#for the love of all that is good and holy in this world

[vampiredaisiesss]

touch me — d.w. x reader

synopsis - you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. the lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter. you find him all the more beautiful like this.

trigger warning - older dean winchester (early 40s) with younger reader (early 20s)

He thinks about time, about how it marks you, about how each silver strand falling to the floor is another reminder of all the years between the two of you.

The harsh glare of the bathroom light is unforgiving, casting every line on his face into sharp focus. Dean watches your reflection in the mirror. The gentle snip-snip echoes off the tile walls as you work the scissor over his hair, your lip caught between your teeth.

Steam still clings to the bathroom mirror from your shower, making the edges of your reflection soft, dream-like. Your tank top's damp where his hair falls against it, and there's something so domestic about this moment it makes his chest ache.

You hum "Hey Jude" while you work, because of course you know that's what Mary sang when she cut his hair. Of course you know that's what he sometimes hummed in his sleep whenever he'd have a nightmare.

"You're thinking too loud, again," you murmur, running your fingers through the short hairs at his nape.

"I've got shirts older than you," he says finally, the words tasting bitter on tongue.

You laugh out loud, and it sounds like every good thing he probably doesn't deserve. "And they're all flannel, and they all smell like gunpowder and cheap liquor that you probably spilled on them two decades ago, but never got dry-cleaned, and I love them." Your smile turns soft at the edges. "Just like I love the man wearing them."

"Kid—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Don't 'kid' me, Dean Winchester. Not when you're balls deep inside me every night." You pause for just enough time to fix him a determined stare, and he offers you a small smile.

"You think I don't know who I'm choosing? You think I haven't counted every scar, every gray hair, every year you spent saving the world before I was old enough to know it needed saving?"

The scissor is forgotten on the countertop as you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. Your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. The lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter.

You find him all the more beautiful like this.

Dean's throat tightens. You're stripping him bare with your touch. "Exactly. You could have anyone. Someone who—"

He swallows hard, but he's smiling now. His chest feels heavier with something else. "When you say it like that, sounds like I should be in a museum, not your bed."

"Someone who what? Someone who hasn't survived forty years in hell? Someone who doesn't wake up reaching for a weapon? Someone who doesn't understand why I keep rock salt by the bed and devil's traps under the rugs?" You shake her head. "I don't want easy, Dean. I want you."

"There," you say finally, brushing loose hair from his neck. Your lips find that sensitive spot behind his ear, and he can feel you smile against his skin.

"Please," You chuckle. Your hands slide back into his hair, resuming cutting. "Museums are for looking, not touching. "And I'm very..." snip "...very..." snip "...fond of touching you."

"Touch me," he says, and it comes out like a prayer he never learned properly – rough and wanting and holy all at once. It curls around your heart in the shape of Dean's hand.

He reaches up, catches your hand before you can move away.

You touch him like you're reading braille, like every freckle on his body has a story to tell. Your lips trace constellations across the map of blue veins over his body. And when you finally put your lips on the scar along the side of his hip — the first ever souvenir he collected on his skin — you feel the smallest tremor in his breath. It’s so faint, but unmistakable, and for a moment, you could almost swear you made Dean Winchester mewl.

And you do.

[daphwritesworld]

#6 L. Williamson — Partition. (part of the Be My Baby series AU) SNEAK PEAK

Leah Williamson x Athletic Trainer!Reader

!! MINORS DNI 18+ !!

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Your whole closet is thrown around your room at this point. Pants, skirts, blouses, and dresses scatter the scene. You’ve been running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off, makeup finally done, outfit on, hair looking semi-okay, but shoes is your biggest problem right now. Nothing looks right and the walls are starting to close in. Why is this so difficult, why is your heart pounding so hard in your chest, and holy fuck did you just hear the doorbell? You whip your head towards your clock— 8:15p.m. She’s 15 minutes late and you’re still not ready? Lord help you.

“JUST A MINUTE!” You shout out towards the door.

You throw on the matching shoe to the single on your left foot, it’ll have to do. The mirror in the wall beside your front door becomes your best friend for a second as you check your appearance one last time, fixing any details that need a little ironing out. You grab the door knob, taking a deep breath as you close your eyes for a second. You gather yourself before opening the door, being met face-to-face with sex on legs.

