#but ill tag it anyway for safety

[hinamie]

i'm exactly as normal about him as I thought I'd be

[kirby-the-gorb]

[sunlightfeeling]

Pop-up SMAP 2006: SMAP Dance Time

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

fun fact, i'm writing these out of order. not posting them out of order though

warnings: depictions of chronic illness + major character death (you don't see them die, but you know they do)

[zeawesomebirdie]

Yes I've enjoyed spending the last two months reading nothing but fic, but man am I so glad to be back to researching stuff for my family's farm!!

[baldurs-gate-official]

God once my situation is better and I actually get the motivation to write/draw again? I will be unstoppable.

[bellaxgiornata]

Half of Forever [Three]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 4.8k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: break up, pining, idiots in love, angst with a happy ending

a/n: This is the final part of this little mini series. Enjoy the angst and the happy ending you've all been waiting for! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Stepping off the bus, you were immediately hit with the onslaught of rain heavily beating down on you from above. Ducking your head, you dashed across the sidewalk towards the nearest overhang for temporary shelter. As you darted towards the bodega, your dress shoes splashed water up onto your slacks as you ran through puddle after puddle. 

Breath coming in hard once you'd reached the brief refuge, you took a moment to collect yourself. The rain continued to fall past the overhang, loudly pelting the sidewalk all around you. The handful of passersby toting umbrellas had you instantly wishing you'd grabbed yours before leaving your apartment for work today. But you’d foolishly forgotten to check the weather this morning.

Leaning up against one of the shop’s windows behind you, you heard the crack of thunder far off in the distance. A shiver ran through you, the chilled fabric of your drenched clothing clinging to your skin. Wiping a hand across your wet forehead, you let out a quiet groan as the weight of your predicament hit you.

What a horrible day this had turned out to be.

While you’d been on the city bus making your way home from the office, a storm had rolled in and a downpour had begun. Now standing here and looking out at the large puddles forming along the sidewalks and in the streets, you realized you had a long walk just past the outskirts of Hell's Kitchen and back to your apartment in this mess. All because you'd accidentally missed your actual bus stop, having been too distracted thinking about the reprimand you'd gotten from your boss just before you'd left work today. 

Glancing down at your purse, you began to unzip the main compartment before reaching a hand inside. You pulled out your cell phone, your finger desperately holding down the power button as your eyes stared at the black screen and willed it to turn on. Except you knew it wouldn't because the battery had long since died. You hadn't properly plugged it into the charger when you'd gone to sleep last night, so by the time you'd gotten to work this morning and realized the battery was quite low, it had been too late to do anything about it. Your phone had tragically died in your purse some time before lunch. 

Though realistically it didn’t matter that your phone was dead. It wasn’t like you could have afforded using one of your apps to set up a ride home even if your phone was working. Because unfortunately for you, you'd had the misfortune of falling ill two weeks ago and the unexpected doctor's bill along with the medication you’d needed had wiped out your measly extra bit of emergency cash.

“Goddammit,” you whispered.

Tears building in your eyes, you watched the rain continue to pour down around you as your chest steadily grew tighter and tighter from the stress of the day. The last thing you felt like doing this evening was spending a half an hour walking home in a storm, but you couldn't just stand here waiting beneath the shop’s overhang for it to end, either. You didn't exactly have a choice.

With a sharp exhale, you reluctantly accepted your fate. Pushing away from the window, you grudgingly stepped out from beneath the safety of your covering and straight into the downpour. You willed your legs to move at a speed faster than your usual pace as the rain once more drenched you. Though despite your increased pace, you certainly weren't tempted to run home because you knew it wouldn’t have mattered anyway–you were already soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds.

Ducking your head to avoid the rain drops from further attempting to blind you, you made your way down the sidewalk. Jaw set firmly, you couldn’t help but internally chastise yourself for having missed your stop before internally berating yourself for forgetting to at least grab the small umbrella you usually kept in your purse. You hadn't put it back after the last rainy day when you’d left it out to dry by your front door. 

You’d only managed to make it two blocks while silently fuming to yourself and steadily growing colder in your drenched work clothes before you’d finally become completely overwhelmed. Once more you felt the tears threatening to fall as they welled in your eyes, steadily blurring your vision. This time you didn't think you could hold them back. Gritting your teeth, you rushed towards the nearest overhang on a building up ahead before turning your back to the sidewalk, not wanting the rest of the city to see you publicly breakdown. Burying your face in your hands, you let yourself finally cry.

It felt like things had not been going well for you for a while now–for years if you were being honest–and it felt like today had been the culmination of it all. Your job was awful and barely paid your bills. You hardly had any free time to spend with your friends anymore, and your dating life had only increasingly grown more depressing and lackluster. The apartment you'd once loved you had eventually grown to hate because it held the ghost of Matt everywhere you looked–at your kitchen table, on your couch, in your bed, beneath the spray of your shower.

You should have never come to the city. You should have gone anywhere else instead of giving into your dreams of some brilliant, happy life out here. Some fantastic life full of excitement and love. Because that wasn't the reality of your life in Hell’s Kitchen. Not anymore.

The tears continued to stream down your cheeks, your face still buried against your palms. Biting your bottom lip, you at least attempted to keep your sobs to a volume softer than the rain heavily falling around you and the distant rumbling of thunder. You felt pathetic standing here on the sidewalk crying in a storm in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen.

The sound of your name being called suddenly registered in your ears between your quiet sobs. Your body tensed instantly; you hadn't anticipated anyone approaching you out here let alone someone who apparently knew your name. But when they said your name again, the voice coming from just behind you this time, you knew exactly who had spoken.

Hunching further in on yourself, you felt your heart drop to the ground by your soaked feet. As if your bad day needed to get any worse, now it had. He was the absolute last person you wanted to see right now, the one who haunted your dreams most nights. Roughly wiping the heels of your hands over your eyes, you tried to dry your tears. Because of course if you were going to run into your ex, it had to be when you were embarrassingly at your lowest. Trying to brace yourself for whatever this encounter would do to your already battered heart, you swallowed the lump forming in your throat before cautiously turning around. 

If you thought you'd been prepared to see Matt standing there soaked from the storm, you were certainly wrong. The sight of him in his fitted suit with his hair a damp, dark mess clinging to his forehead hit you like a tidal wave. Beads of rain were sliding down his cheeks, just past his red glasses. The corners of his lips were downturned among a darker scruff of beard than you ever recalled him having back when you’d both been together. Both of his hands were squeezing his cane tight between his fists, his dark dress pants wet and clinging to his thighs that had grown far thicker over the years. 

With trembling lips, your eyes slowly traveled back up to his face, once more meeting the harsh crimson of his lenses. Teeth clamping down harder on your bottom lip, you fought back the sob threatening to spill forth as more hot tears slid down your cheeks. A sharp pain twisted in your chest, right where your heart resided. He’d grown more handsome with age, though that shouldn’t have remotely come as a surprise to you. He'd always been beautiful.

“What–what are you doing here?” he whispered, his dark brows sinking beneath his glasses. “Is something wrong?”

Your own brows dipped together in confusion before you finally looked around you, taking in your surroundings. It didn’t take long for you to realize where you’d accidentally ended up. Turning your head over your shoulder, you spotted the address on the familiar-looking building. It was Matt’s apartment building. Eyelids slowly lowering, you exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath.

“Are you in trouble?” he asked again, concerned. “Did…you need help?”

How utterly embarrassing this whole situation had become. He thought you’d come here on purpose . For his help as Daredevil most likely. Wincing, you slowly returned your attention to his beautiful, worried face. That sharp pain seared straight through you at the sight of him.

“No,” you whispered, an embarrassed heat burning up your neck. “I didn’t realize exactly where I was.”

Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side, his eyebrows still furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You didn’t come here intentionally? You weren’t looking for me?”

Wincing once more, your eyes dropped down to your wet dress flats as you shook your head. Why couldn’t you have paid more attention to where you were going? Hell’s Kitchen was such a small area and it wasn’t like Matt would have ever left it. You should have been navigating your way home better in the rain so that you wouldn’t end up crying in front of his apartment building.

“No,” you awkwardly admitted. “I was distracted on the bus. Got off on the wrong stop. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to where I was in the storm, I was just trying to get back home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Matt’s shoulders visibly drop at the information. Not entirely sure what to make of that, you kept your gaze averted as a chill ran up your spine. Your wet clothes certainly were not helping this situation.

“Oh,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry. I thought I recognized it was you standing here and I thought that you…nevermind.”

“No, it’s my fault,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Sorry. I–I didn’t mean to bother you by showing up like this. It was entirely an accident.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the pair of you, that nauseating feeling you remembered from the night when he’d ended things with you years ago rising to the surface and uncoiling in your stomach. After this unexpected encounter, you knew you’d be trying and failing to move on from him all over again. 

“I’m just–just going to go,” you stammered. “I should get back home anyway.”

Gripping your purse straps like a lifeline, you turned in the direction back towards your apartment. Though you’d taken two more steps before Matt called your name over the roar of thunder. You paused, eyes falling shut at the sound of his cane tapping along the sidewalk as you kept your back to him.

