It’s okay, y/n. You don’t need to say anything.”

Your lips parted. “You can feel it? Like my power?”

“Not quite. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

A familiar jolt invaded your ribs, making you gasp at its resurgence. You didn’t feel it often, but it was always jarring when it happened. And it always seemed to happen most when you were scared or hurt or in danger. Putting the pieces together now…

“That’s you?” you gaped, rubbing below your ribs. Azriel leaned back, giving you some space with a small smile on his lips.

“It is. You can do it back if you know where to find it.”

“Even with my magic blocked? Right now I can't even sense anything. Not like I could earlier.”

“Try,” Azriel encouraged with a small nod.

And so you did, closing your eyes and searching within you for something to pull on—anything to grasp. There was a lot of empty space, some areas overflowing with the new memories you’d made, but in a far corner, dim and dull, was a glowing thread.

You reached for it and yanked, the action sparking a more fluorescent gold.

Azriel let out a small gasp. The beautiful flow of his laughter followed, a melody of relief and joy intertwined. Your mate stared back at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners and allowed his smile to overtake his face.

“It has been so long since I’ve felt you. The bond has been there, but it hasn’t felt alive. It hasn’t felt like you.”

You let out a small giggle at the ridiculous-sounding notion. “What has it felt like?”

“I get your most heightened emotions, but they feel dull. They’ve been missing something.”

“You feel my emotions?” you marveled, looking inward once more to inspect the link between you. “Why don’t I feel yours?”

“I believe you have a few times,” Azriel admitted. His wings had begun to unfurl from their uncomfortable cinch at his back. “I’ve tried to keep them closed off during all of this. I didn’t want you trying to wade through someone else’s feelings when you were already confused.”

“Could you…open them back up?”

Azriel shot you a dubious look, knocking his head to the side before he passed you to sit on the side of the bed. “I don’t know, y/n. I’ve been… feeling a lot. I don’t want to put that on you.”

“I’ve been feeling a lot,” you shot back, coming to stand in front of his bent knees. “And you’ve been taking all of it.”

“I’m used to feeling you. I welcome it.”

You crossed your arms and raised a brow. “Didn’t we discuss this? I want to get used to feeling you, Azriel. I want my life back, memories or not.”

Azriel let out a sigh, pressing his fingers together between his knees. He bowed his head for a moment before staring back up at you with a defeated expression. His wings lay bare and open along the bed behind him. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”

“Do you want to?”

Another small, defeated chuckle from your mate, and then something came alive within you, that golden thread singing, finally living up to its full potential. You had to brace yourself at the full force of it, your hand landing on Azriel’s bicep as you stumbled. He placed a hand on your back and your eyes fluttered as you parsed through this new feeling.

You felt him.

His fear, anger, and frustration; he was filled with so much sadness and longing, and the pain lingering in undertones was dull yet overwhelming at the same time. Each emotion fought for dominance. But there was something else pulsing down the bond, something intentionally sent.

Adoration, love, devotion—you weren’t sure what to label it but it undermined all else.

You laughed in disbelief, bringing your free hand up to cover your mouth. You felt the warmness of your face as you went. This was indescribable.

“How is it?” Azriel asked. His thumb was rubbing circles into your spine. “Too much?”

“No,” you were quick to reply. “No, Az, this is—wow, you weren’t kidding when you described mating bonds to me.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he teased. “Tell me if you want me to close it.”

The thought of losing this connection seemed unreasonably terrible. You shook your head and pressed closer to your mate, slotting your body in between his legs.

You remained in comfortable silence for several minutes, relishing in the bond tethering you to each other. Eventually, you migrated to lean against his thigh as you fiddled with the material of his shirt, and the position felt the same as the one on the balcony—like it was yours to take.

“I’m going to ask you something and you have every right to say no,” Azriel said, breaking the silence that had blanketed the room. You nodded for him to continue. “Would you stay with me tonight? In here?”

“To sleep?” you asked, surprise evident in your raised voice.

Azriel huffed out a laugh, lightly nudging his nose against your cheek. “To sleep,” he confirmed. “Just, with the bond open like this, I would feel better if you were near me. If you aren’t comfortable with that, I completely understand. I can—”

“Yes.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst #if it all fell

845 notes · View notes

algae-tm · 3 months

Text

KILL BILL P.10

Charles Leclerc x ex! Reader, Oscar Piastri x Reader

Author’s note : So I don’t write narrative or rather I don’t write fanfic narrative, but there’s so much I want to say in this fic that feels clunky putting in like a text message. So here y’all go. I’m not 100% satisfied with the Oscar bit but also I started writing at 2 and it’s now 3:30 am so I’m gunna go to bed and then probably write some more in the coming days, do not worry we will get more in depth Oscar lore! - Algae 🌱

••••

Despite almost being 20 years old, Charles had been just a boy when you met him. A boy with a chip on his shoulder and the world at his feet—a dangerous combination that should’ve sent you running but had the opposite effect. When you first saw him, you could practically see the gears turning in his head. He paid you no attention, probably didn’t even realise you were loitering on the outskirts of his garage, watching the mechanics run around in a dazed frenzy, but you were enthralled by him.

He stood steadfastly in front of his car, with a pinched look adorning his face, forehead creased, and eyebrows drawn together. Anyone else would’ve written him off as confused, overwhelmed, not fit to have signed a contract saying he’d be battling in F1 alongside the greats—they still wrote him off as an emotionally unstable boy. But even before you had ever spoken to him, you understood what hardly anyone else did. You understood that, while Charles Leclerc was still a boy, he was more calculating than confused. And in the years of knowing him that followed, as you’d watched him progress to f1, as you’d watched him win races, that statement would prove to be true time and time again.

As the memories of your early encounters with Charles flooded your mind, you couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. He had been so young, so full of ambition and determination. You had admired him from afar, drawn to his intensity and drive to succeed. Despite the chaos of the racing world swirling around him, he had always seemed to have a clear vision of where he was going.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed. The pressures of fame and success had taken their toll, turning him into a shell of the boy you’d met. The boy with the fire in his eyes had become a man weighed down by expectations and responsibilities. And in the process, he had pushed you away, convinced that you didn't understand the sacrifices he had to make. Convinced that he held you captive in a life you weren’t ready to lead.

Charles may have told you some bullshit excuse about children and the future but you had always been able to see through him and despite this separation nothing had changed. From the arguments in the months leading to the breakup you knew he was putting an unnecessary amount of pressure on himself, putting all his hopes and aspirations on Ferrari, despite how often that had proven to be a mistake. Yes, the stupid misunderstanding of your future together was a large part of the reason you broke up, but you had a incessant feeling that Charles had felt trapped in his life, in his racing, and had attributed that trapped feeling to you.

You did not want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. You didn’t want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind on the 8 hour flight from JFK to Nice, and as you drove down to Monaco you couldn’t help but think about your parents. You had grown up with parents who had no business staying together, yet just couldn’t leave each others orbits. And no matter how much you cursed this dynamic as a child, you were worried that it was something you were bound to repeat. As you pulled in to the hotel you had decided to meet Charles at - nice neutral territory, you realised even if you didn’t get back together, you were going to forgive him. And it would be the easiest thing you had ever done. You checked in. Getting the key from the concierge as they told you someone had already checked in earlier.

You spotted him immediately. He was sitting at a small table near the window, a glass of something amber in front of him. He looked up as you approached, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There he was, the man you had loved for so long, the man who had been your everything. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You sat down opposite him, your heart in your throat.

"Charlie," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hi," he replied, his eyes searching yours. "You look good."

"Thanks. You too."

There was an awkward silence, both of you unsure of how to begin. Finally, Charles took a deep breath. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"I needed to see you," you admitted. "I needed to know if... if there's still something here."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "I've missed you," he said quietly. "It's been strange, not having you around."

"I've missed you too," you replied, your voice cracking slightly. "But I don't know if missing each other is enough."

Charles looked down at his glass, his fingers tracing the rim. "I know," he said softly. "I've been thinking a lot about us, about what went wrong. And I realise now that I wasn't fair to you. I was so focused on my career, that I had built a different reality in my head, and that I didn't see what it was doing to us. I'm sorry."

His words hit you hard, the sincerity in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. "I'm sorry too," you said. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to say you had nothing to be sorry for, but you continued, eyes downcast "I wasn't always patient, I didn’t like that I couldn’t get a read on you. I just - I wanted us to be happy.”

"I wanted that too," he said, finally looking up at you. "And maybe we can be, but we need to be honest with each other. We need to figure out what we really want."

You nodded, wiping away a tear. "I don't know if I can go back to how things were," you said. "It hurt too much."

Charles reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I don't want to go back," he said. "I want to move forward. I want us to be better."

His touch was familiar, comforting, but it also reminded you of the pain you had endured. You pulled your hand away gently, needing to keep some distance. "I'm seeing someone else," you said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Charles looked taken aback, his eyes widening slightly. "Oscar," he said, more a statement than a question, “so you’re actually seeing him?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. "It’s still new, fuck it’s really new, and it wasn't planned," you said quickly. "It just... happened. After we broke up, he was there for me. He wanted me, and it started off as this petty way to make you jealous but I feel something more for him."

Charles was silent for a moment, processing this new information. "Do you love him?" he asked finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"No," you admitted. You could practically feel a weight lift of Charles’ shoulders "I do care about him. A lot."

He nodded slowly, his expression pained. "I understand," he said. "I can't expect you to wait for me, to put your life on hold. But I still love you, and I think we could have a future together, if we both want it."

He held out his hand to you, and maybe you were going to regret it in the future but you took it.

INSTA

carlossainz55 posted on his story

(Image 1 caption : summer with friends. Image 2 caption : reunited )

seen by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 2,344,234 others

User31 : brother what?

Used42 : oh my god please tell me they’re back together!!!

charles_leclerc : y/n isn’t going to like this. delete it now for your health

lewishamilton : so that’s where she is… tell her to message me

y/bff/n : oh brother this guy STINKS.

user32 : bop

yourusername : delete this now

carlossainz55 has deleted his story

••••

You hadn’t been ignoring Oscar, okay maybe you had just slightly. But spending the short break with Charles was, okay you don’t know what it was. You were confused. Really fucking confused. Being around Charles had encompassed you, like it always did. The week and a bit you had spent with him was a whirlwind of emotions. You spent time with Charles, talking about everything and nothing, rediscovering the things that had brought you together in the first place. You laughed together, reminisced about the good times, and shared your hopes and fears. It was comforting, but it also made you realise how much you had both changed.

But Oscar Piastri was something new. Not just new something novel, he brought fresh perspectives, and the way he made you feel was so different from how you felt with Charles, and something in you said you had to give him a chance. So you guess you had been ignoring him, but only due to the fear that he’d want answers you wouldn’t be able to give. The weeks after your ‘not date’ had been filled with constant phone calls, and texts, and despite the constant feeling to remind him that you weren’t dating you both knew that wasn’t true, you both knew there was something there. So you couldn’t blame Oscar for his eagerness, in fact you relished in it, you knew Oscar was playing it up to make you laugh, make you open up more and it was working. He deserved much better than you.

••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

#charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc x black!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one smau #f1 #oscar piastri social media au #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri fanfic

214 notes · View notes

agirlnamedelia · 24 days

Text

The Perfect Gift || Katsuki x Reader

Genre: fluff Pairing: Katsuki x FEM!Reader Synopsis: Your rich billionaire sugar daddy always bought you what you want and what you need. However its his birthday, how could you ever compete with the gifts he had given you.

You paced back and forth in the living room, biting your lip in frustration. Bakugou’s birthday was just around the corner, and you still had no idea what to get him. It wasn’t like he needed anything; he was rich, powerful, and could buy whatever he wanted at the snap of his fingers. What could you possibly give to someone who had everything?

As you stared blankly at your laptop screen, which was currently open to a gift ideas website, you sighed. You had gone through dozens of pages, looking for something—anything—that might be worthy of Bakugou. You knew he wasn’t big on material gifts, and he’d probably scoff at anything too fancy or overly sentimental.

“Ugh, this is impossible,” you groaned, leaning back on the couch and rubbing your temples. The pressure was on, and you were feeling it hard. Every year, Bakugou went all out on your birthday, surprising you with the most thoughtful gifts and extravagant experiences. And every time, you were left in awe of how well he knew you, how much he cared. Now, it was your turn to show him how much he meant to you, and you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You glanced over at the clock—only a few days left. “Think, Y/n, think,” you muttered to yourself. What did Bakugou like? What did he need?

Suddenly, an idea struck you. He might not need anything material, but maybe he could use something from the heart. Something personal and meaningful. With renewed determination, you grabbed your phone and started making a list of ideas, brainstorming anything that might bring a genuine smile to his face.

The next few days flew by in a whirlwind of preparation. You spent hours working on your gift, making sure every detail was perfect. It was a labor of love, and though you were nervous, you were also excited to see his reaction.

Finally, the day of Bakugou’s birthday arrived. He had planned a small gathering with a few close friends at his favorite restaurant, and you spent most of the evening by his side, enjoying the laughter and good company. But as the night wore on, you could feel your nerves starting to creep back in.

After the cake was cut and everyone had sung a boisterous rendition of “Happy Birthday,” the group started to disperse. Bakugou wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Ready to head out, or you wanna stick around a bit longer?”

You smiled up at him, trying to mask your anxiety. “I’m ready whenever you are. But, um, before we go… I have something for you.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, his expression softening. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “It’s just… well, it’s not much, but I wanted to give you something special. Can we, um, go somewhere private?”

His curiosity piqued, Bakugou nodded, leading you out of the restaurant and into a quieter part of the nearby park. The cool night air was refreshing, and the soft glow of the streetlights created a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

You took a deep breath, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small, wrapped box. “I know it’s not fancy or anything, but I wanted to give you something that… that shows how much you mean to me.”

Bakugou took the box, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know. I’m not big on gifts.”

“I know,” you said quickly, wringing your hands nervously. “But this isn’t just a gift. It’s… well, just open it.”

With a grunt, Bakugou carefully unwrapped the box, lifting the lid to reveal a small, handmade photo album. His brow furrowed as he opened it, flipping through the pages. Each page was filled with pictures of the two of you together, from your first date to the countless adventures you had shared over the past year.

But it wasn’t just photos. Alongside each picture, you had written little notes, recounting your favorite memories, the silly jokes you shared, the moments that had made you fall in love with him all over again.

Bakugou’s eyes softened as he read through your words, his lips quirking into a small smile. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just taking in each page, each memory.

Finally, he looked up at you, his expression unreadable. “You made this?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. I wanted to give you something that… that showed you how much I care. I know you don’t need anything, but I thought maybe you’d like to have something to look back on, you know? Something to remind you of all the good times we’ve had.”

