#but it’s nothing he didn’t bring upon himself so let him suffer

[patolemus]

“You did good, Aemond,” Aegon praises, but he, like the rest of the council, is distracted by Lucerys in his arms. “And this unexpected turn of events… is a boon for us.”

“A boon?” Mother looks horrified. “We’re doomed. Rhaenyra will—”

“She will do anything to keep her child safe,” Grandsire finishes for her. He also looks pleased, if pensive. Aemond has learned to tread with caution when he is like this, and his arms unconsciously tug Lucerys’ body closer to his chest. “You have done a good job, Aemond. Now let’s get the boy to the dungeons and—”

“You will do no such thing,” Aemond doesn’t recognize who is speaking until a few moments later, when he realizes it is his own voice. “Lucerys Velaryon is still a prince of the realm, and he will be treated as such,” he sends a sharp look to his mother when she goes to speak. “This is not up for discussion.”

Mother looks like she wants to argue, but a lazy wave of Aegon’s hand stops her.

“Worry not brother,” Aegon’s eyes hold an amused glimmer. Aemond has the sudden urge to punch him. “He is your prisoner. You may do with him as you deem fit.”

His brother’s words should bring some kind of relief to him. This means he can inflict any kind of retaliation on Lucerys, at last he can take revenge for his eye, and he will face no punishment. Instead, all Aemond can feel is dread. He does not like to think of what it may mean.

He meant it. He meant to hurt Lucerys, he meant to chase him out in the storm, he meant to bring him to King’s Landing. He meant to have Vaghar kill his dragon, he meant to take him prisoner, he meant to make him pay his debt.

He meant it. He meant it. He meant it.

(In his head, Lucerys won’t stop screaming.)

A small treat because I’ve finally finished the first interlude for five stages of grief. This one is for you @shipdepot

[dixons-sunshine]

Sweet Relief | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is extremely self-indulgent. I moved to a new house today and I was on my feet for hours. It hurts to bad. I only got a chance to sit down and relax half an hour ago. And thus, this was born.

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you fell down onto the couch, propping your feet up onto the plush cushions. You closed your eyes and laid your head back, basking in the feeling of relief that flooded through your body at finally being able to get off your feet. Working for hours, hoisting dozens of heavy boxes and crates onto a truck with little to no breaks in-between, and then having to get them down and into the pantry, was no easy task. Everything in your body ached from the exertion that had been placed upon them, but nothing ached as much as your feet.

It was surprising. You had fully expected your back to experience most of the pain, but that had not been the case. Your feet—more specifically, the heels of your feet—nearly had you in tears from the suffering they exuded whilst you had walked to your home. Thankfully, you were home and could finally take a breather. You only hoped the throbbing in your feet went away after a few moments of rest.

The sound of the front door opening caught your attention. You didn’t even have to look to realize it was Daryl. You knew the sound of his footsteps by heart. You simply remained with your eyes closed, trusting the archer to find you soon enough. And sure enough, he did.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he greeted you, his own exhaustion evident in his voice. Daryl had stayed a bit longer to help with the last few things that needed to be done, and he was about two seconds away from collapsing on top of you. However, with only a mere look, he could see that something was up. “Ya alright?”

You shook your head. There was no need to lie to your partner. He would see right through it, anyway. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” he inquired in concern, walking closer and sitting down on the arm of the couch. “Anyone I need’a kill?”

You snorted and shook your head. “Not unless you can kill my feet,” you replied, opening your eyes and lifting your head slightly to look at him. “But you can go ahead and try.” You closed your eyes again, dropping your head back against the armrest.

An idea popped up into the archer’s mind. With a simple hum of acknowledgement to what you had said, he gently took a hold of your legs, lifted them up so that he could slip under them onto the couch with you, and allowed them to rest on his lap. Taking one of your feet into his work-worn hands, he softly yet firmly began applying pressure to your aching feet, setting a steady rhythm.

Without even really realizing, a soft moan of pure, sweet relief left your lips, eliciting a laugh from Daryl. “Good?” he questioned, his blue eyes sparkling with the satisfaction that he was able to bring you a semblance of relief.

You nodded. “Really good,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

“Ya dun’ never gotta thank me,” he told you, a small smile on his face as his hands worked their magic. “But yer welcome, sweet girl.”

As Daryl’s hands continued working at the aches in your feet, you let out a sigh, although that one was of relief. “I love you so much right now.”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head. “Ya dun’ love me as much on other occasions?”

“I worded that wrong. I appreciate you so much right now. I always love you, Dar. I love you so much.”

Daryl smiled softly to himself. A few beats of silence passed until he spoke up. “Me too, Sweetheart. Love ya too.”

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Toga’s AU Concept

He visited Sanctum on a whim, he was in Mistral visiting his niece Saphron after all, why not visit the school that was training it’s future protectors… Was it truly chance that it happened when he got there at that moment. That he stumbled upon the horrified students backing away from a scene from a horror movie.

A girl over a boy, her skin pale, hair a dull gold but utterly contrast by the crimson of the boy beneath her, of his blood leaking, his eyes wide in equal parts horror and confusion as the girl above him drank deeply. Her aura lighting, brightening with every drop more she drunk.

But from her eyes another purely liquid dripped, tears that contradicted the madness in her eyes, others stood confused. But not him, never him, he didn’t hesitate, to hesitate was the let others suffer. The girl moved with surprising grace, avoiding him while her features altered, matching her victim’s.

His hand reached out as he enforced his soul into him, willing thew boy’s body to mend though his soul’s light. The second he saw the student’s face gain some of it’s blush ensured his life her turned on her and launched after the girl.

She’d been smart to run instead of fight, it was a fight she wouldn’t win, couldn’t win, but escaping was just a futile. She was fast, agile and athletic yes, but he was a skilled tracker. If she was faster, he just had to rely on endurance to carry him through.

And it did…

She’d been locked up, and they were debating her sentence, the sentence for an aura user with combat training, she was a threat. And perhaps he should’ve left it well enough alone, but he didn’t, and spoke to her.

And he realized the tragic madness that spurred her on. Toga Himiko was not a monster, she was a girl, gifted with a powerful Semblance, great potential and an honest easily corruptible heart. One’s semblance could influence a persons personality quite easily. After all, it was the manifest of your being, of your soul. How could you not begin to ponder its meaning, how could you not attempt to reflect it’s nature on your person, within your actions.

She was dangerous yes, unstable without a doubt… But, she was also alone, her family couldn’t understand her and feared her for it. Somewhere inside he knew she understood her sense of love was twisted. Was not the norm, after all, why else would she have cried when expressing it.

This was no monster, no villain of demon, she was a girl, a pitiful, lonely, misunderstood child who wanted nothing more then to express her love the only way she could. They way her very soul demanded she act out. All she wanted was a connection, was someone to understand her, was to have friends, family and a love that could accept her deviant nature, a nature she had no control of.

How could he call himself a Huntsman if he couldn’t save a single girl from her crippling, cruel loneliness. So he visited her, again and again, using his pull and connection with Ozpin to freeze the freeze the girl’s sentencing while he worked things out.

She started to look forward to meeting him, and he’d admit to the same, after all she was so cheerful and oddly endearing. If not for her eyes being amber instead of blue he’d had thought her one of his nieces.

Apparently after he started visiting regularly she ceased any resisting and even halted trying to escape, he started to bring her things, even cooking for the girl. Not helping but to feel she needed food a bit better then what they served here.

… He hadn’t expected her to cry, she, she couldn’t remember then last time her mom had made her food… The last time they treated her like a daughter instead of a Grimm. It angered him, it infuriated the Arc. But he held his tongue, and focused on what mattered.

On calling in favors, on talking to his family and getting his affairs in order, Jaune was many things, he was a Huntsman, next in line to be patriarch to the Arc House and a teacher at Beacon. But he was also a criminal who’d cheated his way into Beacon once upon a time. His hands had cut down men, his decisions as a leader had led to the death of innocents before as well.

Toga almost killed a boy, she needed help, needed understanding, to be given a chance. And he was all to willing to risk giving her one.

-0-0-0-

She tried to be normal, to live normally, to act normally, to love normally, she tried so hard, it was also such a struggle, other people’s normal. Other people being able to express themselves, to be themselves and be accepted for it. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, why couldn’t her way be normal… Why couldn’t she be accepted?

Why couldn’t her parents understand her, accept her, but no, they told her it was wrong, that to be so fascinated by blood was wrong, sick and twisted. That she needed to be normal… Were they saying her soul was wrong? She could feel it, ever since her semblance first manifested, since she stumbled upon it so long ago when she’d licked her wound…

Blood was to the body what aura was to the soul, it was beautiful, profound and unique to every person, and she, she could understand it, could indulge, could become others through their blood, she could understand them, be them… It was her normal.

But her parents refused to accept her normal, society refused it, the world and everyone in it refused it… She obeyed, she tried, she struggled to be everyone else’s normal… Until she met him.

Saito was a amazing boy, he was kind, smart and popular, everyone liked him, everyone respected him, just like a lot of other girls she grew to like him. So often she fought the urge to ask him for some of his blood, she wanted to be like him, to know him, to Become him…

But she smothered those urges, because she knew he could not accept them, nobody could accept a freak like her so she resisted the urge. She fought to stay ‘Normal’ To be a average, cheerful, reasonable, well-mannered girl that others could accept, even if it was all a act…

But then Saito got into a fight, and seeing him like that… so wonderfully bruised and bloodied, it made what was so twisted inside go crazy. And it all came crashing down… And she was upon him, moving on not instinct but pure natural movement, as unconsciously as one breathed she gave to her semblance’s nature.

His flesh parting so easily from a mere box cutter, his aura was shattered in the fight with other beforehand. She drunk from him, his blood tasting like the sweetest of irons, so warm, so filling, so unique to him and him alone…

It was ecstasy, finally, finally she got to be herself, she was able to express her love, she felt herself turning into him. His aura, his soul, his being, she understood it so much more in that moment. She knew it was all over, her life, all her efforts, they would come crashing down. But for just a moment, she wanted it, to be her own normal, to be herself…

And then he appeared, he saved Saito, and stopped her, his gaze held so much in it, there was the anger and disgust she expected, but also something new… Pity.

His name was Jaune Arc, he was a Huntsman, a professor, and he stopped her, but he didn’t stop there. He should up to met her in her jail cell, they talked, well, he talked, asking why she did it. And eventually she explained… And, and he listened.

He didn’t understand, but… But he tried to, he asked more, and she could see it, the disgust this anger and confusion, but never was that all she saw. She could see him trying, struggling to comprehend. Time and time again he’d visit, and talk to her, ask her question she’d never considered, asked if she thought what she did was okay.

She knew it wasn’t you can’t force your love on others, but he understood, not because it was normal to him, or because he was like her. No, because he tried to do what nobody else did… He tried to understand her.

He wanted to help her, and then he asked.

“Toga, I need to hear you say it, where you trying to kill Saito?” She knew he needed to hear her say it, so she did.

“No, I just, I wanted to express my love…” And then he told her.

“Toga, you’re not normal, but that’s okay, everyone is different, it’s what makes us unique, what makes life beautiful.” He hugged her.

“You’re not a monster, or a Grimm, your human, and you’ve been through so much.” He was warm… The words slipped from her mouth.

“Please, can I, can I drink your blood.” He paused and she knew she’d be rejected, pushed away and left alone…

“Toga, listen.” But she wasn’t rejected, pushed away, instead the man met her gaze, a sternness in his gaze but also a sympathy, one she’d never seen before.

“You don’t behave like others, and it can be dangerous.” She knew that, of course she did.

“But it doesn’t have to be.” He begun to glow, a soft, kind but powerful white.

“I know, you can help people, more than even I can with your semblance.” His big, calloused hand landed on her head.

“The same way you can take other’s blood, if you gave your love back, you could help so many people.” She shook, she’d thought that too, but, but never hoped others would, would.

“You’re not a monster, twisted or evil Toga, your just different, your semblance, your soul, your beautiful.” It was the smile of a father, of someone who genuinely wanted nothing more than to help her, then to comfort the girl who’d spent her entire if not short life being rejected by others.

“Himiko, I can’t just let you free, unfortunately the law is very clear on that.” She saw the sadness, the anger in his eyes, it was for her sake. But soon enough they were both overtaken by what she would come to know was his most prominent trait, Determination.

“If you agree to it, to come to Vale you can be put on Probation, under my supervision. I’’ be your guardian and probationary officer.” She knew her parents must’ve given up their rights to her by the slight anger that burned in his eyes.

“We’ll attend therapy lessons and you’ll be taught about aura control by me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled it out then, a vial, the most beautiful shade of red.

“Toga, I know the way you view things are different then mine own, but that doesn’t mean you can’t understand me, you lived in this world, acted appropriately for it as well. You understand how the general public views love.” He offered her the vial, the beautiful crimson flowing with his aura, with his soul.

“I can’t promise others will accept your views, or even try, but I promise, at the very least I will do everything I can to make a environment you can be yourself in… And that I’ll try my best to understand you.” She reached, her fingers grazing the glass, the vial warm… Her heart pounded as she looked to the beautiful crimson.

Slowly, cautiously she undid the top, he never looked away from her, never tore his gaze from the sight, there was no rejection as she took him into her. As she felt his soul through his aura, as his being and iron went down her throat becoming one with her.

She felt herself change, becoming him, her pale ash-blonde hair becoming a shade of livid golden-wheat, her fair skin pinking with a healthy flush. The slits of her pupils dilating, the Faunus trait vanishing as her pupils rounded and turned the most expressive blue.

Her aura converting, her soul changing and being replicating that as her very body matched the new soul she was temporarily hosting. And he looked at her through it all, reaching out and patting her head, the smile was genuine.

“If this is how you want to be that’s fine, I’ll learn to get used to it, but please, don’t stop being yourself, even if your appearance changes.” From his hand aura surged into her, his aura, given freely, pure and unfiltered.

Her answer finally came alongside the tears.

“Yes.”

-0-0-0-

She rushed down the hall from her room, excited for the day she’d looked forward to for so long, she couldn’t wait. Reaching the kitchen she found three people there, her sister and brother, Ren and Nora, two others he’d taken under his wing.

At the stove flipping the immense amount of pancakes the Valkyrie craved was Jaune, they waved to her, well Jaune and Nora did. Ren sat patiently at his seat enjoying his tea, she sat there beside them, besides two people who knew her, truly knew her, who accepted her almost as much as Jaune.

Two simple years was all she spent with him, but in those two years she’d felt more joy, more acceptance then ever before. She’d realized truths about herself and flaws in her actions.

She was free to express her love, but not to enforce it on others, to take from people who did not want to return her affections. It was wrong, cruel and that act whether it be her form of expressing love or ordinary expression of it by others were no less disgusting.

She’d help so many people with her feelings though, a little blood and she’d given so much back in turn, to children who needed it, to people with unique cases and blood types meant nothing to her semblance with regular people. She couldn’t help but want to help, even if Jaune worried, she loved him for that… She loved him, loved him more then others. More then anyone else.

But it wasn’t the same type of love she always felt, always knew, no, this was different, she wanted to both love him and be loved by him. To be loved as Toga Himiko, by Jaune, she didn’t want him to conform to her standard of love.

It wouldn’t be fair, it’d be like who she was forced to follow the standard society before she met him, she wanted to love Jaune as herself but also as him whenever the fancy struck her. But she also wanted to love him as Ren did, as Nora did, as so many of his students did…

And soon, she would be able to, today would be the start of it, a plated landed in front of her then, and looking up she met his smile.

“Are you ready Toga, your three will be trying out for Beacon today after all. So you all need to eat up.” He served her her breakfast, more than Ren’s but nothing near the mountain of pancakes he placed before her eccentric sister. But then again the pile her put before himself was barely any smaller. He needed it after all, because he regularly gave her blood, regularly accepted her form of expressing it and indulged that aspect of her.

She loved him for it, wanted to love him even more, even deeper, more intimately then any other, and once she passed Initiation she would. She only hoped that when she did succeed, her partner would be as understanding as her.

Maybe even being able to understand her love, Or Better Yet! Maybe They’ll Love Jaune As Much As She Does! Oh ‘Giggle’ she meant Professor Arc.

[merajsblog]

yuji itadori

you adored yuji. ever since you had met him, you were inexplicably drawn to him. his poise, his aura, the way his eyes focused. the callous and scars on his body signifying his hurdles. even his body was becoming hardened over time, by scar tissue, and yet still he remained kind. many had tried to break him, under the preface of killing fellow sorcerers and trying to pry themselves under his skin.

after mahito had taken so many away from him, he met his doom. the aftermath of shibuya was…rocky to say the least. once everything started snowballing it was tough to make time for each other.

you two were sat in the common area, watching the stars. yuji was sat in front of you, his head in between your legs as you sat a step up behind him. you had your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hand was caressing your calf. his head was pressed against your right inner thigh. he seemed almost in a daze now. he usually was. you saw the damage that sukuna had made, in yujis body. of course he took it upon himself to wallow in suffering from it. it had been a while since you saw his grin last, the one that could light up a room. his nose crinkled a bit when he smiled and laughed like that.

you pressed your nose to the top of his head.