“You can’t possibly walk home in this,” he stated. “It’s not safe.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice. My phone’s dead and I don’t have money for a cab anyway,” you confessed awkwardly. “Faster to walk home than anything else at this point.”

You could feel his presence just behind you before you even heard his voice, the hair on the back of your neck prickling at his proximity. Your heart was beating in an agonizing rhythm in your chest with him so near after years of you both being apart. It had been so long since you’d last seen him, since you’d last heard his voice. Every second of this was sheer torture.

“I’ll call you a car,” he offered. “I can pay for it. I can’t have you walk home in this. How much do you need?”

“No, Matt,” you declined, sharply shaking your head. 

Turning back towards him, you were surprised to see he’d already pulled his wallet out of his dress pants, his fingers running over the differently folded bills. A surge of emotion welled up within you at the sight, the feeling becoming almost too much to bear as the tears pricked at your eyes again. He never had much but he was always eager and willing to try and help everyone he could. One of the many things you'd always loved about him. 

“I’m not taking your money,” you told him, fighting the tremor in your voice. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Well I can’t let you walk home in this,” he stated again. “I won’t let you.”

A small, sad smile tugged at your lips as you watched a frown form along his own. As a few tears once more snuck their way from the corners of your eyes and burned warm trails down your cheeks, you saw Matt’s hand grip his wallet tighter in his fist.

“What’re you going to do, Matty?” you whispered. “Hold me here against my will?”

His lips thinned out along his face, his dark brows once more pulling together. Ever so subtly you saw him shake his head. With the sad smile still on your face, you nodded slowly.

“Yeah, exactly,” you murmured. “I need to head back home now before this storm gets worse. Goodbye, Matthew.”

Feeling your heart break for a second time, you turned around and stepped out from beneath the overhang on his building and back into the downpour of rain. Ducking your head, you continued down the sidewalk, not even bothering to wipe the tears from your face as they mingled with the drops of rain racing down your cheeks. 

What a horrible day this had turned out to be.

Biting down sharply on your lip, you tried hard to muffle a sob now that Matt was here. But as your heart brokenly beat in your chest, you knew you couldn't hide a damn thing from him behind you. You never could. 

As you took another step forward, something caught your elbow and tugged you backwards. Stumbling in a half turn, your right foot splashed into yet another puddle as you came face to face with Matt. His eyebrows were still tightly knit together, partially lowered beneath his lenses. His mouth was twisted in uncertainty as you stared back at him, your breath catching in your throat. 

“Come up to my apartment,” he offered quietly, releasing your elbow. “You can get out of this storm and I can dry your clothes while you warm up in some blankets.”

Shaking your head slightly at his offer, you knew you'd never be able to accept it. This brief encounter was already painful enough, you didn't want to prolong it any further. 

“No, Matt, I can't just–”

“Please,” he pleaded, cutting you off. “Please just come up.”

You stood there with your lips parted in surprise at the earnestness in his voice. Droplets of rain continued to travel down his cheeks, and you saw one bead of water currently clinging to the tip of his nose, mere moments from falling.

“Matt, I can't,” you repeated. 

“Why?” he demanded, taking another step towards you. “Tell me. Tell me why you can't come up with me.”

You grimaced, your heart clenching tight in your chest as he continued to drag out this encounter. Tears continued to spill forth from your eyes as you stared back at the desperate expression now spread across his handsome face.

“Why are you doing this, Matt?” you whispered. “Can't you tell how much this is killing me right now? Just standing here talking to you? Now you need me to explain why I can’t just go up to your apartment, too? You really need me to–”

“Because it's killing me, too,” he confessed in a rush before you could finish. 

For a second you swore your heart stopped beating at what he'd just admitted. Blinking the rain from your eyes, your mouth fell open in shock. You weren’t entirely sure what to make of that truth, but a part of you began to hope for something right then that you knew you probably shouldn’t. 

“Wh–what?” you breathed out.

“I've thought about you,” Matt began, emotion thick in his words. “Over the years, I've thought about you. I can't–can't stop. I've tried, I really have. But I just…I sometimes feel like your presence is still there,” he continued, gesturing his head towards his apartment building behind him. “On occasion I can try to trick myself into thinking that you are–by ordering your favorite takeout or using that soap you always loved. The one with sage and citrus.”

A hesitant smile spread on Matt’s mouth, something melancholic in the way his lips had only marginally curved upwards. Swallowing the lump that had started to form in the back of your throat, another chill raced up your spine as you stood there in your soaked clothes. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you fought down the shiver that was beginning to lightly run through you.

You’d quite literally often dreamt of this moment with Matt. You'd often hoped that one day you’d run into him again somewhere and he would apologize, tell you that he still thought about you. That he still wanted you. But now that he was saying things you’d always wanted to hear, you didn’t quite know how to react. This moment still felt like one of your many dreams.

“It never works for long, though,” he continued softly, voice just louder than the rain. “Because the scent always fades too fast. And I can’t fake the sound of your heartbeat. I can’t–can’t recreate your scent on my bed sheets or the warmth of your body next to me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your trembling lips together as you tried to staunch the flow of tears. You couldn’t believe what he was telling you. A few years ago he ended the relationship–a relationship that had been going so wonderfully well. Sure, there had been issues, but overall you two had fit so perfectly together and everything had just felt right. You’d talked about a future together–moving in, getting married, and whatever might come next. Until one day, seemingly out of nowhere, he’d just walked away from it all. 

“Then why, Matt?” you whispered, opening your eyes and focusing back on him. With the tears filling your eyes, he’d grown a bit blurry standing there before you. “All those years ago, why did you end things? If you’ve been here all this time feeling exactly like I’ve been feeling for years then…what was the point?”

Matt ducked his head almost shamefully, one hand releasing his cane before rubbing it across his mouth. Nerves swirled in your stomach as another crack of thunder tore through the distance, the rumbling sound accentuating the pause that felt agonizingly long.

“Because I was scared,” he finally confessed, his attention seemingly fixed on the sidewalk–though you knew his senses were fixed on you. “I’d never quite felt how I did for you for anyone else before. One time I thought I did and she…left me. But it wasn’t just a fear of you leaving…” 

Matt trailed off for a moment, growing silent as the rain continued to pour down. Your heart was in your throat as you waited for him to finish his thought.

“It was a fear of who I felt I was becoming when I was with you,” he finished softly. “Of what I thought I was losing.”

Eyes narrowing in confusion at Matt, you squeezed your arms tighter around your shivering body. “What do you mean?”

He raised his head, his rain speckled lenses focusing back on you. “We spent a lot of time together, remember? Specifically in the evenings? Before things ended?”

Gaze averting to the ground, you tried to recall the end of the relationship. He had in fact stayed in more frequently. You remembered sharing meals together after work and taking walks at the park. Scheduling date nights on the weekend and staying up late beneath the sheets. It hadn’t been every night, but he had significantly begun to spend more time with you just before he’d ended the whole thing–which had only added to your confusion at the time.

“Yeah,” you answered, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes. “I remember. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“I feared I was changing into someone else,” Matt answered slowly, taking a hesitant step towards you. “I thought I was losing the other half of myself in our relationship because I had begun to spend less time as Daredevil. So I–I pushed you away to try to prevent myself from fully losing myself. And I used that as an excuse to run from my fear of you leaving me.”

"T hat's what you meant by not being able to be yourself with me?” you asked, everything finally beginning to make sense. “Oh Matthew,” you breathed out, shaking your head. “You were never losing Daredevil. Not at all. You never once stopped helping the people who needed it. The nights someone was in danger or something was happening, you still put on the mask.” 

Licking your lips as you paused, you could taste the salt of your tears among the droplets of rain. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky behind Matt, just above the tops of the buildings. Seconds later, another roar of thunder punctuated the silence.

“What I think you were doing was learning balance in your life,” you told him. “Learning to be both Matthew Murdock and the Devil.”

“I know,” Matt agreed gently, nodding his head. “But I realized that three years too late. And I'm–I'm so sorry for that.”

Swallowing hard, you felt your heart hammering beneath your arms still wrapped around your chest. “And I never wanted to leave you,” you added, voice cracking as you spoke. “You were my forever, Matty. I told you that.”

A muscle visibly jumped in his cheek, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he couldn't decide on a smile or a frown. Taking another hesitant step, Matt closed the gap between you both. Gazing back at his red lenses, you felt your breath begin to come in sharper now that he was right there . 

Without warning his hand reached up, timidly coming to cup your cheek in his palm. As if on instinct, you leant back into his warm touch, the feel of it sending a shudder through you for a reason other than the contrast from the cold. His thumb softly swept outwards, gently brushing away a few teardrops from your cheek. You felt like you couldn't breathe as the pad of his thumb afterwards began to affectionately stroke a line along your cheekbone. 

“Please come up,” he begged. “Let me help you.”

Eyes closing, you tried to focus on formulating a thought. But it was hard to think with him touching you, with him pleading for you to let him help you. Inhaling a breath, you'd been about to respond, but then you felt him lightly press his damp forehead to yours and your eyes flew open.