There Leah stands, black suit adorning her figure. Her under shirt is unbuttoned a bit, showing off her collarbones and down towards her chest a bit, a gold chain hanging down from her neck. Her hair looks curled to perfection, framing her face just right as it shows off her little hoop earrings. The rings sitting on her fingers catch your attention last, drawing your gaze as you get lost in studying them.

“My eyes are up here, darling,” it’s let out with that signature Williamson sass.

Your eyes snap up, your lips parting open as you stare at her face— fully caught in mother fucking 4k.

“Oh s-sorry! You just look very, very good,” your cheeks start dusting a light pink color as you avert your gaze from hers.

She chuckles lightly, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. her fingers dip down to lift your chin up, making your eyes meet hers once again. It doesn’t last long though, because yours are darting back down as her tongue goes to lick at her lips. A small smile gracing them as she watches you fawn over her.

“Not as stunning as you look. This dress is absolutely perfect, made just for you, darling,” Her eyes rack up and down your body as she says it.

You’re rendered speechless at her comment, staring at her face as she drinks in your appearance.

“You ready, my love?” It’s said so delicately. Like flowers floating out her mouth as you get lost in the soft melody of her petals. Everything about her is intoxicating, and you’re falling deeper into it the longer she’s near.

“Yeah,” you say it breathlessly. Like your floating away on cloud 9 called Leah Williamson. She got an arm around your waist as she leads you down your apartment elevator. Your heart’s pounding in your ears now. The rhythmic thump, thump, thumping moving downwards as you spiral from the way her rings are freezing cold— burning through the thin mineral of your dress and igniting your skin underneath.

Your brain finally catches up, not even registering you��d left the building until Leah’s guiding you into the back of the all white limousine. A stark contrast to her dark attire for the night. You go to sit on the bench seat, but right as your butt goes to touch it you’re being yanked to the side. A yelp leaves you as you feel hands around your hips, man handling you into her lap as you face her.

“Leah! T-The driver!” Its whisper-shouted out in shock.

“It’s fine— look. No one’s going to bother us,” it’s said against your neck. Her lips brushing against the skin as her breath lights goosebumps up in its wake.

You turn your head to see the partition rolled up. A barrier separating you both from the rest of the world now. You turn your head back to her and she’s impossibly close. Your noses are touching and her hands start sliding up your back as she tugs you closer.

“Can I kiss you, darling?”

Your head starts shaking before your brain catches up, a light laugh sounding out inside the private space.

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Y-Yes!”

Then before you know it her lips are pressing against yours. It’s electric and sends a tingling between your legs. Her hands pull you down onto her lap, a moan breaking out between your lip lock. Your clits right against her belt buckle, sending a cold zap through your body as you grind lightly into the pleasure.

Her hands start sliding your dress up to your hips. The cold air hits you like a ton of bricks, a shiver rocking through you. You hear Leah let out a groan before one of her hands comes down onto your ass.

“No panties, baby? You knew we’d end up like this, huh?”

“I-I just didn’t want pantyl-lines!” you get out between moans.

Her lips consume yours ones again as you feel the vibrations from her laugh. One of her hands runs down from your ass to your pussy. Her fingers rubbing up and down your slit as you drench her two digits teasing you. They start circling around your opening as she talks.

“Sure, darling. You keep telling yourself that, but we both know you always end up like this with me around,” and then she’s slipping those two fingers inside of you.

A wicked smirk spreads across her face as you start riding her fingers in time with her thrusts. Her other hand comes up to pull your boobs out, her fingers pinching at your nipples as you whine out into the back of the limo.

She loves getting you like this, so wrecked for her. You’re usually so prime and proper, but something inside of Leah craves to break that facade. Always caring yourself with a more innocent aura compared to her own. She loves breaking that in private— for her eyes only…except for when she leaves behind some marks. Oops.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ㅤ⿻ ･ HOLY IS THE LOVE THAT SAVED ME ( part iv. )

HOW DELICATE LOVE IS , THIS EBB & FLOW OF SERENITY.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ kazuha ･ zhongli ･ itto. genshin impact. title cr : juniper vale. repost. ଓ.°・・・part i. part ii. part iii.