“is something on your mind, love?” you whispered softly into his hair. you felt him rustle below you, laying his head back on your lap. his eyes pooled like circles of tigers eye and honey. the moonlight shone over his face, illuminating his frown and rugged eye bags. his soft pink hair was pressed against your stomache.

“nothing much. why what’s wrong?” he asked, looking at you with admiration, still. you softly smiled at him, “nothing. just wanted to make sure you weren’t in your head so much.”

he gave you a small smile. you kissed his forehead softly. that was until one of yujis second eyes opened, and a nasty smirk took place on his cheek.

“aw how cute. i’ll kill you next first.” sukuna rumbles out.

disgust washes over you. you feel your gaze harden, your nose flaring. your eyebrows start creasing downwards, your lips pulling into a scowl. how dare he speak. you can feel your heart blaring. it pissed you off. your skin was crawling. disgusting. he let out a small chuckle but soon went away. you had no words to say.

you were met with big eyes, brimmed with tears, and lips turning downwards into a horrible frown. he looked distraught. you immediately cupped his face.

“hey its okay don’t let him get to you.” you say, whispering to his lips. he tries to nod, but all he can do is choke on the swell of emotions he is feeling.

it’s not long before hes crumbled up in a ball, trying to swallow his tears. he hated this hold sukuna had over him. but it was a human reaction. sukunas threats were no joke.

you hold his back, just being there for comfort. it was all you could do. you were both powerless again.

it wasn’t long before this wave of emotion would be overcome, but it wouldn’t be long before the next one happened again. he didn’t want to taint anyone’s name, but by taking on all this suffering he would bring himself to ruin. not everyone’s suffering was his to take. maybe with time he would understand that. but for now he would be here, with you. for he would still remain kind.

[vonev]

Hey there! Can you do a Miguel x spiderwoman reader where during a mission Miguel accidentally hurts you pretty badly while trying to get you out of the way of the anomaly, leaving you in a medically induced coma for a couple days while you heal? I wanna see an incredibly gentle, guilt-ridden Miggy visiting you when you wake up and treating you like you’re made of glass

Calling (just to save you, I'd give all of me)

Miguel O'Hara x reader Oneshot

Words: 6.06k (yeah i know)

Warnings: Graphics depictions of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence.

Summary:

A mission gone wrong, some crying, more suffering, rocky relationships (emphasis on the rocky part)

And after all of it, you prevailed. With him.

Tl;dr: Miguel is a crybaby

It was a normal Tuesday night at the headquarters. 11 pm to be exact.

God knows why you stayed as long as you did—having to juggle missions upon missions the entire week because Miguel decided to loosely throw them at you.

Capturing what seemed like an endless sea of anomalies.

“You’re our most capable.” He had said, not even facing you when he once again sent you off on another job to fend for yourself. 

Trying to ask to be replaced was met with a sounding “No.” from the big guy himself, so you stopped trying altogether.

Less questions, more work.

Even if the side of your ribs were bruised from the last encounter with a previous anomaly.

Whatever. Bringing your injury up would just have you end up being demeaned and insulted like a school kid who skipped last week’s homework. At least that was what you assumed.

You grew tired of it eventually, wanting to have more than 6 hours of sleep per day and being able to actually live your life—the birthday cake for a friend sat comfortably inside the fridge of your apartment lingers on your mind as you swung through the familiar sight of the city; another rendition of New York, another variant of an anomaly. 

That wasn’t to say you didn’t enjoy the thrill and adrenaline that came with the job—no, you loved it. No one ever told you how fun being a superhero can be (aside from the decades of trauma you had to go through) and being able to propel yourself into the air with webs as the people below you gawked at your presence. 

The New York breeze hit your figure like a welcomed embrace, the moon winked at you behind fading beds of clouds. You continue slingshotting yourself down the streets, deja-vu splashed in your face with how eerily similar the roads were to the ones back home; shaking your head, you let out a soft sigh and relish in the cold night’s wind. 

Today’s mission: an unknown entity that plagued Earth 1610, the only information you were given via a loosely thrown together email from Miguel was that the entity could possess powers greater than we all understood—but with a limited amount of time, you would (hopefully) capture it just in time before it discovered its full potential. 

You’d think with how smart the boss-man was, he wouldn’t send a sleep-deprived Spider into such missions with how severe things could turn if everything went wrong.

“I’ll send him an email to complain later, for sure.” You promised yourself; because you were supposed to do just that days ago when tasks started rolling in for you without breaks.

Solo-tasks, might you add.

A cherry on top of the already spoiled cake, salt on the wound, a slap to the face. You grunted, and an alarm sounding from nearby caught you by surprise amidst the (somewhat) quiet of the city. In the snap of a finger, you flung yourself in a different direction, changing the tides in the waves while the wind that hit your face came to a halt once you landed on a roof belonging to a rather tall building. 

The viewing angle from above gave you a clear look into what had transpired underneath.

You squint, arms folded neatly in between your thighs as you crouched over the ledge of the building; from what you could see, nothing was amiss—everything looked to be in place. Letting out an annoyed scoff, you were about to turn on your tail before the ear-piercing sound of glass shattering into pieces hit your eardrums. 

You immediately snapped around, and panic ensued when the people on the streets started screaming, running amok like wild animals scattering away into their safe spaces. You, on the other hand, now have to clean up the mess—you had no clue where this universe’s Spiderman was, nor did anyone brief you on it.

Nonetheless you approached the bust-up shop with a wavy heart, praying to something out there that there weren’t any critically injured persons. As you stalked near the front of the shop, you could hear loud banters inside; curious, you stare into the messy excuse for an interior: broken decors, smashed up shelvings, and items sprawled out across the floor inside.

You took the opportunity and shot yourself up to the ceiling, both your soles and fingertips clutching onto the surface, cautiously crawling further into the shop. 

“Please—” a voice yelled out, “Just let me steal your ATM machine!”

Your lips part, dumbfounded.

“No! Ey! Get away from—” You finally managed to grasp the scene that played out in front of you.

The store manager was running around with a bat in his hands, and the other person that seemed to be wearing a costume with black spots, a jean jacket slung over his shoulders and a rather cute bucket hat. To your surprise, the man evaded the attack when a black hole had been summoned under the manager’s feet, causing him to fall into the portal and out of another one…

…Right above you.

You yelped at the sudden contact on your back, the manager’s weight had you both falling face first into the shards-filled floor; his body cushioned by yours.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” 

The man behind you rolled off, allowing you to take a step and collect yourself as you slowly stood up. Debris started filling up your senses, and the pain from having been cut by thousands of glass shards made you wince in response. You pushed it all down, needing to finish the job as soon as possible so you could flee from more missions when you go back to the headquarters.

You even considered retiring from your spot in the team.

Speaking of spots…

You peered up, eyes catching onto the odd appearance of the man in front of you, who was still attempting to find a way to escape with the ATM. If you hadn’t been as irritated and grumpy as you were, you’d have found the situation hilarious.

“You gotta let that go, big man.” He whipped his head around, eyes darting around before locking in on you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—wait, you look different from my Spiderman.” His head tilted in confusion; you only rolled your eyes in retort, not wanting to drag your already long day out. Webs shot out of your wrists, launching them toward the direction of his foot.

Watching in disbelief as another hole appeared right where his foot would’ve been, the webs flinging into the black void and you felt the substance land on your back, knocking your balance forward.

“What the,” confused, you feel around for it, your fingers finding the source, tracing the substance behind you. “How did you fucking do that?” You glared him down, seeing his stature falter and hands thrown up into the air in defense. 

“Whoa whoa, language!” He wagged a finger at you, giving you his head shake of disapproval. 

“Shut up.”

“That’s just plain rude, young lady—hold on, you’re a lady right?” Your eye twitched in annoyance. 

“Has anyone ever said you’re way too chatty?” 

He was fidgeting with his hands, looking away and feeling nervous, unsure of how to respond to your jab. Before he could get another word out, the bottom of your feet connected with his chest, sending his body back against the wall with a loud ‘thud’ watching as he fell on his backside.

“Oof.”

 He let out a soft grunt, rubbing the sore spot on his butt; right before you did a chain-attack, he caught your foot with another one of his black holes, your foot now appearing on the other side of the store and out of sight.

“That wasn’t very nice. Listen, I just need some money, let me go and—” He threw the ATM onto a pile of cans and started rolling it out of your way, pushing the huge machine as fast as he could. Pulling back your foot in time, your calf connected with his face, making him trip over the cans comically with his arms flailing in the air.

You quickly reached down to fetch your trap to secure your win.

That would be too easy, though. 

Side-stepping a portal of void that almost ate you up, you winced at the pain that shot through your ribs due to your rapid movements. Biting through the pain, you maneuvered to where his body laid and tackled him to the ground once more when he tried to stand up; from then on, it was a cat fight. With you trying to get him detained and him attempting to pry you off of him.

Suddenly, another hole manifested beneath the two of you, watching in horror as you both fell through and landed harshly on top of the rooftop you originally occupied prior; the back of your head collided into the concrete ground; a poor excuse for a cushion.

It fucking hurt.

You were pretty sure you smelled blood.

He tried to get up, but you tumbled the two of you near the ledge of the building; in the midst of all the actions, he found dominance over you when he had your upper body hanging off the ledge with his grip on the collar of your suit. Blood thumped through your eardrums along with the loud horns of traffic, your heart racing in a million miles, if anyone looked up, they'd think you were insane for getting yourself in the situation. 

Maybe you are. 

Call for backup.

It would be so easy; the gizmo hugged your wrist, just one push of a button and someone will be here—

Too late, his grip on you wavered and you plummet into the air.

Fuck.

You quickly attempt to shoot more webs to find purchase on something, anything. 

But terror washed over you the second you realized you had conveniently run out of webbing fuel—being the dumbass you were, you had completely forgotten to get it refilled before the mission at the station back in headquarters.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the impact; your body going limp to soften the blow.

You let out a loud yelp when something flew out of the air beside you and clashed against your body, but you don’t feel the shock at the contact—instead, the warmth of a large arm wrapped around your midsection and you feel the cold wind whiplash you.

Opening your eyes, you were (pleasantly) surprised to find that Miguel caught you just in-time, right before you could suffer any more blunt injuries. You almost cried at the sight of him, his name teased the tip of your tongue, wanting to wrap your arms around him for a hug; you pulled yourself back just in time before you could react on your impulse.

You were still mad at Miguel, you have to act like it.

Before you know it, he came to a halt around a corner into an alleyway and swung down to place you down gently on the ground, your feet now free from the feeling of being dangled in the air. His eyes flickered over your face, then down your body; his arm still pressed into your waist as he squeezed your flesh out of instinct. 

Bad move, the squeeze, no matter how gentle, pressed into your bruised rib. The pain sending a wave of shocks throughout your torso, you immediately pushed him away with a small hiss. You couldn’t see it, but hurt flashed through his eyes when you forced yourself out of his grip, his arm falling back to his side; unknowing of its purpose.

He wouldn’t willingly admit it, but the rare moments he would get to feel the heat of your body against him sent him to heaven: like that one time your shoulder pressed into his at the cafeteria, the times your naked fingers would brush over his skin, when your back used to press up on his during missions back in the days he went with you. Sinfully, he would recall that specific time your chest pushed into his torso during a stealth mission, the temptation to take you right there and then a devilish thought that circled his mind.

(Don’t ask what he had done in the shower after the mission debrief.)

That was part of the reason he had stopped frequenting jobs with you, even when you came into his office and invited him; you were met with rejections after rejections, soon enough, he noticed that you stopped trying—and the painful gnaw at his chest reminded him of your growing distant attitude with him, too. Miguel refused to let his personal life interfere with his business, and the last person he would want to hurt was you. 

Unknowingly, he had done exactly that whenever he would gradually push your presence away.

Having meals weren’t the same anymore, not when you stopped showing up to his office everyday with his favorite food like a routine, he’d eat less and less as the days passed by; without you there to continuously pester him, he found himself reverting back to his old habits—working after late hours, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, barely talking to anyone unless absolutely necessary. 

He had came to the realization that somehow, long ago, your presence had become such a grounding part of his life; the gentle yet persistent reminder that he deserved love and care too, to stop hogging all the responsibilities alone and share his burden with someone who he can trust, and it all manifested into you.

Miguel recognized he royally fucked up when you both barely see each other face-to-face anymore, you stopped showing up to debriefings, the only time he’d get to remotely speak to you was when he sent you off to missions.

He knew he was harsh, yes, but he fully believed in your capability to handle yourself—but while he was relentless, he still cared. 

Hence why he arrived and interjected your mission, wanting to extend a helping hand.

“Fuck—what are you doing here?!” You shouted over the loud traffic, emotions taking control of your mind, before Miguel could protest, screams broke out from beside you both. “Shit, let’s get this over with, big man.” 

You paused, momentarily forgotten that your webbings ran out of fuel and mentally slapped yourself in the face.

As if he read your mind, he fished out a tube from behind him and threw it your way. You caught it just in time and practically rushed to throw the lid off, tipping the mouth over to allow the liquid flow into the web gadget integrated into your suit. You threw a mumbled “thanks” his way and chucked the tube out of sight.

“Come on,” you nod toward the opening of the alleyway with an arm raised and pull yourself upward with your web. 

It was supposed to be an easy job: brawl with the anomaly, win the brawl, capture it.

But this one was starting to grate your nerves—and you were sure Miguel felt the same too, you could sense the rage radiating off of his huge stature like sirens; chasing down the guy who had re-introduced himself as the Spot when you caught up with him earlier, unintentionally finding himself falling in and out of accidental portals he materialized. 

“Stop running!” Yelling, you proceeded to jump into the portal he went through, he was always barely a hair away; yet as clumsy as he was, managed to get away every single time.  

“Stop chasing me!” Spot shouted back, tripping over the back of his foot and almost falling into one of the portals entirely. 

He managed to barely swerve out of the way when Miguel lunged at him from behind, his claws swooping in the air where Spot used to be. It became a constant back-and-forth; you would shoot yourself closer to him and Miguel would come from his back, essentially cornering him, then Spot would narrowly escape; rinse and repeat. Exhaustion crept up on you eventually, nagging the back of your mind as you tapped into your adrenaline to stay awake and alerted of your surroundings. 

Miguel noticed it, too, and he went even harder—the intensity of his ferocity grew when he realized he had to end things soon before someone gets injured; he prayed to God it wouldn’t be you. 

Somehow, more portals had opened up, and all you could do was avoid falling into them; the possibility of coming face first into the asphalt roads were too high for you to take the chance. Miguel almost got caught in one; hardly dodging a portal that conjured on the wall he stuck to. But unlike you, he was willing to test out his theory, reeling his body back to prepare launching himself into the portal. And he did just that—his reward? A high-five of his face with another set of walls. 

He grunted, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted you latching onto Spot’s back; desperately trying to push him down onto a solid surface. You both spun into another portal and crashed on a different rooftop, Miguel rushed over with claws ravaging the innocent bricks he crawled on; when he went up, he saw the two of you gasping for air on the ground. 

You clutched the side of your rib, an indescribable amount of pain overtook your senses; you were pretty sure your ankle was broken when it was caught on a pole. Spot got up earlier than you, and was about to speed off before he felt a large hand tugging at the back of his shirt. 

It all happened so fast: reeling in a punch, the adrenaline pumping in Miguel’s veins, Spot’s utter shock at the face of Death himself, the supposed impact of the fist with the other’s face…

…Only for the force to be directed to you in the heat of the moment when a portal happened to manifest where Spot’s face would’ve been.

It was an accident, really, an unintentional line of actions from Spot— he was way too out of it when he figured he was about to go through his final moment; his portals shot out in panic, lucky for him, it was the reason he evaded Miguel’s death fist.

Unlucky for you, the other end of the portal had been right in front of you the whole time; yet in the midst of you processing your surroundings, you hadn’t realized quicker that your senses were screaming for you to dodge out of the way.

The conclusion? You, having just been punched in your guts, falling down a building amongst the New York you shouldn’t have stepped a foot in if you knew the outcome at all. The gust of wind pumped in your ears as you fell, and fell.

No worries—you’ve got your handy-dandy webs, right? 

Oh how you wished you hadn’t been wrong.

Miguel had snatched a random refill off of his own shelf when he was about to depart, not bothering to check for its content after his recent use; just shy of a quarter, barely enough to last an average Spider’s fill an hour of webbing. In his defense, he had been distraught when Lyla popped in earlier to warn him of your vitals: most specifically your injuries. He would’ve never sent you out in the first place if he knew you suffered from broken ribs.

But all you knew was that you somehow fucked yourself over.

Panic ensued.

And now, you suffered the consequences of his actions.

“Miguel!” A call for help; he was your last hope.

The fall wasn’t a particularly long one, and you normally would breeze through the impact and pain like a champ—except you have never fell from a building with ribs that squeezed your organs tight, ankle that would most likely not support your landing even if you tried, the adrenaline you lived off of now benched on the side leaving you stranded for some form of strength to pull yourself together in the span of a few seconds.

Your shoulder hit the ground first, then your head; the harsh impact created a string of reactions to your already abused body: pain shooting up your nerves, the corners of your eyes dimming despite the bright lights flashing around you.