He was so close. His hot breath was falling against your lips as it left his own parted ones. The sensation was dizzying, making it hard to focus on almost anything else. Beneath the arms still tightly wrapped around your chest, you could feel your heart accelerating to a worrying speed.

“We can talk,” he told you. “About everything. I have more to apologize for, I know. I just–just want to fix the mess I made. If it's not too late.”

Exhaling a slow breath, you let his words wash over you like the rain itself, cleansing the years worth of pain that lingered in your heart. Gradually you nodded against his forehead, catching the way he sucked in a sharp breath at the little movement. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll come up.”

With the way your eyes had been fixed on his lips, you caught the faint smile that slipped onto his mouth the second it did. Something shot through you like a bolt of electricity at the sight of it. Matt's nose affectionately and timidly bumped yours, a small gesture that brought a rush of feelings straight to the surface along with a confession that bubbled right out of your mouth.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “So much.”

“I missed you, too, angel,” he murmured, thumb brushing away another tear along your cheek. “I've never stopped missing you.”

Matt shifted his head, his lips accidentally grazing yours as he did. A soft whine you had no control over snuck out of you, the sound drawing another sharp inhale from Matt as his nostrils flared. Your hands curled into fists against your body as he leaned in, just barely touching his lips to yours. Eyelids slowly falling shut once more at the feel of his breath washing over you, you sighed in frustration when his mouth still remained at a distance.

“ Matt .” 

You breathed out his name like a plea, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hand. It was quickly becoming far too difficult not to touch him.

“Tell me you haven't thought about this, too,” Matt nearly demanded. “Tell me you don't want me. Just one ‘no’ and I won't–”

Losing control, your hands flew away from your sides and landed on Matt's soaked suit coat, balling the wet material in your fists. “Yes,” you answered him. “I'm telling you yes , Matthew.”

There was a moment, a brief one, where Matt’s face hovered in the space just before yours. Your breath was coming in sharp and hard as you watched him, aware he was probably reading your body for whatever he needed to hear. You knew the exact moment he'd found what he was looking for because his expression shifted just before he launched himself forward at you. 

Stumbling backwards into the wall of the building behind you at the force of Matt's enthusiasm, your eyes snapped shut the second his mouth was on yours. Hands snaking their way up his chest, you wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in the damp strands of his hair. You pulled him flush to the front of yourself with a faint gasp, his soaked body deliciously heating the front of your freezing and drenched one.

Matt's hand on your cheek held you in place against the brick wall behind you, tilting your mouth to the exact angle for him to easily connect his lips to yours over and over in a heated passion. The pair of you struggled to catch your breath each time he pulled away, your gasping breaths loud in your own ears despite the storm still raging. His other hand landed on your hip, roughly grabbing it as he kissed you. You could feel the way it shook against you, as if he was struggling not to do more than just hold you there. 

“I’m so sorry, angel,” he whispered against your lips.

His mouth was immediately back on yours, relentless in his determination to make you feel just how apologetic he was. Your own mouth was hungrily matching his pace, the rain forgotten as you tried to express the longing you'd been tormented by every single day since he'd left you. 

Fingers gripping his hair, you took advantage of the seconds in between kisses. “Don’t you dare–” you broke off as his mouth slammed back onto yours again, “–break my heart again, Matthew,” you finished when he pulled back.

Matt paused at your words, breathing hard as he gazed back at you, the rain continuing to wash over the both of you. Nearly out of breath yourself, you couldn't help but admire how perfect he looked standing there completely soaked with his flushed cheeks and the small smile gracing his swollen lips.

“Never,” he promised. “I hate myself for ever hurting you like that. And it’ll never happen again, I promise you that. The pain of those last three years was torture. Punishment. And I promise we'll talk, angel, we will, but…”

His voice trailed off and your eyes darted back to his lips. The lips you missed, the lips that brought you comfort in a way nothing else ever had. In that moment you understood him completely.

“But not right now,” you agreed.

Yanking him back towards you with the hand still tangled in his hair, you swallowed the resulting soft growl of his down, kissing him with all the longing that you'd bottled inside for the past three years. Matt didn't hesitate to match your passion and enthusiasm as he pressed you further into the brick behind you, your back arching into him just as another rumble of thunder tore through the night. 

What an unexpected day this had turned out to be.

Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler  @islayhawkin @slyregg

[tofangirlornottofangirl]

why do I feel so uneasy about this fight. like no matter the outcome this fight feels... foreboding. like things are about to change drastically one way or the other and we probably won't like it

if gojo somehow dies i'm quitting the manga and just waiting 10 years for the anime to catch up and then i will stop before i reach the episode where he dies so I can continue to live in a world where he doesn't die

[confusedemiposts]

Chuuya sfw alphabet

Notes: Requested by Anon but i accidentally deleted the ask.

Tags: Floof, tiny angst for E,D and W. Not proofread, might be oc, GN! reader

'A' is for Affection (How affectionate are they?)

He's very affectionate, he'll spend any time he can with you and buy you a bunch of gifts, he loves seeing your face light up when he suprised you with a gift, a grin on his own face from your reaction. But his favourite is physical touch. He loves it but he keeps it to a minimum in public, he always has a hand on you no matter what and keep his arm around your waist but nothing too much, only one or two short brief kisses if deemed appropriate, this is even less within the Port Mafia because he wants to keep serious and not seem like some lovesick puppy by his subordinates.

But once in private space? He'll smoother your face In kisses and keep you in his arms for as long as he can

'B' is for Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

He's litterly such a nice and calm person canonically but only acts like an annoyed hot headed chihuahua to Dazai cause he annoys the shit out of him but also trusts him, so unless you annoy him like Dazai then he's the most loyal and trustworthy friend you can find and he loves hanging out with you. I feel like he's the type of friend to beat the shit out of someone who wronged you and offer to buy all your things and even if you say no several times he will buy it anyways, no repayments back.

'C' is for Cuddles (How would they cuddle?)

He likes to cuddle you like a teddy bear, just letting out all his stess out from the day and let exhaustion consume him while he's in your arms,he holds onto you tightly. I think he prefers to cuddle on top of you so he can embrace all of you and just keep his face in your chest or shoulders, embracing your scent that he cannot get enough of.

'D' is for Domestic (Everyday life with them, do they want to settle down?)

Unless you work in the Port Mafia you won't really be able to see him for hours on end, only before and after work or his day's off. He wakes up really early in the morning and cooks breakfast if you aren't awake, and let me tell you he's a fantastic cook. The evenings are more quiet and gentle, probably cuddling on the couch as you either watch tv or read a book as he drinks a nice glass of wine

I think he wants to settle down and spend his every day with you but realistically he can't unless he somehow retired from the mafia, which I don't think Mori will let happen :(

'E' is for Ending (If they had to break up with their partner)

If he had to break up with you it would be for your safety, dating a mafiaso is dangerous in general, dating a mafia executive is asking for a death wish. Your safety would be in absolute danger if any organisation or even Mori were to know you were close to Chuuya, who knows what they'd do to you if they had ill intentions. He'd talk to face to face about it, calm and collected even though his chest is aching at the thought of even doing this

'F' is for Fiance (How do they feel about commitment?)

If this a long term serious relationship the thought of marriage would come across his mind maybe a year or two in, when he realises he genuinely loves you and wants to spend all his waking hours with you. He would propose to you if your thoughts of marriage are positive and when he feels like the moment is right- unless you propose to him first, leaving him extremely flustered but he will instantly say yes

'H' is for Hugs (What are their hugs like?)

He likes hugs. He loves to wrap his arms around you and feel you close, doesn't matter if you're taller or shorter than him, he loves to bury his face into your neck and feel your warmth and he just loves it when you hug him back with your arms around him.

'G' is for Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is very gentle with you physically, touching you as if you were a delicate flower, but there are times where he loses his patience. He tries his best to keep calm and collected but with the amount of stress he goes through and if tension arises he snaps. But he'll try to fix it if he genuinely upset you, he cares too much about you

'I' is for "I love you" (How fast do they say the L-word?)

This isn't a word he throws around carelessly, it's going to take him awhile till he says it and when he says it he means it.

'J' is for Jealous (How jealous do they get?)

He knows there's no need to be jealous since your his and he is yours but he can't help it if he sees someone get physically close to you with a flirtatious intentions, he will put his hand around your waist and pull you close to him, head on your shoulder as he asks "who's this darling?" Giving a quick peck on your neck and cheek, staring at the person with a menacing glare without your notice.

'K' is for Kisses (what are their kisses like?)

Every kiss he means it, often passionate and deep yet gentle. He loves feeling your lips on his and it's something he will never get tired. Wine and your lips are his favourite things.He likes to place soft kisses on your cheeks, neck, shoulders and the back of your hands. He loves every kiss you give him but he loves the one's where you unconsciously kiss his cheek, forehead or even his mouth with no thoughts in your head, just kissing him makes him feel all tingly inside

'L' is for Little one's (How are they around children?)

He is litterly the BEST with children! He knows how to deal with them and let them have fun, he'd be the best dad ever! The thought of having his own children comes into his head if he sees how you interact with children or just seeing your baby photos. He might bring it up in a late night conversation just to see how you feel about children and ask if you'd ever want children. I think he'd love to have children if he's in a good position but he also cares about your comfort and if this is something you want, since this a serious two person descion.