❀ ��. ༄ kazuha

& just as the sea intertwines itself into the earth's existence, so do the storms that weave themselves into the crevices of a vagabond's heart. kazuha clings to the idea of peace and a love reborn and carried, knows this to be his truth and idea of survival in a world where chaos and tranquility go hand in hand. there is always an ache, a hiraeth ; how it flows just as the wind does, coming and going, embraced and felt nonetheless.

under the skies there is a kindness that is meant to be felt and shared ; from the heavens to the earth, to the flux and flow of the calm waves, and to the hilt of his sword, he knows that there is love in the fight for the greater good. he shares this love with you, understands it wholeheartedly, and how fortunate he is to experience such a beautiful thing, this wanderer with origins that have long faded into oblivion.

it is storming. the rain falls gently, graces your home with a semblance of white noise that calms the nerves. you lie with kazuha, palm against palm as he finds amusement in your fascination at the difference in the size of your hands. calloused are his fingers, worn from many battles won and lost, and somewhere there is affection that lingers in his touch.

"the sun was so beautiful earlier." you absentmindedly murmur, shifting your hand just the slightest bit so that you may lace your fingers with his, grinning when you squeeze his hand. "you've never really been one for storms, have you?"

"there is nostalgia in every raindrop that meets this earth." kazuha smiles, brings your hand to his lips before pressing a kiss to it. "the storms remind me of both the hardships and victories i've faced in my life."

there is a quiet pang in your chest that resonates in the gentle words spoken. you find yourself speechless, guilt pouring into your veins at the inability to comfort your lover. but the curve of his lips never falters, and he holds you closer to him, allows you to listen to his heartbeat.

"i will always be grateful for the rain. it brings you and i together, doesn't it?"

now, you are the one who smiles. you laugh, kissing him ever so gently in a goodnight, i love you.

"it does. i am grateful for it, too."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ zhongli

to live as a mortal is a strange phenomenon-- one zhongli must learn to adapt to, even though years have passed since the fall of rex lapis. liyue flourishes in his absence, and somewhere he thinks there is a longing for what once was. but on the balcony of the home he once built, he looks to the sky for the comfort of new beginnings. this place blooms without him, the civilians starting anew and becoming even stronger in the absence of a god.

it is a precious thing, their resilience. humans are prideful beings, aren't they? to grieve and continue forth, to come out of the flames even brighter than ever before.

"do you miss it?"

zhongli senses your presence. you step forward, stand by his side. you inhale sharply, shoulders rising and falling with your breaths.

he does. but there is an end to all things, and no longer is he needed.

"it would be selfish to answer so honestly."

"you held the weight of their lives for countless of years, love. i think it's okay to be selfish now."

but is this not enough, his selfishness? to announce his goodbye in such a manner, to test the waters and see if survival ran in the bloodstream of his land? to rescind his godhood and live normally for once? to fall in love with you and live the rest of his days in peace?

is this not selfish enough?

zhongli smiles. it is bittersweet.

your hand rests on his shoulder, eyes meeting amber. you need not speak the words, but as silly as it may be, he certainly would find comfort in hearing them.

"you can live for yourself now. they continue to grow, even without your guidance. they're doing just fine, and surely they send their prayers to you in the hope that you are, too."

"it is never easy, is it?" zhongli muses wistfully. he knows you are right, but perhaps all the logic in the world would not allow his emotions to find reason.

you turn to face him, gesture him to do the same until you are looking at each other.

"things never are, but we can make it easier." you tell him, hands cupping his cheek. "we can start out this way : tell me what i can do for you."

zhongli blinks, takes a few moments to register the newfound determination on your features. he laughs, and suddenly, it is almost as if his exhaustion has dissipated.

"you have always amused me, my dearest." his hands cover yours. "may i ask that i always stay by your side?"

you laugh, press a kiss to his nose.

"what a foolish god you are, asking something you already know the answer to. i'll always be with you, whether near or far."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ itto

the hardships of the oni are never forgotten. itto remembers his past with traces of bitterness and hardship, but in those memories, he remembers the warmth of family found. how time has passed and how things have changed so drastically. he recalls such times more often than he would like, and it is almost as if he relives them.

itto has a good heart, undoubtedly so. he is rambunctious, carefree, and in his blood there is the pride of his family. but personalities mean little when others judge on appearances, and so itto understands the fear and wariness people cast upon him for his mere existence. it doesn't mean anything, doesn't hurt-- is what he tells you, grinning as he brushes off your concern, but it builds and builds until he cannot ignore it.

it is a constant reminder, and as much as he would like to move on, as much as he knows that what others think doesn't matter, it hurts in the end, even if he doesn't want it to. but you are there-- you're always there to defend him, even when the words sting the most, even when he takes them to heart.