Bakugou stared at you for a moment, his gaze intense. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair. “Dumbass,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden affection. “I-I wanted to,” you stammered, hugging him back. “You do so much for me, and I wanted to do something for you, too. I know it’s not much, but—”

Bakugou cut you off with a soft kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a long, sweet moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were softer than you had ever seen them. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “Thank you.”

A relieved smile spread across your face, your heart swelling with happiness. “Really? You like it?”

He nodded, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Yeah, I do. More than you know.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the quiet comfort of the night. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, the anxiety and worry melting away in the warmth of Bakugou’s embrace.

As you leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you realized that you didn’t need to stress so much about finding the perfect gift. What mattered most was the love and thought behind it, and Bakugou had shown you that in his own way.

With a content sigh, you snuggled closer to him, closing your eyes. “Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Best damn birthday I’ve ever had, thanks to you.”

-`♡´- Tip Jar || Youtube || M.List -`♡´-

come visit me on youtube and say hi! ♡

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #mha #bnha bakugou #boku no hero academia #bnha

138 notes · View notes

kybercrystals94 · 7 months

Text

Just a few things in Season 3 Episode 5 that I can’t stop thinking about…

[spoilers below cut]

The way Crosshair treats Omega like a peer.

This is so different from the way Wrecker, Echo, Tech, but specifically Hunter, ever treated Omega. To them, she’s still the little girl they rescued off Kamino. They know they’ve trained her to be capable; however, it is hard to separate their guileless little sister from the little warrior she’s become both with their squad and during her captivity on Tantiss.

Crosshair never knew or cared about little Omega, the child who’d never seen dirt before.

He’s only ever known and cared about this Omega. The Omega that insisted on building a relationship with him in spite of his trying to push her away for her own good. The Omega who refused to leave him behind at risk to herself. The Omega who can hold her own alongside him during a firefight. The Omega who can fly ships, bribe, and swindle. Crosshair has only known this Omega. Why would he treat her as anything but capable? He will absolutely protect her and have her back, but he will not doubt her abilities.

That’s not to say that the others doubt her abilities. I think they absolutely know what Omega is capable of, but that innate desire to protect the little thing she was has not dissolved just because Omega has grown…which is so true of real life. It’s authentic, and it's difficult and messy. And I love that the show is tackling this.

I also love that Crosshair knows this too. “Don’t hold it against him. He’s only worried about you,” he gently advises.

Which leads me into how I viewed Hunter’s behavior in Episode 5…

He doesn’t trust Crosshair. Why would he? The last time they interacted, Crosshair tried to force them to join the Empire of his own volition. He tried to have Omega forcibly removed from their protection. He chose the Empire over them. And then, they find out that Crosshair became a prisoner of the Empire, and their attempt to rescue Crosshair from his own choices resulted in Tech’s death and Omega’s capture. On top of that, what exactly did Crosshair do to get on the Empire’s bad side? Hunter doesn’t know. And Crosshair isn’t volunteering the information.

I also saw a bit of jealousy on Hunter’s part (although he probably doesn’t recognize it). While we as viewers know that Omega is trying to support Crosshair with his emotional and physical trauma, as well as getting him to communicate with Hunter and Wrecker. On the outside, Omega and Crosshair are almost inseparable, Omega seeking out Crosshair’s companionship (the brother that initiated a lot of the Batch’s heartbreak) rather than the brothers who have taken care of her all along. Gotta admit, I’d be pretty hurt by that too. Again, not at all Omega’s intent or fault that he feels this way, but it would be confusing and hurtful nonetheless.

Crosshair also senses this jealousy. (“Oh, don’t pretend like this is all about me…You’re angry because she escaped with my help, not yours.”) What Hunter doesn’t know is that Crosshair has supported Omega and Hunter’s relationship, not undermined it.

I really appreciated how Crosshair - while hurt by Hunter’s mistrust - does his best to prove himself trustworthy again (although hidden behind typical Crosshair snark). He’s broken his brothers’ trust, and he knows it has to be earned back.

Wrecker runs to hug Hunter and Crosshair after they make it back safely.

Wrecker is the only one of the Batch (besides Crosshair, obviously) who has been on both sides of the chip. He understands Hunter’s perspective and trepidation towards Crosshair; however, he also understands the guilt and fear that comes after being under the chip’s influence and nearly killing your family. While he was also confused and hurt by Crosshiar’s actions after the chip, Wrecker trusts Omega’s judgment. If Omega feels that Crosshair has changed, then Wrecker is not going to question it.

But he’s not going to pressure Hunter to the same conclusion, and he’s been Hunter’s support system for so long–and obviously, Crosshair already has a support system in Omega. Wrecker is going to let Hunter take the time he needs to trust Crosshair on his own terms…and I love that!

I felt that when Wrecker saw them coming back, he could tell they had worked out some of their hard feelings toward one another…and he was thrilled! That hug was more than just happy they made it back safe from facing a monster, but that they are on the path to making amends. Their family is healing. Not healed. There’s still hurts and wounds to work through, but healing.

And the way he embraces his two sullen brothers, smooshing them together so that they are also hugging each other by association…made me smile so big!

The way Echo acts as mediator between Hunter and Crosshair. (Also…ECHO FINALLY SHOWS UP!!)

Omega and Wrecker have been struggling trying to support both brothers while they work through their issues, and then there’s Echo saying, “You can kill each other later…focus!” Echo gets it. He knows they need to work things out on their own terms, in their own time. But first…mission!

Also, I loved how civilly he treats Crosshair when they meet again. Crosshair is 100% ready to receive a negative reaction, and when Echo simply snarks back at him like the good ol’ days, Crosshair is visibly surprised. Even Omega looks happy to see the positive interaction.

When Omega expresses how she wishes she could have done more for the other clones on Tantiss, Echo tells her she did the right thing escaping and getting the information she could to him and Rex…he is such a good and encouraging older brother! I love him!

Special mention goes to Crosshair and Batcher being buddies! The way Crosshair pats and pets her when Batcher comes up to him after they rescue Hunter out of the snow. And then Batcher plops down beside him and Crosshair keeps petting her. My little heart!

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb hunter #tbb omega #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb spoilers #the bad batch season 3 spoilers #episode 5 #the return #my thoughts on the character development

285 notes · View notes

adoregojo · 7 months

Text

valentines - sae itoshi x reader

yayyyyy I finished it, im free :3 im so freaking sleepy rn warnings: angst, very happy ending the chap before: one

2017

it's been years since you last saw sae.

those 3 years without the elder itoshi felt unfilled, missing it familiar spark. visiting the sea doesn't feel the same without the reddish-brown boy alongside with you. his endless grumbles about how luck keeps running the opposite direction and it's always loss in the in of his road were now just a remains echoing inside your head.

it's not that his face wasn't rememberable anymore, in fact, his face was glued on every bug screen around japan. under the name of the japan prodigy himself. however his face was blurry and those big-screens always do him unjustifiably. pictures were good, but sae grew. oh how you wished you could have grew together again.

you missed his actual face, when he would reveal his rare unseen smile to you. even when he didn't smile, there was something there, your grandma always said that his eyes would go soft under the mention of your name. when actual emotions were still swirling in his heartland. now you looking at his face, his slime teal eyes were so..bleary.. sae looked like he lost all his colours.

you wished you could embrace him, just like you used to when you two were kids after he flunked his math test and the first thing he does is let you hug him and play with his hair, sae told you that he would never let someone else do that to him yet the word shameless was unfound beside you.

but now you were helpless. thinking about the great distance itself between you two was crushing.

you kept writing, and sae promised to write back. at least he did at first, within the next months his letters and calls were fading, draining each day, they were getting awfully dry to the point you felt he was just saying anything to make shut you down. but in the end he stopped completely. no matter how much you texted or called they were never answered.

yet you kept on writing, even when he didn't reply. you sent him birthday cards on his, remained him of yours as well. however he never responded. you write and send, write and send, write and send damn letters nonstop. at some stage you didn't know where to send them anymore. they were never replied to, never seen nor read.

soon your texts became green. and it felt like a door was slammed on your face.

you felt desperate, like a dog waiting for it owner returned. and you could feel the pity glimpses in everyone's faces, in school, neighbourhood, sometimes even your own grandma, except that she held more sympathy with it.

perhaps, the younger itoshi was the only one who didn't change much. just like you, sae stopped his communication with him as well. but he handled it way better than you did, the letters 'big brother will come back, he's just busy' fell out rin's mouth every time he senses you unhidden soreness.

you should believe in what he says, it's literally his brother. his own flesh and blood, his family. yet you didn't ease up under his words, if anything it worried you even more. you felt it, the wave screaming back at you that something bad will happen, something that'll change everything forever.

and you knew you were right when opened the door revealing rin with tears running down his reddened cheeks.

2018

rin never told you what happened that tragic snowy night.

all you could remember was him shedding tears like there was no tomorrow, they were silent yet so painful that you felt sorry for the boy. you always took rin as an unbending person, he was like sae but much more chill and dare you say more friendly?

you warped a blanket around him when he slept in the guest room, you never pressured him. never pushed him, thinking about it now, you should probably have. because you woke up to that bed soothed back all clean and empty the next morning.

and it felt like rin last strike of humanity was left dead under your roof.

rin changed, and everything changed with him. maybe you didn't, perhaps you grew doleful, dejected. waiting was hard, pouring down your soul. it felt like the sky was telling you that you were waiting for nothing, but to be truthful, not only the sky was implying that.

you saw how the younger itoshi would look at you when he saw you writing letters to sae. he said nothing and stood silent, yet his eyes were pleading with you to stop, to give up on his brother before he curses you for good. however, you were already cursed by sae a long time ago.

even when he left for that project, deep inside. he wanted to say something, to speak up. the words were on the tip of his tongue yet he kept on opening his mouth and closing it like a lost fish. then rin left without a word, leaving you to face the truth by yourself.

you found it strange when every time you were present in the tv room, the first thing your grandmother dose is close the tv or change the channel. it was weird, you never remembered her being a big fan of national animals shows. she always liked the news which was what she kept avoiding for a while for some reason. her protection wouldn't last forever.

a secret kept swimming around you, just walking around in the hallways was enough for everyone to either laugh or look at you with such pity. even the teachers? what was going on, what kind of secret could it be to impair you this much?

you wished to stay curious, to stay lost in your little circle of agony but not to witness the man that planted dead hopes within you was now cutting your roots of holden on faith.

you saw a picture of sae kissing another girl, and you felt your soul getting toured up by him.

like the world itself was laughing at you naiveness, how stupid you were. you felt used, the wasted years you spent waiting on someone who didn't even care felt like a pure burning betrayal. you got that light message, sae was basically telling you to get off his back, you were no longer needed.

you meant nothing that anyone could possibly overshadow you. you got tossed aside, a dusty memory that was never worth holding in the first place.

you stopped writing letters after that day.

2021

"nice having you back in japan, genius boy."

aiku laughed, but the man ahead of him didn't even spare a smile at him. instead he found the glass of drink in front of him more interested. the black head let out a sigh, he guessed that sae isn't exactly a man of change, he needs to stop letting his hopes up for nothing.

it's an understatement to say that aiku was surprised that the elder itoshi would even acknowledge his invitation for a night out at what he called a fancy bar. hell, sae probably didn't even like wine in the first place. yet he was here, looking around with his boredom eyes that never opened fully.

"soo, you finally opened your heart for your dear home?." aiku asked, taking a sip of his own drink. through the transparent glass, he could see the slim teal eyes peeking at him.

"what's up with that interview question? don't say you invited me for this." sae spat out, the place was awfully packed despite it being the middle of the night. and he would lie if he said he wanted to spend another second here.

"haha, once a stiff always a stiff. thought i would get a thank you for getting you out of your forlorn shell for awhile. i mean, look at those chicks, you sure you don't wanna catch yourself a little fun? heard you were left out on valentines eve."

the elder itoshi frown a brow, "you think you're my wingman or some shit? don't get too high of yourself just 'cause i went out here with you." scoffing, the reddish head crossed his arms.

before aiku could get a chance to reply, a sultry voice called. "you boys would like a refill?" the suffocating smell of her perfume was pocking sae's nose, which made him hard grimace in disgust. while on the other hand, the shaggy head threw a sly smile at him for some reason, he better not do anything stupid.

"not me, hun. but my friend over there would definitely like to. right, sae?" he should've knew better. he knew this fucker was trying to set him up with some, it didn't even need a rethink when his glass wasn't even half way empty.

sae could feel a vine running through his head when the high heels sound was lifted to his side. his personal space was getting tackled when the woman bend over with her breath that reeked of unhidden smoke and alcohol was tickling his ear.

"Oh? you must be a new one. we got specials for those." she breath out, her hand running down sae's arm. he had to stop himself from getting defensive at her sharp nails stabbing him through the fabric of his clothes. "you can request anything you please, even these lewd things going on your head."

her flirting was on death ears, he didn't even take a glimpse at her. nudging that man was like trying to punch a wall. sae told himself to ignore and she'll get the message and leave him alone already.

"c'mon now, whatever little sweetheart you clinging onto doesn't have to know."

and that hits a nerve, "anything you say? than I request you to step the fuck back you good for nothing tart creature." as soon as these harsh words come out, a loud gasp was heard. and sae couldn't find it in himself to stop the next words of coming out. "I came here for someone, not some harlot woman wiggling over me. go throw yourself on some pimp maybe you'll find a purpose inside their pants or something."

soon, it turns into a crying mess. and sae remains stiff. the only reaction he could give was sipping on his drink, he saw aiku trying to stop the women from running before stroking the bridge of his nose is disbelief.

"what the hell man.. you could've just told her to leave you alone."

"I don't like pushy people."

he hears a scoff, then aiku swaying after the other woman. sae could feel the eyes of strangers staring him down, not that he cares, not even about that woman who he sent crying, she can collect what's left from her dignity, if there was any in the first place. he was too busy rethinking why did he speak those words.

and why did was your face the first thing to pop up his mind when he said that.

it's been years, and he couldn't believe that he agreed to aiku's request, yet he'll never admit that he wanted any reason to step here again. any reason to see you again, he never thought he still had it in his heart to miss you. to be eager for you, he found himself bubbling with excitement like a little kid again.

sae can't figure why are you suddenly so heavy on his mind, was it the years of pushing you to the corner of his mind was paying off? even the tiniest things were enough to makeshift you in a way. it felt like he couldn't escape you, you were in everything and everyone. in the side planted flowers, in the little kids laughs, in the bright colours of the sun.

he wondered if you still think of him, if you still hold on him after seven years of being absent in every way possible. you turned eighteen without him, you probably had much more friends by now, maybe even changed your haircut, he remembers you rambling about how your grandma wouldn't let you change the same haircut for years now. sae himself doesn't notice the smile forming on his lips.

"wash that sappy face off, doesn't suit you." a firm voice stated, he didn't even have to turn around and see when he knew this tone like the back of his hand. lo and behold, his younger brother standing there.