Unbeknownst to the three of you, policemen started showing up once someone reported a supposed break-in at the shop you investigated; the sound of blaring sirens filled your eardrums like honey whilst the flashing of red and blue assaulted your blurry sight. 

Barely able to distinguish what was happening in front, you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbow; but the more you tried, the more lights started diminishing in your vision. Breathing has never felt so difficult, either.

Miguel was a step too late when he came to you; after having realized what had occurred, he dropped Spot in an instant like a hot potato, prioritizing saving you instead of proceeding with the mission’s objective. He was aware of the policemen being present at the scene when they started noticing your slumped body in the middle of the road, crowding together to watch as you struggled to lift yourself up—they all stood and observed, no one reached out to help, none.

He was by your side right away, his one hand supporting the weight of your head while the other clutching at the hem of your mask, lifting it over your eyes.

His hand felt…wet.

As if things couldn’t possibly get worse: he watched the stiff expression on your face contorted with pain, you seemed to have recognized him as you slowly reached a weak arm out to caress his face, your thumb gently glossing over his cheekbone, your touches light like feathers. His mask concealed the despair in his features, the hues of red and blues still shone on his back as everyone else stayed aside and spectated. 

Your hand soon dropped to your side, unmoving, your head now heavier than ever in his hand.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Miguel held your small, delicate hand into his, the tears teasing the corner of his eye as he watched your life slipped by those eyes of yours he’d grown to adore.

-

“You can’t live like this, Miguel.” 

Lyla crossed her arms over her chest, trailing Miguel’s tiny movements on the desk. His fingers delicately move across the keys on the keyboard, imputing password after password for locked files. 

“Seriously,” Lyla sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re starting to worry me.” 

“Nothing to worry about, Lyla, get me the decoded files from yesterday.” Miguel ignored her pestering, choosing to focus on his work and his work only.

That was his routine for the past 5 days or so.

After the entire slip-up in Earth 1610, Miguel had been busting his ass to hunt down the anomaly for every hour he was awake; granted, he did take care of other responsibilities too—babysitting Mayday on Monday, depatching teams to bring back more anomalies, and visiting you every day. 

And also dealing with that kid he found out to be the Spider-man from Earth-1610.

He hadn’t missed a single day of visiting you, who still laid in the hospital bed at the infirmary he cleared out for you. 

Everyday. On the clock. 5 am when he woke up, when lunchtime struck, and in the late hours of night when he should be spending on getting enough rest.

Lyla had been there through it all, watching Miguel’s tormented back every single minute he was awake as he continuously starved himself off of the bare minimums. 

Food, water, sleep, you name it all. 

And as his assistant, his well-being was her number one priority—hence the constant pestering that would be swatted away, food that went cold despite Peter having brought them in hours ago upon Lyla’s request and his growing concern for his friend in the chair. Jess’s occasional visits to check up on Miguel, wondering if the day she stepped in would be the day she would see his lifeless body on the desk with how much neglect he reflected on himself. Even the new recruits dropped in to say hello, just to see that he was doing…okay in his book: which was not okay in everyone else’s.

Everyone was worried. 

About you, of course, and him too.

The situation had clearly taken a heavy toll on him.

But Lyla understood more than anyone else that it wasn’t because of his work, his dwelling traumatic past, or how he barely had any rest for the past 120 hours. 

No one else knew of his infatuation with you except for her—and that was only because she snooped through his things, finding the little knit-knacks he kept from all those times you came and dropped it off: the tiny Miguel plushie you made when you impulsively decided to take up knitting that one time, the shirt of yours you had forgotten to take back when you visited his office at late hours, soaked from the rain outside and sneezing everywhere. 

“Hey Mig—“ sneeze. “I came to see y—“ sneeze. “I—“ and you sneezed. 

“For the love of God,” Miguel turned around, seeing your soaked clothes that cling to your body, and having to turn away for just a tiny moment to compost himself when he caught sight of your curves. 

Groaning, he pulled out one of his drawers and shuffled through and fished out a new shirt—undoubtedly his with how large it was. 

His shirt was a sight on you, fitting perfectly yet still draping over your thighs just slightly when you went to get changed. 

The image of you that night burned into his head, forever engraved in his brain. 

Then there was the polaroid picture of the two of you when you had forced Miguel to “take a selfie with me!” when you picked up a weirdly shaped camera from a thrift store in your universe (something something you saying to be smart and conserve money). “It’s called InstaX, it—here, let me show you” and snapped a picture. 

In the picture, his expression was one of annoyance, and you were squeezed against his shoulder with a toothy grin on your face. 

Lyla saw how Miguel would come back with tiny frames that he thought would frame the film perfectly, but ultimately was defeated when he decided to just stick it in-between the pages of his files labeled: Classified.

She was the only one ever to know the content inside: mostly pictures of Gabriella’s (poor) baking, first day at school, when Gabriella won her first competitive soccer match; and then there was you.

She knew how important you were to him; yet to her complete and utter confusion, Miguel always kept to himself about his little (big) crush—even though she could clearly tell you were just as interested as he was, too. 

He was the densest man you had the pleasure of knowing. 

He never made a move; and now, he might never get another chance to.

Now you were reduced to a sitting duck, once a shell of what you were; your body laid in the bed he frequented more than his own, the lively demeanor that you carried with you before turned into a tune of stable heartbeats beeping from the machinery installed next to you: the only indicator you were still alive. 

Guilt was the only thing he knew for a while; when he’d step into the shower as the cold water bit the skin of his back, like he was willingly punishing himself for allowing that incident to happen. 

Everywhere he went, whatever he did, he was only reminded of your face.

“If only I had been there sooner.”  

He’d say to himself while he peered down at your figure, not there but, there. You were barely hanging, and part of him knew that it was your determination to fight through whatever battle was going on inside your head during the coma. 

“Por favor,” his hand held yours, careful to avoid the IV’s that pricked your skin, forehead sticky with sweat after having just come back from a specifically tough mission that day.

“Concédeme este deseo.” 

He would whisper sweet-nothings to you, praying to himself at night by your bedside that you’d wake up one of these days with that smile he yearned for. And for someone to finally share the extra empanadas he would always bring in, to hope that one day, you’d get to share this joy with him. 

The joy of eating together again.

So imagine his surprise when he walked into your room tonight, and found you sat up with the metal frame supporting your back. 

You were awake.

And most importantly, you were alive. 

He had never sprinted so fast in his life; the warm pack of empanadas he brought from the cafeteria drop to the floor, the gentle ‘thud’ catching your zoned out self by complete surprise, your face softened once your gaze landed on Miguel; who was frantically patting your face and checking your vitals to confirm that yes, you are here. 

Your hand reached up to palm his that lingered on your cheek, his eyes finally settled on you, slowly taking in the fact that you were now right there in front of him. 

“Miguel,” a small knowing smile tugged at your lips, your eyes the most gentle he’d ever seen. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

He was still so afraid, so afraid that you would just slip by his fingers again; so he held onto you for dear life, fingers gripping your one cheek and hand with the others. 

“Estoy tan contenta de que estés aquí,” You whispered. 

A soft quiver of his lips; barely there—that was when the dam broke, and his tears started flowing down his sullen cheeks. 

You panicked, wondering if you had butchered your Spanish so bad you shamed him to tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry?” You tilt your head in confusion and worry. Miguel only shook his head, a small chuckle emitted from him; as if he knew what you had been thinking. 

“Don’t be sorry, silly.” He looked up at you with those earnest eyes of his; ones that melt your heart and warm your soul. You’d taken a liking to him early on; though you weren’t sure when it started, only where it started: during a mission, when the two of you grew physically close, so close.

His breaths fanning down your face, your breathing grew heavy with each and every second; that was when you knew you were in too deep. 

You would know it’d take heaven and hell to pull you apart from this man. 

There he kneeled, lips on the back of your hand as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, enjoying the way hues of red spread out on your cheeks. 

There was no way of escaping it now: the pent up tension of a confession teasing the air around you both, and soon, one of you was bound to crack.

“I have something to tell you—“

“I have something to say—“

Only that you both did it at once, together.

Miguel stared at you, lips slightly parted with the ghost of his words and eyes widened, then he cracked into a fit of roaring laughter—and you joined in.

Laughter filled what was once a room only occupied by the sound of your heartbeats on the machine, the two of you clutched each other’s hand, the high soon dying down to mere giggles; as if you two were high-school sweethearts with muffled chuckles thrown at each other in the back of the class. 

You two were in your own little world, a bubble that secured around your bodies, forever molding the shape of what once was and what will be. 

Wiping away the happy tear in your eye, you stared at Miguel’s devilishly handsome face, and the gorgeous smile you oh-so-rarely get the privilege of seeing. The muted rhythm of his chest rising and falling, in sync to yours, like two lovers on the dance floor—not even the sky could stop your love for each other. 

“I love you.” 

You blurted out; sure, you were 98% certain Miguel reciprocated your feelings, but that small node of anxiety still tugged at the back of your mind, terrified that you misunderstood his gestures all these times.

But wouldn’t the words he whispered to you during your sleep be all washed away if that was true? 

It was a risk, and you took it; it was now or never. 

“I—“ Miguel stammered, his heart screaming at him to just lean in and—

—kiss you.

His lips were nothing like you’d ever imagine; it was all the best parts multiplied by infinity: soft, full of all the love he had to give, and passionate. 

The kiss lasted for what felt like eternity—part of you wished it did, and you’d be content to die like this, your lips forever engraved on his. 

Miguel swore he heard the choir sung to him, albeit with crooked notes; but maybe because he did.

He slowly turned around, and you, who also does the same.

His colleagues had been quietly watching all this time from behind the doors: Peter with Mayday in tow as she cooed at the sight, Jess and that motherly smile of hers—Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr all stood with heads peeking through the gap of the doors. Even Lyla was there, although she simply floated over Peter's shoulder, joining in on the choir; their mouths agape with barely harmonized tunes of a holy song slipping out of their mouths. Amateur at best, unbearable at worst. 

Pavitr carried with the vocals, as always. 

They only stopped once they realized they had been caught; thinking that you two were in too deep to notice that there were more guests coming. 

“What…are you guys doing here?” Miguel asked, his tone more of a threat than a genuine question.

“We got some food—“ Peter perked up, but was instantly cut off by Hobie.

“‘o watch some sappy romance, ‘ey boss man?” Hobie high-fived Lyla's glitchy hologram, the latter wearing a smirk too wide for her face and nodding aggressively.

“Do the shoulder trick!” Miles yelled out; Gwen looked at him in horror then back to Miguel, this time, it was her who was shaking her head aggressively while crossing her arms into a giant X shape. 

Miguel snarled at Miles, not appreciating the cheesy suggestion of a pick-up line while everything went so well for him before they all busted in. 

“Remember to host a Sangeet bro! Oh Gayatri is super good at doing Henna—“  

“Hey I wanna be the flower girl!” Gwen piped up. 

“No, Miguel told me long ago Mayday would be—“

“She’s not even old enough, Peter, can she even throw a fistful of flowers?” Gwen crossed her arms in protest.

“I’ll have you know she’s an extremely capable baby, right, Mayday?” Peter looked down, only to see that Mayday had once again been chewing on his pink robe like always, blabbering with spit foaming at her mouth. 

“Oh Christ—“ Jess chuckled at the absurdity of the sight, a hand on her hip and the other tracing soothing circles on her belly; just as Miguel had been doing it with your hand the entire time.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh knowing that the special moment between the two of you had been ruined by a bunch of nosy gremlins. 

Your hand went up to remove his hand from his face, and even with how (incredibly) noisy the room became with banters and bickering thrown around; it was all quiet with him, only the stable heartbeats of you both reached your ears.

For once, your life was complete.

Miguel glanced into your eyes, the adoration swarmed your orbs; behind them, he could see far into the future where you both exist, always beside each other like glue to a paper—with you on his hips and his on yours.

And at last, Miguel had found what he had been missing from his life. 

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

Author's note: Thank you so much for this suggestion Anon, it's my first one ever and I hope i did not disappoint u.u, I LOVED writing this and it got me tearing up reminiscing some fictional (sexy) mexican man. Hope u enjoyed!

ps: pls excuse the spanish i only have spanishdict as my holy grail (pls also DO correct me if needed!)

[atlaswav]

PARADISE LOST ☾

INFO: 664 words, blade x gn!reader SYNOPSIS: your memory is only a spectre in the waking world and the world of dreams and nightmares. Blade chooses to suffer to hold a morsel of your existence once again. AUTHOR'S NOTE: ik i said blade was grandpa-core but like hear me out on this one (desperate men). also this is an old draft i just edited. 2 works in 1 day is absolutely unheard of for me don't get used to it. i want sleep but sleep don't want me.

Blade dreams of paradise and eternal damnation. 

That’s what you are to him.

Memories of you were the sole melody of his nightmares and his dreams, haunting him like a vengeful ghost in his fitful slumber, wiling away his voice of reason. In his dreams, your eyes are effervescent, and you reach out at him. To follow you, to help you, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. He just wants you to take him. 

In his nightmares, you do the same. Your gaze wanders behind him, yet when he turns, nothing trails behind. You wade in murky, knee deep waters – lukewarm, not cold – but you never smile. 

Or do you?

Recollection of your face becomes lost in the endless fog. He grapples at it, falls in the water, recomposes himself, but he can’t find your face again. 

Your memory becomes a spectre in the back of his mind, and he simply can’t find it in himself to let you go. Those final wisps of rich laughter and warm touch would be replaced by the cold of your absence. 

Cold, rigid. Rigor mortis, or lifeless. 

Tacky with the blood drying, crusting, riddled into your skin with a sadistic artist’s eye. Your eyes were nearly as cold and distant as your touch, focused on some point beyond – and yet if he looked close enough, he could see the cosmos reflected in them. 

Was that where you were now? Watching this pathetic farce of his from the heavens? 

Blade hated himself for it. This pining thing he’d been reduced to.

He knew that short-lived species such as yourself could only exist through memory, lest they leave such a profound mark on the galaxy that the history books permit their names. Humans. Your bones and blood could crumble so easily. 

He supposed he was the same way, another lifetime ago. 

And even with what he had to endure, a million blades pointed at his own heart, he takes it upon himself to remember you.

There was also bone splitting in his dreams. Always resonant, always  deafening, but never resolute. It echoed through the prison of fog where he desperately scrambled to find you again. Almost taunting. Not quite. Those slivers of your memory were his anchor. 

The thought of bringing you back had crossed his mind, however – he ached for it as a sick man to a remedy, a sinner awaiting repentance. 

He craved your life like a drowning man, like the bound souls in graves craved solace and the desolate craved restoration. 

But you were fading. Fading, like he was. 

He just didn’t realise how short of a time it’d be. 

He didn’t realise just how cruel the sands of time were, grinding while your corpse decayed until all that is left is a hollow set of eyes in a skull of aged ivory. 

He didn’t realise exactly how fragile you were, when your cold, freezing fingers brushed his own, and he realised he was too late. 

Mara stricken, they called it. 

The fates were cruel in their verdicts. 

Blade knew he would face a death of the same mechanism, corpse disfigured to the point of no recognition, but he didn’t care. 

Anger gnawed at his conscience like the beast it was, raised its hackles as guilt fuelled its ferocity.

But your voice seemed to haunt him even in his waking hours. The wistful tones of your voice plaguing him like the mara stricken’s malady. Sometimes, he wondered if it was finally his time, at long last. Your voice would become so real, almost tangible – as if he could reach out and your hand would be waiting for his, your pulse thrumming beneath your thin skin. 

There was light, too, in his dreams. Light that promised home and salvation and a cure.

But it didn’t matter. Not without you.

There was no light in the chasm of his mind, but your memory kept him sane. Eternal damnation, a spiral of malady, until you could finally be found again. 

written by @atlaswav , published 16th of July, 2024.

[vivi-snow]

Memories Bring Back You

Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Synopsis: After six years of drifting apart, a reunion event has brought you back into his embrace.

Content/s: fluff, high school setting, etc.

a/n: please forgive my writing, I don’t know how to write emotions so please bear with it. I am currently writing as many as I can rn to improve it.

word count: 1,592

Never once did the words ‘I love you’ escape his lips, nor did he display even the slightest hint of affection through his actions. Every time he approached you, a spark of hope would ignite within you, a longing for some acts of appreciation.

But nothing ever came. His emotional detachment remained constant, and you had reached your breaking point. For two long years, you had been in a relationship that felt like an emotional black hole, and you were tired of expecting something, only for it to be nothing.

You decided to end it all.

     “Satoru,” you called out to him.

     “Hmm?” He replied.

     “I want to break up with you,”

His heart sank.

He stopped his tracks to turn to you. He couldn’t possibly be hearing that, right?

“Huh?” He asked, attempting to hear more clearly.

You sighed in annoyance.

“I said, I want to end this relationship” You spoke, clearly this time.

A deafening silence overwhelmed him as he tried to grasp your words to him.

“I think it’s time for us to embark on our own journeys,” you continued. “This doesn’t seem to be fulfilling for you as well, does it?”

You lightly smiled at him, fighting off the urge to show how you were hurting too, and turned around as you pivoted on your heel to distance yourself from him, only for him to reach out to you and pull you to an embrace from behind.