'M' is for Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Chuuya are calm but structured, if you aren't awake yet he'll cook you breakfast. I feel like he has a morning routine so he wakes up at the same time every day, though sleeping in for only an hour on days off. He has a skincare routine that he definitely does with you, how else is his skin so smooth?? Definitely works out too in the morning, he may look slim but he's definitely built.

'N' is for Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights after work are also calm (he's just a calm person to be around). He often comes home late or early even depending on how the mafia is doing, he'll call you if he's coming home late so you know he'd okay. When he's home your both eating dinner and filling each other in the on the day. I think he'd take a shower as fast as possible after dinner, he likes to keep himself clean, he prides in his skincare and haircare, genuinely dragging you into it too. After that he likes to relax with a glass of wine and do whatever before bed, he does go to bed at a certain time to get his eight hours

'O' is for Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves?)

He is simultaneously close to others yet at the same time he isn't. He will never reveal everything about himself, but what he does reveal will come when he is ready and feels secure enough to do so. He won't bring this up either if you never bring up a particular topic. He says a lot of things just because you ask.

'P' is for Patient (How easily angered are they?)

He tries his best to be patient with you, always taking into consideration of your feelings but the rare times if you're being unreasonable about something harmless and he's stressed he will snap but nothing that should lead into an extreme argument. He likes to solve things before they escalate

'Q' is for Quizzes (How much would they remember about you?)

He'll memorise every single thing about you, your likes,your dislikes, your behaviours, he remembers every single detail he seems nessecary which is all.

'R' is for Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favourite moment with you is the first time he kissed you, just seeing your face from his kiss made him grin. He was addicted to your lips from then on.

'S' is for Security (How protective are they?)

Chuuya is protective but will give you space if you need some, but if you feel bad or threatened, he will definately do something about it. Even unconsciously he's protective, as I said even in public he always has a hand on you and keeping you close.

'T' is for Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He may be severely busy but he is always trying, using his head to keep a balanced work life and personal life. Always planning free time with you and dates, constantly buying you gifts as if to compensate for the time he wasn't with you, he does it unconsciously I think. If you plan or gift something for him he will absolutely adore it

'U' is for Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

'V' is for Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

I think his worst habit is blowing up? To be honest I'm not really sure about this letter, I think he'd only snap at you specifically if he's stressed or really upset which isn't often, he likes to sort things out

If you don't like smoking that could be a problem, he only smokes to cool off when he's extremely under pressure but he'll try to quit if you really don't like it

This man is not leaving the house without looking perfect, as I said he has a strict skincare and haircare routine- and have you seen his outfit? He could litterly be a model

'W' is for Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Chuuya has experienced lost before and you certainly won't be the last, Though it leaves him devastated every time,Chuuya has learnt self-control to understand his loss and how he personally experiences grief, since he knows all too well how simple it is to lose people. He bears the weight of loss, yet it is loss that gives him motivation to move forward

'X' is for Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Let me just ramble about his ability real quick. If he wants to hide something from you, he'd use his gravity to hide it on high place that neither of you can reach, he'll use it to tease you if you don't have a nullification ability. If you ask he'd put you on the ceiling or just float in general, making sure to comfort you if you get scared or dizzy from blood rush.

'Y' is for Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Not being trusted back, he is loyal and trusts you so he would hope you would trust him back. Or someone who only sees him for his money as he's quiet loaded

'Z' is for Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He is a sound sleeper, just flat out exhausted one he lands on the mattress, he must get his eight hours worth of sleep. He weirdly sleeps like a mess yet somehow looks ethereal at the same time? He likes holding you close to feel you close and his body is extremely warm like a fire so that sucks during summer

Why is he literally the most perfect boyfriend ever???

[hoonvrs]

NOONA — 48: the ‘picnic’ date (+written 0.4k)

the last thing you expected to see when you opened your door was a soaked sunghoon holding a basket. 

before you could even get a word out he spoke, “it started raining half way here, now everything’s ruined.”

“quick come inside!” you leaned out for his arm, pulling him forwards inside the safety of your house away from the droplets, “can’t have you get sick on our first proper date.”

his dejection was evident in his posture, bangs covering half his face with his body slightly slouched. your surprised the basket is even still in his hands with how loosely he’s holding on to it.

you could see his t-shirt uncomfortably clinging onto his skin and his shorts starting to look ombre from the bottom being wet.

“doesn’t matter anyways, its all ruined.”

“look at me,” you cupped his face, forcing him to make eye contact, “nothings ruined okay.”

he huffed, looking everywhere else but at you, “yes it is. the rain is heavy and the park will be wet and i’m wet and-”

his words got caught in his throat, starting to sniffle as tears that lined his eyes start to fall as he tries to finish his sentence. arms coming up to wipe his tears with his sleeves whilst you stood there shocked.

you already knew sunghoon was a little sensitive and cried a lot, you just didn’t expect it now. 

“baby,” you sighed, pulling him into a hug, nuzzling into your neck letting his sobs freely spill out, “fuck the park, we can still have our picnic right here. as long as you’re with me nothing is ruined.”

“i didn’t know you could be sentimental.”

“shut up,” you slapped his shoulder, making him laugh, still trying to wipe his face, “come on, ill go steal some of won’s clothes for you.”

+

what was once your living room was now a makeshift ‘park’. the couch was pushed to one side with the coffee table on another to make as much space in the middle as possible, going as far as laying down a checkered blanket beneath all the food to really tie it all together.

soon enough, sunghoon came in wearing a white t-shirt and sweats that were a little short on the ankle but he’ll make do, “don’t you look cute.”

“why is jungwon so short, my ankle feels naked,” he slowly sat down beside you as you continued to set up taking pictures ever few seconds.

“genetics, too bad. i did a good job right? were basically in the park right now.”

you looked at sunghoon who was still silent, seeing him on the verge of tears again, “hey, no crying. you’ve done enough for both of you.”

“i just feel bad. i had everything planned and i checked the weather app i swear i-”

you leaned forward, silencing him with your lips on his. no one double blame you, he just looked so cute with his eyes a little puffy and cheeks flushed.

“you talk too much.”

previous | m.list | next

S. NOTES: THEY HAVE KISSEEDKEKWKW

SYNOPSIS: park sunghoon experienced love at first sight when he first laid eyes on his friends older sister. a series of sunghoon desperately trying to do anything in his power to get the girl and yang jungwon cockblocking him for funsies.

TAGLIST (OPEN) @calijimenez @invusblog @astrae4 @lalalalawon @sserafimez @sfthyuka @miercerise @sasfransisco @annoyingbitch83 @pshchives @dazed-hee @sd211 @makiswrld @lovelypitasworld @kyuupidwrites @jangw2nyo @beansworldsstuff @shinrjj @mariji @shinsou-rii @curly-fr13s @homelycat @seungcheolswife @ilovewonyo @tinyegg @whippedforbeomgyu @adajoemaya @rikisly @sunoo-lvxr @strvlveera @myjaeyunn @meiiiwa @dazedgye @dimplewonie @sxftiell @plasmaticoo @iirene304 @captain-satan @pkjay @j-wyoung @diestheticu @chaeey @rodygr @enhy4me2 @officiallyjaehyuns @liliansun @the-poetic-side-of-me @jjangsims @dudufodd @heeswif3y @yawnzshit @4imhry @stinkoscope (bold couldn’t be tagged)

[theoneandonlysemla]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @hircines-hunter and @skyrim-forever

Tagging: @did3lphis @dirty-bosmer @elavoria @illumiera

@ladytanithia @pocket-vvardvark @thequeenofthewinter

@rakaiawriter @sheirukitriesfandom @vanilleeistee

My Plan was to post some snippet of my newest smut shenanigans Crawl, dear but unfortunately it no longer is a WIP but up on the archive. Will start with chapter 2 this evening, but nothing for now is written. All the dirt still in my head! :P

Anyway, next Saturday is upload day for Dealings with Deadra and so you're getting Morotar being fucking terrified of Elenwen. Just know, he has his reasons.

Read under the cut, because 800 words.

The courtyard was deserted; the scattered guards on the fortifications the only living souls around. His gaze wandered, controlling. Everything seemed quiet, far too quiet for his bad gut feeling. Deep inside he knew, that his agitation was not rooted in rational reasons. He was safe in here, safer than anywhere else in this forsaken province. No one sought after his life just for being an Altmer or because of the dark robes that clothed him. Still, the uneasiness stayed. Sweat wetted his palms despite the biting cold and made the leather of his gloves stick to his skin. As he made his way closer to the main building, the smell of burning wood spread in the crisp air. A column of smoke rose from the chimney, swirling and fading into the crimson dusk. Morotar watched it, hesitating to raise his fist to knock on the door. Pressing his eyes together, he gathered his strength. All these worries that plagued him would not become true, he told himself.             Finally, his knuckles met the wood. The sound blared in his ears, spurring on the nausea. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and let it out of his mouth again. It brought him little calm, but at least it was better than nothing. A key turned and the door swung open. A Bosmer woman stood in the frame, her dress of simple colours and her dark hair braided into an updo. From magenta eyes she examined Morotar, then stepped aside.