"rin."

"shitty brother."

rin walked up to the table, his hands deep in his pockets. standing in such a filthy place made shift disgustingly. not even trying to hide his displeasure staring at both his brother and whoever walks by like a walking foul trash bags. or maybe that's just his natural face.

he didn't take the obvious abandon seat, instead he stood like he just needed a minute before taking his leave. "didn't expect you to be back, though you called this place unworthy of your presence." said rin, his eyes doesn't held them loathing anymore. but still a hint of unbearableness was there, that'll take some time to wash away.

"i have my reasons." he simply replied, he was never releasing his feelings.

"plus, what the hell are you doing here? and don't lie to me when you look like seconds away from throwing up." sae question,

"you need to get a assertive manager next time." rin shrugged, he wasn't planning on lying. the guy almost shat himself at the sight of rin alone. maybe he should work in his face expression.

"well, I know you aren't here for a heartwarming family reunion. so spit it out already." rude as ever, but the younger itoshi learned to not raise his hopes too much when it came to his brother.

rin doesn't reply to that, instead he reaches for his black coat pocket. lifting out some designed letter, leaned it carefully over the table for him to take. so sae does, playing around with the object, he sided eye his brother.

"a wedding invitation." rin answered before he could question.

"yours?" he asked in disbelief, that was not a face of a man getting married.

his younger brother started at him like he grew another head, "no?" he almost gagged, narrowing his eyes.

"then i have no interest in wasting my time."

"just read it you damn slacker." rin demand, he did not come all the way here for his older brother to act like a spoiled brat. he swore he's gonna shove that letter down his throat if don't stop yapping.

finally sae let out a dramatic sigh before opening the letter, whatever name it was, it better be worth it. and part of him wished he never opened it.

because his eyes uncontrollably traveled to your name, not even that he read the start nor the beginning. he wished it was a mistake, maybe someone else's name and it was all pure coincidence. his eyelids flicker open, he read it once, twice, and the world felt like it stopped.

"..it's in two days by the way.. and stop looking at the letter like that, your gonna burn it." rin words went from ear to ear. but sae managed to catch something in the lines 'in two days'

"two days?.. why am i getting an invitation now?" words came out mindlessly, he wanted to ask more, who, how and when. his mind was on track. sae never wished for something to be a sick joke like now.

"are you serious? be grateful you were even in the list." nevertheless, rin didn't like his question. is that really what he asked? not even about you? however, his brother colourless face spoke more.

sae didn't reply, he looked at the letter in his hand like it was his worst enemy. rin wished his brother wasn't a damn block headed maybe then he'll get his fingers on what's running inside his mind. so rin takes his leave, letting his brother handle the news by himself.

"woah, man. that girl just wouldn't stop crying. I'm starting to believe you're truly heartless." aiku let out breathlessly, but he was met of a new face of sae, it was the first time he say any other expression on his face. especially something..this emotional..

"dude, you okay? looks like you've seen a ghost."

maybe even someone as cold as sae could carry a fragile heart.

2021 February 18

it felt like the universe was laughing at him.

fate was truly the cruelest, out of any other day. it had to day, the day that was meant for you and him, just fir another guy to snatch his place like a piece of candy. he wished it was him, he wished he didn't come here in the first place. yet he was, surrounded with unfamiliar faces chit chatting around.

sae regrets stepping in here, he wanted to leave. to runaway. he doesn't want to face it, to face you walking down with another man that is not him. but he wanted to see you so bad, why did this feel like this is his only chance to see you ever again?

he felt aimless, and the people talking wasn't helping him either.

"did you hear? they're gonna rent a house on a beach!"

"oh my, they're so lucky. wished mine would have the same mindset."

fucking kill him.

"you actually came? thought you'd leave like the spineless coward you are." the voice of rin was merciless. and most of all brutally honest.

"shut up. I don't wanna hear it." sae waved him off, he didn't wanna hear it. especially his little brother berating him senselessly. deep down, he knew he deserved it. he was the one that stepped over your heart when he promised to take care of it. maybe he is a coward.

after he followed after rin, which took to long for his liking, he had to complain. "fuck you taking me to?" he spat out.

"be patient, don't you wanna talk to them?"

that somehow shuts down any chance of any other objection, it felt like ages before they got to the meant room. and for some reason, sae doesn't enter yet, he doesn't find the guts to.

"why did you even invite me to this?"

"me? invite you? you wish." rin jeered, his brother was definitely not in the right mindset to think such thing. "they invited you, if anything i thought it was better not to."

"I didn't even think you'd come, looks like you still got something in that frigid heart of yours. but it's already too late to come over your fears."

a ghost smile form on sae's face, at his own stupidity, at rin's truthful manner. at himself,

"i know that."

he closed the door behind, and slowly walked into the room. his steps were heavy they kept on echoing through the walls. announcing to the world what he was doing. it was a miracle he didn't fumble his feet on the way, and more of a miracle when he didn't faint at how beautifully you shone.

you quickly stood up, the white dress mimicking your movements. he was right, you did change your hairstyle after all, and oh, how you good you made it look.

"sae? you actually came.." you exclaimed. examining him from head to toe, he did change, more like he grew. he wasn't the same height as you anymore, his bangs were long gone. and he refused to meet your eyes. looking at everything but your gaze.

"yeah." he pushed out his lips.

it was strange, seeing the one he promised to marry get married to another one. his first crush, first crush, his first heartbreak, the first heart he shattered. all the memories of childhood came like a rush wave of air, and what lingered was your face at the airport, the day you said goodbye. the day he heard you sniffing behind him, yet he didn't turn.

perhaps because he knew out everyone, he would've gave up everything just to not see you a tear run down your face. or it would be him crying with and be a couple of crying mess. yes you got him warped your finger like that.

sae only knew a world with you, and he knew his soul stayed with you the day he left.

"it's been a while,"

"seven years, it's been seven years." the male corrected

"i know." you giggle bitterly. he knew you knew. you both knew but none spoke or mentioned anything.

"how have you been?" he had now idea of what to say or ask of you, that was your fucking weeding of course you're happy. damn, even his younger self wasn't that clueless.

"I'm good. you?"

I'm missing you terribly.

"good."

"that's good.." you shifted awkwardly, like you wanted to hide from him. was he making you that uncomfortable?

"can i?" stretching out his arms slightly, he was ready for you reject it, to punch him, to scream at him. but you nodded instead.

you lean right on his chest, his hesitate arm on the small of your back. when was the last he hugged someone? it was much easier when you two were kids. it sure felt warm, your cologne taking over his senses. he just didn't feel like fits the puzzle anymore. and it fucking hurt.

it didn't last long sadly, taking yourself out of his embrace. he doesn't want to let go, if he let go, you'll disappear. despite that he looked into your eyes, and suddenly he doesn't feel only half alive. you still got him warped around your finger like that.

"i need to go, it was nice seeing you again, sae."

he could only nodded, every step he took away from you felt like the world was draining it colors again, the universe was punishing him, because seeing you not sparing a glance back was truly painful.

the evening felt timeless, it skips to where he sat looking heedlessly at the ground. he didn't want to meant anyone's face nor attention. he bet that his was gloomy enough to scare off anyone who walks by.

one's begs to differ.

"well, well. if that ain't a face I haven't seen in a long time." an elderly woman said, the same old sly smile still glued to her face. she takes a seat beside sae, fearlessly nudging him to look at her.

"it's you."

"it's me, that old granny you used to call a hag." your grandma said.

"That was one time, and you spanked me for it."

"i sure did, always been a badass." she laughed, and sae found the invisible beam draw in it way to her face.

"look at you, you grew to a fine young man." he hissed when she pinched his cheek, almost as if she meant for it to hurt. he had rub the spot with a grunt.

"despite that, it's sad to say you disappointed me, itoshi sae." she spoke in a straightforward manner. almost like she was scolding him. and when say nothing she continues.

"I would've given you another spank but my grandchild would be mad, they still cares for you. always been." the lady sighed, "they never gave up on you, four years is a real challenge. every day they kept on writing to you, did you perhaps read them."

"every singer night."

"but you didn't respond to a single one?"

he doesn't replay to that.

"don't prove me wrong again. that girl you put your mouth on, why?"

sae's hand travel down his neck, trying to find the right answer. as if there was one. "i wanted them to give up on me. i just felt pushing them and everyone away was the right thing."

"so you became a selfish bastard that kills everything he touches? i knew you were dumb but not that dumb." she shook her head, he had concerned her swinging her cane over his head.

"it doesn't matter, it was already done." lies sliding down his throat. and he knew even a strong face wasn't enough to hide the truth. she could see him bare.

"maybe if you weren't that stupid, you'd have managed to keep the only person that could handle you. but I'm never wrong so i guess you two did end up together in another lifetime."

"but i wanted them in this one."

"too bad, too late." it felt like a sucker punch, he wished for her to actually beat him with that cane at least it'd be less hurtful and heavy. again the urge to leave was strong. and it was getting stronger when that man stood there, and when you walked he couldn't take his eyes off, he couldn't even blink. you never looked so breathtaking. and there he knew that his place didn't get stolen, but earned by someone else. someone better than him. someone that could make you happy and wouldn't make you hold on to a forsaken promise.

yesterday it was him proposing to you with his dead grandparents ring, today it was another one warping it around your finger. the image will hunt him to his death.

the him that promised, the him who kisses you injures, the him who saw you in sunset above the sea. was still there, that version was still swirling within him somehow. and it only shon with your light only. the light that will never be his anymore.

to sae you'll forever be his everlasting one in the stars.

"goodbye." he hopped he chose you in another life.

lmao this is trash mb yall

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #sae itoshi x you #itoshi sae x you #sae x reader #sae x you #itoshi sae x reader

305 notes · View notes

iamnmbr3 · 7 months

Text

Draco's Motivations in the Book 7 Room of Requirement Confrontation

I just reread the Fiendfyre sequence and based on a close reading Draco's motivations and actions are a lot more complex and sympathetic than I remembered. Not to mention, once again, here there be drarry.

First, the context:

After the incident at Malfoy Manor, we know from Harry's psychic connection to Voldemort and from the Carrows' overheard discussion that Voldemort's wrath was exceptionally terrible. The Malfoy family became virtual prisoners in their own homes for months and were subjected to especially brutal (even by Voldemort's standards) torture that was also likely quite protracted. Lucius has visible marks on him months later - which, given what we know about magic in that world, really speaks to the level of what has been going on. While he probably got the worst of it, it's certain that none of his family members escaped unscathed. After their other failings they have at this point probably permanently fallen out of favor and have nothing but a (likely short) life of misery to look forward to.

Draco bears a lot of responsibility for this state of affairs since it was he who chose not to identify Harry. This likely adds to his sense of conflict as his conscience tells him one thing and everything he has ever been taught tells him something else. He presumably feels responsible for the suffering his family (we know from book 6 that he does genuinely care about them) has to endure.

Not to mention that he himself is suffering along with them. It would be unsurprising therefore if he felt tempted to "rectify" his earlier moment of what he probably perceived as weakness and made a last ditch attempt to save his parents' (and his own) lives and prestige. While Harry has been taught that love and mercy are noble and valuable impulses, Draco has not. In his world love and mercy are called weakness.

Quite possibly as he suffered and faced death alongside his family, part of him must have felt ashamed of the impulses that led to his choices when Harry was a prisoner at the Manor. Everything he has been taught tells him that Voldemort's victory is inevitable and that his moment of shameful weakness has accomplished nothing except to fail his own family and condemn them (and himself) to a likely short life filled with suffering.

At most what we see in the Room of Requirement is a replay of what we saw on the Astronomy Tower - where Draco is deeply conflicted and when confronted with the reality of violence in support of Voldemort cannot go through with it even under tremendous pressure and even though his failure to carry out these acts of violence will inflict danger and suffering on himself and his loved ones.

But, is that even what actually happens? In my opinion, the answer is "no."

The scene in question:

If we actually look at the text it's not even clear that's what's going on at all. Draco's motives are ambiguous at best here. The scene starts when Harry is stretching out his hand to take the diadem. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle come up behind him and he is completely unaware of them. Draco then announces their presence, alerting Harry that he is being watched. He could've very easy simply stunned Harry or attempted to put the Imperius Curse on him (or killed him) while his back was turned. But he didn't do any of those things. Instead he talks, thereby ruining the element of surprise.

And that's not typical of Draco at all when he actually wants to attack Harry. He's never beaten Harry in a face-to-face confrontation. (In fact, the last time he tried - in 6th year - he almost ended up dead.) The two times he has managed to incapacitate Harry - when he petrified him on the train in 6th year and when he hid and caught Harry for Umbridge with a tripping jinx in 5th year - he did so by using the element of surprise to his advantage.

Given that Draco knows that Harry is a very formidable opponent (AND that Harry's friends are nearby) if he truly simply wanted to capture or kill him, announcing his presence is the last thing he would ever do. Then he says "That's my wand you're holding." He still doesn't cast any spells - not even to try to disarm Harry. He also doesn't say he wants to hand him over to Voldemort. He doesn't even tell Harry to drop his own wand, attempt to take him prisoner, or even threaten him.

It is Crabbe, not Draco who says "We're gonna be rewarded...We decided to bring you to 'im." Draco doesn't say anything about his own intentions other than that he wants his wand back - and we certainly know that even in 6th year he didn't trust Crabbe and Goyle, much less now, and thus is unlikely to speak openly in front of them.

At this point Ron comes to investigate and Crabbe tries to use magic to cause a mountain of debris to fall on Ron and crush him. Harry counters the spell and Draco then grabs Crabbe's arm when he tries to repeat the spell. He gives as his justification the need to avoid the diadem being crushed but since we know he doesn't trust Crabbe it's likely this isn't truthful. Especially since Voldemort has not said anything about wanting the diadem (and even if it wasn't a Horcrux it likely wouldn't be damaged in any case).

Crabbe points out this very thing and Draco argues with him at which point Crabbe says "Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders no more, Draco. You an' your dad are finished." So arguably he was not even including Draco in the "We" he imagined would be rewarded. Crabbe then tries to use Crucio on Harry.

Draco then again intervenes and tries to stop him.

"STOP" Malfoy shouted at Crabbe, his voice echoing through the enormous room. "The Dark Lord wants him alive--"

He doesn't even just say it. He shouts. We rarely see Draco shout. He is someone who generally keeps his deeper emotions hidden - it's why he's so naturally gifted at Occlumency to the point that he is powerful enough at a young age to lie to both Snape and Voldemort.

What he says here doesn't really even make sense because Goyle isn't even trying to kill Harry; he's just trying to hurt him. However Draco is so distressed by this that he actually starts yelling, something we NEVER see him do at ANY other point in the book. "The Dark Lord wants him alive" is also exactly what Snape says to Bellatrix as they flee in book 6, and we know that Snape's real intent was to protect Harry with a believable excuse. It's the only thing Draco could reasonably say in that moment as a justification.