His sudden grasp on you almost made you lose balance, but he steadied himself into you so you didn’t collapse.

This was the first time he showed you affection.

He rested his head on your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your body for a while.

“Satoru,” You snapped. “Please. For the last time, I will not change my decision.” You ordered.

“I’ll listen to you, so please, don’t leave me,” He mumbled. “Did I do something?” He asked, begging for an answer. “I promise, I’ll change,”

As much as you wanted to tell him about his neglectful behavior throughout your time together, what good will it do when you have decided it’s finally over?

“Satoru, as much as I wanted to stay, I possibly couldn’t. We all have our reasons to cut our ties with people, and for this one, it’s best if I don’t tell you. I don’t want to hurt you. so please, let me go, you’ll be happy once you remove a burden that’s been weighing you down.”

You freed yourself from his desperate hold and continued down your path. You didn’t dare to glance back at him, fearing to witness the depression and denial that was painted on his face.

That was a chapter from your past, precisely six years ago, during your final years at Jujutsu Tech. Upon graduation, you decided to put your exorcising activities to a halt. The graphic memories of your fellow students dying or being severely injured were a common sight that haunted you until graduation. You couldn’t bear to see more people suffer the same fate had you continued down that path.

Out of nowhere, your phone buzzed with a new message. The sender was Shoko, a name you haven’t seen in six long years. The message announced a reunion event held in your old school later that night.

A wave of nostalgia washed over you. It was a chance to reconnect with faces from your past. A time of reminiscence, a trip down memory lane.  

The event was filled with people you knew six years ago, with faces both familiar and unfamiliar. The air was filled with joyous laughter and chatter as everyone exchanged their stories about their journeys post-graduation. The atmosphere was light-hearted, along with the clicking sound of glasses and the harmonious melodies of shared songs.

You excused yourself from the room, seeking solitude in the cool night air. As you strolled down the lanes of the school, lit with the soft glow of the full moon, were a memory of your time in Jujutsu Tech. Every corner, every room, brought back memories from your time with your old classmates.

You found yourself standing at the very place where you severed your ties with Satoru. The memories came flooding back, as vividly as if it happened yesterday. You could still feel the desperate pull of his embrace, his pleas for you to stay echoing in your ears. It was a moment frozen in time, a reminder that will stay with you forever.

“Hey!” a familiar voice reached out to you.

The sound was like a gentle breeze. You turned around to find Satoru standing there. His face was illuminated by a bright smile as if he had been eagerly anticipating your return to school. He stood near a bench just behind you.

With a casual pat on the seat, he invited you to join him. The bench was beside a tree whose blossoms were falling from the cold breeze.

You both delved into the tales of your lives after graduation, the conversation flowing easily like a river. He spoke passionately about his decision to remain at the school, working as a sorcerer and at the same time, a teacher. Satoru’s eyes sparked with enthusiasm as he recounted his missions with his students.

His nonchalant demeanor as he narrated his experiences stirred something within you. It was as if an old torch as been ignited again, bringing back to life a part of you that you thought you had left behind on the grounds of the school.

“You know, I spent a lot of time reflecting on my behavior later that day.” He confessed. His voice had a regretful tone as he spoke.

You quickly tilted your head as he unexpectedly changed the topic of the conversation.

“I couldn’t bring myself to understand why you would choose to leave me.”

“You still haven’t moved on?” You answered despite the emotional weight of the conversation.

Satoru paused for a moment before answering. “You can’t move on from something that made you curious, can you?

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, followed by a nod in agreement.

“So, I’m here to apologize,” Satoru announced. His voice sounded shaky and unstable. “I’m sorry that… I never properly showed you adoration…”

Satoru’s voice grew louder. “I’m sorry that I had people question about us. I’m sorry, that I spent more time with strangers than with you. I’m sorry that it took me six years, six FUCKING years! To realize that I still love you!”

He inhaled deeply. “I love you!!! I missed you! Ever since you left my side, you have been the only one occupying my mind… I never thought that day would come when you yourself would sever your ties. I have always dreamed of us living together in our estate, even after the fact that you broke on what I thought was fate. If I had the chance to turn back time when our love was at its prime, I would have moved mountains if it meant ensuring you would still be mine.” He took a deep breath from his melodically poetic confession.

You were left speechless with his words. Who would have thought that your seemingly unaffectionate ex would have a poetic side?

For the first time in your life, you witness a side of Satoru that was unseen, even when you’re still together. Satoru Gojo, who rarely shows weakness, now stood before you in this pitiful state. His blindfold was soaked with his tears, and his sobs echoed in the silence. The sight of him, so woeful and melancholic, bawling with no sign of embarrassment, is an image that tugs at your heartstrings.

     “Forgive me as well,” You begin your side.

“I was selfish to think that I was your only priority. I should have thought that you have other things keeping you company. I should have realized that you had your world apart from the one with me. It’s too late of an apology after the damage we both caused, but at the very least Satoru, our feelings were finally out, and we can both rest assured, that our hearts are freed from the chains from the past.” You finished.

Both of you were vulnerable at that moment. The soft glow of the moonlight and the cold breeze were the only ones occupying your shared space. You fell into his embrace once more, his head resting on your shoulder as he whispered his words, promising to treat you right and be more attentive this time.

“Can I call you princess again?” He asked, anxiously anticipating your response.

You smiled as you brushed your hand against his hair as if to comfort him.

     “Of course, Satoru, I’ll always be your princess.” You replied.

His arms tightened their grip on you, where you couldn’t even breathe.

Faint sounds of footsteps were heard coming towards you. Followed by slow clapping sounds.

     “Well if it isn’t the long-lost lovebirds?”  Suguru asked sarcastically. “I’m liking the view right now.”

     “Shut up,” Satoru replied, His voice tickling your nape.

     “Ever so cheesy I see,” Shoko commented.

“Hey, did you know he kept the items you left in his house? Pens, notebooks, your hair tie?” Suguru teased him.

“Oh yeah, he kept them in a box with the label ‘Princess’” Shoko replied.

You chuckled at their remarks.

“Finally, you’re back in his life.” They declared in unison before going back to the event.

As the rest of your class was busy reuniting with old friends, you were busy cuddling in Satoru’s embrace.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!

I cannot thank you enough for everything you do for the fandom. It’s so incredibly kind and amazing and cool of you to do this :) I know that this might be a bit specific, but I’d still like to ask if you could recommend any fics where Aziraphale has either been hurt or has gone through something traumatizing but he hasn’t told Crowley about it, because he thinks that it doesn’t matter, but eventually Crowley finds out and comforts him. (Like in not alone by Lalaland666) it would be awesome if it could also not be a AU, but it can be.

Thank you so so so so much, I hope that you have a wonderful day :D

Hi! Here are some fics in which Aziraphale is struggling, Crowley finds out why and comforts him. Mind the tags and warnings on a few of these!...

A Shadow In The Light by VinnieTheDuck (T)

While having a nice walk in Saint James Park, then having quite the homophobic encounter, Crowley says something during it that accidentally triggers Aziraphale.

let your guard down, for me by ineffableserpent (T)

Aziraphale has never fully calmed down, per say. He’d been able to reign himself in back to a state of functioning, trying to busy himself with other tasks to avoid spiraling once more. Crowley, the angel had discovered, was an immense source of comfort. … He didn’t wish for the demon to find out about his anxiety, as much as Aziraphale oh so desperately wanted to confide in him. But that would lead to Crowley becoming upset, and inevitably, upset with Heaven — considering that Upstairs has almost always been the source of the angel’s anxious responses. Aziraphale has always been able to keep a brave face — to appear as the guardian he was made to be. No matter how many nights he spent alone and gasping for air, begging for his body to cooperate, he always made it out in the end. Until tonight, that is.

Father of War by AraniWrites (T)

There were three things Crowley could depend on every day with complete certainty. One, that Aziraphale loved him utterly and completely, just as much as he loved him in turn. Two, that he could consistently count on the angel to be present within their shared flat above the old bookshop, engrossed in his books for days and weeks at a time, only broken by Crowley’s presence. Three, that they had agreed not to lie to one another again, and both had upheld their agreement faithfully. He had never had reason to doubt these three truths. That is, until today.

The Penitent Man by charliebrown1234 (M)

"I believe that very few men are capable of estimating the immense amount of torture and agony which this dreadful punishment, prolonged for years, inflicts upon the sufferers; ... I am only the more convinced that there is a depth of terrible endurance in which none but the sufferers themselves can fathom... I hold this slow and daily tampering with the mysteries of the brain to be immeasurably worse than any torture of the body; and because its ghastly signs and tokens are not so palpable to the eye and sense of touch as scars upon the flesh; because its wounds are not upon the surface, and it extorts few cries that human ears can hear; therefore the more I denounce it, as a secret punishment which slumbering humanity is not roused up to stay." - Charles Dickens on Solitary Confinement at Eastern State Penitentiary, 1842 Aziraphale and Crowley become trapped in an elevator post-Apocalypse, which brings back bad memories for Aziraphale. The resulting flashback is debilitating, and Crowley helps to walk Aziraphale through it.

useless, helpless, hopeless (safe) by Anonymous (M)

Crowley picked a bad day to drop by the shop. Gabriel had already gone, thank goodness, but the bruises on Aziraphale’s face most certainly had not, and the truth came out. Gabriel was raping Aziraphale, and there was absolutely nothing that Crowley could do about it.

What I Am by Anonymous (E)

Aziraphale knows what he is, in Heaven. He’s dirty, and tainted, and easy. He’s good for working off stress. He’s a lower angel, a demoted Cherub banished to Earth and forbidden from saying no. He’s Gabriel’s favourite, though he doesn’t understand why. He knows all too well what he is. But it doesn’t matter. Because Heaven is good, and all that they do must be good in return. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he hates it. Heaven cannot possibly be wrong. Right?

And the one you mentioned...

(Not) Alone by lalaland666 (T)

Aziraphale had lost track of the days quite some time ago. He’d been counting the seconds in his head, before. Heaven was always bright, always lit by perpetual sunlight, and the Room was brighter than the rest of Heaven, too, so it made it quite difficult to keep track of… of… Aziraphale had lost track of the days quite some time ago. Aziraphale is punished by being put in solitary confinement. Eventually, Crowley finds out.

- Mod D

[howlsofbloodhounds]

You know, I think Killer getting reunited with his brother after his escape with Color would be really interesting, whether it goes well or horribly wrong.

If it goes well, it would be really interesting to see how Something New Paps deals with Killer not really being his brother (though I am of the idea that he'd love Killer for Killer as well. I just also think it would mean him grieving his brother yet again. This time knowing he'll never have his brother back). It would also be cool to see how he'd get along with the Epic Sanses. I also really would love to see explored what his tentative new dynamic with Killer might be, and how that may change Killer's dynamic with the others too (would he be less codependent with Color with Paps in the picture? Or would he just become dependent on both?).

If it goes horribly, well, it would be interesting to see exactly how horribly. Would Killer panic enough to kill him again? How would he react to that after so long? Would Killer even believe that that's his brother? Would he just deny everything and turn away and then be haunted by the possibilities forever?

I just hhhhhhhh. I've been thinking about them so much. I've never see content about them explored, ever, and the possibilities are giving me brainrot

Yes! This is the stuff I want to see with killer from this fandom. Not more of the same! Let me watch these doomed siblings suffer or heal. The angst having to grief the person you never knew you lost while they’re right in front of you, looking at you, looking through you—only it’s something else with your loved one’s face. Uncanny valley im telling you.

I personally think Papyrus will have a difficult time actually accepting that his brother is gone. Hed subconsciously see signs in Killer—same smile, same twist of the corner of the mouth even if the nature of the smile is different from when Sans told an awful pun, because now Killer is smiling like that when he tells horrible stories he seems to think aren’t horrific at all.

I think how this reunion unfolds definitely depends on the exact situation. If Killer is still trapped under Nightmare or not, or if Color has rescued him.

And if Papyrus has any memory of what Killer did to him and everyone else—because Killer did spend years upon years murdering and horrifically torturing Papyrus and all the others as if they were nothing more than toys.

Killer could look at him, and all Papyrus could see is that empty, dead eyed look as he screams and cries while Killer breaks his bones. As if Killer didn’t recognize who Papyrus was, and if he didn’t care who he was.

And Papyrus, how his reactions during those times could’ve affected Killer. He was in unimaginable pain, terror, and confusion. Hatred and anger and spite are understandable reactions. What are some things he might’ve said to Killer during these moments that stuck with Killer? Begging and pleading, cursing and screaming? Attempting to get Sans to “remember who he is”?

As the world Reset around Killer, did others eventually start changing too? Even if only in small easily missed ways, even if they forgot by the next Reset. Chara and Killer were always in search of something new, after all.

Could Killer trust himself at all around Papyrus? Or would he immediately start thinking about how he has killed him before, how Papyrus could be here for revenge or even worse—for Sans.

Would some part of Killer despise Papyrus for being weak enough to forgive him, just like he always did for the human? Would Killer feel the need to kill Papyrus again—believing it’s what it has to do to prevent something even worse (Stage 4), or perhaps out of panic as you mentioned, or even that anger at Papyrus or just the unimaginable confusion and stress and pain that Papyrus’ presence brings (Stage 3).

Would Papyrus’ presence disjoint Killer’s “placement” in time.

Would seeing him make Killer think he’s back in the Underground with Chara, and thus Papyrus is another enemy he has to deal with. Would he be unable to accept that the Papyrus in front of him is his Papyrus, or would he think it’s just one Papyrus out of a gazillion more, and therefore not worth wasting energy on?

I can definitely see Stage 1 being reluctant to actually be around Papyrus. Not because he hates him or is disgusted by his “weakness” and not even because he thinks he has to kill Papyrus—although he’s very aware that some parts of him very likely do think those things—not only because he can’t trust his own mind, his own desires, but also because he just..feels horrible around Papyrus.

He idealized this image of Papyrus and the life he thinks they used to have, but he has changed. He has done a lot of things. He couldn’t even accept a hug from Papyrus for very long without pushing him away in tears. I think he’d definitely benefit from having his brother back in his life, although I doubt it’d be a very frequent thing.

I can see many instances where guilt, fear, and shame just leads to him trying to “hide” from his emotions in Stage 2, which leads to the usual avoidance behaviors. Which may also lead to him subconsciously blaming Papyrus for being able to have any effect on him at all—given how Stage 2 views it when situations and people are able to make him “feel” anything. As if they are attempting to control him.

So many interesting possibilities—especially given how much Papyrus may know. How much knowledge is he working off?

{ @stellocchia }

[lavenderscented-stories]

HIIIII HEEY HEELLOOO!!!!! :D

Subspace angst no comfort, no specific scenario but I want that man to SUFFER.🙏💥

Hello! I hope you are doing well yourself, here is your request.

cw // hurt no comfort, inaccurate portrayals of explosions

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Subspace was smart enough to not bring you anywhere near his line of work as you were much too important to be subjected to such dangerous situations, yet you kept poking and prodding about it everyday.

Much like his skin, his resolve slowly corroded overtime as the comfort he felt in your presence grew. He wanted to share the deepest parts of himself yet he knew the risk would be much too taxing for the reward to be worth it, yet despite that knowledge he took the gamble.

It felt so liberating to talk about it!! From small mundane things like an annoying coworker to extravagant breakthroughs like the crystals he told you everything, and you seemed to be so enthralled it somehow made him fall for you more than he already had.

So when you brought up the idea of actually going to his workplace he was most certainly skeptical, but after mulling it over he gave into the temptation.

He wouldn’t realize that it was his worst mistake yet until it was too late.

Subspace strutted through the halls as he prattled about his reputation in his line of work, while he knew you adored him and everything he did he still wanted to brag about his achievements before getting into the finer details of his work.

“Oh yes- I know my work is absolutely enthralling but make sure not to touch anything!! I wouldn’t want my dearest to accidentally explode a… Darling??” The scientist looked behind him to see you yet was met with nothing, his heart sank in worry as he started backtracking through the halls to find you.

He walked through the halls as he called out your name, going from room to room in an even pace filled with more confusion than anything.

Yet you never answered back.

Slowly the dread started seeping in as he quickened his pace and called for you more urgently. Why hadn’t he asked a Biograft to accompany you!? How were you able to slip away so quietly- when did you leave?? Why didn’t he notice that you left?? He was always so attentive so why had he failed now of all times??

Finally he found you. You had somehow found yourself in one of the rooms that held the more dangerous experiments, yet despite regulations it wasn’t locked off. He sighed in relief and was about to call out for you when he noticed that you were reaching out for something.

His eye widened in panic but before he could warn you about the crystal, it was too late.

A catastrophic explosion rang out as Subspace flew back from the impact of the explosion- his head hitting the wall. After a few seconds of recovery he shakily got up and clumsily ran into the room as panic and adrenaline fueled him.

He hastily looked around at the now messy and ruined room trying to look for you. His eyes finally landed on you as his heart skipped a beat and he looked down at you in horror.

He quickly kneeled down and cradled your body in his arms and tears formed in his eye.

A small crowd formed in front of the room- each gazing upon the scene in realization and horror. Subspace hadn’t cared for his reputation as he whipped his head to face them and screamed.