“The ambassador is awaiting you, please come in,” she uttered, her voice low and her head bowed, avoiding any eye contact.

Morotar did as she said and entered. A short corridor led him into the reception hall. The high room was dominated by the thick pillars of the arcades the carried the upper story. Massive black banners adorned by the golden emblem of the Thalmor hung from the walls. In-between two of the columns the ambassador stood. Amber light from the lit candles illuminated her figure and gave her face even more of a golden sheen. A motherly smile graced her lips, as soon as she noticed Morotar stepping into the hall. What must have awoken a sense of safety in others, just stiffened his shoulders. He halted in the middle of the room, standing tall and breathing low. Gleaming orange eyes scrutinised him from top to bottom, her expression ill-fitting with her simper.

“My prodigal son has returned,” she spoke slow, breaking the crushing silence.

Morotar bowed his head and thereby evaded her penetrating stare. The wetness on his palms grew worse and the little hairs in the back of his head rose with goosebumps running down his spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approaching him as silently as a wild cat. A cloud of sweet, heavy odour engulfed him long before she reached him. Jasmine, her signature scent. Even fifty years ago, she had always applied a touch too much of it. Dizziness spread through his head, which didn't help his nausea. He forced himself to lift his glance.          Elenwen was standing in front of him. She hadn't aged a day since his last visit to the Embassy. He knew that she was doing her best to maintain her youthful appearance, but crow's feet were forming in the creases of her eyes, which even her bright, flushed eyeshadow and the kohl that rimmed her lids were unable to conceal.

“Some suspected you would never return.” She paused. “But I knew you would reappear. I never doubted you for even a second.”

“I didn't expect anything else from you,” Morotar said, trying to hide the trembling in his voice as best he could.

Elenwen brushed her fingers across his cheek as if to praise him for his satisfying answer. One corner of her mouth lifted a little higher, a pleased smirk now gracing her lips. At that moment, Morotar wanted nothing more than to pull away from her. She was too close; her pungent perfume was giving him a headache. But he didn't dare to move. His thoughts raced, searching for any kind of distraction.

“What have you arranged for the evening? I'm here earlier than I'd planned and I assume that supper isn't ready yet?” he gushed.

Taking a step away from her, he approached one of the windows. Night was falling, swallowing the daylight like a dark abyss. Massa was already visible in the firmament and a lone star twinkled towards him.          Elenwen had followed and was now standing next to him. His breathing grew shallow once more, in order to catch as little of her scent as possible.

“As we always do on the joyous occasion of your visit, we have planned a multi-course meal. However, we were actually expecting you to arrive later. You can take some time to recover from the stresses and strains of travelling, your room in my solar is ready and waiting for you. If you want to freshen up a bit, I can have a bath heated up for you,” she explained, now in a much more monotone voice.

“I’d be grateful for a bath. It is unusually cold for this time of season up here, isn’t it?” The weather, he thought, what a great distraction.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

yeah reading noir comics past ewoaf. not worth it

Your noir!mj is everything. She deserved so much more than Just love interest laser beam. Like there's so much she could add to the story and I love her

I know!!! It’s insane to just reduce her to only a love interest when she’s such a compelling character. Idk why fun characters who can have agency and will to shape the world and narrative are just never given the chance. It makes for a better story??? But whatever. I have no clue what happens behind the scenes of comic stuff so I don’t even know who to point a finger at LMAO

[antimony-medusa]

So what kind of a dad is q!Phil anyways?

So, Phil getting Tallulah and Chayanne to wear armour and learn how to fight. Also Bad doing this with Dapper, and the Brazilians trying to do this with Richas, and the french with Pomme, but when it gets discussed, it's mostly focusing on Phil because of the contrast of Wilbur not wanting his kids to have to fight. There's some really fun discussion that comes up with that!

And the interesting thing is that when we're trying to pull up other cultural touchpoints to compare phil-and-fighting-and-the-kids to, a lot of the other characters have very specific vibes, so to speak. I was in a discussion the other day where someone compared Phil in this with the dad in Supernatural, and him getting his sons to follow him on hunts. Cause he's a dad training his kids to fight, right? From a very young age? However, I don't think this is a perfect comparison, and I wanted to share the one that comes to mind for me, despite the fact that it deals with some pretty dark topics. This whole post deals with some dark topics, you might want to check the tags, just so you know.

Anyways, I never watched Supernatural, so I didn't do much more than think emoji in the moment when this comparison came up. But I checked in with friends who have watched it, and I think Phil QSMP and John Winchester Supernatural are acting from some pretty different places. John Supernatural is teaching his kids to fight because they have a duty and a lineage and have to help save the world, but at the same time there's this tragedy there that implies that he's so focused on his duty as a hunter that he's not seeing that maybe you don't need the kids for that. They could start when they were older—or maybe they could not start this! He essentially conscripts them into a battle that shapes the course of their lives, as little warriors, and they never have a choice in it. And he's not above using them as bait, because they're warriors, right? The battle is so important? They want to be involved, they want this (of course they want this, you're their dad, and they believe you that this is important). He's a true believer.

Whereas Phil is faced with a world that actively and constantly wants to kill his kids, and he's trying to train them to defend themselves. He's trying to say that there's danger out there, you take care of yourself, I'm going to put myself on the line for you, but if I fail, if I'm not there, you won't be defenseless if it comes down to it. I have had my beef with fics that take on this topic, in fact, because I've seen people write Phil as using his kids as bait to get to the codes or forgetting his kids in his code battle, and that's not how I interpret the character motivattion and actions. For me, the way I see it, Phil is always thinking of how best to defend the eggs, and everything else is in service to this. He's a man with anxiety on an island that wants to kill his kids, not a warrior in an epic battle.

Does this mean that the eggs are gonna grow up and go to therapy about their childhood full of danger? Hell yeah they wll. This is not an ideal childhood. But— and this is the crucial thing— they're going to grow up. Same with Dapper, same with Richas, same with Pomme— living your life under constant need to teleport out to safety is bad, objectively, but when the alternative is living in the moment until you die, I think the teleporting out is better, actually.

And the comparison that comes to mind for me, because of my personal experience, is not examples in media of parents training their kids to fight, but examples in media or in real life of parents dealing with serious and or terminal illness in kids. Cause that's what my family did. And boy is there resonance there.

I don't know of any parent of a kid with cancer who likes putting their kid through treatment. Chemotherapy sucks, radiation sucks, surgery sucks, immunotherapy sucks, none of this is good. I have seen this tear up parents (and siblings) inside. But it's better than letting their kids DIE, isn't it? And before you say well, obviously everyone is on the same page when it comes to things like chemotherapy, I have *seen* people go out there and post at cancer families about how they can't believe they're putting poison in their children's bodies when they should just eat better, etc. (This take reminds me strongly of the "she shoudln't wear armour cause she shouldn't have to fight" take about Tallulah.) Serious illness in kids forces you into terrible situations, but the only saving grace is that they're better than the alternative, you hope.

The only thing that makes me go ehhhhh maybe with Phil and the Mr Supernatural is him letting Chayanne fight, but Chayanne is a kid being hunted whose sister (also being hunted) is disabled, and this happens whether or not Chayanne is involved, and he wants to try and defend her so bad. I don't think saying "let her die if necessary, don't intervene" is going to be a conversation that ends up with less trauma, if you know what I mean. That is simply a situation that has no real win conditions out of it. At least this way he feels like he has some control? (Note: this is a bad situation, there's no getting around it.)

QSMP is so often a story about forces beyond our control trying to destroy us, and while Supernatural and its ilk also has that tone, within Supernatural there's at least a population that doesn't have to be part of the battle, so opting into the battle becomes on some level a choice, and involving children in that is also a choice, one that you can hold up to the standards of allowing children to have a childhood and go "is this ethical". On Quesadilla island, there's literally no opting out of this fight. There are malevolent forces that are directly trying to destroy you, destroy your children, and the question of allowing children to have a childhood has been effectively taken out of your hands. You simply have to do the best with the situation you have, and have a birthday party while keeping the armour on. And this reminds me much more strongly of situations like childhood cancer, than it does of cases in media of people concripting their children into battle.

In both cases children are trying to fight malevolent entities that want them dead, as pushed to fight by their parents, but boy, at least to me, the tone is pretty different. I think the question of "is it self defense or did you choose to be here" is pretty important.

[badscientist]

Range of Emotions Tag Game

courtesy of @diabolical-blue ... thought it was a cool idea.

Rules: Choose one OC at a time, search any of your writing featuring that OC, and share passages where that character expresses each emotion in this list: joy - anger - sadness - anxiety - fear - disgust - embarrassment. Bonus points if the emotion is implied but not listed in the text by name. If there’s a reason the character does not ever express one of those emotions, feel free to share that reasoning instead.

so im going to defy the rules juuust a bit...clive and vermeil/ankhanum are two halves of a whole guy, so ill demonstrate these emotions for both of them. some of these scenes contain the other, anyway. even better for the theme.

Joy

Clive broke into a smile that took Betsy aback in its similarity to the goofy smiles his other half would give her. All too eagerly, he thrust the book at her: a clinical textbook on rare diseases, featuring photographs and illustrated diagrams. “I love reading- there’s so much literature I’ve missed out on over the years!” he gushed.