"don't worry about it! i don't wanna cause anymore trouble, so it's no big deal."

itto can practically feel the anger radiate from your body. it's an aura, an ungodly one, really, and he wonders if he's ever seen you seethe in such a way before ( yes, even when he released all the beetles in your house ). it's almost a routine by now; he's typically successful in getting you to calm down, but you don't even respond this time. you stay silent, your back towards him. he approaches you, thinks of more silly jokes to crack, thinks of anything that can ease the pain and anger that you feel on his behalf.

your shoulders tremble. you turn on your heel, meet gazes with him. there are tears in your eyes, and it burns.

"it is a big deal, itto! everything they say about you is never true. you're not scary, you're not frightening-- you're not going to hurt them and you never would. they should know that. just because--"

"whoa, whoa, whoa--" itto's mouth is running a mile a minute, and instinctively, he holds you in his arms. you're crying much harder now and you shouldn't be-- how silly that he is the one who suffers yet you are the one who laments. "don't cry— i'm fine! it doesn't matter what they say, 'cause it's not true. i only care about what you think. that's what happens when you're in love, right?"

your sobs stifle immediately at such an innocent question, the lump in your throat still very much there.

"you're too nice, itto."

itto wipes your tears away, grinning when he feels how warm your face is.

"and?"

"and i love you."

he hums, kisses you on the forehead.

"i love you, too. see? nothing to worry about, as long as it's you and me, okay?"

[st4rgirl7777]

Love Letters.

paring: idol jake x f reader

WARNING: Smut (MDNI 18+), mentions of masturbation, oral (m. receiving), cowgirl (let me know if i miss anything!)

a/n: just a reminder that this is all purely fiction! this my first time writing an enha fan fic. not proofread. (lmk if i miss anything) enjoy reading!

idol jake who just finished another concert during another exhausting world tour. don’t misunderstand him, he loves touring and he loves performing this has been his dream since he was a young little boy living in australia. he loves meeting all the fans and spending time with them. greeting the fans with a smile and collecting all the fan letters he receives from them. However, performing takes a toll on your body and mental health. hours of endless dancing and singing and having to appear happy and cheerful all the time. it takes a lot of time effort and energy.

jake is a simple guy with a simple routine to make himself feel better after a concert ends. he greets his fans as he leaves, makes his way to his hotel room, lock the door and well jerks off till he falls asleep. it’s his special way of getting his body to relax, makes him feel less stressed. he loves the feeling of the orgasmic release as he fists himself up and down repeatedly. he whines and moan desperately for the release and sometimes he even edges himself on purpose. he loves seeing the white ropes leak out of his cock and onto his hand and chest.

one night, jake decided to go through his fan mail before doing the deed. he sat on his bed, opened up the letter and began reading.

Dear Jake,

i hope this finds you well. i’m writing to let you know that i think about you all the time. i think about a lot of things, but lately i can only think about you sexually…

“woah..” jake says already feeling his pants getting tighter. he continues to read.

i think about how good it would feel, if your lips crashed onto mine. how i would trail my lips down your neck and chest leaving marks of proof that i was there. i would undress you slowly and caress you body.

at this point jake shirt is thrown across the floor and his hand is down his pants gently palming himself.

i would get on my knees for you and show you how good i can make you feel. my lips swirling your tip, gently kissing it before swallowing it whole. i can take all of you. i will lick it, suck it, make a whole mess just for you. i will show you how good you taste. your hands tangled in my hair as you push my head down fiercely. i would gag on it and take you in so deep. i’ll be such a good girl for you jakey.

“holy fuck” jake moans. his pants and boxers dropped to the bottom of the floor. letter in his left hand, his right hand busy with his harden dick. he pumps himself furiously using his pre-cum as lube.

and when i’m done milking your cock, i’ll get on top straddling you and ill sit on top of you. let you relax as i slide my tight pussy on your cock. i know you will fit so perfectly in me. i’ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear as i ride you jakey. and i won’t stop until you come undone for me. milking you until you’re crying and sensitive for me.

jake hand goes faster and faster, he pants as he imagines himself in the sacred position. he images himself reclining on the bed, as you slide ontop of him. he imagines himself filling you up with his thick cock. he pumps himself with long strides as his orgasm is near. “fuck” he whispers to himself. “i’m gonna cum.” with a few more harsh and fast pumps, he lets out a low pornographic moan and spills his hot liquid onto his hand and letter.