Crabbe (rather sensibly) points out that 1) he didn't even try to kill Harry and 2) Voldemort ultimately wants Harry dead so it probably doesn't matter that much. This makes perfect sense. And yet Draco is inordinately concerned with preventing harm to Harry & Co rather than with taking any action to capture or even disarm any of them.

Clearly he did not expect to lose control of Crabbe and Goyle like this and as a result is now losing control of the situation (and himself). (Unlike Harry, Draco is more of a planner and is not as good at reacting in the moment.) Also the possibility that Harry could be killed seems to drive him nearly to the point of hysteria - rather like how Ron reacted to Hermione being in mortal peril at the Manor. This is not just a general aversion to killing. This is something more. He finds the idea of Harry dying truly unbearable. (I don't need my ships to be canon; this one just happens to be.)

At this point they start fighting and Draco loses Narcissa's wand. Wandless, he STILL tries to intervene. Crabbe and Goyle are both aiming their wands at Harry and Draco once again starts yelling - "Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!" and is obviously in significant distress and is not at all happy with what is going on.

After that the Fiendfyre gets loose and the rest of the scene goes down without much dialogue.

At NO POINT does Draco 1) actually say he wants to hand Harry to Voldemort OR 2) attempt to attack Harry or Ron or Hermione at all OR 3) use his Dark Mark to call Voldemort OR 4) tell anyone he's seen Harry after they get out of the Room of Requirement - even in a later scene when he's been cornered by a Death Eater who is considering killing him he doesn't reveal this information even though that probably would've proven his loyalty or at the very least distracted the Death Eater.

Conclusions about Draco's motivations:

So, where does that leave us? What went down there and what was Draco trying to do?

We really have 3 options.

Option 1: Draco tried to hand Harry over to Voldemort in order to save himself and his family, got cold feet and couldn't really go through with it, and then lost control of the situation due to Crabbe and Goyle's changing loyalties.

Verdict: Possible but unlikely given the remarkably bad job he does of it and how inconsistent his approach is with his usual MO. Even if we assume his heart wasn't in it you'd think he'd at least have got as far as disarming Harry before announcing his presence. Especially since Harry almost killed him last time they fought (and Draco probably doesn't know Harry didn't know what the Sectum Sempra curse would do.)

And if his heart WAS in it then then this makes even less sense since he not only didn't attack Harry while his back was turned but also didn't call Voldemort or even inform anyone that he'd seen Harry.

Option 2: Draco wanted to get himself captured in a way that looked convincing so that he could take the chance Dumbledore offered in 6th year, only it went quite badly wrong.

Verdict: This would be an interesting possibility but I think it's also unlikely as it's simply too risky. He doesn't know Harry was there on the astronomy tower or that Harry would make the same offer. His family would also likely be murdered if Voldemort realized this had happened.

Option 3: Draco wanted to cut a deal in order to improve his family's situation without actually handing Harry over - perhaps he hoped for some kind of exchange where he could get his wand back and bring Voldemort the diadem as some kind of consolation prize - but overestimated his control over his cronies and lost control of the situation.

Verdict: I actually think this works best given his behavior during the scene. He initiates a conversation because he wants information about what and where the diadem is (and what value it would have to Voldemort) and because he wants to make some offer along the lines of 'give me my wand and the diadem and we'll let you go.' This could get him what he wants and help his family without actually harming anyone.

Also it hedges his bets a bit because if Harry wins he will owe Draco. The problem of course is that Crabbe and Goyle aren't happy to just take orders anymore and have their own goals. At that point, instead of caving and going along with what Crabbe and Goyle want to do instead, Draco actually tries to intervene, albeit in a way that doesn't actually expose him as questioning Voldemort.

Draco made his choice at the Manor. If he wanted to hand Harry over he would have. But he couldn't. He cares about him too much. But he also feels tremendous guilt and fear over the price he and his family are still paying for that decision. This is his attempt to try to fix things - to try to find a middle ground between the conflicting imperatives that are tearing him apart. The reality though, as he shortly discovers, is that there is no middle ground. And when he sees that, once again he chooses Harry.

#hp reread #meta #my meta #Harry Potter meta #Draco Malfoy meta #drarry meta #Harry Potter #harry potter and the deathly hallows #hpdm #h/d #harry x draco #draco x harry #harry/draco #draco/harry #harco #drarry in canon #Draco Malfoy #drarry #my post

226 notes · View notes

squadmuse · 2 months

Text

ONE DAY, Part II

A WILL HALSTEAD X READER FIC (FT. JAY HALSTEAD X READER; PLATONIC)

A/N: Yet again a huge shout out to @deanstead for being such a great person and helping me out!! Hope everyone loves this… I’m a sucker for dad!Will and it’s my first time ever writing him

It was pandemonium.

Even with Jay’s entire body covering you, all you could hear were screams and cries for help and the shrill sound of the ambulances rushing to the scene alongside the police cars.

Everything seemed like it was starting to blur when the blue eyes of your brother-in-law swam into your view as he pulled you up off the ground and started checking you over.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re okay!” said Jay worriedly, looking everywhere twice to make sure you had been not been hit by any of the flying bullets that had cut through the sky. “Are you hurt, does the baby feel okay?”

You tried to steady your breathing as Jay held your hands, but it didn’t seem to be helping even though you had someone as patient and calm as your brother-in-law. “W-What h-happened?” you asked shakily, looking around as best you could. Mama Garcia’s restaurant was ruined, the windows were shattered and there were quite a few injured people sitting or laid around being attended to.

“Gang drive-by shooting, don’t worry about it, I’ve got Voight looking into it,” he stated as he followed your own gaze, and he pulled you away. “Hey, let's get you two away from this and checked out.”

Nodding, you agreed and walked out the door with Jay slowly guiding you. As you reached the ambulance, you were relieved to see the kind face of your best friend Sylvie there.

“Oh I didn’t know you’d be here, Y/N! I’m going to check you both over real quick,” said Sylvie quickly as she started checking your vital signs and blood pressure readings with efficiency and calmness. Jay still stood beside you diligently, his eyes following every move that Sylvie made.

“Are Y/N and the baby okay, Sylvie?” asked Jay seriously. He didn’t like how long it was taking your best friend to clear you, even though he knew she’d never rush a diagnosis. Sylvie shook her head at his words.

“I’m going to send you to Med, okay sweetheart,” smiled Sylvie gently. “Your blood pressure is still high, and I want to get scans too.”

Now it was your turn to feel worried, and you clamped down on your brother in all but blood’s hand tight. “All I’ve got is a sore back, and I’ve had that for the last week or so, we’re both fine,” you reasoned, looking between the two. Both of them shook their heads. There was going to be no fighting these two that you knew already. Jay Halstead and Sylvie Brett were seriously stubborn people, but you loved them all the same.

It didn’t take long for Sylvie to load you into her rig, Jay helping out as much as possible as Violet pulled Ambulance 61 out to drive. Sighing, you looked over at your brother-in-law who was staring at the floor.

“Jay… this wasn’t your fault,” you said softly, reaching out to hold his hand. He smiled a small smile yet shook his head.

“I know that, but I should’ve just brought you the food home, then you two wouldn’t be on your way to Med,” he reasoned, squeezing your hand gently.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was my choice, and if you hadn’t been there then we’d both probably be dead right now!” you stated, but it didn’t do anything to calm Jay, and made him shudder violently.

“Don’t say that, I’ve already got to answer to Will when we arrive!” he replied tensely as he ran his hands through his short brown hair.

Both you and Sylvie looked at Jay in surprise.

“You haven’t phoned Will yet?” asked Sylvie, first from where she sat entering information into her iPad.

Jay shook his head. “It’s not that I’ve not tried, the git isn’t answering his cellphone,” he replied, and he ran his hands up and down his thighs anxiously.

“He might just be busy then, but Will will be grateful that we had you there, Jay,” you stated, holding onto one of his hands to stop him fretting. Even before you were pregnant, Jay had been extremely protective of you and now that you were, he would get bouts of anxiety over anything happening to you both.

Sylvie hummed quietly. “I can always send a message to Maggie, it goes direct through the system, that is if you’d like?”

You and Jay nodded, so Sylvie quickly went ahead and did it. At least then Will wouldn’t be surprised at the ambulance bay with your appearance.

———

It was as you were quietly talking away with Jay and Sylvie about the baby when you felt a pain like no other, and you couldn’t help but cry out.

Instantly, both of them were at your side and Sylvie was right away checking your vital signs and checking your body. “What’s wrong?” asked Jay as you clenched down on his hand again.

You couldn’t answer him as you could only clench your teeth as Sylvie poked and prodded with different machines and her hands. A broad smile lit up her face and she looked quite happy.

“I think someone is going into labor!” she said excitedly.

You sat there in shock before turning to look at Jay… but you couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from your lips as you saw his expression. He had turned white, and his mouth literally hung open. It was like nothing you’d ever seen before on Jay Halstead’s face.

“Please tell me you’re joking, Sylvie!” you said with your eyes wide. You did not want to give birth in an ambulance, and especially without your husband at your side. She shook her head.

“Contractions are coming fast, sorry!” smiled Sylvie as she inserted some low level pain medicine into you. “But we’re nearly there, and then you’ll be up in OB.”

Shakily, you nodded and closed your eyes.

Today had turned out to be one of those days.

———

Unsurprisingly, Will was the first person to open up your ambulance.

“Oh god, Y/N! What happened?” exclaimed your husband as he helped take your gurney out of the ambulance. He looked like he had run a marathon and his hair looked even crazier than usual.

You sniffled. “I don’t know Will! One minute Jay and I were having lunch together, then there were bullets flying everywhere,” you replied, cuddling into Will best you could as he and Sylvie rushed you into Med, with Jay following close behind. “I’m so sorry!”

Will shook his head affectionately, and smiled softly. “Hey, hey, I’m just glad you and our little guy are safe, that’s all that matters okay?” he stated, caressing the side of your face. “Jay and you have nothing to apologize about.”

Sighing, you nodded, watching as Will added even more monitors to you as Sylvie removed the ambulance ones. You smiled as she went to leave.

“I’m coming back, okay!” she giggled. “I’m not missing anything about this baby, and especially not the birth!”

You chuckled. Sylvie had been absolutely thrilled when you had announced the pregnancy and thrown herself into helping plan and organize the baby shower, gift registry, nursery, outfits and more. “Wouldn’t dream of it!” you replied, watching as the blonde walked away back to the rig with Violet.

“Anyway Mama, it looks like we’re going to get you up to Obstetrics,” grinned Maggie as she entered your treatment room. “Baby Red is on the way!”

Will and you both chuckled. It felt like the entire Emergency Department was excited about your and Will’s little one’s imminent arrival, as they had been for months, much like Sylvie and Jay. “Here’s hoping it’s an easy birth,” you said, leaning against Will’s side.

Now it was Jay’s time to chuckle and you turned to look at him. “Oh, you haven’t heard the story about Will’s birth?” he asked, and you shook her head. “Well apparently Mom was in labor for twenty-four hours, but you’re much less stubborn than my brother so you’ll do much better.”

Oh, sweet shiitake mushrooms.

———

It had not been quite so twenty-four hours, but after twenty-three hours, you and Will had finally become parents.

Madeleine Theresa Halstead had been born, screaming at the top of her lungs and covered in blood and fluids, but she was the most beautiful thing you and Will had ever seen in your lives.

Will had cried as he had cut her cord and brought her over to you. Your daughter was absolutely tiny, with minuscule fingers and toes and the cutest little nose too. Coming in at 7lb 8oz, she was absolutely perfect.

“Here we were thinking she was going to be a little boy,” chuckled Will softly as he sat beside you in your hospital bed. You had been moved into a private room, and it was just what you, Will and little Madeleine needed. “Somehow Gabriel Patrick Halstead doesn’t quite fit.”

You smiled, but you hadn’t stopped smiling ever since you had brought your daughter into the world. “Jay knew, somehow,” you whispered as Madeleine slept in your arms, swaddled in the blanket that you had knitted months ago.

“My brother, the pregnancy guru,” laughed Will as he kissed your head, watching to make sure Madeleine didn’t stir. “We still good on who we picked for godparents?”

“Of course, they’re perfect.”

Will nodded. “I think Maggie has had everyone gather in the waiting room. Do you want to bring them in?” he asked. You nodded silently and watched as Will wandered out the door.

Cuddling Madeleine closer to you, you sighed. You had never felt so much happiness and love as you had for your little girl. “You’ve got a great daddy, Maddie,” you whispered to her. “We’re so lucky to call him ours.”

Madeleine grumbled softly in her sleep, and you could only whimper a soft noise as she somehow made the same face as Will, her father, did whenever he was asleep. It seemed she even had even inherited his auburn hair also.

You were still absolutely enamored with your daughter when the door to your room opened up again and a small group of people slowly made their way in alongside your husband.

Jay was there, grinning. It seemed he had bought the biggest pink teddy bear he could find. It was easily four times the size of his niece, your daughter. Sylvie was there too, bubbling away with anticipation about getting to meet your daughter. Matt was at her side, grinning happily as he held onto a big pink balloon and white bunny rabbit toy. Maggie had come and so had April, Connor and Daniel, some of your and Will’s closest friends at work. It seemed that word had spread fast that the newest Halstead had been born, and the first Halstead girl in three generations to boot. Cindy and Christopher Herrmann were there, also bearing gifts, and so were Kim and Adam with their little girl Makayla, who was asleep in her father’s arms.

Will quickly sat down beside you, and you softly placed Madeleine into her father’s strong arms.

“Everyone, we’d like you all to meet our daughter, Madeleine Theresa Halstead,” said Will proudly, as he smiled down at his little girl in his arms. The little group cheered so softly and one by one made their way to meet the newest member of their family of sorts.

“Congratulations, she’s absolutely adorable,” grinned Jay as he hugged Will, taking care not to hurt his niece any way. “Mom and Dad would be so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Jay. I just wish Madeleine could’ve met them.”

“She’s going to know them in a way, we’ll make sure of it. It’s a nice touch to give mom’s name to Madeleine as her middle name too.”

Madeleine had woken up in Sylvie’s arms, and yet she had not made much of a noise. Her little gaze seemed to be enamored by your best friend and you giggled. “I think that means she likes her godmother Auntie Sylvie!”

Sylvie’s eyes bugged out of her head at your words. “Oh… you chose me?” she asked softly, tears pooling in her eyes at the fact you and Will wanted her as Madeleine’s godmother.

Will nodded. “If it hadn’t been for you and Matt actually getting us two together, we’d not be here,” he told Sylvie, who nodded, before carefully passing the baby to her boyfriend, who expertly held the baby with a smitten tenderness. It was true, even though you and Will worked in the same hospital department, it had taken so long for either of you to make a move that Sylvie had taken it upon herself, roping in Matt too, to get you both together.