Across the road sat the diner: Tish’s, named as such after its owner and singular manager, was already bustling with the dinner rush. They were greeted by Ankhanum as they entered. At the sight of Betsy, his face lit up - and immediately darkened at the sight of his other half. The grin on Clive’s face only widened.

Anger

“Let me go,” Ankhanum wheezed. “I’m helping you,” Clive snapped back. Ankhanum shoved him off. Clive fell against the window of a coffee shop hard enough it shook. Patrons inside threw but a momentary glance at the scene before returning to their business. “I don’t need your help,” Ankhanum growled. “You sure seemed to need my help to ‘non-violently’ steal that pizza for Betsy,” Clive said. Ankhanum limped away. Clive clenched his fists, glaring down the street at the other. “If you’re more concerned about Betsy’s well being than your own, then at least pull yourself back together!” Clive shouted after him. Wordlessly, Ankhanum’s leg twisted back into place. He wobbled for a moment, before picking up the pace. He would nearly vanish into the crowd before Clive would follow.

Clive bared sharpening teeth in a mockery of a smile. “It’s hilarious how foolish you are, getting involved with us when you don’t understand what WE are!” he spat, face reddening. “We could eat you and yours at any time! Pick our teeth with the bones of that little one of yours-”

Sadness

618 East Wood Street was an heirloom, passed from her great-grandmother, to her grandfather, to her mother. A lengthy property record, spanning generations-worth of family. With that photo in hand and however many ears on the ground, the department had pieced it together. She shifted uneasily at the thought, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. “Well! Here it is!” Betsy said. “Thanks, guys.” Ankhanum smiled sadly. “I suppose now we go our separate ways?”

on that note, theres no point at which clive demonstrates sadness. that particular emotion is expressed almost entirely in vermeil/ankhanum, and even then its relatively muted. they wouldnt cry unless its to influence others. their sadness tends to be understated.

Fear

these are creatures unconcerned with their own safety - but they are concerned with the safety of those they value, and their own freedom. this is being said in place of part 6 spoilers, so just you wait.

Disgust

you cant disgust them. they ARE the body, and all that entails.

Embarrassment

you cant embarrass them for that matter. they have far too much pride. they get angry with or laugh at one another for failing to get what they want, though:

Clive clapped, cackling. "That was fantastic. You're awful at this," he said. Ankhanum glared. "Not at my best. Tired. Hungry,” he groused. “Let us look elsewhere.”

Anxiety

about that concern for those they value:

"How she managed to wedge a vehicle in there is beyond me,” Clive said with genuine awe. "It’d be a miracle if she isn't paste on the windshield.” Ankhanum shook the trunk of the car frantically. It refused to budge. Veins stood out on his throat as he put his back into it. It slid no more than a few inches. He slumped against the trunk. “Betsy’s alive, she has to be!” Ankhanum said, panting. “You can assist at any time!” “Oh, now you want my help?” Clive asked. “Neither of us has it in us to move this right now, anyway."

not tagging anyone, but please by all means. this one was fun.

[nightlyrequiem]

The Other Side of Paradise

11) Bye Bye Baby Blue

Cross posted from AO3

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10, Ch.11

You try to make the best of your life working at a small bakery in a city with rising cartel violence. One slower day, a man starts harassing your coworker. Despite the obvious threat, you stand up to him anyway. Unbeknownst to you, Valeria just so happened to be there to witness it.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Dual POV, Happy Ending, Plot with Porn, Graphic Violence, Inappropriate Use of a Knife, Masturbation, WLW

Valeria didn't come over the next night. Going off of previous behaviors you just assumed she went right back to ignoring you. You resentfully ignored her back. By not sending her any messages. That will show her. It wasn't until a few weeks had gone by when whispers of a certain individual began to be passed around mouth to mouth. El Sin Nombre was caught. El Sin Nombre is a woman. El Sin Nombre is Valeria. You felt ill the first time you heard it. That couldn't be true. You broke your no contact rule. Sending her texts and calling and all went unanswered. You obsessively scoured the internet and found many articles that confirmed your fears.

You weren't sure what to do with the information. You were hurt, angry, surprised. You almost shacked up with a drug baroness. She's done awful things. Awful maybe being an understatement. You search and search for more details, but each article is just parroting the last; telling you what you already know. 'Valeria Garza, thirty-eight-year-old ex-special forces member arrested for drug trafficking.' Among other things like her leading the cartel and her suspected involvement in a recent Chicago terrorist attack.

Even after months pass, giving the news time to be digested and eventually forgotten, no one seems to. Valeria is all everyone seems to be talking about. It makes sense, you suppose. The big faceless, nameless entity that had been terrorizing Las Almas was finally revealed. You wish they'd stop talking about it. It only keeps the wound from healing. She was kind to you. She was interested. What does that say about your character? She might not have even meant any of it, and that thought makes you feel worse. You go through the days on autopilot. She gave you a taste for companionship and then ripped it away from you. You feel lonelier than ever.

On the bright side, while you're walking home you don't see any bodies. Or armed men. The atmosphere is stagnant instead of humming with never-ending anxiety. Which is why you startle at the sight of two men standing by the stairs to your apartment, one is bald and the other has a beard. They have a certain look about them. One that raises the fine hairs on the back of your neck. You continue to approach even though your gut tells you not to. That feeling only doubles when they turn and stare at you. You grab the metal railing and start ascending. Pretending you aren't frightened by them.

One of them says your name. You pause and contemplate rushing the last few steps into the perceived safety of your home. They could very easily break down the door though and that might just serve to piss them off. You turn slowly and look down at them.

"... Yeah?" You reply quietly. Sensitive to any change in expression or body language.

"She wants to see you." You don't need to ask who. "She sent us to retrieve you." Retrieve you. Like you're one of the drug parcels she used to smuggle.

"She's in prison though." You say unsurely. She's supposed to be in prison. She didn't break out, did she? If she did, you're positive it would've been all over the news.

"She's allowed visitors." He replies roughly. The one beside him just stares. You want to blow on his eyes to make him blink.

Who in their right mind is allowing her visitors? That seems incredibly irresponsible.

"No." You say firmly. You expect them to put up a fight. To force you. Instead, they just turn and leave. Walking off behind the building. You watch them nervously before scurrying inside and shutting the door behind you. Part of you feels pleased that she's making an effort to contact you, and the other part is disgusted by it. She's a horrible human being and you shouldn't want anything to do with her but the moments you shared continue to haunt your thoughts.

The men are back next week. You're a little less frightened since they didn't do anything last time, but you aren't any less wary. As you approach, the bald one reaches into his pocket and you almost keel over and die from heart failure. Instead of pulling out a knife or glock he pulls out an envelope and extends a burly arm. You shakily take it, still recovering from the momentary fright. They leave without another word. You go inside and sit down against the door. Holding the clean white paper in your hands. You tear it open and pull out the letter inside.

I regret you had to find out this way. I know you're feeling afraid and betrayed but know that regardless of how I earned my money or conducted business that I care about you. I don't want what came out into the light to affect your image of me. The news rarely gets the facts right. You'd understand if you got to hear my side of the story. I urge you to come and visit me so we can talk things out like adults. I miss you.

It's short and unsigned but it doesn't need a signature. You feel a flash of anger. How dare she claim to know what you feel? She didn't even apologize. You don't have any interest in hearing her out.

The letter feels condescending. She's severely downplaying the situation. She doesn't seem to grasp the ramifications of being caught for being a fucking drug lord. The biggest in the country. You doubt any amount of talking will fix anything and even if it could, she is defiantly never seeing the light of day ever again. If capital punishment were legal, she'd be sitting in the chair by now. You throw the letter in the junk drawer to be forgotten about. Except you don't forget about it. You think about it while trying to sleep and you think about it while washing dishes at work. Her reaching out makes your heartbeat the wrong way. You ignore it with a healthy dose of shame. You will not throw out your morals for her.

The men come back the next day with the same instructions to visit Valeria. You feel that wicked pull of temptation but deny them yet again. And yet again they leave without protest. A few days after that there's another letter slid under your door.

You're upset. I get that, but don't ignore me. You've had enough time to cool down from the shocking news. Being petty doesn't suit you. I can explain if you come see me. I don't appreciate being ignored. I'm being very patient with you, I could easily make you come but I respect you enough not to do that.

This one is shorter and has vaguely threatening undertones. Maybe you should go. Just for your own safety. Your pride wins over though. You will not be threatened or coerced into anything. If she really respected you, she'd leave you alone. Besides, if she's already threatening you by the second letter then she's not being very patient.

You can only imagine what people would think about you just casually visiting her. Weeks after her capture you were paranoid that people had seen the two of you together and would assume the worst. You stash the letter in the junk drawer with the other one. It's the last one you see. You don't even see the men again either. Perhaps she got the hint. You have troubles sleeping for a while. Paranoid that they're going to break into your home and murder you. Time flies by and your apartment remains unbroken into, and you slowly lose that fear.