i don’t know if this letter will ever reach you. i don’t know if you will even read it. but i think about you all the time jake. i hope this tour goes well and you are taking care of yourself just like how i imagine taking care of you <3

he sits there catching his breathe and reliving the sexy show he just put on from a fan letter. after he manages to catch his breathe he folds the mail neatly and puts it back into the envelope. jake tucks it away in his suitcase for him to look back act for the rest of the tour.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

a/n: i miss jake so much omg, anyways i hope you enjoyed reading my first enhypen fan fic, let me know if you liked it and as always tysm 444 reading. muah! - xo m

[losersimonriley]

the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out

Simon and Johnny die. And then they wake up.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

tags: major character death, but they're both ghosts, afterlife, these two are so in love in every version of themselves, actually quite sweet despite how it sounds

word count: 1252

warnings for descriptions of decomposing human bodies

There is nothing left but the two of them.

No missions, no worldly travelling, no deadlines and commitments. No war and no enemy. No bureaucratic nonsense, no rules. Only endless time.

There is no plot to follow anymore.

He's dead. They're both dead.

He's just waiting for Johnny to wake up.

Time is different here—expansive and condensed, depending on which way he looks at it.

Johnny just needs to wake up. Simon has been lying by his side for so long now—or not so long at all. The wildflowers have turned brown and droopy, the willow tree has gone bright orange. It sways in the crisp wind, and grey clouds swirl.

They died in an embrace. Simon's arm is pillowed beneath Johnny's head, Johnny's rotted hand is falling into Simon's rotted cheek. Their faces are turned toward each other, so close, as if they'd been about to kiss right before the reaper took them.

Their bodies have gone past rigor mortis and bloating and purging. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out. He can look on and chuckle as a maggot falls from his body's open mouth onto the dead grass beneath them. There is a particularly territorial fly situated over Johnny's chest. Anytime another creature comes too close to its treasure, it buzzes them right off. At least he's got free entertainment until Johnny comes to.

He feels so light after all this time.

In another year, green grass and blooming flowers will cover the spot where they lay. The ecosystem will work them into its space in whatever way it sees fit. Simon and Johnny will be long gone away from here.

They'll go find Price and Gaz probably, just as soon as Johnny settles into his new incorporeal form. It was…a lot to process by himself, being the first to wake. He hadn't understood it at first: looking on at his own dead body as if from a third person perspective. Being able to sit up, get up and walk around their perfectly picturesque autumn hillside. No graves, no cremation or burial, no marker.

He doesn't quite remember how they got here. He's hoping Fly Food here next to him has some idea on that part. If not, they'll figure it out from Price and Gaz. He hopes they're back at base, because that's where they'll look first. It'd be just like the two fuckers to send them on a wild good chase around the world, just trying to find them to figure out what happened.

Leaves fall around them.

He hums a tune stuck in his head—one he thinks he's heard Soap sing before.

Leaves pile up, and the temperature drops. Funny how he can still feel the chill in the air. He thinks he might be the chill in the air.

Another blink, another rustle of leaves, and Johnny is sitting up from his body. It's not like how he came up from his own—Simon's awakening was violent, like shooting up from a nightmare, breathless and heart hammering. Johnny blinks awake slow and sweet, stretching his arms like he's just had the best nap of his life. Bastard.

It's a holy experience to see him like this again. Lively. Not decomposed.

Johnny grins at him. "Mornin', beautiful."

"Fuckin' finally."

Like magnets, like it's the most natural thing in the whole of the universe, like they've done it all their lives—their lips meet in warmth.

Johnny holds both hands on his cheeks, preventing Simon from moving, even if he wanted to. Simon holds the back of Johnny's head, short hair of his mohawk threaded between his fingers.

"Been waitin' to do that for forever," Johnny says against his mouth, foreheads resting together.

"Why didn't you, then?"

Soap makes a point to look at the corpses beside them, forever trapped in a lover's embrace. "Uh—reckon, I might have tried."

Simon kisses him again.

If he had to liken it to one thing, it would be falling into the sun. He's dead, but he's burning alive.

Johnny doesn't remember anything. Not actually a big surprise there. Just…he'd been hoping they could just relax and enjoy their afterlife, instead of going on a journey to solve a whole-arse mystery.