Sylvie hugged you tight. "I already love that little angel so much. She's so precious!" she smiled, wiping her tears. "Who would've thought that what I did would cause all this?"

“That one day was all it took, and now look where we all are.”

#chicago med #chicago pd #chicago fire #one chicago #will halstead x you #will halstead x reader #will halstead #will halstead fanfiction #dad!will #dad!will halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #halstead bros

94 notes · View notes

storiesoflilies · 8 months

Text

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - General descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: I will be editing Chapter 1 as I’m not really happy with the format of it. I will let you guys know when I finish doing that, but there won’t be any major changes, just some more details here and there. I’m still getting back into the swing of writing again! Anyways, enjoy this chapter and let me know your thoughts :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — Chapter 3

-•-

Chapter 2

From that moment onwards, Y/N’s life was almost never her own.

Gojo dove straight into his duties as her soon-to-be husband; he ate with her, fought alongside her, and prayed with her every night before she slept. If customs didn’t dictate otherwise, he probably would have bathed with and slept beside her too. It was obviously to bond with her, to know her and create more intimacy outside the ties of marriage, but Y/N would have preferred them to continue the way they had before; right up until their vows were promised, and their names written together in between a cluster of stars to form a new constellation.

Was that delaying the inevitable? Perhaps.

He also started sparring with her, which Y/N had otherwise done with Nanami ever since Geto was promoted, and was intensely invested in training her himself. Gojo was desperate, it was obvious from how his eyes gleamed dangerously every time she misstepped, every time she fumbled into him; and Y/N didn’t know how, or why, but she knew it had everything to do with Geto.

“You need to be stronger than before because of who you are now,” Gojo said, looking far too calm and collected, a tense facade, as he looked down at her heaving with exertion. “Even if you’ll never fight without me.”

That particular morning, after yet another gruelling session, Y/N had been too exhausted and in agony to even descend and fight. Gojo had taken it upon himself to cover her duties for her, and so she stood there on the grassy plains of the training grounds after he had disappeared; using up all of her mental willpower for her knees not to buckle to the ground in front of the other seraphim. There was immediate pressure on Y/N following her engagement, Angels she’d known her whole life now avoided looking at her directly, their voices shaking with reverence if they so happened to speak to her. Her new role gave her power, but expected it returned tenfold; she was expected to be an apparition, an untouchable deity that was always composed and poised. Y/N felt their heavy gazes upon her all the time, daring her to give in and fall, and felt a flash of rage course through her that settled into its usual constant underlying discontent.

Why did she feel so much anger? Was it her soul protesting its dismay over her choice to marry Gojo, it’s grief manifesting as constant rage?

How could she feel a loss so deeply for someone she’d never even met?

“He is pushing you too hard,” Nanami’s familiar voice commented from behind her, snapping Y/N out of her inner turmoil.

A sour look was plastered on his face, but there was genuine concern in his hazel eyes; a warmth in them that he never cared to admit he had, but it was there, like a candle flickering determinedly as a reminder it was still there. Nanami had still stuck to his same routine, sparring with other Angels during her sessions with Gojo, which meant he had clearly been observing every part of her new regime. It wasn’t that Gojo was cruel to her, there was just simply no way Y/N could keep up with or even reach an equal level to his power, but she understood why the Nanami thought he was. She had no special powers of her own; her wings were just large enough to fly herself, and she barely controlled any divine power – but just enough to smite her enemies. However, her physical strength and weapon proficiency were her strong suits, which was why her and Nanami were a powerful duo that often worked together on the battlefield; they were nearly equal in terms of raw talent, two becaming one when they drew swords together.

“I’m getting stronger,” Y/N answered back, her face slightly scrunched up with pain as she started to take small steps forward. “And I have to be, I’m going to be his wife.”

Nanami said nothing at this, and walked alongside her in silence as they headed back to Gojo’s tower. She was grateful for his solid presence, it was reassuring in case she stumbled; they’d already seen each other at their worst, it didn’t matter what she did now. They passed through the grand doorway of the tower, and Y/N immediately hurried towards a padded chair in the main common room as the last of her resolve crumbled away into dust. Nanami closed the entrance doors behind them, shielding them from the outside, and since there was nobody in the immediate vicinity, Y/N could safely let out a large sigh of relief as she melted into the chair. She heard the clink of glass and a pouring noise, and her eyes drifted over to see Nanami offering her a clear glass of water.

Y/N murmured a thank you as she cradled the glass. He turned away from her, looking out of one of the windowed marble archways at the passing seraphim, with his hands held pensively behind his back. Like the rest of Gojo’s tower, the common room dripped with obnoxious opulence; intricate tapestries and paintings decorating the walls, all of them depicting ancient great battles between Angels and Curses. The numerous seating arrangements were made of oakwood, with velvet padding for comfort, enabling many to sit throughout the room. Warm sunlight filtered through the marble archways, basking the room in the light of the midday sun, and a slight breeze tenderly kissed Nanami’s golden hair.

“Always so deep in thought,” Y/N teased as she slowly sipped her water. “Don’t you have other places to be?”

“It can wait, I just wanted to stay and make sure you’re alright,” he replied, still not looking at her. “As I said, he is pushing you too hard.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Besides, you’ve wasted enough time accompanying me home when you need to be out.”

“You’re obviously in pain, you think I was going to risk you falling and crawling back undignified? Absolutely not, I have respect for you that has been there even before Satoru proposed.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. Nanami respected and acknowledged Gojo’s supreme strength and value to the Angels, but he was never fond of his character. He believed the Six Eyes was obnoxious; completely unaware of the wide effects of his influence and power, and lacked true empathy for anybody outside his inner circle. She had hoped her engagement would make Nanami more partial, seeing as how it was her own choice to become tied to Gojo, but it obviously wasn’t working – and maybe it never would.

The pair settled into a tranquil silence as they watched the day go by; her own time, a rare moment without Gojo infiltrating it, or anybody else coming to her for decisions on wedding preparations – not that Y/N was actually in charge of anything, it was more a courtesy to let her know what was to be done. She was aware how harsh she sounded, as if she couldn’t stand Gojo just like Nanami couldn’t, but that was far from the truth. She just wanted to stay in silence, peace and quiet, with someone choosing to share her space with as an equal rather than consume it; perhaps Nanami understood that without ever having to hear it directly from her lips, she always did underestimate his compassion and intuition for others emotions.

It didn’t last long.

“Ah Nanami, so good to see you!” Gojo’s voice called out from the entrance, announcing his return with a great clap of his hands as he joyfully traipsed into the tower. A number of his followers filtered in behind him, like honey bees following the scent of their queen.

Satoru Gojo carried no weapons during battle, as his divine power was wielded through his hands, and they had to remain as free as possible. His silver and gold armour gleamed in the sun, not a single drop of Curse blood offending its cleanliness, his hair tousled and wild from battle; and he walked with a swagger, his entire being oozing confidence, completely untroubled by the weight of the world. Y/N felt a spark of pride, a sense of awe that crept up on her suddenly when she lay awake in the dead of night unable to sleep.

Of all Angels, Gojo is going to be my husband.

“I’ll take my leave now Gojo, I was just ensuring your future wife is well,” Nanami quipped, but still respectfully bowing his head at Gojo, while sparing a glance at Y/N with a much softer look.

Gojo’s smile never faltered, “You have my thanks, I’ll take care of her now.”

Nanami nodded to her as he left, and she smiled at him. She hoped he knew just how much she appreciated his unwavering solidarity for her, and how much she missed him; fighting alongside him was like singing a song only the two of them knew the words to, safe and familiar. Gojo sat beside her, holding his hands together as if he was anxious, and his smile dropped completely.

“I’m sorry, are you alright? I didn’t mean to push you so hard,” Gojo asked, worry evidently lacing his words. It was strange, like he didn’t know how to handle her anymore, and she realized this new dynamic was as foreign to her as it was to him.

“It’s ok Gojo,” Y/N said as reassuringly as she could, squeezing his hand in a comforting gesture. “I know I need to do this.”

He immediately perked up at her touch, ethereal eyes twinkling with just a hint of mischief. This was something she had learned during their time bonding together; Satoru Gojo instantly responded to physical affection, and returned it intensely. It had taken sometime to adjust to, because it was something she never thought to expect from him, but Y/N felt that wide crack in her soul grow smaller with every one of his embraces; as her doubts drifted away, his cooling aura drawing her into him like a prayer.

“You’re already far better than you were a month ago, you’ve been working hard,” he praised, leaning back into the chair as he tenderly swung his arm around her. “I think I might be a good teacher you know?”

She giggled, a delicate tinkling noise, “Of course, shall we go and eat something so we can do it all over again?”

“Ah good idea! You stay here, I’ll bring some food for us,” Gojo chuckled, brushing his temple into hers, stray hairs tickling her forehead, before getting up and sauntering towards the food hall.

Y/N sighed when he had passed out of earshot, her weariness and frustration returning at the thought of having to exert her limits once more. How much did Gojo had to have pushed himself to become limitless? Or was the Six Eyes born limitless, unable to comprehend how much a single Angel could be stretched before snapping? Would he ever come to understand when he became her husband, and would she ever uncover the sheer magnitude of his power when she became his wife?

She was overwhelmed, but marrying Satoru Gojo was never going to be easy.

You have to get through this. You made your choice.

Y/N heard his familiar footfall approaching and quickly composed herself.

“Here we are!” Gojo exclaimed as he carried two plates laden with food, plopping down beside her again and handing her a plate.

They dug into their meal whilst discussing their wedding, the newly appointed Sky Sentries, as well as their mutual concerns about the increasing number of deeper layer Curses emerging. More of Gojo’s followers entered the tower, relieved from their duties as the sun sank further down the sky; casting shy glances towards them despite their obvious exhaustion. At the start of their engagement, Gojo had thrown menacing glares towards anybody lingering within earshot of them conversing, and the seraphim had quickly learned to leave the couple alone. Y/N discerned that it was part of his unwillingness to let any Angel be privy to a even a slightly deeper side of him, as if it angered him to give a piece of himself to anybody he didn’t deem worthy enough.

“Don’t you think it’s strange, that this is finally happening to us?” she asked after some time, their meals long since finished and lighter conversations passed.

“What, us getting married? It took me long enough to ask,” Gojo replied, an easygoing aura to him that seemed to only seemed to come out the longer they spent time together.

Y/N smiled nervously, twisting her fingers as mustered up the courage to ask, “Well, what made you decide then?”

Gojo’s eyes darkened, his ease falling dramatically like a heavy cloak, and he looked away. He didn’t seem inclined to answer, and she internally scolded herself for asking when she probably wasn’t ready to hear the answer, or never really needed to know.

“I don’t want to just be the strongest,” he finally said, looking at her but not directly into her eyes; like she was playing the part of the benevolent apparition. “Geto thinks that’s all I am, and that’s all I’ll ever be, he said so the last time I saw him. I want to end this war, but I don’t want our entire existence to be about it. I want to build a legacy that’s not just about my power, and you’re the only one left I care about that I want to build that legacy with.”

She froze.

So… I’m just a means to an end?

“It wouldn’t matter if my soulmate was here right now either,” Gojo continued, looking at her intensely. “I never planned to marry anybody else but you, I only trust you now.”

“You wouldn’t trust your own soulmate?”

“No, I don’t know them. How can I have any trust?”

Y/N nodded silently, mulling his words over in her head. She was unsure of how to respond, and Gojo didn’t seem to want to converse anymore; he was all taut, his muscles pulled tight and ready to lash out if he didn’t find a release soon. And so they sat together watching the day turn into night, until he was summoned to fight once more.

-•-

She woke gasping for air, her body fighting back from returning to land of the living as the warm tendrils of her dreams begrudgingly released her from their grasp; still whispering to her of delightful vengeance, promises of pleasure and freedom, and pain. So much pain. Y/N frowned, her fingers splayed across her bare stomach, a familiar shard of loss tearing through her.

Why is it so cold?

She felt like she’d experienced this a thousand times before, her heart aching from an age old ailment that could never be healed. Her soul was floating downwards and out of her body, just like the Angels fleeing from their punishment of sinning, but forever doomed to remain experiencing it over and over.

A prompt rapping at her door pulled her from her state of limbo, snapping her soul back into place.

”I hope you slept well,” Gojo greeted, the door only slightly ajar to preserve her privacy. “Nanami and I are waiting outside for you, come join us when you’re ready.”

Y/N composed herself, the coldness dissipating almost as quickly as it came, and hastily donned her armour and sheathed her katanas. Gojo’s urgency was unnerving, as well as the fact that Nanami would be there as well. She huffed, shaking off the remnants of her dreams from her shoulders, displeased from her lack of knowledge. The street outside was shaded in the shadow of the towers; the sun still not yet high enough over the city to cast the light of the dawn over Heaven. Gojo was lazily stretching his thick arms over his head, not a care in the world, and Nanami stood looking away from him – not looking particularly pleased.

“Good, you’re here!” Gojo exclaimed as he noticed her, instantly interlinking his hands with hers.

“What’s all this about?”

Gojo looked at Nanami expectantly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Nanami sighed, already tired of having to repeat his tale like a mysterious storyteller. “I picked up the start of an odd trail yesterday just before nightfall, and so I couldn’t pursue it. I requested that you and I track the Curse that left it.”

“Naturally, I have to accompany you both on this,” Gojo interjected, earning a scowl from Nanami. “I swore to protect Y/N from any harm. Besides, this is a good opportunity to see you both fight, I’ve heard you’re a formidable pair.”

Without skipping a beat, he placed a hand on her and Nanami’s shoulders, and Y/N sucked in a breath as her psyche was stretched across the Unlimited Void. She wondered if Nanami was fighting to keep his mind closed from the Six Eyes prying, or if he even cared to shield himself; Nanami was simply incapable of sin, he was too in control of himself. On the other hand, Gojo handled her soul with more care in the Void; still overwhelming as before, but his essence didn’t control her so much – she had some freedom to take in the infinite space around her.

Within seconds, they were standing at the edge of a charred forest; the air thick with smoke and dust, leaves of the trees long since been burned away, and only their remains stood bent and broken like the bones of spindly skeleton. A lone mountain loomed overhead, spewing ash as if it was preparing to spit down on them. Y/N hated that initial breath on Earth, it reeked of death and sulphur – the smell of Curses and Hell that could never be washed away.

“Ahhh, isn’t this so much nicer than descending through all the gates?” Gojo remarked, his nose turned up as if he too was offended by the smell and ugliness of the burnt forest.

“Descending through the gates is a mark of respect for those guarding it,” Nanami murmured, taking in his surroundings. “I heard you spent much of your power during last night’s battle, this seems like an unnecessary expense of your energy.”