“SOMEONE- GET A DOCTOR!!” His voice was raw as it cracked with desperation, he gasped as sobs threatened to spill out from his throat and he turned back with his head hung low as he clutched you like a lifeline.

As paramedics came to the scene he reluctantly let go of you before being escorted to treat his own wounds, he prayed for you to be alright yet deep down he knew the revolting truth.

You were already dead.

[kurogxrix]

All Of My Love ( III. )

(Series Masterlist)

Neteyam x Avatar!reader

IN WHICH Neteyam’s mother and clan disapproves of your relationship, because you’re a dreamwalker. When you both advance in your relationship, the clan cannot help but attempt to ruin things for the both of you.

WC: 5.1K

Warnings: ANGST, Betrayal, misunderstandings, Neytiri being Neytiri, feels and heartbreaks. BADLY EDITED

Upon your arrival back at the High Camp, you were first greeted by the fierceness of Tarsem’s tight grip on your shoulder. You had not even had time to properly dismount your ikran, and his force had nearly caused you to stumble in front of everyone watching. Without much complaints from your side, you let the older man drag you to the centre of the chaos that was about to unfold.

You just couldn’t catch a goddamn rest in this clan.

He stopped abruptly before a large body of people and you were glad that his hand had left your sore shoulder. Your eyes flickered towards Zepii that was standing in the embrace of her mother, tear stained cheeks still evident. She gave you an apologetic look at her father’s actions. 

“You demons bring no other than calamity upon this land!” he affirmed with his strong accent and deep voice. Tarsem turned towards the rest of the clan that was encircling the both of you as you stood awkwardly before the many eyes. Neteyam had already arrived shortly after you. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, whether to comfort you after his outburst or to sulk at his turn. Though when he witnessed the sight of you in the midst of attention, he just couldn’t help but stand back and watch. 

Tarsem grabbed your forearm roughly, showing you off to the clan as though they had never seen you before. His grip was tight enough to hurt for a while but nothing that would bruise. You shoulder suffered from the discomfort of the position, but you eased your mind by telling yourself that sooner or later, he would have to let go of you. 

“The dreamwalker has endangered my daughter on this day!” he roared and the mass of omatikaya seemed just as enraged as him. They yelled and thrashed in mass at your mere presence and you could help but wish for the ground to sink in and engulf you with it. 

“She saved me, father! If not, I would've not been standing here before you.” Zepii cried, trying to prove your innocence as her mother held her back. She had always been the clan’s little treasure, a kind mannered girl that never even dared to speak back before. So when she had raised her voice in your honour, Tarsem had truly been shocked. 

Tarsem turned around to face his daughter. For a moment, he had allowed himself to believe that she was solely protecting you for the sake of rebelling, because she had reached that age in her life. Though the genuine concern on her face spoke many words and her father had thought that you might’ve casted some kind of spell on her at that moment. Tarsem had made it clear from the start that she was not allowed to even dare and interact with you, and now it was clear that the both of you were close friends behind her parent’s backs. 

While the people were busy bickering amongst themselves, Neteyam had pushed his way to the front of the circle. His family was close behind and the little Tuk was begging Lo’ak to hop on his shoulders so she could see what was happening. 

“How could Toruk Makto even approve of you living amongst us, playing pretend like you will ever be one of the people.” After hearing the omatikaya mistreat you with their worlds for so long, Tarsem’s words had not affected you as he had hoped for. He wanted for you to be hurt, so damaged that you would leave and never return. He wanted you to realise that your place would never be among them, but with the humans instead. 

Jake had finally managed to push through the packed crowd at his turn, joining his son in his spot. It was suffocating to stand in the middle of the circle, not because of the packed area but because of all of the judgemental eyes. They pierced through your soul with disapproval and blind eyes, unable to see more than an artificial body and a demon. Jake sympathised with you because he had once been in your shoes, and look at where he was now. 

As the Olo’eyktan, it was his duty to settle down this argument and reinstall peace in his village. Neytiri however had seemed to have had other plans as she pushed her way past her husband. Her beaded braids rattled rhymically as she now stood before the other warrior. She moved swiftly towards you, heavy footsteps resonating against the floor as she made her way. Jake was quick to be on her tail, trying to prevent his wife from making the matters worse as she arrived before you. He could only wish that his wife’s hatred would not overtake her judgement towards you. 

“You will leave this village before you are the cause of any more trouble!” she ordered before the clan, authority drowning in her sharp tone. Hell, even Eywa would shudder at the woman’s tone. 

“And stop casting your filthy eyes towards my son, he is to be Olo’eyktan and he needs a real na’vi woman to rule at his side.” she rebuked you and your heart was racing faster than any speed your ikran could ever attain. The vexed look that Neteyam threw at his mother went unnoticed as everyone was too busy observing the dispute. 

“I have done more to your son than just ‘casting my filthy eyes on him’” you mocked her insult, digging yourself your own grave as Neytiri’s eyes widened at your intuition. The whole village gasped at your crude comment and that should’ve been an obvious warning for you to shut up, because which foreigner was stupid enough to go against a clan leader? You were tired of being berated by the woman, and you were enjoying playing around with her nerves for the moment, even if it meant that she would literally kill you afterwards. 

Your eyes moved towards the distressed Neteyam, and there was something in his eyes that told you to just shut the fuck up before you made matters worst. 

Neytiri’s anger only rose at your defiance, she stood right before you, towering over your frame as she stared straight into your soul. She pushed Tarsem’s hand away harshly, having the man nearly doubling over at the woman’s manners. She was quick to be the holder of your shoulder this time, though her grip was not as lenient as Tarsem’s. 

You winced slightly as her nails dug thoroughly into your flesh, nearly enough to draw the slightest amount of blood. She did not want to physically harm you, no that was not of her interest as of now. Her loathe towards you was just taking over her emotions and the fact that you refused to submit to her demand had made everything 10x worse. 

Jake wasn’t very far behind the both of you when he ripped apart his mate from you, slightly embarrassed at the scene that she was causing. Nevertheless he put his shame to the side to protect you from her wrath, because he knew of her abilities. She was Palulukan Makto, someone not to be messed with. Neytiri didn’t even bother to cast her mate a glare as she continued to look down at you.  “He will never be yours because he cannot!” 

“My son cannot be with you because he is already promised to another!” Neytiri hissed at you and you felt the time stop at her confession. You just couldn’t believe it, there’s no way Neteyam would’ve hidden this from you. Right? 

You turned back to look at him in all of your loud-silence and your heart throbbed at the evident guilt in his doleful eyes. His iris glistened with sorrow and his ears fell, grounded to his skull. His eyes quickly moved from your state of realisation and then to the floor, too ashamed to meet your eyes once more.  You felt your heart drop all the way to your toes as you moved to face Zepii, and she too, wore that same guilty look. She stood awkwardly on her feet as you stared her down, and the anxious fiddling of her fingers told you that she felt uneasy. 

Neteyam felt so much resentment towards his mother at the moment. Not because she had announced his betrothal, that was all on him to take the blame for. He should’ve told you from the moment he had begun to be infatuated with you. He should’ve told you when you had both shared a  kiss for the first time near the bioluminescent river flow. Though he did not, because under his tough guy persona, Neteyam was just a coward.

He was scared of so many things. He had fears that he could not even get to express to you. He feared disappointing his father and mother. He feared his family getting hurt. He feared the moment where you would’ve discovered his secret that he just couldn’t get himself to tell you. Now that everything was happening before his own eyes, he felt his fears turn into phobias - engulfing him in a darkness that he could not even escape. 

You felt your eyes fill up with tears, held back by your waterline. Though you refused to shed a tear for the same people that had betrayed you, so you forced yourself to suck them back in. You had cried enough for Neteyam in the past, and you refused to do it anymore. Though only in public, you were sure that you’d empty the contents of your body later on in your solitude. 

You refused to turn this into your own pity party, surely not before the omatikaya clan. Everything was as clear as day. Of course it had been, you had just been blinded by the love you held for the both of them. How could you not have seen it coming? The future Olo’eyktan, golden child of the Sully’s paired with the village’s perfect, favourable daughter of Tarsem. 

Maybe this was just a cruel joke played on you, perhaps Neteyam and Zepii were like all of the others. You grieved on all of the times that Zepii had made you feel like one of them and you told yourself that perhaps her father had put her up to it. She shared every single one of her secrets with you, and so did you. How could she have hidden this from you, even though she knew that it would wreck you over the line. 

You heard Zepii softly call out your name from the sidelines but she was met with the harsh sight of your ignorance. You felt the feeling of sorrow unlatch your heart, before feeling something new wrap around it with ease. You no longer felt as much sadness as you did before, instead you felt loathsome. You didn’t want to feel piqued towards the both of them for being promised, because you knew that it was most likely not their own choices anyways. You felt so conflicted because they had chosen to hide it from you. You wondered why Neteyam had chosen to, because of his forced courtship with the woman, he would’ve soon had to let you go to pursue the other woman. 

The other woman, was that what you had been this whole time? 

“Y/N, I can explain,” Neteyam pleaded but as he tried to move forward to seek you out, he was quickly prevented by the strong arms of his little brother. He looked back to glare at Lo’ak, trying to pull his arm from his brother’s oddly strong grip. 

“What are you doing Skxawng!” Neteyam growled at his younger brother, trying to tower over his frame. Though lo’ak stood up straight, asserting that he feared not his brother. His eyebrows were furrowed and the creases on his forehead were very much visible. Lo’ak had been your friend ever since he had met Spider, and even though he was not as close to you anymore as he once was, he knew what it felt like to be outcasted. 

He felt slightly relieved at first when you had joined the clan, because all judgmental eyes were turned towards you, and for once in his life - lo’ak could breathe again. Though after a while he felt slightly guilty for feeling such a way because he out of everyone would know what it feels like to not fit into other’s expectations. 

Lo’ak watched as his brother ruined his own relationship in excuse of his issues. He ruined what you both had because he was unable to trust you, whatever you did to prove yourself, it was never enough for his unreal expectations. He was afraid to give his full trust because of his fears. And that Lo’ak knew better than anyone else too. Neteyam trusted him very little, even though he loved his brother very much. Neteyam would always prevent Lo’ak from bringing Tuk out with him, or leaving during eclipse - because he failed to trust his brother completely. 

Now, he refused to watch his brother ruin you once more like he had already done. So if watching you walk away was what he had to force his elder brother into, then so he would. Neteyam had stopped resisting long ago, despite him overpowering his brother’s force by much, he refused to escape the grip that lo’ak held on him. 

He watched as you walked away from him once more, pushing your way through the heavy crowd. You look towards the dusty floor, too ashamed to look at anyone else right now. Today was pure humiliation for you, everything that had happened. The hunt accident, Tarsem's and Neytiri’s borderline assault and the public revelation that had been casted upon you. You had no idea of where you were headed, but you knew that anywhere out of the High Camp was for the best. 

-

You didn’t know how you had found yourself here, in the middle of the forest, lost in the midst of the night. The eerie sounds and weird feeling of being watched should have scared you, but you were in no mood to care at the moment. Few moments ago you had gone through both humiliation and heartbreak at the same time, you just couldn’t care much anymore. 

You were sitting on a log of deadwood, a hand supporting your chin as you rested your hand on it. Your other hand was on your lap as you watched the passing yerik carefully travel the forest. You had no weapon with you at the moment because you have left everything behind without looking back twice. Now you just felt utterly stupid, if some creature was to ambush you right now, you’d surely wake up in cold sweat in your human body - back at the lab. That’s where you should’ve been heading to right now, but a little detour around the forest was what you had chosen. 

Lost in your thoughts, you had failed to notice the way a silent na’vi had made her way towards you. Somehow even in your unknown location, she had seemed to have followed you all the way till here, simply on the back of her ikran. You turned your head towards her when you felt her sudden presence, not even jumping when you had noticed the strange third party. 

She was silent, and you appreciated that at the moment. The only sounds between you both were those of the belligerent yerik and the relaxing flowing of some fountain that you assumed was nearby. You looked at her up and down, wondering why she had even bothered to follow you. You had never once even spoken to the girl, she was the one that had challenged you into an ikran race earlier. 

“What do you want?” you tried not to sound too hostile, though her silence only seemed to rile you up. You liked her previous silence, now she was just seeming too mysterious for you liking. 

The girl simply blinked at you as she tilted her head to the side, admiring you as the soft hue of the plants reflected off your dark blue skin. She took in every single freckle that was on your body before looking back into your eyes. You observed carefully as she brought one of her hands between the both of you, pulling her hand into a fist apart from her index finger. She crooked her finger for it to resemble a hook before reaching out a hastily grabbing yours. 

You were taken aback at first from her suffen contact, but you were even more confused when she motioned for you to do the same gesture. So when you did, she hooked both of your fingers together. You looked at your entwined fingers before it hit you. 

The girl was mute. That’s why she had not once spoken to you ever since you had first met her. 

“What does this mean?” you question, even through the communication barrier, you wished to understand her. Eventually you wished to understand why she had followed you here, but you’d take what you’d get for now. You looked back at the girl as she pointed towards her chest, before moving it to yours. Trying to sign to you something.

“Friends? That’s what you’re trying to say, that we’re friends?” You beamed at her and she reciprocated your excitement. You were proud of yourself for understanding her vague explanation. 

“It must be hard that no one understands you,” you said and even though you did not mean to make her sad, her face fell slightly at your comment. You raised your eyebrows slightly, scared to have truly offended her. So you tried to comfort her.  “I know what you feel like.” 

She smiled softly at you before you thought of something once more, you did not know of her name yet. Though the communication barrier between the both of you stood too tall for you to even try and guess her name for now, there were just too many. Na’vi people had no written language, so unless you learnt sign language, you would never get to understand. You knew that you could probably meet her family, and if there was a chance that they too did not suffer from the curse of mutism, then they could tell you. 

Though you feared that her parents disliked you like the rest of the clan, so you stick with trying with her first. 

“Why did you follow me here?” 

“I have something important to tell you. About what happened with the chief's youngest daughter.” she signed to you but to no avail as you failed to understand her way of communicating. You felt as conflicted as the first time you had begun to learn the na’vi language. Though you were just as motivated to learn as when you had learned the native tongue of Pandora. So that night, you had stayed up during all of eclipse to learn her way, suffering through the endless back head slaps each time you would get something wrong. 

-

You had finally parted from Zuko, the mute girl that had become your best friend throughout the last two weeks that you had disappeared from the clan. She had taught you how to sign and she had joined you during dinner time every single day. You have laughed with her, even if no noise was coming from her side, you still enjoyed the fact that she was somewhat laughing. 

You had learnt so much about the girl in such little time. You had learnt that she had little friends because of her disability, that little people saw her. Though you saw her, and that was perhaps why she had chosen to help you. She was so shy that if she even had the ability to speak, she probably would avoid it at any time.  

Your feet hadn’t taken you much further than you had actually wanted them to, mostly because your path had been interrupted by a sudden predator. Just when you thought your day couldn’t go any shittier, you just had to encounter a hungry viperwolf while you were taking in the beauty of the place that surrounded you. 

You watched carefully as the wolf circled you and your tail tensed as you picked up on its soft growl. You knew that if you went back home to the lab tonight, it would probably be a farewell to your avatar body. Though it wouldn’t really matter if you died in your avatar tonight, Norm had told you that the experience wasn’t necessarily pleasant, and you didn’t feel like going through the feeling of death and ‘reincarnation’ of some sorts. 

You slowly backed away as the wolf approached you, silent paws marking the ground at its every move. You were scared, even terrified because as much as you didn’t want to kill the animal, you had no weapon to defend yourself anyways. Your eyes widened as you had noticed it, the slight limp from his left back leg. 

The creature growled everytime that it applied pressure to the sore spot, and soon it had stopped before you. It whined in pleas of help and your heart did a double take at the poor creature’s suffering. You kneaded down before the blue-ish viperwolf and its whole body shone within the iridescent colours of the body of plants surrounding you. 

It lifted its paw before you, using its 6 frontal ones to support its lanky body. You sighed at its problem, just an unlucky piece of wood that had stashed its way between his paw pads. Your hands worked quickly as you removed the splinter, because just about anything could anger a wild creature, even if you had not even caused it’s hurting. 

To your surprise, after your little play pretend of ‘vet and patient’ with the wolf, it gratefully rubbed itself against your bended legs. It reached up to your knees and rubbed its snout happily against your tall knee caps. You chuckled at the creature's relief and it soon set off under the soft twinkles of the many shinning stars. 

The encounter made you forget about the whole altercation of earlier, instead you were more focused on exploring more of Pandora’s beauty once more. Your legs brought you to a nearby lake as you watched flying fish erupt from the busy current. You had always thought that flying fish were only to be seen in saltwater bodies, but this incredible planet had truly proved you wrong. 

You continued to watch the various fish jump out of the water, their luminescent wings glowing of all sorts of colours. Your mouth was wide open as though a child in stages of first discovery but you couldn't care less in the solitude that you now stood in. 

The bushes beside you rustled but you were too enamoured by the fish to be bothered by it, you assumed that it must’ve been the viperwolf of earlier and you deemed him a good friend now. Your yellow eyes glistened as you outstretched one of your arms towards the body of water, submerging one completely under the water. It didn’t take much time for the swarm of fish to reach for your hand, their tiny mouths tickling your hand as they tried to nibble at it. 