It really didn't take a lot for her to lose interest. No letters, no men. it's for the best but that doesn't stop you from being hurt. Weeks pass by uninterrupted. She's gone for good. behind bars. You are safe. Everyone is safe. But you aren't happy. She got what she deserved so why do you feel so miserable? You get home from another late shift. Dumping the basket of treats on the kitchen counter. You rarely bother with turning the lights on. Why would you when you know the lay out? Maybe you should have. Maybe you could've avoided being tackled to the ground.

You're winded as a heavy body sits itself down on you. Your fears were right. The men came back to kill you. You open your mouth to scream but the person swiftly clamps a hand down on your mouth. They say your name and it takes you a few seconds to recognize Valeria's voice.

"I'm going to remove my hand, and you aren't going to scream." She whispers coldly. Something sharp and cold presses against the vulnerable skin of your throat. You nod your head shakily and Valeria slowly removes her hand. Your mind races with questions.

"Did you break out?" You ask shakily.

"That's a really idiotic question." She snaps.

She keeps herself pressed against you. She's warm and very solid. Months ago, this is what you wanted, and even now much to your own dismay you aren't completely against it.

"Valeria-"

"You didn't reply to either of my letters." She says sharply. Cutting you off. "You didn't visit me once." She sounds furious and the knife presses against your jugular. "You could've come. Could've heard me out. At the very least you could've come just to get mad at me."

"I am mad at you." You reply shakily. Your voice isn't as strong as you want it to be. She roughly shoves your face into the floor. The carpet rubs against your cheek uncomfortably. It turns out that wasn't the correct thing to say to her.

You can feel how angry she is by the stiffness of her body. Like all her rage is contained in her toned limbs and she has to make an effort to keep it in.

"I should slit your throat for humiliating me like that." She speaks. Her voice dangerously quiet. You feel a sickening flash of fear as her knife moves along the collum of your throat. She traces it up around to the back of your neck. "I put time and effort into you," Valeria continues. Tapping the point of the blade against your skin. You wince when she adds pressure. "and you can't even do me the favor of visiting me." She moves the knife away from you. You hear her plant her hand down beside your head as she shifts her weight down your back. She leans down and rests her head on the back of your neck. Her warm breath hitting it in small puffs.

Her other wraps around your shoulder. Her thumb moving back and forth. This position isn't very comfortable. Even with the carpet the ground is hard against your chest and the added hundred-thirty or so pounds on your back is making it a little difficult to breathe properly. You're scared and confused. Holding a knife up to your throat then cuddling up to you is sending a few mixed signals.

"I opened up to you, you said you wouldn't leave." Valeria murmurs.

"You lied to me." You reply. "You didn't tell me you were a... you're a narco."

"I never lied." She says. Sounding annoyed. "I told you I was a distributor." You twist your head to look at her even though it's too dark to see anything more than a vague outline.

"You said you distributed pharmaceuticals!" You flinch when she swats the back of your head.

"What do you think drugs are?" She snaps. "I never said I distributed legal pharmaceuticals."

Valeria sits back up and you can feel her gaze warming the back of your head. You can picture those cold brown eyes narrowing at you.

"Why are you here?" You ask. If she's going to just kill you, she should get it over with.

"Because you wronged me." She replies gravely, voice still as smooth as honey. The hand on your shoulder slinks down to your shoulder blades. "And I missed you." Something stirs within you at her words, and you tell yourself it's fear. "No matter what a person does, if you're in a relationship with them you don't ignore them. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be ignored?" No, you have absolutely no clue what that feels like at all.

"We aren't in a relationship." You say, confused. You'd been seeing each other but she hasn't asked you to be her girlfriend. Nothing was ever made official.

She scoffs and you flinch. Expecting another hit to the back of the head. She doesn't hit you, but by the tone of her voice it sounds like she really wants to.

"You were my woman the day I became interested in you." She says coldly. Her weight is suddenly gone from your back. You don't have much time to appreciate the lifted weight before she's roughly turning you over onto your back and sitting right back down on your thighs. Her fingers grasp the hem of your shirt and begin lifting it. You panic and grab onto her forearms.

"What are you doing?" You don't understand what's going on. You thought she was pissed at you. You thought she was going to kill you.

She grabs your arms and yanks them away before returning back to your shirt.

"You need convincing." She coos. Her warm voice contrasting against her behavior.

"Of what?" You ask. Bewildered and a little nervous.

"Of me." Valeria pulls your shirt up. You only make a small effort to keep it on your body but ultimately let her pull it over your head. She can't see you, but you feel exposed nonetheless.

"Get off." You say. Trying to sound firm.

"I will." She replies. "Only after you, though." She slides off of you and you feel the knife press against your hips. She pierces through the fabric of your pants. The sound of them ripping startles you and you try to kick at her.

She grabs your knee and forces your leg down.

"Quit that." She snaps. She rips through the seams and repeats the process on the other leg. You don't move again and pretend it's because you don't want to be accidently cut. She drags your pants away from your body, leaving you in just a bra and panties. You don't want this, it's immoral to sleep with someone like her. She lightly drags the blade along your side. She suddenly drags it underneath the strap of your bra and soon that is also torn from your body.

"That was expensive!" You say. Because that is certainly your biggest issue at the moment.

"I'll buy you a new one." She growls before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. A hand comes up and grabs your breast. The wetness between your legs becomes too prominent to ignore. This is wrong. She's an awful, evil person. An awful, evil person that threatened you at knifepoint. You willingly spread your legs for her anyway. Willingly open your mouth to join your tongue with hers.

Her hand slowly slides down your body to grasp the side of your panties. She gives no thoughts to just ripping them off of you. Valeria seems to hate leaving your clothes intact. The air hits your wet core and causes you to shiver. Something hard and noticeably not made of flesh slides through your folds, spreading your slick and making you gasp. Valeria kisses along your jaw while the tip of the knife's handle presses against your clit, and you arch your back at the contact.

"Couples fight." Valeria mumbles into your skin. "We're no different, I know you still want me."

"No." You try to protest. It's a losing battle. You know this isn't even just a physical reaction. She chuckles and the sound doesn't help. You clench around nothing as she brings the knife handle up to your face, allowing you to smell the evidence.

"What's this then?" She asks. Sucking a mark into your neck.

You don't reply. Shame and embarrassment wash over you. This shouldn't be turning you on, but you want her to return her hand back to between your thighs. She knows exactly what you want. She presses the handle against your cunt once more. Slowly easing it inside.

'You aren't done with me." She whispers. Slowly pumping it in and out of you. "I won't let you be." She sheathes the handle inside of you. The smooth titanium caressing your inner walls. "Besides, do you think you'll be able to look anyone else in the eye after being fucked on my knife?" She noses your cheek.

The wet sounds emitted from the questionable activities down south embarrass you.

"Good girl." Valeria says quietly. Her own breathing has gotten heavier. It seems all your little noises aren't leaving her as unaffected as you thought. The handle repeatedly hits that certain spot deep within you. The pressure is bruising, and your mouth is agape with pleasure. With a strangled whine your cunt flutters. Trying to pull the handle of the knife as deep in you as possible.

She thrusts it in you, making your orgasm last as long as possible. You begin to twitch and writhe once the sensation starts to be overwhelming. She gifts you some relief by removing it, and you feel some slick leak out with it, and you have the passing thought of needing to shampoo your carpet after this. She drops the knife somewhere and moves away from you. She shuffles around and the sound of a zipper being undone reaches your ears. She crawls on top of you and grabs your leg, holding it up to slot herself against you. Her wetness meets with yours and you feel the slight pulsing from her clit. Evidence of her own eagerness.

"You don't understand how hurt I was when you ignored me," she says. Grinding against you. "how angry I got." She presses your leg down and speeds up. You struggle to keep up with the conversation. The feel of her clit and puffy folds moving against yours is the only thing you can think about.

Her breathing is labored, and you can she makes no effort to contain her loud, breathy moans.

'I considered having my men kill you." Valeria pants. "I could always find-find someone else." She moans. One of her hands once again finds your breast and she gives it a light squeeze. "But, against my better judgement, I've grown attached to you."

"I don't know if I believe that." You manage to say. So pussydrunk that it's hard to rub two braincells together in order to form a coherent thought. You can feel your combined wetness dribbling down between your cheeks. You will definitely need to clean the carpet.

"You don't know if you believe that." She growls. "I should've fucked you harder with the knife." She relentlessly grinds herself against you. Your lower lips meeting in a kiss.

"You weren't h-honest about who you were." You argue. She gives your tit a harsh squeeze and you hiss in pain.

"I told you I never lied." She snaps.

"half-truths and omission count as lying!" You groan. Shuddering with pleasure.

Your stomach tightens as you draw closer to another orgasm.

"I can't go around telling everyone what I do for a living." She grunts. Her rhythm becomes sloppy as she begins to chase her own climax. "You know now though, so we have no issues." Your resolve snaps as you come. Your legs tremble as you lean your head back, a drawn-out moan escaping your parted lips. Valeria follows soon after. Her movements faltering until she goes still against you. Release rushing out of her and mixing with yours. She collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as her breasts press against you.