”Bahh, nothing I can’t handle.”

Y/N ignored them and crouched down, concentrating hard to visualize the lingering energy imprinted in the soil. Viridescent wisps flickered in and out of sight, settling into a singular writhing root that seemed to extend from deep within her core. She knew this energy; it was like rediscovering long lost ancient knowledge from eons past, only to find that she’d never really forgotten it in the first place.

She pointed a finger towards the forest.

”There, do you see it Nanami?”

He nodded, and Gojo towered over her from behind as he studied the trace too.

”This energy… have either of you ever felt anything like this?” He questioned, his excitement palpable like a child unwrapping a gift.

Gojo didn’t skip a beat before answering anyways, “The only kind of Curse that leaves energy traces like this are their Kings. I’m guessing maybe a Third or even Second Layer King has left these.”

He was unnaturally giddy, nearly bursting with glee at the prospect of unbridled violence; the outlet for him to finally unleash himself upon. Y/N sprang up and stepped back from him. A Curse King hadn’t been killed in centuries, they rarely emerged from the depths to fight at night, much less during the daylight; surely Gojo didn’t think there was one running rampant on the Earth at this very moment?

“Gojo, you can’t be serious.”

“I am, let’s see if we can hunt it down. There’s a chance it mightn’t have descended yet.”

Gojo motioned with his head for them to follow, and he set out at a brisk run through the forest. Y/N understood why Nanami didn’t waste time yesterday trying to follow its tracks; the energy followed no clear pattern, as if the Curse had sprung up from the Hells just to jump around for the fun of it. Nanami and her kept a similar pace beside each other, while the Six Eyes forged on ahead like he was on a warpath. Perhaps it was Nanami’s previous comment, but Y/N noted Gojo seemed… erratic. When was the last time he properly slept, or even ate? That wild look in his eyes promised savage violence against his prey and anything else standing in his way, and she pursed her lips with worry; was he really in the right mindset to fight a Curse King?

The landscape barely changed as they traversed the forest, burnt trees were all that was left from the destruction of Curses. It would have once been a mighty forest lush with life, but now there was only death to be seen for leagues and leagues as far as Y/N could see. Sadly, most of the Earth was scorched, and almost nowhere safe from Sukuna’s reign of fire and terror. What little life that grew were in various Angel strongholds scattered leagues and leagues from each other, and even then it wasn’t more than a pitiful bunches of daisies destined to be crushed underneath a soldiers boot. The strongholds were placed as closely as possible to areas of high Cursed activity, known points from which a large volume of Curses ascended from Hell; places the Angels could launch their attacks on emerging threats. They finally reached a clearing in the forest, a tombstone of burnt earth over what should have been vibrant grass, as the sun climbed to its midway point in the sky. Gojo stopped abruptly, his knuckles cracking loudly.

“Nanami, can you detect any traces?” He inquired, his evident frustration complimented with an irritated expression on his face. It was a last ditch effort, almost useless – if the Six Eyes himself couldn’t trace it, nobody else could.

Nanami said nothing as he sidestepped Gojo’s wings, blue eyes flashing wildly upon his white feathers, and observed the ground as he tread farther on ahead, disappearing from view. Y/N moved to stand in front of him, peering up at him with worry.

“Satoru,” she whispered, tilting her head to encourage him to look at her.

His eyes flitted down to her, uncaring. “Hmm?”

”I don’t think it’s here anymore, the Curse must have descended.”

”Tsk, maybe you’re right. It doesn’t matter, that thing won’t live through the night. I’ll hunt it when the sun sets.”

Y/N smiled, knowing well enough that he would keep his promise.

A black flash sliced through the air.

Their blood spilled from a sword buried to the hilt through both their midriffs.

White hot pain coursed through her.

And then, a tidal wave of raw energy crashed over her as she stared at their assailant behind Gojo.

And stared.

And he stared right back at her.

It was a Curse, but he looked much more like an Angel would. He was tall and handsome and made of rippling muscle, like the waves of the sea during a storm; radiating just as much powerful energy, charging the air with a brutal force that demanded attention unlike anything Y/N had ever felt before. His black hair fell over deep forest green eyes that pierced right through to her soul, forcing another shockwave of his energy into her; and she took it gladly, maybe even eagerly, greedily. He glanced from her to Gojo then back to her, as if trying to figure out who they were to each other, and his eyes widened a fraction at her as he loosened the grip on his weapon ever so slightly.

She knew who he was.

She’d seen him a thousand times before this moment.

That dangerous gleam deep within his irises were so familiar to her, promising her violent delights full of sin that only he could deliver.

Y/N knew him from dreams buried deep within her soul; she’d walked with him through the ages, through time and space itself.

She was so deep in their trance she barely felt Gojo’s hands on her shoulders, and before Y/N could register anything he was pushing her away from him. His blade passed through her once more, her blood bursting forth from her mouth and gushing wound, and she collapsed to the ground as there was a blast of blue energy. Y/N weakly raised her head, her vision clouded with black spots, and her ears rang loud and true like the bells in Heaven. Still, she could make out Gojo standing defensively in front of her, and the Curse crouched some distance ahead, his head bowed and raven hair obscuring his facial features.

Her heart beat faster; the weaves of fate had finally been tied together, and there was no escaping it now.

”You’re fast, but something’s off with you, King,” Gojo sneered, his palms poised and ready to unleash his power once more.

He rushed forward at the Curse, and Y/N screamed as she was carelessly flung back through the air from the backlash of energy as both Angel and Curse clashed together in a flurry of slashes; the sky sporadically lighting up with hues of red and blue. Her head smacked into a tree trunk, vision nearly completely blackened now, and more blood trickled down her face as Y/N sensed her wing bones were crushed from the collision; making sickening crunching noises as she hacked up more blood.

What is happening?

Y/N felt his confusion, overwhelming rage that could have set fire to her soul, and perplexing elation that disoriented her.

Their bond had set, her soul was complete; and she knew what it was he wanted.

Oh God help me, he’s in me.

Run. Now.

Gojo’s voice reverberated painfully through her head, and Y/N grunted and gritted her teeth as she willed her vision to return, but was barely able to move herself. She screamed in agony and anger, trying again, her wound threatening to tear her in two as her legs managed, albeit shakily, to keep her upright. Her head swam as Nanami’s face engulfed her field of vision, sharply inhaling in pain as he pressed his hand onto her stomach while shouting something to her. His words were muffled, she couldn’t make out any clear words, and her eyes drifted behind him. Y/N couldn’t see neither Gojo nor him. She felt Nanami sling her arm around his neck, hoisting her from the ground as her head rolled forward and panic gripped her like a vice.

“Nanami, no,” she heaved, shaking her head wildly, her vision and hearing clearing only just slightly. “Nanami.”

“We need to ascend, you can’t fly can you?”

She shook her head again. Nanami’s wings were just like hers, large enough to fly himself but not enough to support another beings weight, and Gojo was too distracted fighting to send them back to Heaven through the Void.

They were both stuck until the Six Eyes won his battle.

“Nanami,” Y/N sobbed, her words a blubbery mess, “That Curse, I can’t-.”

“Don’t worry, Gojo can handle it. We need to get to safety, otherwise we’ll be killed in their crossfire.”

“No no no Nanami, no. The Curse, it’s - he’s - my soulmate. I can’t leave.”

Nanami halted, “Are you quite certain?”

Y/N could only nod, and Nanami paused to look back over his shoulder, “You’re too injured, we have to go.”

“Nanami, please. Please!” She begged, gasping as she tried to dig her heels into the earth, flailing against his strong hold on her.

Nanami looked torn as he gazed down at her with such pity, as if he shared her heartbreak and pain, and murmured, “Y/N, I can’t help you. I can’t fight the Six Eyes. He’s too strong for either of us.”

Y/N shuddered as her limbs gave out, her head rolling forward. Would she feel it when Gojo ended his life, her soul ripping from his like tearing flesh from bone? Nanami hoisted her up again, apologies falling from his lips like prayers as he carried her farther away from him.

“Well well, seems like you Angels come in threes! How unbelievably lucky!” Both of them looked up sharply at the figure chuckling in front of them; undoubtedly a Curse, its energy rhythmically pulsating from it, enveloping them in a mist of negativity and hopelessness. It had a strange shade of long silver hair, even stranger haphazard stitches all across its body, and mismatched coloured eyes that glinted with fake sympathy that masked a malicious intent.

Nanami set Y/N down gently as he unsheathed his blade.

”Hmm, I wonder if killing three Angels is considered lucky too?” It pondered, almost childishly considering an answer to its own question.

Nanami didn’t hesitate after that.

He launched towards the Curse, swinging his blade in a great swooping arc. The Curse giggled and crossed its arms to block the attack; lilac energy sparking off from where the blade hit it.

”You’re strong!” The Curse exclaimed cheerfully, wonderfully naive. “This is going to be such fun.”

Its unsettling gaze fixated on her, and Y/N tensed in fear; she was far too vulnerable, unable to defend herself if it decided to come at her. Nonetheless, her bloodied hands reached for her katanas.

A flash of anger, his anger.

The silver haired Curse tore its gaze from her as Nanami took another swing at it, and they danced together in a deadly whirl of his blade and lilac fists of cursed energy; neither of them able to land a proper blow on the other. Y/N staggered backwards as it reached out to her, gripping her katanas defensively as Nanami grabbed it by the leg and, with a great display of strength, flung it backwards and away from her. Y/N frowned as three small oddly shaped clods flew through the air, and thudded at her feet.

Instantaneously, they all erupted into life.

She barely had time to react as they metamorphosed into grotesque Curses, snarling and spitting unintelligible words, and she slashed at the closest one to her. Another barrelled into the right side of her, knocking the wind out of her, and she stabbed her blade into it as she was pushed into the dirt. The last one seemed to be waiting for her to make a move, swaying back and forth on its hind legs like a disfigured frog, babbling yes yes yes! over and over again. Y/N sliced its clawed hands, the severed limbs flying through the air, and brought down both her katanas through its head. Her heart hammered in her chest, life force rapidly draining as her blades slipped from the hilts sullied with her spent blood.

Perhaps they were both meant to die today. Maybe they were meant to lock eyes upon each other for the first and only time, and then shut them forever as their souls passed on to the next world. But was there any version of the afterlife where they could be together? He was a Curse, she was an Angel, and God hadn’t made a paradise for them to co-exist.

What was the point of it all?

Her pain was dulled now, her heart slowing. Her legs finally failed her and sent her to the ground, her blood pooling around her.

“Y/N I’m here, don’t give up.”

Nanami was pressing a hand down on her stomach, and Y/N’s broke for him. Half his body was severely burned, pale pink flesh rippling in the sunlight; his armour and wings in tatters, as his blood dripped from an empty eye socket onto her face. He looked haunted, desperately fighting a lonely losing battle of holding onto both their lives, the inevitable mercilessly creeping forward like hungry rats ready to devour them.

”Nanami, go,” she mumbled, pushing against him weakly.

She didn’t notice the crown of silver behind him until it was too late; the Curse placed a hand delicately on Nanami’s exposed flesh, as if caressing a blossom that threatened to fall apart.

Still, Nanami smiled at her like he was seeing her again after a long time.

No no no.

”Y/N, I’ll see you again. You take it from here.”

And then her golden haired guardian burst into nothingness right in front of her eyes; showering her in a cooling mist of his blood, an almost soothing farewell.

Time stopped.

Y/N took a deep breath in, her weak body rattling in shock as tears rolled down her cheeks, and the Curse kneeled in front of her.

“There there,” it cooed, and she closed her eyes, shuddering in disgust as she felt it stroke the feathers of her wings.

“Just end me already,” she rasped, a last cough sputtering out as she spoke, her final display of whatever strength she had left.

Defiance… and his desperation.

The Curse cocked its head at her, as if it was the most bizarre thing she could have said.

”Why? Your soul has the strength of more than one, it would be a waste.”

It wrapped its hands around her neck, smiling softly at her as Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and searing heat spread across her back. The sky started to seem farther away, like it was shrinking. No, the Earth was crumbling away underneath her, like she was sinking into her own grave that kept on extending further and further. The Curse stayed put on top of her, a hue of bright red appearing behind it as the last glimpse of the Earth faded away into nothingness.

She succumbed into darkness after that.

-•-

201 notes · View notes

aroaceleovaldez · 2 months

Note

what do you think about the charters (Nico, Percy and others) using mobility aids? (Especially after all the wars, fights, and other general injures they've probably got over the years)

I may be biased as someone who uses mobility aids, but I definitely think more demigods should have mobility aids in general. Nico in particular definitely could use it with how often he collapses and with how he generally exhibits some symptoms of low blood pressure at the very least if not POTS or EDS. I'm particularly biased to drawing him with my own crutches, lol (they have knee rests!!!!).

Also I always love seeing Grover with crutches. He was introduced as having a muscular disease - i know that's implied to be just cause he's actually a satyr, but also he's the only satyr to be described as "walking like every step hurt." So give him crutches!!!! He needs them!!!

I dont have any particularly strong opinions for other characters, except maybe usually giving Leo a prosthetic leg so he can thematically match his dad and sometimes crutches alongside that, and my friends and I have talked about Jason using a rollator before, particularly in Jason Lives!AUs. But regardless I always love discussing comorbidity between various other conditions and disabilities with ADHD and dyslexia and a not insignificant number of those comorbidities may require mobility aids. Functionally demigods are kind of more like intensive athletes with magic healthcare, and very few are on the level of like Nico where they've been through the wringer so much that it has lasting effects on them - actually very few in general seem to get a lot of physical damage that doesn't get healed quickly (i think in part cause most campers don't actually go on quests). mostly just psychological damage - so i don't think every demigod would need mobility aids, but like statistically there should probably be more just given the comorbidity stuff to begin with. Everybody who's come back from the dead should probably have more going on with them though imo.