The sensation made you giggle, a little too loud at that but the sound didn’t seem to have disturbed much of the animals around you. 

Suddenly, you felt the feeling of a familiar hand upon your shoulder - and the feeling resembled too much of what Tarsem’s harsh held felt like earlier. You quickly turned around, pulling your hand out involuntarily swiftly out of the river and onto your side as you tried to look at what had touched you. 

The fish quickly swam away from fear of your sudden movements and your heart quickly fell down to your toes as you were met nose to nose with the boy that had wounded you. 

“You have a connection with the All-Mother,” he pointed out, his soft yellow eyes staring deep into yours. Though you were not looking back at him as you forced yourself to look away. You forced yourself not to submit to his soft tone and adoring eyes, because you had done it once and looked at where that brought you. It had been 2 weeks since he had last seen you, and somehow Eywa just had to make your paths cross once more. 

You ignored his attempts at talking and failed to notice the hurt look in his eyes as you avoided his words. Though you wouldn’t care, it’s not like he was deserving of your attention after how he had been treating you. You stood up, dusting your loincloth gently as you patted it down for any dust to go. Neteyam was quick to follow after you, already up and standing steady on his strong legs as he followed you around like a lost puppy. 

He watched as your hand gently grazed the vegetation with your large palm. You abruptly came to a stop before something you had never seen before and he watched with amused eyes as you wandered around a stray little lizard. A teasing smirk was displayed on his face as he watched you approach the Kenten. Before you could even reach your hand fully out to it, the small reptile jumped off from the leaf - scaring you as it suddenly escaped.

Neteyam chuckled softly from beside you as he watched you observe with amazement at how the lizard unfurled its fan-like structure. Your pupils dilated and your ears furled out completely as you watched the lizard with an opened-mouth expression. Neteyam just couldn’t keep his laughter in anymore as you suddenly stood up, brushing your hand against every single disguised lizard that you could find. 

They flew off and spun around like fully circular fans, and your amazed expression had not even faltered yet. Your smile was still glued to your face even when the lizards had retracted their fans back onto their frail bodies, and Neteyam just couldn’t take his eyes off how you looked right now. Your bioluminescent freckles just seemed to be extenuating your already blindsiding beauty. 

You picked up the pace again, running barefoot through the unstable forest with the na’vi man right at your trail. Ignoring his presence was hard, you'd admit that much to yourself. It was of your free will that you chose to ignore all of his advances and sort of his whole existence at the moment, but pretending like you did not want to run into his arms at the moment was rather hard. 

How could you not? After all Neteyam was perfect, he was the golden son, he was a noble amongst his clan, he had a secure spot as the future olo’eyktan and his family loved him unconditionally. Neteyam was smart, observant and swift with his movements, he was a valuable warrior. More of all, he was kind and he treated you like no other. He was attractive and you were just as sure that many other women thought of the same thing too. He was a man of manners but his own problems just had to ruin the happiness of his own. 

It wasn’t that hard to keep up to you, given his trained legs and impressive stamina. He could overtake you at any moment but now was not the moment to show off his physical abilities. You both ran through the forest for a couple of minutes, touching everything that you could on the short run. 

The Helicoradians had amazed you like nothing else had on the land, and it had soon become your entertainment for a few solid minutes.

Neteyam watched you carefully as though you were a child, not too fond of the stories he had heard of predators lurking behind those retracting plants. He allowed himself to remove his eyes from your figure as he admired the view. In the corner of his eyes, Neteyam had spotted an odd looking flower. 

A Sun Lily. It was strange because amongst the many other sun lilies that were rooted next to that one flower, they were all closed and rounded in shape. A singular flower stood out, its petals wide open and displaying its bloomed form despite the sun having left hours ago. He crouched next to the flower, using his thumb to rub gently against the soft petals of this weird flower. He picked it carefully, breaking the bond between its roots and its stem as he claimed the flower as his now. 

Neteyam turned back around to you, and to his surprise had you calmed down from your Helicoradian frenzy. You were sitting in the middle of the flower field, passing your hand through the delicate strands of grass below you. The grass felt spiky as it nipped at your skin, but you found it strangely comforting. He chuckled at your now downturned amusement before making his way towards you. 

At the sounds of his footsteps dragging through the mid length grass, you looked up only to be met with the sight of the Sully boy already kneeling before you. You quickly looked down at what was in his hand, and to your surprise he brought his hand up towards your face. He waited before to see if you showed any signs of resistance or displeasure, before bringing the flower’s stem behind your ear and tucking it in safely. 

You couldn’t help it. The many emotions that stirred in your stomach at his romantic action. The feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin made your shiver, for it had been so long that you had last felt it. You cursed yourself for the slight indigo colour that raised upon your cheeks, and quickly looked away from the person that had caused it. 

You didn’t want to feel this way towards him anymore. You wanted to truly hate him to the point where you were physically unable to look at him anymore. Thought love was an incredible thing, and you cursed yourself once more for your ability to feel. He was still looking at you with that fond look on his face, a soft glimmer of hope in his eyes at your passive form. 

You looked at him before remembering the conversation that Zuko and you had had a few weeks ago, and now you felt the urge to tell him. Because if you didn’t do it now for the sake of his little sister, there was no way for you to tell if you would still be communicating with him afterwards. 

For the first time in weeks and this night, Neteyam’s heart raced as you spoke to him. He lingered i’m the feeling of your soft lips moving to accentuate your words and he rejoiced in the sound of your voice. Though, what you had to tell him would soon make those feelings falter. 

“I have something to tell you, Neteyam.” 

-

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[dc-sideblog]

Cassandra swirled a shot of bourbon around in her mouth in the limo ride there, and Damian braced himself. She was going to pretend to have been “pre-gaming,” which meant her infamous Wayne heiress persona would be in full force tonight.

Cassandra, as Father’s only daughter, had certain expectations set upon her by the press. She played into those expectations, which fed them and made them get worse and worse in turn. Cassandra Wayne was spoiled. Cassandra Wayne was an airhead. Cassandra Wayne was bratty.

Cassandra Wayne was the ultimate party girl, famous for being famous. She wore high heels and short dresses. She laughed even when she didn’t get the joke. She was unapologetically rude and Bruce let her get away with everything. She only had to ask, and it was hers.

Part and parcel of being the next Batman. Or so everyone said, anyway. Damian was certain the role could be filled without such a persona. He had never been able to stomach acting like that, himself. It took years for his family to convince him that secret identities mattered at all. It wasn’t like his mother wore a mask.

But things were different for vigilantes. They didn’t just wear masks, the Bats created completely separate identities who were wholly different people. Damian, ten years old and freshly arrived in America, hadn’t understood the purpose of that. Within weeks of his arrival, there were memes about him being the holder of the Wayne family’s single brain cell. How the family had saved up all their intelligence stats to pool them all on “the baby Wayne.”

Curse him for having a decent vocabulary, he supposes.

His siblings did nothing to discourage this. Richard had quit the police force years ago to bounce from job to job at a whim before settling on modeling—mostly because that was Koriand’r’s civilian job as well, and it allowed them to work together. Thomas is following in his footsteps, and even Drake, majority shareholder and board president of Wayne Enterprises, plays an idiot. He openly skateboards in the office. He falls asleep at his desk. He never misses a chance to bring up how he dropped out of high school and was handed his position by his rich father. Everyone at WE hates it.

Which meant Damian was doomed to suffer and cringe while his family acted like fools.

Cassandra tripped and giggled getting out of the limo, swaying as she held onto the door. Cameras flashed. Paparazzi shouted questions. Damian sighed deeply and followed her.

[scuttlingcrab]

The Great Hunt

An Absolute Waste of Time

Summary: Raphael is MAD. So full of rage and malice he is about to burn down the entire Sword Coast before the Mind Flayers even arrive. What could possibly get the Devil's knickers in such a twist? Tav, oh that cheeky little mouse, sold the Orphic Hammer. And for what? Gold, of all things.

In this second instalment, Raphael tears through Baldur's Gate, from the Circus of the Last days to the Blushing Mermaid, trying to locate it.

He has never stooped so low…

Check out PART 01: In Search of a Hammer here!

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

The Devil stood in an alleyway across from the Beehive General Goods, feasting his eyes on the flames as they devoured that worthless shop whole. The building was destroyed faster than thought, leaving nothing left but a lump of charred scraps. That didn’t stop a throng of mortals from gathering; just like maggots infesting a corpse, they quickly exchanged gossip in a hushed buzz, chewing over theories as to what could’ve possibly caused such a tragedy. 

Muffled squeaks came from below Raphael, the noise grating against his ears. He gazed towards the sound, sending a stabbing look at the creature responsible for creating such an annoying racket. A large rat was confined in a jar, frantically clawing its glass prison in an attempt to escape. Raphael’s smile held a touch of mockery as he picked it up, rocking it only just to cause the rat to fall over. 

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, my dear Oliver.” Raphael whispered, bringing the glass closer to his mouth. He hissed at the rat, briefly showcasing his Devilish fangs before concealing them again. “The next time someone calls upon you, asking for a particular item, it would be in your best interest to show them the utmost respect. That is, if you’ll ever be fortunate enough to walk this earth on two legs again.”

The rat’s beady eyes widened as it recoiled, finding no means of escaping Raphael’s scathing glare. Instead the creature screeched in terror and began running around in circles. Pathetic. Raphael halfheartedly discarded the jar, throwing it over his shoulder as he walked deeper into the alley, further removing himself from the growing chaos in the streets. 

As cathartic as it was admiring his work, and torturing that insufferable shop owner, it would get him nowhere. Time waits for no man, or Devil, and Raphael had to act quickly if he was ever going to succeed in his plights to unite the Hells. 

Raphael nearly shattered Oliver Tefoco’s soul into a million pieces, threatening to simmer his corpse in a cauldron and make jam of his remains. He would sooner have fed that to a stray dog than let his tongue touch such filth, but Oliver was none the wiser. All this effort just to extract what was needed from that worthless creature. The whereabouts of the Orphic Hammer. He got his answer, eventually. These maddening mortals would be the death of him, they had no ounce of intellect, no common sense, throwing around an item as valuable as the Hammer like it was yesterday’s trash.  

The Devil stopped abruptly, resting his hand against his hip. His chest tightened, his breathing growing more erratic as his heart began to convulse. No. His fingers burned, the tips pulsing red, on the verge of erupting into Hellfire at any moment.

Raphael needed to restrain his temper. After all, he was saving it for one person in particular, the very mortal who deserved all his wrath, and all the pain and suffering that would soon come raining down upon them. Tav. The sole fool responsible for these recent inconveniences and his current rampage through Baldur’s Gate. If they hadn’t so gleefully sold the Orphic Hammer for gold, Raphael would be sitting comfortably in his best silks, sampling his most decadent wines, and waiting for the final battle to begin. It’s that same little shit who had somehow lodged themselves straight into his head, becoming his very own parasite. Any other unfortunate mortals who just so happened to get caught in his fiery rage were merely collateral. They could all burn, turn to ash, for all he cared. He wouldn’t stop until he had the Hammer and his Crown.

Snap!

A fiery gateway appeared before him and he stomped through towards his next destination: The Circus of the Last Days. 

--

Popper the Kobold was having the very best day of his entire life. Well, maybe that wasn’t true, he’s had plenty of good days, he could count them all on one hand. Wait, no both hands. He was sure he had more good days than this. To be honest, he couldn’t remember much of what happened yesterday. He was too focused on the juicy prize in front of him as he dragged a fresh corpse through the Circus of the Last Days, leaving a trail of blood behind him. 

He just couldn’t believe his luck, like earlier, buying that hammer for practically nothing! His very first hammer too! What a deal. It was the biggest, prettiest hammer he had ever seen, the top reminded him of blood, tasty blood, that’s why he liked it so much. And it sparkled like a diamond. He was really looking forward to smashing things with it, lots of different things, but then he found that corpse. Oh, yes. Nothing was better than a fresh body stuffed with loot. He practically skipped all the way back to the Circus as he hauled it, so chuffed with his little ol’ self for making such a swap. Probably his bestest swap ever! 

Popper swatted away all the nasty looks from the humans as he pushed through the crowd at the Circus’ entrance. They all stared at him like they knew the dead person he was holding. He even made a few of those smaller, weaker humans cry and run away, but he paid them no mind. Maybe they’ve never seen such a delicious snack before. Maybe they were jealous… that’s right, jealous! He better get straight to business then, the sooner he could pull that body apart, the faster he’d be left alone. It would be no good, absolutely no good, if Lucretious noticed he brought another corpse to the Circus. They’d steal it, just like the others! And experiment on it with their dirty magic. This was his corpse! His! He’d show them!

The Kobold finally reached his tent and threw the corpse in the centre of his living space, quickly scurrying to a large crate stuffed in the back, near the privies. He dug through the crate, packed with all his very favourite toys, pulling out random scissors, broken knives, and even a few odd bits of monster parts, things he definitely forgot were in there… until he finally found it: a large rusted cleaver. It was covered in a thick layer of grime. It had seen lots and lots of bodies, yes it had!

“This is most perfect!” Popper explained, to nobody but himself.

Whack, whack, thump, whack. 

He immediately began slicing at the corpse, hacking off limbs in no particular order or with any care, licking his lips as he pulled apart an arm and ripped up a leg. Before long, he got himself into a rhythm, chopping faster as his stomach growled with excitement. Oh, the treatos he would have!

Popper was nearly finished too, until he stopped, unexpectedly distracted. He scrunched his snout, tilting his head up high as he smelled the air around him. He stuck his tongue out, licking the air like it was an icy treat. Something smelled like burning and tasted rotten, like the Hells. 

Screaming came from the crowd near the stage as Popper watched a thick coat of smoke rise into the air like a huge balloon.

“Maybe they’s be adding some new magics? Or… they’s really be loving Dribbles’ new replacement?” Popper whispered, nodding to himself. He was ready to start again, but he noticed something else, something weird coming towards him.

A tall man, dressed real fancy like, definitely not in normal people's clothes, pushed through the other humans; not even saying ‘scuse me as he did so. The ground at his feet turned black as he came towards him. Oh, this man was mad. His face was all scrunched up, his mouth curling in all sorts of directions. Maybe he ate something that didn’t agree with him? But the oddest thing of all, this man was staring directly at Popper! Giving him a creepy look, meaner than anything he’d ever seen, even from Lucretius. 

“You!” The man shouted, his voice shot through the air like an arrow, making Popper drop his cleaver. 

“Y-you come for me? You must be wanting my treatos!” 

The man was very tall, casting a long shadow over Popper. The Kobold nearly fell over looking up at him. 

“Oooh! You is casting some real fancy magics.” Popper pointed at the ground as flames appeared at the man’s feet, like he was standing in the middle of a campfire. “You is the most perfects human for the stage, sirs, has you—“

“Treato…?” The man began, his face getting more twisted, just like the roots of a tree. Actually, the more Popper stared at the man, the more he realised his eyes were the scariest, most terrifying things he had ever seen. There was definitely fire in those black eyes.

“Uh… yes? Duh! Treatos. I have lots. Is that not why you’s are here? Popper only has the bestest treatos, yes sirs. And magics. If you has any—“

“If I cracked open your skull…” the man continued, “what would I find inside? Hmm? Oh, I know. There would be no brain, that’s for certain. If there was anything, I would imagine it to be the size of a grain of rice. Undetectable to even the most skilled physicians.”

“Yous what? Take your fancy smelly clothes and eat shit, you human bastard! I has the biggest brain and I is…”

Popper had a poor temper. He always got in a lot of trouble for snapping at customers if they said certain things to him. Once or twice, well maybe more than that, he bit someone’s hand clean off. And another time, he nibbled at an elf's toes. All because they said his treatos were mouldy! Nobody makes fun of Popper. Their toes didn’t taste any better. He hasn’t done that for a while though. Lucretious would fire him right out. And he needed this job. But boy, did Popper want to bite this man. Real good. 

The man pointed his long fingers at Popper and he noticed the man’s skin was red, just like his, and he had long black fingernails. All of a sudden, Popper wasn’t very hungry anymore. 

“You will cease this stupidity at once.” The man’s voice was low, as if a growl. “I have wasted enough time already. So we will cut to the chase. Heed carefully what I say, you flaming imbecile. And you will answer me plainly. Else I will take you far away from here and slowly pick your worthless body apart, scale by scale, until nothing remains.”

Popper gulped, his tail curling between his legs. The only thing he could do was nod back at this man, who really wasn’t much of a man, the more Popper thought about it. 

“Good.” The man said, placing his hands on his hips. “Where is my hammer? I know you have it. I spent the last hour torturing a man only for him to cry out your name repeatedly.” There was a long pause as Popper stared up at the man, unsure what to say, confused as to why this man would be torturing anyone, let alone looking for a hammer. “Do I need to spell it out? Perhaps I need to use a simpler language for the likes of you.” 

The man leaned down, within inches of Popper’s face.