Valeria buries her face into your neck. Her dark hair tickling your chin. Now that the pleasure is wearing off, you're beginning to feel a burning sensation on your back. Perhaps sex on the carpet wasn't the best idea.

"We do still have problems." You whisper. Tired and in need of a shower now. Valeria just grunts in reply. "Not only do you lead a cartel, but you're wanted." It dawns on you just how serious this situation is. She's unstable. You could get into a fight with her and end up dead. Not only that, but you could get in trouble with the police. Possibly the government.

She gently caresses your shoulder.

"There are so many strings I can pull to stay free and leading the cartel is irreverent." Valeria mutters. "You won't be involved."

"Sure but-"

"I already told you I'm not letting you go." She says sharply. "Don't you want to be loved?" You pause. Of course you do. But is she the correct person to give you that love? "I know I 'lied' to you, but it was only to keep you and me safe."

"How was it for my safety?" You frown. Valeria huffs.

"I didn't want you to panic and do something that could lead to your... injury." Injury from what, you want to ask. You don't though. Despite your better judgement and fears, you want to her with her.

Valeria rises off of you and you miss her warmth. She grabs your arm and pulls you up with her.

"Where's your bedroom?" She asks. You lead her to it, guiding her through the short, dark hallway. You push open the door and bring her to your bed. You lie down and she joins you. Pressing close to your back and draping an arm over your waist. Your eyes flutter shut, and you give in to sleep.

[wearyeyebrow]

Pride and Shame

Summary: Beel tells you of an afternoon yelling match between Belphegor and Lucifer. While Belphie plans his revenge, you notice that Lucifer has skipped dinner.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, Lucifer x MC, SFW

-

Lucifer stands just outside your bedroom door, poised to knock, but even still he hesitates.

He almost turns on his heel just as the door creaks open. There you are, dressed down for the evening, in comfy clothes, looking surprised to see him.

“If you’re busy I can come back another time.” He isn’t about to make a nuisance of himself.

“No, no I was just about to come to you - I didn’t see you at dinner.” You frown, and he’s torn between the feelings of ease and discomfort.

“I had work to finish.”

“That may be so, but you should at least have something to eat. Come in - please.” You open the door wide for him and yet he hesitates.

“Lucifer?”

Before he can think too hard about it he crosses the threshold, immediately warmed by the atmosphere of your room.

He eyes your textbooks sprawled all over the floor. “Were you studying?”

“Something like that,” you sigh. “Solomon has me on a wild goose chase, all for a special ingredient. I know he knows what I’m supposed to be looking for, but all he’ll give me are cryptic hints. I’ll probably be here all night…” You plop down on the plush carpet, sitting cross legged. You pat the ground beside you and motion for him to sit.

“Would you like some help?”

“I mean yes, I would, but I shouldn’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “I would love a break though - tell me about your day.”

“My day?” Lucifer settles in, resting his back against the frame of your bed. He straightens the crease of his pant leg. “It’s all very boring, really. My next week is booked solid so I’m trying to finish as much groundwork as I can now. Most of the day was spent signing my name.”

‘Mm, how delightful.” You drawl.

“Indeed.”

He’s quiet, as if that’s all he came for. He can feel your expectant stare and it irks him.

“So I… I may have heard about something that happened from Beel.”

Lucifer sighs, “Yes, what of it?”

“What happened?”

“Didn’t Beel tell you?”

“He told me parts of it, yes… I’m unfamiliar with the other layers of hell. Why did Belphie want to go to the sixth?”

“Because he’s an imbecile, that’s why.” Lucifer rolls his eyes, “Because he has no regard for his or Beel’s safety, because he lives to give me trouble. I had to reason their lives out of the Hands of Ill Temper. I just barely managed by the skin of my teeth.”

“What was Belphie after?”

“I don’t know and I don’t particularly care to know. He shouldn’t have gone in the first place. He has no excuse, leaving me to clean up their messes, putting Beel’s life in danger. Again.” Lucifer needs to move, to pace, something - everything in him itches. He settles on adjusting his socks.

“You really chewed them out, huh.”

“Naturally,” he huffs, “How else will they learn?”

“...Belphie said something else, didn’t he?”

Lucifer stiffens. “It doesn’t matter.”

‘Are you sure?”

Lucifer would rather forget it. He would rather skip dinner and continue working, pen scratching on paper, waiting for the memory to subside. But it never does, it just replays over and over again.

“Belphie, that’s not true, Lucifer doesn’t-”

“Why are you so upset anyway? I assumed you’d want us dead, since we cause you so much trouble. I’d be doing you a favor-”

“Oh doesn’t he? Look - he won’t even deny it, and now he’s just walking away - fucking evil bastard.”

With a click Lucifer had closed the door to his study, put on a cursed record, and refilled his inkwell. Hours of ruminating did nothing. Hours of work did nothing. Now he’s here. What is he doing here? Why did he stop by your door on his way to look for table scraps like a dog? What is wrong with him?

“It… doesn’t matter.” He should leave.

“I think it’s eating you.” He says nothing. “I think that talking about it might help.”

“What is there to talk about?” He bites.“They were reckless. This is nothing new. I reminded them of their own stupidity and Belphie retaliated. Again, nothing new.”

“But… something still bothers you.”

Lucifer clears his throat. “Belphie put both himself and Beel in danger chasing some whim. They could have been imprisoned, they could have been killed for their transgressions - that’s what bothered me, and now it’s finished.”

“I assumed you’d want us dead, since we cause you so much trouble.”

“Is that all that bothers you?” When did you get so close to him? He can feel your softness resting against his side.

“What else would?” Your gentle hand tugs at his glove, taking one off and then the other. This perplexes him but he can’t find it in him to stop you.

“What he said, you know, about you wanting him dead?”

“Nonsense. He was angry.”

“Beel was worried.” Beel was? Lucifer turns to look at you. “That’s why he told me about what Belphie said.”

He sighs. “If… If Belphegor is angry with me, let him be angry. It doesn’t change how I think about the situation.”

“Lucifer.” Suddenly your too steady gaze is fixated on him. “You can deny it all you want, but I… it’s clearly still eating you.” Lucifer’s brow furrows - how dare you assume? As if you’ve read his mind, you clarify. “I know I’m being presumptuous, I know, but please - it hurts you, doesn’t it?”

“Let it.” What is he saying? “Let it hurt. Whatever it takes. He can’t go down there again.”

“But doesn’t it matter that it hurts you?”

“Why should it?” He’s of two minds, one that desperately wants to talk to you, the other screaming at him, a cacophony of voices, pushing it down, down.

“It’s just me, Lucifer.” He feels the comforting warmth of your human hands in his, of your body just barely touching his side. Your room smells like you. The door is locked. It’s after midnight, and the house is quiet.

“I think…” Lucifer swallows, “I think I…

If he could crawl inside you he would. If he could speak directly to your mind he would, spilling his innermost thoughts and feelings without having to say them out loud. He gags on the words, as if once he starts they won’t stop.

This is what it means to be your friend, to be your partner, his mind desperately reasons. How can he fit vulnerability into an acceptable narrative?

He still can’t look at you. "I think I... I was afraid. If they aren't - if I can't be there, if I can't keep them in line, what's stopping the world from-" his eyes water and he blinks rapidly, head tilted back staring at the ceiling. "If he needs to assume that I hate him, if that's what it will take, then so be it."

"Lucifer, sweetheart-"

He sucks in a rattled breath. You can’t speak to him like that, not when he’s at his lowest. He doesn’t need your saccharine tone because he’s better than this, better than comfort or mistakes. Yet here you are, on the floor at midnight, speaking with such kindness and understanding. It’s because you’re an exception to his inner monologue of rules that his brain finally quiets like an oil lamp snuffed out.

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course not, but-"

"I know you’re willing to play the villain if it’ll keep them safe. I mean, you've done it before, for entirely too long. But remember what happened when you were honest? Things got better. Belphie came around and I finally understood you."

He scoffs. "It was a catastrophic failure - any good that came of it was all your doing-"

“Don’t I?”

"We've all come a long way together. It doesn't have to be this way. I truly believe it doesn't, things have already changed.” You plead with him. “Habits are hard to break. I know that Belphie was hurting when he said that, but you don't deserve to hurt like this either, Lucifer." He can't look you in the eye. "Hey," you continue gently, softly, "you don't, truly."

“No. They don’t and you don’t.”

He looks up at the ceiling again.

"I'm here because you don’t have to handle it alone." You murmur. “Because I care about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Too late.” You lean over him and place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He swallows, blinking rapidly, and gathers you in his arms to place a fierce kiss to your temple. He wraps himself around you, all at once too separate from everything you are. The noise quiets when you move to hold him instead. Your arms wrap around him, and after everything he’s done to you, he doesn’t deserve you in his life like this, in love with what little good remains in him. But, he supposes, his pride as a demon will make space for you, and for that he is grateful.

"Thank you," he croaks, "for choosing to speak with me."

"That’s what I’m here for, dummy.”

“You’re meant for so much more than that.”

“I just think…” you kiss the crown of his head, “that I’m meant for whatever I want, and I want to figure this out with you.”

Lucifer closes his eyes in the quiet darkness of your arms. You are a gentle reprieve to whatever remains of his soul.