#ask #Anonymous #pjo #riordanverse #headcanon #headcanons #eds nico #disabled nico #disability #I WANNA TALK ABOUT DEMIGOD ADHD/DYSLEXIA COMORBIDITY!!!!!#i will say though as much as i love nico with mobility devices sometimes the fandom gets weird about it :(#i think mostly cause the fandom infantilizes nico a lot to begin with as an autistic/disabled character #(or at least more visibly disabled than his peers)#also i think just most of the fandom is unfamiliar with mobility devices in general and just kind of randomly throw stuff at him #(really the fandom is just kind of unfamiliar with disability topics in general and has some bad habits/oversights because of it)#(even when it comes to just adhd/dyslexic/etc stuff the fandom can lean pretty ignorant and etc which is kind of ironic)#ftr if people want explanations of stuff i am perfectly willing to talk about mobility devices and other medical stuff/assistive things #and how i think those would relate to pjo or specific characters within my realm of knowledge

80 notes · View notes

cosmicjoke · 2 months

Note

One thing I genuinely can not grasp:

why did Isayama write Levi to stay in Marley at the end of story? I understand he’s injured but like to me I do not know why he’s written to be with the two 12 year olds? Was this a choice to just include the two 12 year olds in the story? I mean they have their families. If i ever meet isayama imma ask💀but Idk… your opinion?♥️♥️

The thing about Levi is, he's a protector. That's the role he's always filled. I think it's only natural for him to end up basically looking after two kids. He's always managed to find adopted families, in a way. First with Furlan and Isabel, then with the Scouts, and at the end of the story, with Falco and Gabi. I think it's beautiful, honestly, and a testament to Levi's open heart and kindness, that he always ends up with people that he cares about and that care about him. Despite all he's been through, and all he's lost, he hasn't ever closed his heart off to that. Also, I don't know why Levi would go back to Paradis when the island is filled with Yeagerists who not only wanted him dead and tried to kill him, but have turned the island into a hostile, militarized nation. Levi probably feels like there's nothing left for him back there. I also think Levi decided to stay in Marley (we assume, it could be another country for all we know) because he wanted to help with the rebuilding efforts. We see on the cover for vol. 35 that he's helping to plant trees alongside Gabi and Falco and Onyankopon, and we saw at the end of the anime that he spends time in refugee camps handing out candy to children. I think Levi cares too much about people to sort of rest on his laurels and retire, so he's out there helping in whatever ways he can now.

Also, Gabi's and Falco's families are kind of assholes, lol. They let them be child soldiers and even put pressure on them to become part of the Warrior Program. At the same time, they can't relate to anything that Falco or Gabi have been through or what they've seen fighting in Marley's wars, but Levi sure as hell can. Levi's seen more death and destruction than anyone. So he'll be able to relate to Gabi and Falco's trauma in a way their families never could. They probably find solace in Levi's company, and someone to listen when no one else will or can.

#Levi Ackerman #gabi braun #falco grice #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin #anon asks

115 notes · View notes

bloodiedrogue · 8 months

Text

THANKS, LASS!

SUMMARY: Rugan finally gets to buy you that drink at the Elfsong... and say his proper thanks.

PAIRING: Rugan & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,252

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, a little bit of hair pulling if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I've never written for this man in my life so if it's bad... just uh... move along, please. Also, thanks to everyone who voted for the poll! I promise I'll do more fun things like this when I'm not so sad and sick. :')

MASTERLIST

The pain that resides in your lower back is intense. A torturous shift of muscle and bone pushing itself in all the wrong spots. So much so that as you take that first step towards the Elfsong’s upstairs quarters you can’t help but groan at the impact. Remembering how awful it felt to fight off that horde of elementals alongside Lorroakan’s particularly brutal set of spells.

At this rate, the only thing you can feel is the need to rest and drink. Both of which somehow manage to pull your thoughts away from the staircase beneath your feet. Or more specifically how increasingly painful each step becomes.

“You guys still have that gold from earlier, right?” Karlach asks. She’s about two steps in front of you and barely hanging on herself. With her great axe strapped to her back, it’s a wonder she’s still upright considering she probably took the brunt of the fight.

“Yes, why?” Beside her, Shadowheart looks over skeptically. Even though she already knows why the tiefling’s asking.

“I ran out.”

“Of course, you’d conveniently run out of money the second we make it to the most expensive tavern in town.” Leaning against the railing of the staircase, Astarion uses one hand to steady himself and the other to flippantly wave her off. All while rolling his eyes before shooting you an unimpressed look. “I swear, all this woman does is mooch.”

“Says the bloodsucking vampire!” Karlach retorts, prompting Astarion to scoff.

“You know, comparing an eternal curse to a lack of financial responsibility is rather poor taste, Karlach.”

“Yeah, well—“

You’re already turning back towards the bottom of the staircase before you can listen further, grumbling under your breath. Moving your aching hands to your face to scrub them down in annoyance as you make a beeline for the bar.

All day they’d been at each other’s throats. Bickering about the littlest things as a result of too much pressure. Even before arriving within the city limits, you could feel the tension of everyone’s problems reaching their climax. And now it was well past the point of boiling over.

“What can I—“

“Whatever’s strongest, please.”

Awkwardly, you shift onto one of the barstools, cringing at the pain that radiates through your spine. Trying your best to ignore the exhaustion that settles once you inevitably trade your drink for a few pieces of gold.

“Rough day, I assume.”

You give the barkeep an annoyed nod, leaning forward to readjust your position. Attempting to alleviate the discomfort by putting more weight onto your elbows as you begin to anxiously sip. The drink overall isn’t bad for what it’s worth. A bit fiery as it slips through your lips and down your throat but still tolerable. Better than most of the shit you’ve ransacked on the road which leaves you somewhat thankful.

“You an adventurer?”

As you take another drink, pausing mid-sip to narrow your eyes at the barkeep you can’t help but wonder how he hasn’t gotten the hint. You’re not here to talk —you’re here to drink. To drown in the silence of your thoughts until you inevitably have to come back up for air and wander helplessly upstairs to bed. To wallow in your own pity as you try and decide whose problems you’ll have to face next in favour of avoiding your own.

Opening your mouth to respond, you’re quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. One that’s low and Northern —a jumble of words you don’t quite catch on account of the speed at which he scolds the barkeep causing him to scoff.

“He bothering you?”

Glancing to your left, you’re met with Rugan’s familiar eyes. All tired and blue, looking at you with an odd amount of smugness that has you holding back a smirk as you shake your head. “Not anymore.”

“Good. Ol’ Darvin’s always been a bit shit at social cues, haven’t you Darv?” As he speaks, his volume rises, catching the attention of the barkeep once again who flips him off.

“Oh, piss off, Zhent.”

All he does is laugh. Lending you a moment to take another much-needed sip feeling your stomach flip.

“I see you made it back in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“Rough trip?”

You snort in response, knowing just how unaware he is of how truly rough it’s been. “You could say that.”

“Hopefully no more gnolls?”

“Only a few.” You shrug, watching him nod his head. Noticing the way he pauses his response to take your appearance in full, his eyes darting from the faded bloodstains coating the roots of your hair to the dishevelled way your armour sits on your frame, already begging to be discarded.

“When did you make it back?”

“A few nights ago.”

“And you’ve just now decided to take up my offer for a drink? Tsk, I’m offended,” he teases, his lips pulling down into a mock frown that has you biting your tongue and shaking your head, trying to appear aloof.

Because if you're being honest, at this moment you’re feeling anything but. Thanks to the way he continues to stare —practically drinking you in like a man devoid of hydration— it feels as though you’ll cave at any second. Something you know you can’t do because there’s work to be done.

“My sincerest apologies,” you reply dramatically, pausing to take the last few sips of your drink before sighing in relief. “Yesterday I was a bit tied up fighting a cloister of angry Sharran’s and today we had to murder a power-hungry wizard. So, the offer sort of slipped my mind if I’m being honest.”

Unsurprisingly, that piques his interest, prompting his brows to raise and his frame to sort of shift a bit closer. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“How do you mean?”

“Aren’t you meant to relax now that you’re back in the city?”

This time you laugh, throwing your head back —watching as he scrunches up his face in confusion until you eventually settle back down, wiping a stray tear from your eye.

An act you half expect him to question considering how absurd it looks suddenly erupting into madness. How despite always acting like you know exactly what you’re doing you’ve just shown him otherwise. Granting him what little access you’re willing to release in order to pull him in.

Which sounds ridiculous when you take into account you barely know the man. Having spoken to him on only two occasions, he really shouldn’t be trusted. Not at least until he’s proven himself an ally like others have. Instead, he should be placed at arm’s length like every other soul you’ve managed to save along the way. Looked at with fondness and curiosity but not faith. Never faith.

“Got yourself into some deep shite, have you?”

The way he smiles after he speaks leaves you questioning everything. The way your body shifts in response —the way your lungs give out and your legs move. The way everything feels warm and taut, forcing your mind to travel to places you know they shouldn’t.

“Course.”

“Bit of a troublemaker?”

In response, you shrug your shoulders and grin, unsure how to respond because, truthfully, you’re not. At least, not really. Sure, trouble always seems to find you as of late but obviously you don’t want it. Instead, what you want is peace. A night of no consequence or agenda. A night of song and dance and drink. A night of something other than what you’ve been constantly offered time and time again over these last few weeks.

Which is why you don’t protest when Rugan merely changes the subject, offering to buy you another drink. Or why you fail to stop after the second or the third —pausing around the fourth to debate going to bed before eventually relenting once more, smiling at the way he pokes fun at your lack of tolerance.

“Figured a fierce warrior like you’d be able to handle their drink.”

By that point, your mind is exclusively swimming around him. Thinking of all the ways you could further enjoy his company after this is over. Maybe you could ask him out for another drink. Or tag along with whatever trouble he’ll most likely get himself into again.

“Give me a break, Zhent,” you chastise, swirling the glass that now sits idly in your hand. Trying your best to tear your gaze from his, knowing that you’re drowning. Slipping further and further into those pretty fucking eyes that look and stare and absorb every single little thing you do. Every new glance making you unnecessarily nervous —a bundle of skittish thoughts and movements erupting over time, forcing your guard to quickly lower. Causing the once-severed connection between your mind and mouth to mend itself in the form of drunken rambles that have him practically on the edge of his seat.

“You know, I kept thinking I’d miss you when we arrived,” you tell him, glancing over your shoulder to hide the stupid grin that sits across your face at just the thought.

“You don’t say.” He grins back.

“Mhm. I kept having to tell myself not to get my hopes up.”

“Didn’t realize you viewed me so highly.”

“I don’t,” you immediately lie, despite knowing he’s already caught you. Thanks to his patience, charm, and heavy pockets he’s managed to earn at least one admittance of vulnerability, and knowing him that’s all he needs.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar,” he muses, and although you want to fight him on it, you don’t. Knowing that the conversation would just lead to another ill-performed lie tumbling from your already loosened lips.

“And you’re too smug.”

“Well, that’s because I have to be.”

You raise your brow. “Why?”

“Because pride gets you places. Shame doesn’t.”

Suddenly, you’re scrunching up your face and leaning forward, placing your glass on the counter between you —moving towards the edge of your chair so that you can explore his features the same way he did earlier.

Somehow it hardly phases him. Instead of making him sweat as it had previously done to you, you can sense that pride he’s talking about. All the underlying confidence that peaks through his pores, settling between the lines of age that reside around his mouth and eyes. It practically radiates off of him. Blinding you for a good few moments before it slowly fades behind the backdrop of something new. Something far more vulnerable, showcasing itself in the subtle way his eyes dart down towards the hand that’s suddenly found itself around his knee.

“You know, it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” you say, speaking to both him and yourself. Attempting to boost whatever confidence the two of you once had during the flirtatious parts of your conversation. “In certain circumstances, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Looking away, you then press your lips together and go to move your hand, feeling his quickly slip over top and how it pulls you back in again.

“This your way of granting me permission to be vulnerable, then?”

All you do is shrug, glancing down to see his fingers maneuvering your hand into his. Each digit lacing between the empty spaces of your own so that he can raise it and place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. An act that leaves you utterly breathless as he snorts and says something else. Something you don’t quite catch due to the fact that you’re already six feet below the surface, desperately trying to come up for air so that you can focus on the sound his mouth makes rather than what it might feel like against your skin. Or how it might taste after a long bout of—

“Oi, you listening?”

“Sorry?”

All he does is scoff as he kisses your hand again, watching your mouth open and close like a fish out of water. Taking you in with each struggling breath until he can feel your sense of stability returning.

“I said I’d really like to take you upstairs and fuck you, if that’s alright.”

At that moment, you’re completely speechless. A silent mess of twisting expressions too scared to respond with anything remotely charming.

As if you’ve been reduced to nothing but a follower worshipping their holy God, eventually all you do is nod and allow your body to be led up the stairs. Patiently waiting for the moment you step over that final threshold of privacy. All while internally wondering if what you’re doing is the right thing because there’s still so much work to be done. Not to mention the fact that everyone’s relying on you to—

“Aye, they can handle themselves for the night, yeah?”

Practically reading your mind, it’s as if you’re already one. A pair of bodies so tightly wound that by the time you’ve stepped into the room, he’s already working towards that goal.

Kicking the door closed, he presses into you almost instantly, moving his hands around your frame; lingering on the plushest parts as he inevitably slots his mouth against yours. Barely giving you a chance to think let alone breathe as he leads you to the bed. All while your hands wildly follow his in tandem, wrapping themselves around his shoulders —feeling them tense with excitement as the edges of your arms roughly knock against them on your way to hold his face.

Caressing his sturdy cheeks as he sits on the mattress’s edge, you then feel him pull you onto his lap, prompting you to smile against him. Feeling the way he gently bites back through the hazy taste of heated ale and desperation. Suppressing the urge to moan at the impact of his teeth taking hold of the skin before pulling back.

“You’re breathing a bit heavy there, sweetheart. Everything alright?”

You’re tempted to smack him but instead, you resort to merely tucking a hand behind his head to pull at his hair, watching his jaw shift. Feeling the tone of the room change almost as quickly as he grabs your chin.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty little face of yours any further.”

For a moment his fingers feel tight against your face, pressing your lips into a pout until he eventually allows the softer side of his movements to return. Then you’re lost to the waves all over again, feeling him guide you to a standing position beside the bed. Watching intently as he follows behind, moving his fingers to the clasps of your armour.

“Bit overdressed it seems,” he jokes, instantly making quick work of all the fastenings and ties. Starting with your chest plate before making his way down to the belt of your trousers, painfully lingering on the latter.

“I see that pride of yours is still intact,” you say, moving in to kiss his lips. Realizing just how truly soft they are in comparison to the rest of him. How unlike the arrogance and greed that resides in his voice and hands respectively, there’s a hidden tenderness there. An Achilles’ heel that you’re more than happy to nurture rather than exploit.

Which is something you’re certain he notices based on the way everything changes after that. How, instead of things progressing solely for the purpose of shared satisfaction, they move with care. With newfound attentiveness in the form of slow, curious hands that coast the edges of your torso.

“You know, I never properly thanked you for saving us that day.”

Narrowing your eyes, you can’t help but smile at the sensation of his breath suddenly wafting against your neck. Or how his palms feel dragging down the fabric of your tunic only to tuck themselves against the bareness of your skin, resting just above your hips.

“Didn’t you?”

Far gentler than you anticipate, his mouth sucks the skin of your neck. His teeth applying a bit of pressure before his tongue darts out to soothe the small affliction. “Not in the way that I wanted to,” he tells you after, kissing that same spot before moving lower and repeating the process. All while digging his fingers into your hips. “Not in the way you deserve.”