“Oh… Oh!” Popper raised his finger in the air as he just realised something. “I in fact, once had a hammer. But not for very long, you sees, it just so happens…” 

Popper continued to tell the man how he came to find the hammer, the one matching his exact description, which Popper found very funny. What were the odds! But he stopped laughing when the man glared at him again, showing some sharp teeth when he grinned. Which wasn’t very gentlemanly. 

At that moment, the Kobold wished he still had that hammer. So this man could go away and he could go back to doing other stuff. Like thinking about what he was going to eat for supper. Actually, the more Popper thought about it… that corpse probably wasn’t worth it. This was turning out to be too much trouble. Maybe it wasn’t his lucky day after all. He even found himself wanting to apologise for all the times he ever wished terrible things on Lucretius. 

They weren’t so bad. Or scary.

Not at all. 

--

Raphael despised the Circus of the Last Days. It was a vile place. Absolutely vile, the lot of it. He couldn’t fathom these mortal buffoons parading around and calling themselves enterainters. And the worst part of all? The clowns. They were a mockery of the stage and its true purpose. There was no art in what they claimed to achieve. He hoped a few of them might perish in the day’s ahead. And by no means a quick death either. Something excruciatingly slow and agonising. Like roasting their bodies over a spit of Hellfire, a thousand times over.

These raging thoughts grew bloodier, more gruesome as he moved on, going from one location to the next. He was certain his heart could sink no further, but he was quickly mistaken as his search for the Orphic Hammer proved to be never-ending. Somehow, the damned thing kept evading him, always missing it by mere moments as it was handed on to the next moron who decided to gamble with their fate. Raphael’s anxiety grew worse, wrapping around him like the tendrils of a Mind Flayer; squeezing his limbs, crawling up his neck as he progressively found it harder to breathe, to concentrate. 

Of course Raphael had no issues getting what he wanted from Popper. But that itself came at a cost. Raphael had received too much information, practically hearing that creature’s entire life story. No detail was spared. It would forever be ingrained in Raphael’s memory, the monotony, the stupidity, of it all. 

In the end, Popper had met a band of mercenaries and traded the Hammer for a corpse. A putrid corpse. Raphael eventually tracked them down, the group lurking about some caves near the Lower City like a bunch of thieves. But did they have the Hammer? Of. Course. Not. It couldn’t have been that easy. They had lost it. Naturally. In the sewers, of all places, abandoning it after they came across some wizard. Or so they said. He was very much looking forward to meeting this ‘supposed’ wizard. Before Raphael left the mercenaries to their business, he viciously snapped his fingers, causing all their precious loot to melt away at their fingertips. The ones who had it on hand screamed in agony as the gold, the necklaces, even some of their armour and swords, merged with their flesh. Served them right.

“Bah!” Raphael screamed, his voice echoing off the slimy sewer walls. When the sound faded, the only thing he could hear was the continuous dripping of water as it leaked from the decaying ceilings above him. 

Raphael was lost, wandering the sewer system beneath Baldur’s Gate for what felt like days, years even. His boots were soiled, completely ruined. He was covered in filth up to his knees as he trudged through the cesspool. He would certainly be burning this entire outfit when he was through. No spell or potion would be able to cause these rancid smells to disappear. A shame, really. This was one of his favourite doublets. 

As he manoeuvred his way through the snaking, narrow pipes, he made a mental note to revise Tav’s current contract; adding in an additional clause, or perhaps two, for every minute he spent searching for the Hammer, and for the ruination of his wardrobe. 

The stench of the sewers progressively worsened as Raphal entered a large chamber, the excrement somehow smelling more bitter. He took a step forward and nearly slipped, holding onto the crate next to him to avoid falling face first in the muck. He looked down, only to discover he was stepping in grease. 

“I will wring their sorry, little, pathetic neck!” Raphael cursed, steadying himself as he began to take careful, calculated steps through the rest of the chamber.

“What’s this cousin?” A squeaky voice spoke as a Drow appeared from behind a corner, revealing themselves rather flamboyantly. He was dripping in the same greasy substance that covered the floor, and surrounded by what seemed like an army of grease elementals and mephits. 

The Drow pointed at Raphael, “Ah! It is but another Absolutist, come to see what we–” 

Raphael took one look at the Drow and rolled his eyes. 

Snap!

The entire room instantly turned into an inferno, every creature within the vicinity of the grease was consumed by flames. Their screams lost against the raging fire. Raphael didn’t even know who that Drow was, nor did he care. There was no more time for talking. 

He continued through the extensive network of sewage pipes, navigating every underground hallway, tearing apart every room as he dug through boxes and discarded chests, but he found no Hammer.

He eventually stumbled upon a man standing alone in a hallway. The mortal was dressed in plain armour, his face riddled with all sorts of interesting scars. Perhaps at another time he would've loved to pry open that mortal and find out how he got those marks. There was no one else around him, and he simply stared at Raphael, with absolutely no care in the world. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen an Orphic Hammer floating around this cesspit? Hmm?” Raphael said as he approached the man, standing in front of him. 

The man held Raphael’s gaze, but he did not respond.

Raphael gritted his teeth, his fists trembling as he raised one hand in the air, preparing his thumb and middle finger for this man’s immediate extermination. The Devil was emotionally exhausted; the weight of it all, his infernal obligations, his hopes, his doomed destiny… it threatened his strength, his resolve. If he sat down, slumping against the grimy walls of the sewer, he would fall into a deep sleep from which he might never awaken. Hammer or not, this charade needed to end, this unfortunate act was going on for far too long. Raphael almost wanted to applaud the entire situation, for whoever was behind the scenes orchestrating his madness. His despair. How many more mortals would he need to obliterate before he found the Hammer? If he found it at all? Flames appeared at his fingertips as he held the pose, his anger building. The mysterious man didn’t even blink.

“Raphael?” Spoke a familiar, low voice. “I never thought I’d see you here.”

He twirled around at the mention of his name, only to find Mol staring at him from the opposite end of the hallway. Her eyes were wide, eyebrows raised as she gaped at him in confusion, holding a small dagger in her hands. 

“A most welcoming sight indeed.” Raphael dropped the flames, clapping his hands together with relief as his temper cooled. 

Mol grinned, sheathing her dagger. 

“That one doesn’t talk, by the way. Which is really annoying, if you ask me.” There was a brief pause as Mol eyed Raphael up and down, “Say, what are you even doing down here? I heard a HUGE explosion and came running out of the Guild. Thought it might’ve been, you know… the end of the world.” Mol spoke the last few words in a hushed whisper. 

A tiny sliver of hope fluttered in Raphael’s heart as he looked down at Mol, she could be the one who got Raphael out of this mess. The Tiefling could have the answers, a lead, something! She was resourceful, had her eyes and ears all over the city. There was a reason he had secured a deal with her in the first place. Mol's soul was one thing, but she had potential, promise, he never doubted her for a second.  

“As much as I’d love to catch-up with my budding protégé, I must act swiftly. I have no time for pleasantries, I’m afraid. I do have but a small favour to ask of you, however.”

Mol’s eyes lit up like fireflies. 

“Anything!” 

Raphael leaned towards Mol, his face growing serious.

“My Orphic Hammer is missing. You know the one. I’ve seen you snooping about my archives, flipping audaciously through some restricted documents.” 

Mol’s cheeks turned red and her eyebrows raised, only for a moment, but she did not look away from Raphael. She was guilty, yes, but not ashamed. A valiant trait.

“Nothing escapes me, but if it was anyone else and I’d have incinerated them on the spot. Now, please, do you know where it could be? Have you heard anything that might be useful? Time, my dear Mol, as you know, is of the essence.” 

“Hmm…” Mol bit her lip, her forehead wrinkling as she thought long and hard.  

“No, I’m sorry Raphael.” 

Raphael deflated into himself, burying his face in his hands. The disappointment was crippling. His skin caught fire without warning as he began to change into his cambion form. His doubts, those treacherous thoughts of failure, crashed down on him from every direction. He massaged his temples, attempting to keep himself calm, collected, especially in front of Mol.

“But… and you might find this interesting, actually…” Mol continued and Raphael stopped short, mid transformation. Devilish horns peeked out of his mortal head, a tail sprouting from his back, but the rest of his human proportions were otherwise the same. “I’ve heard there’s rumblings of a big trade happening at the Blushing Mermaid, and I mean BIG. You might want to stop by. That’s the only thing I could think of. I wish–”

Raphael quickly cleared his throat, rectifying his appearance as he slid back into his mortal disguise. He straightened his posture, smoothing his doublet and trying not to grimace at the filth that still clung to it.

He placed his hand on Mol’s shoulder, giving it an appreciative squeeze in good measure.

“There is a reason I decided to be your mentor, Mol. I knew you’d never disappoint.”

Raphael giddily clapped his hands and a gateway appeared behind him, leading directly to the Blushing Mermaid’s interior. 

“Mol, might I suggest you find a suitable safe house for the time being. These rumblings are only going to get worse. You were right in your thinking earlier, the end is near. It would indeed dampen my spirits to find your soul waiting for me upon my return, or to perhaps learn that you’ve been turned into an Illithid. Prepare yourself, and I will meet you when this business is concluded.”

“Yes, boss!” 

Mol gave Raphael an enthusiastic salute, befitting of an experienced general. That gesture alone made him beam with pride. 

This mentorship would prove to be a wise investment indeed. 

--

“Could you believe Fenris…?” Lissa muttered, resting her head on the table. It was sticky, everything was bloody sticky at the Blushing Mermaid. This place was a dump, but it was more affordable than the Elfsong. Especially on her wages. 

The gnome didn’t care though, all she wanted was for the world to stop spinning. She felt like she would retch up yesterday’s, today’s, and tomorrow’s breakfast at any second. She had too much to drink. Again. She should really stop taking up the bottle, she could only handle one drink with her figure, and she had drunk at least four so far today. It was all Vola's fault, that damned half-elf, she was a bad influence. 

“Dragging that… t-thing…” Lissa carried on, suppressing a burp, “What w-waas it again?” 

“Huh?” Vola groaned awake, her head lolling side-to-side as she tried to focus on Lissa. “Oh… you mean… t-that… hammer? It was a hammer, right? F-fucking huuuuuuge for a hammer, ha!”

“The hammer!” Lissa screamed, “y-yessss, the hammer.” 

Lissa and Vola stared at each other, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, slamming their fists on the table like a pair of monkeys.

“Gods, Fenris dragged that hideous thing through the dirt, c-couldn’t even l-lift it. Fell r-right on his f-fat faace.” Lissa struggled to lift her head, hitting it against the back of the booth they shared. She blinked slowly, barely able to keep her eyelids from falling shut. “Ne-never sseeen such a t-tthing in my life.”

Lissa reached too fast for the half-empty glass in front of her and caused it to topple over, the ale cascading in all directions. 

“Oooooops.” Lissa said, still laughing. 

“W-whaat a waste!” Vola proclaimed.  

Lissa turned towards the bar, raising her hand high in the air. She was about to call for the bartender when she noticed a very tall, and extremely handsome man standing at their booth. Oh he was a charming son of a bitch, with a smooth smile, and dark, pretty eyes. His clothes were a bit dirty though, but Lissa had seen worse. 

“Good afternoon, my esteemed drunkards.” The man said, his voice was rich, deep, and dreamy. 

“Would you allow me the pleasure of purchasing a drink for you both?”

“Free b-booze?” Lissa asked.

She looked to Vola for confirmation, but the half-elf was fast asleep, her mouth hanging open. Lissa kicked Vola under the table and she shot awake, her arms flailing in all sorts of directions. 

“Free b-boooooze.” Lissa whispered, tilting her head toward the man at the head of the booth.

“On me.” The man said with a wink. He smiled broadly, showcasing such white, beautiful teeth. 

The man did some sort of magic trick, conjuring sparks by snapping his fingers, or clapping his hands… Whichever it was, he caused two massive glasses of ale to appear on the table.

“W-wooooow.” Lissa and Vola muttered in unison. 

The man slid into the booth, edging closer to Lissa. She sniffed the air, smelling all sorts of lovely, new things. Cherries, and a yummy flowery smell. She ignored the sudden stench of the sewers though, convinced it was from the Blushing Mermaid.

Oh she didn’t want this man to ever leave. 

“I’m very curious about this hammer you’ve been discussing.” The man said, his eyes locking with Lissa’s. “Please, tell me all about it…”

--

The Devil watched over a mortal man as he slept soundlessly in a small bed, his protruding belly slowly rising with each staggered breath. His snores rattled the very walls of Flaygo’s Flophouse, but Raphael paid no attention to the irksome noise around him. His eyes were focused on the Orphic Hammer the man clung to in his slumber, holding it tightly like he was but a babe in a crib.

The sun had already begun its descent, a purple glow leaking in from the open window. He could see the entranceway of Sharess’ Caress from his vantage point in the cramped room; the brothel was as busy as ever, despite him setting the Devil’s Den ablaze mere hours ago. Raphael let out a long, exasperated sigh at that thought alone. An entire day gone to waste, when the Hammer was under his nose this entire time. Fate was cruel, the weaves unpredictable, no matter how hard he tried to control them. 

Raphael couldn’t pull his eyes away from the Hammer, he dared not to. It could be an illusion for all he knew, vanish the moment he reached for it. 

The man turned over in the bed, taking the Orphic Hammer with him as he shifted, groaning in his sleep. 

“Oh, I do hope you’re having a pleasant dream.” Raphael whispered, taking a step closer. 

Raphael was within inches of the man now, so close he could smell the booze reeking from his breath. As he extended his hand towards the Hammer he paused, beginning to chuckle. It started slowly, but grew more ferocious as every second passed, until he was nearly on his knees, roaring with laughter. Fire spurted from Raphael’s mouth like a forge as he wheezed, unable to control his breath, to contain himself any longer. Tears formed out of the corner of his eyes, flooding down his cheeks. They evaporated as soon as they met his scorching skin. Despite Raphael’s raucousness, the man remained undisturbed. 

The Devil had seen it all, tortured just about every miserable soul from the Outer Plane to the Elemental, but he never thought he’d see, let alone experience, anything like this. A lowly creature, clutching on to the future of mortal-kind. A tale worthy of the bards. 

Suddenly, the earth shuddered violently, as if waking up from its own slumber. Paintings flew off the walls, bookshelves toppled over, and the room vibrated continuously as the quake worsened. Mortals screamed from the streets below as some of the buildings in Wyrm's Crossing began to topple from the earth’s constant movements.

Raphael swiftly collected himself, shaking away any remaining bouts of laughter. He clapped his hands to rid his outfit of any evidence from the day's plights. When he was satisfied with his appearance, and found no speck of dirt or grime left, he snapped his fingers, and the Hammer flew into his hands. He squeezed its hilt until his knuckles turned white, feeling the weight of the Hammer in his hands. 

Showtime. 

A reckoning was coming and not the one Tav might’ve expected.

To be continued…

[b0nten]

SI VIS AMARI, AMA

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ a simple night terror can shed light on one’s deepest fears. manjiro is no exception.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ mental breakdown, mentions of death, dead!reader, mentally unstable mikey. description of how reader died, description of death scar. i might have gotten a bit rusty so sorry for that. also not proofread. thank you @ask-the-insect-hashira for requesting, i hope it is to your liking <3

mikey’s days in manila are all the same. eat, sleep, stand around, repeat. every day is dull, filled with nothing but regret and the wait for takemichi to finally come; and today is no different. the sun shines brightly throughout the city, and the heat and his dreams are unbearable, as always. not even his spot in the deepest nook of the abandoned building brings comfort upon the ex-gang leader anymore.

his life is filled with misery, every day still waiting for death to knock on one of the concrete walls and take him to wherever — hell, the afterlife, his second life that’d probably end up a complete misery again — take him anywhere but leave him there, drowning in the darkness.

drowning in the burden he had brought upon himself. selfish to think in such way, he repeats to himself constantly,until his mind is full of more hatred and his heart is on the brink of failure thanks to the anguish, but even the great manjiro sano is allowed to suffer from time to time.

on days so slow he can count the people he’s hurt on his fingers for hours unending, there is one singular thing that makes him want to crawl out of his skin: you. the one the counting always seems to end with. it has always been this way. you were the last counted back in the day, during meetings, the last he had killed and the last he always thought about, even now, in the middle of the hot sun, leaned against a wall, asphyxiated in the ardor of regret.

his head starts spinning and maybe it’s because of the heat or because of how much he’s thought about you these past few days, but it’s excruciating. he loved you, he still does, he loves you from wherever you are but not so hard he could have let you go. he didn’t love you enough to not decapitate you or steal your necklace when he ran out of your apartment, he didn’t love you enough to let you start anew in the same life as him.

he spins the silver around in his hand. “i did love you, y/n.” he whispers, “i still do. i just did what i had to do. you know, d-duty comes first.”

on the last part, he chokes. he feels strange. he feels an emotion he hasn’t felt since that day.