There’s a moment when you go to ask him what he means. Not because you’re unaware but because you need to hear him say it. To listen to him admit that what he’s doing is nothing more than an act of gratitude so that after this is said and done you won’t be distracted anymore.

But then he proceeds to lower himself to the ground, floorboards creaking under the weight of his knees. Thumbs carefully brushing across the edges of your stomach before moving back to your belt. Looking up at you, his eyes are larger and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them before and it’s as if you're back on the shore, wondering whether or not it’s okay to dive back in.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

It comes out like a whisper. As your lungs fail to provide the air you need to breathe, you’re left stranded. Wafting through the waves of his hands peeling away the fabric of your dirtied clothes, the only thing that’s there to stabilize you is him. His hungry mouth and broad shoulders —his calloused hands ghosting the backs of your calves as he tentatively kisses the inside of your thighs. And in order to stop the tremors he inflicts from toppling you over, you have to reach down to grab his hair.

Wrapping your fingers gently around the knot that sits on top of his head, you hear him hum in response almost instantly. The vibrations of his voice brushing against the edge of your cunt. Every subtle movement of his hands and mouth forcing your body to shift uncomfortably, trying your best to alleviate the pressure.

An alleviation that doesn’t come easy. Thanks to the teasing of his lips eventually wrapping around your clit but failing to do much else. Knowing that good things like this take time.

(And that a little bit of teasing never hurt anyone).

“Rugan, can you— oh fuck—“

His tongue circles the exact spot you need it to. Moving languidly around before darting elsewhere and repeating the process, you can feel your insides tightening. The imaginary band within you being pulled taught as he moves his fingers up to brush your folds. Every motion working together to force a moan from your lips. The kind that makes him grin against you, forcing his fingers inside just as shifts to suck your clit again.

Immediately, it’s all too much. An overload of sensitivities taking over your mind. Suddenly, you feel your hips blindly rut against his mouth while you tug at his hair. Forcing him to work that much harder. Making it hard for either of you to breathe because he refuses to stop.

Even when you can feel him desperately panting against you, he refuses to stop. Running his tongue across every exposed area —embedding the feeling of its efforts throughout every nerve— it doesn’t take long for you to come undone.

In fact, it’s hardly a minute after you’ve egged him on that he’s pushed you over the edge, remaining completely consistent in his efforts to please you. To show his appreciation in the form of a suckling mouth that continues through the endless waves of pleasure. To graciously thank you over and over until you’re later left limp against his chest after the fourth or fifth round (you’ve lost count) breathing so hard he can’t help but feel smug about it.

TAGLIST:

@oldanimefan @void-singer @gunslingerorchid @littleplasticrat @fistfuloftarenths @kirahlene @killerpancakeburger @charmedslytherin @voloslobotomyservice @cloverthebarbearian @my-favourite-zhent @imgoingtofreakoutnow

#thanks lass!#rugan x tav #rugan x female reader #rugan x reader #rugan smut #summer writes

142 notes · View notes

lineffability · 1 year

Note

For the sharing a bed prompt list...2 and 8? As well as any others you want to include because they're all delightful XD

"Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

"I- what?" Crowley, drowsy, blinked against the light coming from above. For a moment he thought it was Aziraphale, but it was just the lamp on the ceiling. He sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Right. Bookshop. Lots of alcohol. Late, probably.

Wait. Did you know you talk in your sleep? Oh fuck. Oh Satan. Oh hell. Oh no. Slowly, carefully, Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale, making sure to avoid his eyes.

"Ah? What'd I sa- I mean. Sure, I guess. I mean I didn't know. How would I?"

"How would you," Aziraphale repeated, suddenly looking a little sad, and Crowley wondered if the angel was still drunk. How long had he been out?

What had he said?

He forced himself to look at Aziraphale. The angel looked normal. Not devastated, or embarassed, or ready to flee and deny and forgive. So maybe it hadn't been so bad. He tried to remember his dream. He coudn't. It was unfair - shouldn't he be able to recall his dreams at will, as a demon? But the realm of dreaming seemed as off limits to him as that of Heaven. (Even the nightmares. Maybe that was a mercy.) Well - he remembered dreams like the humans did, anyway. In shambles.

He wondered if Aziraphale could remember his dreams: access them, rewind them, play them back and forth like a video - then again, the angel rarely slept, he was quite sure. Maybe that was better.

"Do you dream?"

"Me?" Aziraphale looked surprised, and considered the question alongside his wineglass. There was a little bit of liquid left in it. So he had been drinking, alone, while Crowley had drifted off. Oh dear. Maybe he was drowning his sorrows in alcohol, the things Crowley had said. "I prefer not to dream."

"Huh." Crowley sat up. "Why? It's fun."

"It's dangerous." Aziraphale studied his glass more intently, downing the last little gulp and abandoning the empty vessel on the desk.

"Right." Crowley swallowed. Well, he was right about that. "What... what did I..." He looked away. "...say?"

"Huh?"

"You said I talked. In my sleep. So."

"Ah."

"Anything I oughta know?"

"Oh, it was only... you seemed to be in an argument."

"An argument?"

"Yes. Yes - with me, I think."

"With you." Crowley's voice thinned. He miracled his hangover back, the light pressure on his head, as if it might take responsibility for the words that had been uttered. "Makes sense. Who else would I argue with. You're very... arguable."

"You mean I am a worthy opponent. A great interlocutor. A beacon of goodness against your vile--"

"Yeah. Sure. So we just argued, huh." His shoulders relaxed a little.

"It was about pigeons, I think. You said something about no, no pigeon pie, no eating, and rats with wings and God's ugly angels and protection and-" he added a rather dramatic little whine to his voice, not like Crowley at all: "misunderstood."

"Oh." Crowley thought he remembered, now, with Aziraphale's help, a slice of the pigeon pie dream. Aziraphale chasing after the poor pigeons with cutlery in bis hands and a napkin tucked into his shirt collar. Good. Excellent. A harmless dream. Pigeons. Wings. White-ish grey wings, everywhere, he remembered that, and then when the wings had cleared there had suddenly been no more pigeons or pies - only another misunderstood messenger of peace. His angel. So beautiful, amongst all the wings. And then he had--" Oh no. Oh, oh. Then the dream had shifted. He remembered now, and wished he hadn't.

"And that was it, right. Nothing else. Yeah. Pigeons."

"Well, then you said my name."

"Mgphm."

"You said Aziraphale." Aziraphale spoke his name neutrally, without much intonation, and Crowley was glad, because he knew that was not the way he had said it.

"Sure. We were debating pigeons. In my dream. So of course I said it."

"Yes..." Aziraphale was looking at his hands. He seemed to be debating something other than pigeons. "Only it was... ah. Nevermind."

Crowley almost asked. He didn't want to: he knew he had only said Aziraphale's name, and nothing else. He had sighed it against his lips, softly, tenderly, again and again, as he had kissed him, and the wings enveloping them were grey and safe, pigeons and peace. Old messengers, dreams.

He didn't ask.

The moment passed. Aziraphale smiled, congenially, and Crowley couldn't quite parse it.

(Much as Aziraphale couldn't quite parse the way Crowley had spoken his name, in his sleep, the soft tone and the pained, peaceful expression on his face. Much as he didn't want to ask, either. It had been too... It had been too much, too nice. Too good to be able to hold on to it. It was only a dream: it would be forgotten soon enough.)

"It was only my name."

"Yeah. Only your name."

#good omens #ineffable husbands #inefficable #good omens faniction #my drabbles

201 notes · View notes

cerastes · 2 years

Note

I haven't played the game, can you tell us what Mudrock is like, like her personality and backstory?

The first impression you'll get from Mudrock based on her fanart, is that she's cute or attractive, and probably nothing else. I do enjoy Mudrock art a lot, but part of me feels like there's definitely a lot of potential for more serious art involving her (which exists, in minimal quantities). That's because she's a very solemn character. Mind you, she does have a silly side to her, but it lives alongside this solemn side I speak of. Let's talk about Mudrock.

Mudrock is a Sarkazian warrior that possesses great might and magic both, being a highly skilled spellblade, or, well, spellhammer, owing to her own expertise of Originium Arts (particularly those that manipulate ground and rock) as well as her time in the battlefield. She made her debut on the event Grani And The Knights' Treasure, the game's very first sidestory event, on a cutscene after the very last optional map, where she receives a letter from that story's main antagonist, Big Bob, her sworn brother, who informs her that he's doing alright after getting part of the treasure. It wouldn't be until Twilight of Wolumonde that she'd take to the stage again, where she is not playable and is, in fact, the main antagonist (though not the villain) of the story. Just like Big Bob, Mudrock is ex-Reunion (Reunion being the first part of the game's main antagonist), and she, alongside Big Bob and their respective squadrons, of which they were leaders, deserted Reunion after it rotted from the inside and strayed from its supposed objective to protect and fight for the Infected: They both realized that Reunion had become yet another pawn in the international war games between the bigger countries, and the Infected had become little more than cannon fodder and easily swayed soldiers to Reunion more than the people they sought to protect. Big Bob and Mudrock both are characterized by having a well-attuned moral compass, and this wasn't what they signed up for. They weren't simply lashing out at an uncaring world and letting their rage loose, they seriously were fighting for the freedom and well-being of the Infected. So they deserted... But they couldn't leave together.

Here's the first big important aspect of Mudrock: Big Bob invited her and her Mudrock Squad to come with him, since they were sworn siblings and their squads also got along really well. It seemed natural to walk the walk together, right? Big Bob's plans were to find the Knights' Treasure in the outskirts of Kazimierz, and use those riches to buy land in Columbia, where oppression against the Infected isn't as prevalent as in most other places, and money speaks louder (for context, the Infected are usually secluded into special Infected neighborhoods in other countries, or even executed outright, so while Columbia still oppresses them to some degree, it is leagues better than other places) and the Infected are allowed to own land and businesses, so long as they have the capital. Big Bob then intended to make a business with this money, and then be able to provide housing, employment and profits for his "family" (what he calls his squadmates and close friends), and for any other Infected that needed help.

However, Mudrock politely declined, because the Sarkaz in her squad simply couldn't live a life that wasn't one of blood and steel: Sarkaz from Kazdel are known to live short, fast mercenary lives, and those who see a longer life, can only live in the battlefield. It's all they know. Mudrock knew this, more so the older Sarkaz in her Mudrock Squad. To subject them to a civilian life would be to simply put them in a pressure cooker until they snapped, until PTSD or incompatibility with the lifestyle became too much, until their grave Oripathy claimed them anyway, and Kazdel Sarkaz tend to prefer a end in the field of battle. They needed a leader, and Mudrock was that leader. Not only that, Mudrock didn't want to leave any other Infected dry out there, a sentiment shared by her Sarkaz, who figured, hey, if we're going to keep fighting, we should do it to rescue as many Infected as we can.

So she traveled. Even though Reunion might as well be dead, rotten from the inside, Mudrock took matters into her hands. She knew her scope would never compare to that of an organized movement... But she had to do whatever she could, even if it was minimal in scale.

Twilight of Wolumonde is a whole can of worms and a half, so let me summarize it by saying this: Mudrock fought Rhodes Island entirely because she demanded there be justice for the Infected that were unjustly killed in Leithanien (or, well, that small corner of) in what basically was a mystery novel plot of whodunit. Once justice had been doled out and responsibility was taken, she took what oppressed Infected would be fine with leaving with her, and quietly left. Her stay was anything but quiet, however, as she summoned several Colossi of stone and soil in order to fight. At one point, she even summoned a particularly gigantic one, akin to a mountain, which she proceeded to transplant her consciousness into to 'pilot' it herself.

Afterwards, however, they were hounded by several Infected Hunters from Leithanien, who had the complete advantage in terms of terrain, who kept picking them off one by one, survivors and fighters both. As Mudrock and company finally arrived at the frontier with Kazdel, just one bridge away, she ordered all stragglers and survivors to cross the bridge, telling them that they could eke out a free, if hard-earned and arduous, living in the Kazdel outskirt towns. Mudrock and her Sarkaz warriors, however, would not accompany them, they would stand their ground by the bridge, to stop their pursuers. Mudrock was ready to die. She put it in no uncertain terms, if anyone wanted to leave with the survivors, they could, and those who stayed with her would die alongside her defending the survivors. Her men and women stayed with her. If it meant saving those, even though they weren't many, that was what counted, she'd seen her personal duty to the best of her abilities. She was fine dying in these terms.

Of course, she didn't die: Elite Rhodes Island Operator Logos had come across this little kerfuffle recently and tailed both groups, and then took action to support and rescue Mudrock and what remained of her squad. They fought. They won.

Mudrock and her crew went to Rhodes Island afterwards, where Human Resources struck a deal with her: If she worked as an Operator for them, they'd provide for her and her Squad, giving them jobs in the field as well as Oripathy treatment. Mudrock wasn't initially sure, but a chance encounter with Grani led to both of them conversing initially about Big Bob and then about other stories, and, plus encouragement and endorsement from Folinic and Suzuran (who knew Mudrock from the Wolumonde incident), Mudrock ended up accepting the deal.

Besides her very full, sincere intention to do anything she can for the Infected and her Sarkaz brethren, Mudrock is a bit... Weird. She'll usually go on bizarre tangents about the weirdest things, or simply say strange things with the utmost serious expression. Not random stuff, just actually letting her thoughts drift along with whatever thought comes to mind, in a contemplative manner. She also likes making little clay dolls of people and talking to them, but feels very embarrassed when seen doing this (though it is implied she actually can just talk to the earth). Mudrock is also popular among Rhodes Island logistics personnel (which includes plenty of Sarkaz from the Babel days, the precursor to Rhodes Island) because she'll offer to help them move heavy things whenever she sees them, given that she's both immensely strong physically as well as a powerful caster whose earth Arts make moving things around easy. She also very rarely isn't wearing full armor, meaning that while you likely usually see her like this in fanart:

She actually looks like this most of the time:

In fact, a lot of people in her very own squad didn't know what she looked like. There were rumors about an unknown Sarkaz girl that would wander around Mudrock's camp now and then. That was actually Mudrock in the rare occasions where she didn't wear her armor.

Two fun facts about Mudrock!

The first one is that her birthday is on the 21st of September, which is the International Day of Peace. It serves to reflect that ultimately, what she wants is peace for the Infected and Sarkaz, even if she has to fight for it.

The second one is that her hammer has an inscription if you look closely:

In the trailer for Roaring Flare, we get a good look at it:

"For evil men will be cut off". This is a short form of Psalm 37:9 from the Bible (King James edition): "For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth."

All in all, Mudrock is bundle of love and kindess in an awkward package (awkward in terms of how she socializes, not in that she's shy or anything), but when an injustice is present, she will fight tooth and nail until justice is meted out (as she did in Wolumonde) and is willing to die for her ideals, if it'll save just a few people.

#arknights #mudrock

617 notes · View notes