“you wouldn’t be able to forgive me,” he starts again, “i took everything from you. you loved life, and you would have found a way to love it again, even after attending so many funerals, after so much pain, b-but..” the stutter comes and goes, just like his lucidity, “not without me, goddamn it!”

his head collapses in his palms and black strands tangle in his fingers, “but even with you dead, you’re all i think about!” his hiccups get messier and messier and his voice cracks with the deterioration of his conscience, “i see your eyes every. single. day. they haunt me, and i can’t get them to stop staring at me. i see them so much it makes me sick, i see them—”

“you do?”

a voice as gentle as the summer breeze has his heart melting with fear as a hand that he knows by heart lifts his chin up to look at her face.

he freezes, with every single fiber of his body coming undone in some sort of raw disbelief. she’s there, she’s in front of him. you’re there. you’re in front of him.

your hair shines bright and your eyes are the same perfect, glassy beads that he sees in his torment. you’re paler, but you’re beautiful. you’re as young as you were two summers ago, when you met and manjiro sano is declared to have officially lost his mind when he reaches for your cheek. he caresses it, he feels it, he cherishes it like on that last day. it’s cold, it’s almost ashy, it’s almost an illusion. but it’s there and it brings him the illusion of comfort he didn’t think he was worthy of anymore.

and in fear of losing all that he had left of you until now, he clutches the necklace even harder and pours his heart out in front of the angel that he had made with his own two hands. he spills over his darkest nightmares and sweetest dreams like you’re gonna make them disappear or materialize them right then and there, he swears on his life, on jesus christ, on every kami he can think of, he confesses his love like when you got hurt in a fight the first time, he lets himself shout for the first time in a while.

he’s irrational, pupils dilated and fixed on the otherworldly being that crouches in front of him silently, with the same soft smile that made his heart pound like crazy. he lets the same blown pupils travel across your body, how he’s missed seeing you whole, and when he gets from your feet to your neck, his entire being feels like it has erased itself out of existence.

a clean, reddish-blue scar parts your neck in half, and, without a doubt, he knows what it is. his fingers trace across it as he musters up the courage to say something.

“i-i did that?” he wants to punch himself for asking, because he knows the answer, and he repeats it in his head.

“yes, yes you did.” your eyelashes flutter softly when you respond and your muted lips twitch into a creepily comforting smile.

“i-i’m sorry, y/n. i really am. you know that, right? please tell me you know. please, don’t worry about me not being sorry for what i’ve done. i am. i am, every day of this miserable life that i’ve been living without you by my side, y/n.” he crashes into your chest and you greet him with open arms.

it’s almost like a ritual: he weeps, he swears, he promises, and you sit there tight, with the same smile on your face as your soft palms press him into your embrace.

“you wanted love, mikey.” you finally say, first thing that’s finally not an answer to anything. “i wanted to live, but you also wanted love.” his cries are harder and the tears stain trough your shirt into your jaded heart, “it doesn’t mean it’s okay, it’s not. but in order to be loved, you had to love. and you loved me in life and through death, and after.” you cup his face and look him in the eyes.

“i don’t hate you. i hate the way you had to love me in the end.”

although somewhat harsh, your words mirror the truth of mikey’s degeneration.

“i would’ve wanted you to not be selfish, and me to not be selfless, because my heart would have always longed for yours anyway.” you say again, and he looks up, “but i forgive you, because i still love you like the kids we still are.”

he can’t be sadder and happier at the same time. he cups your face, tears raining down his face.

“we’ll meet again, won’t we?” he asks, with the hope of a hopeless kid he’s had running through his blood since forever.

another reassuring smile and a sweet forehead kiss for your one and only calm him down.

“of course we will.”

and before he can say anything else you disappear in front of him and so does the last bit of sanity he had left.

his mind goes blank and his vision fuzzy and he feels like he can’t breathe anymore. his chest tightens and he feels every second passing by and him losing his mind. the world starts spinning with him and he feels a knot build up in his stomach

then, he wakes up. he is sweaty, and a bit dizzy. the bedsheets and his satin pillowcase are soaked. he looks around the room and finds what — who — he was looking for.

you’re there. you’re sleeping peacefully, tangled in the white linen. in a moment of confusion, he brushes your hair to the side. he sees your perfectly fine neck and his erratic heartbeat cools down.

now, he can sleep peacefully again.

[heavensmockery]

"Father, bless me for that I will sin"

Summary: Father Jim deFroque gets possesed by a familiar face AN: Happy Jesus he knows me anniversairy y´all have a bit of Jim suffering in honor of that. Let me know if you want part 2. Also the art is a nod to a very beloved horror game. Guess which one in the comments!! TW: Possesion , cussing , discussion of religion , mild gore , pain Words: 1,3k

Father Jim deFroque. Some call him the good willing father of the Jesus talks, some know him from his masses, some know him from his not so holy night life. Somewhat he had the trace of a glorious Popstar-Life, but behind this naïve look and the preaching of comfortable lies with the subtle manipulation of giving some man all your money to be greeted into heaven with open arms. Not to speak that Jum had a lot of interesting callers , especially around easter. Some days he wondered if it wasn’t the infamous ministry who chased these kinds of calls upon his neck to annoy him. But , as a priest must, he kept his patience all the way, And it wasn’t only his good willing patience that helped him stay calm during the arguments on the Jesus talks, but also the leftovers from his wild nights . Some wonder if he had a cold that he never gets rid off as they get to hear the sniffing from time to time on calls

Yet , one call was interesting. It came , late at night while he was in the bathroom , taking care of his hair. He forgot to leave the light on in his bedroom , which made the call coming from it seem like the scene right before a jumpscare in a horror movie. The only source of light was the moon from outside, shimmering lightly through the stained glass. Jim picked up, who would he be if not a priest always available for his devoted followers?He was just surprised the call did go to his mobile phone rather than the one he was given by the church for the jesus talks. He picked up.

“Good evening ,May god bless your soul. you are speaking to Father Jim deFroque. How may I help you?” he answered in his usual demeanor. There was no answer. Except some weird, breathing noises. Jim thought it was one of these interesting calls again and was about to hang up when suddenly , a rather familiar voice spoke . “Another day of serving the lord?” . What a weird.. teasy sounding question. Jim firstly had to think for a moment. “Sir, is this a serious question or do you just want to …” Jim started with a confused tone as the voice interrupted him “..No..no.. genuine question.” . “Well , yes, obviously. How shall I not fulfill my duty of serving our shepherd” Jim responded in his usual demeanor. “How are you so sure that he is actually real? Has he done something to prove his existence to you?” Yes, it was done of those callers again. Jim took a deep sigh, deciding if he should just shit on the rules and tell the caller to fuck off, or if he should grab into his basket of “evidence” he keeps repeating like a broken record.

He decided for option two, he does not need any troubles right now , as he did not wish to ruin his image just because it was 2 am and he was about to go to bed since he didn’t feel like clubbing today. “Well you see, I consider my duty and life to be a blessing of our lord and saviour. He has led me to my mission to bring the message of the holy spirit to the masses and redirect the people back to the right path” . There was silence , then a chuckling.. “redirect them to the right path..sure” the voice replies snarky “do you ask them if they wish to? Do they come to you even?” Jim felt himself getting tired of this pointless conversation, but also weirdly anxious. “Sir, I only do what I must, not what I decide is the solution” . The voice snickered at that. “Im sure they’ll appreciate you” . That was when the call ended. Leaving Jim with the phone in his hand, starring at the screen of the suppressed number. Jim found this weird, but nothing shocking. And decided to go to bed, but he still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was out to get him.

Jim didn’t have the most pleasant dream either, a rather short figure appearing in his dream only to laugh at him. As he stepped closer to the figure he got to see their face, it was familiar face paint what burned itself into his memory. The unmatched eyes, it was like he has seen them before. Why was this haunting him?  But that wasn’t the worst of it all. As the figure stepped closer, He was revealing his horns, and the ground beneath Jim was burning. They just watched him on fire, waving even a little with a smile he didn’t know was meant to be a greeting or a farewell. The eyes and the face paint stayed in his memory even as he awoke. It was still dark. He checked his watch , spotting it was only five am

The light in the bathroom was still on. Jim couldn’t recall if he switched it off before bed or not so he forced himself up to turn it off. Yet his eyes were greeted with a different scenery as he wished to. There was red paint on his mirror, spelling the word Sinner. Now that was the final straw to get the faithful man out of his calm demeanor. He inspected the paint, but the paint turned it out to be blood.

Firstly Jim went to check his locks and windows, in case someone wanted to pull a prank on him. But all locked and closed. Which was weird. To say the least. “Holy Father have mercy on my soul…” Jim whispered under his breath. And the plead was replies with a chuckling. The same as on the call. Jim shook his head, refusing to let his mind trick him. He started to consider that these were the after effects of his last trip. As he stood in front of the mirror with disbelief the light switched off.

Jim unintentionally screamed. Not sure if it was the shock  or the fact that everything what was going on seemed out of a horror movie. He prayed quietl under his breath, pinched himself even to wake himself up from this nightmare. Pleading to whoever was listening to stop his madness. “No, No” it sounded behind him. Jim gulped  and turned around to the noise,  (He felt incredibly stupid for acting like a horror movie protagonist in this situation) and spotted the man from his dreams sit there. Didn’t they say he was dead? Decaptivated even? And of course he had horns. He smirked at Jim. “So ..Are you still on the right path?, Father?" He asked while looking absent minded towards the wall . “What a stupid question, of course I am. What do you want, my soul? “ Jim yelled hysterically , losing his demeanor. Why was he tormenting him like that?

The man stood up. He didnt answer his question but was smirking even brighter. “Lets see how he can save you now from that” he replied, with that he revealed his horns and wings. He snapped his finger and a burning pain claimed Jim´s chest. The father screamed for mercy. To anyone that would listen to help him. “Burn in hell you--…” Jim went quiet. He felt something shift, enter his mind and spread inside him like poison , no prayers would save him now. And he was simply not qualified for an exorcism on himself and way too panicked to continue. Jim felt his faith fade, along with his mind.  No matter how hard he tried to stay and not let the evil take him over, it was too late for salvation. The begs of mercy faded slowly. His tortured expression turned into one of satisfaction

Father Jim was no more, his smile was not his own, his eyes always overshadowed with the omnipresent glow of his red eyes. Jim slowly got up, groaning from his floor. Facing his new form in the mirror. A bright smile painted his face and he chuckled. A weird dark red substance trickled from his mouth and eyes , and his iris were black along.

And with that the beloved father was gone , buried deep beneath the shadows of the possesion , locked in the dark of his mind.

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Hi! 💕

Can i request a Maedhros x female elf reader angst fic?

Thank you 💗

Ambar - Maedhros x reader

Word count: 1.5K

Tags: Angst, character death.

Summary: Maitimo's fate catches up to him at last, and there is nothing left to be done.

Author's note: Ambar (Quenya), meaning fate or doom. I had goosebumps writing this. Enjoy!🥀

-

"Where is he?" You were out of breath, almost every ounce of strength left inside you had been spent, desperately searching for him. Maglor’s eyes were wide, gleaming with fear. You did not miss his hand, burned and blistered. 

So they had found them. 

"Where is he, Makalaurë?" Your gaze shifted behind the singer’s figure and immediately, your heart sank. There he stood. Alone, dangerously close to the edge. 

"Maitimo!" You yelled. Anyone would have felt relieved to be reunited with their lover, but something inside of you told you this was no time to feel relief, or any positive emotion, in fact. Something horrible was upon you all, and you knew it. You felt it in your spirit which was intertwined with his — a terrifying premonition was beginning to settle into your bones. 

His face was wet with tears, twisted into an agonizing expression. Red hair sticking to his sweaty face, the fire in his remorseful eyes seemed to be stronger than ever, or maybe it was just the crimson sparks flying all around you that made it seem that way. There was a terrible turmoil raging in him. He was a vision in flames, beautiful, even in his demise. It tore your heart in the most woeful of ways when you realized what was about to happen. Panic was beginning to gnaw at you, growing worse by the second. You felt your knees grow weak. It could not end like this. 

His brows were furrowed, scars on his once gentle features enlightened by the flames below. He winced at his blistered hand growing redder until the smell of burning flesh was strong in the air. But he didn’t let go. He clutched the jewel, bringing it to his chest with a pained expression. You could tell he was trying his hardest to stand straight — in a way, he was fighting for what was left of his dignity to be able to take a last stand before you — however, the pain made him hunch over the closer he brought the Silmaril to his heart, surrendering to his father’s forsaken oath. He was crumbling. Everything he had lived, fostered and practiced was falling to pieces before you. 

"Mai," you begged "Maitimo, my love, please." Your voice was distorted, strained from the cries you were fighting to be able to speak to him. 

The memory of his happy face flashed before your eyes — skin unharmed and clear, blue eyes kind, merciful and full of love. Of hope. He used to be hopeful, determined to make things right, to keep the memory of his father alive. You found yourself searching for that spark, only to be met with nothing. It frightened you how dull his eyes were. How dejected and empty they seemed. Unrecognizable, even. How the fire in his spirit seemed to be going out. This was it. You locked in a stare with him, too stunned to say anything else, for the tears and his state of being had robbed you of your capacity to form a coherent sentence. He seemed so far away. So helpless. You tried taking a step towards him, beckoning him to come closer, only to be met with more tears streaming down his dirty skin, carving rivers into the grime that had accumulated on his hollow cheeks. He shook his head. 

No.

"I’m sorry. I love you. Please, close your eyes."

Those were last words he uttered before he released a breath he had seemed to be holding forever.  Only this time, something new was shining in his eyes — acceptance. There appeared to be one sole way to rid himself of this pain and you both knew it. This burden had accompanied him for what seemed like an eternity, only for all of you to realize it had been in vain. 

For the only remaining testimony of his father’s existence and brilliance to reject him. His brothers. Each of their deaths, their suffering. Everything they had done, for nothing. Maitimo turned towards the edge of the chasm, not looking back. 

No. 

The last glimpse you caught of your One were his tangled copper locks blowing in the wind, for a protective hand was cast over your glossy eyes from behind, just before you could witness the inevitable. 

No, Eru.

Maglor’s arms around your waist were the only thing holding you back from jumping after him. Your wails ripped through the thick air so loudly, any living creature in the farthest of realms would have shuddered at the sheer terror they carried. You screamed and cried like never before, because now, you felt it. The scorching pain shot through you relentlessly, as though you were the one going up in flames. 

He was burning. 

He was burning and there was nothing you could do about it. 

It felt like your heart was being torn out of your chest. Like Morgoth himself was opening your ribcage to rip it out as a souvenir of his malicious deeds, delighting in your torment. You were pulled against Maglor, locked in place no matter how hard you tried to escape. All you could see were flames. The scenery in front of you was eerily contorted and flimmering, partly because of your tears, partly because of the searing heat that was all around you. You found yourself reaching out towards the edge, praying he would float back up into your arms. It felt as though you were no longer in your own body. Your arms suddenly seemed much longer and Maitimo only seemed to stray further away. You felt your connection to his spirit weaken at an alarming rate. 

His fëa was vanishing. 

The security you had fostered for the last century was slipping from your fingers all at once. Your companionship and his vow to always stay by your side were now becoming nothing but a broken promise, a soon to be memory. All you could do was squirm in his brother’s iron arms, limbs flailing around aimlessly. 

You didn’t feel Maglor’s grip on you. You didn’t feel him pulling you close. You didn’t feel your throat growing hoarse from all the screaming, wailing, crying — hopelessly trying to hold on to the last whiff of Maitimo’s spirit. Only when he forcefully turned you away from the abyss to face him did it break over you. And when it did, you found yourself clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his face. Anything to keep you here, to keep you grounded. His arms enveloped your shaking form so very tightly as to remind you that he was here with you. That he was in just as much pain. That he had lost Maitimo in the same way that you had. 

But you needed him. Eru, you needed him here with you. 

Craning your sore neck towards the sky, you let out a cry, channeling all of your hurt and the last ounce of your strength into a plea: 

"Have you no mercy? After everything he has suffered! Eru, if you hear me, give me a sign! Any.. Anything," you finally sank to your knees, falling into the last remaining prince’s frame — knowing there would be no sign coming your way. Not after everything they had done. 

"Please…Bring him back.." Your breaths were shallow, the burning sensation of your One’s cruel fate still vividly inside of you, stripping you of any power you had left. 

The last fragment of Maitimo’s fëa had thus faded from within you. He was removed from your soul for all of eternity. There was no chance of reuniting, for Mandos would not grant it. He was gone. Your One was gone.

And only now did his voice echo inside your head, warning you about how you were risking everything, throwing away any prospects of a happy, promising life if you decided to court him. Warning you about the Oath. How it would loom over you until the end of time, reminding you to let go of any hopes of settling. You had been naive, thinking it wouldn’t catch up to you eventually. Maitimo’s love and partnership had not only clouded your mind but also encouraged you to put off the thought process about your life post-quest. Just what were you to do? He had told you from the very beginning that there would be no chance of a happy ending for you. How could you ever believe your love would shield him from this burden, keep him safe and sound in your embrace and forget about his duty. About his brothers and their unfulfilled lives. Lives that had been stolen and fates that had been cruelly sealed the day they had made this horrible vow. 

Maitimo had never been yours, no matter how many times he had declared it to you. No matter how deeply he had loved and cherished you, held you close to his heart. You had simply forgotten because there was nothing you would ever want more than him. There was nothing your soul burned for more. Nobody. And only now that he had been taken from you did it catch up to you at last. 

He was his father’s son, after all.