The fun thing about being dead is none of the living can see them.

The annoying thing about being dead is all the other dead people can see them.

And there are a lot of fucking dead people on this Earth.

He thought the train was crowded before? He had no idea what crowded truly meant until now; they're squished tighter than sardines in this thing. He's sitting inside another person—at not in the sexy way.

It a Living, and he's fairly sure he's giving her cold chills.

Soap is far too amused by it all, talking to other dead people. Ghosts, Soap has deemed them all. Much to his own unamusement. He's got a feeling this afterlife is going to be as long-suffering as his living-life was. Just in a different, more absolutely perfect way.

What Johnny's gleaned from his conversations so far seems to be that nobody remembers how or why they die. That's something every person has to figure out by themselves. If they want to. No rules, and all.

He'd foolishly thought death might mean a break from lessons learned and deep thoughts. Apparently not.

Some dead fuck accidentally elbows his ribs. Why are there so many ghosts on the line to fucking Hereford? Is there really that much of a hankering for the mediocre fish bar, or are they all simply travelled everywhere else in the world and a Herefordshire autumn is the last place on all of their lists?

Can they even eat? He'll have to have Johnny ask someone before they make arses of themselves in public.

A quick glance around spots his target, his other half, sitting inside a sleeping old man while talking to another old man ghost. The geezer looks all too happy to explain whatever Johnny is animatedly asking about.

Despite the crowd of lifeless fuckers, he's really never felt more alive.

He rather wishes he could've told his living self it would all be okay in the end. Because there is no end. There's Simon and Johnny, and a train, and questions to answer, and an endless amount of time to figure everything out.

Johnny catches his eye from across the aisle, and there's that mad, signature grin. He says something to the man while nodding in Simon's direction before getting up and making his way back over beside him. Then the old man grins at him. A blush creeps its way up his neck onto his cheeks. So that can still happen.

Soap sits inside the other lady next to his own.

"That's Reginold. Reggie," Soap informs.

He quirks an eyebrow. Alright?

"He died in eighteen-forty-three."

"Condolences," he says dryly.

Johnny leans in close. "An' he thinks you're just a braw gentleman."

The blush rises to his ears, and he risks a side-glace at Reggie.

"But I told him ye were taken."

Johnny kisses him there, slowly and deeply, in the middle of the train. With everyone watching.

And it's okay. It doesn't matter who sees. They're already fucking dead. All of them.

He'd like to go back to visit their bodies someday. Maybe they can bring flowers, fix up a marker, so the living world knows they were there.

Johnny and Simon, dead and gone, still here, forevermore.

[lloydskywalkers]

I recently reread Skywalker syndrome (still as amazing as it was on day one like... holy shit your writing is so goddamn good-)and during the part where Lloyd argues with Wu I realized something and now I wanna ask

Do you think that some point during his recovery from Morro, Lloyd had this moment of snapping where he screamed at his uncle about keeping secrets like that and literally mentioning that this one nearly killed him?

asdsgfd thank you so much!! :D the Lloyd and Wu argument was possibly my favorite part to write, which is going to be incredibly ironic considering my answer to this.

Short answer: while I think Lloyd would feel very much hurt, I don’t think he would snap at Wu? At this particular point. Give him three more seasons of developing traumatic anger issues then he’d go off. 

Long (long, long, long) answer!

I think Wu is one of the people Lloyd would have the hardest time losing his temper with, especially considering the timing. Post-Sons of Garmadon Lloyd and Post-Possession Lloyd are in considerably different positions in life, but also weirdly similar ones, if you take into account that Possession Lloyd is coming off of Tournament of Elements (season 4), because from Lloyd’s view of things-

1) He's already been on his own prior to this, having lost Zane,

2) Kai, one of the most important people in his life and someone he looks up to, told him he never deserved to be the Green Ninja and is apparently angry enough to hurt him for that, and

3) He just lost his father, who he’s barely had at all, and it’s entirely on his own hands.

On top of that, you've got the whole letter fiasco, so Lloyd’s now left with the possibility that he himself might be a mistake. Obviously I think there’s a lot more that goes into Garm and Misako’s relationship than one letter, but Lloyd’s not exactly the most perceptive person in the world around season 4 :( 

All this to say that Lloyd is probably in a very terrible no self-confidence place of mind, which I have a billion zillion thoughts on because Lloyd’s literally never had a win he gets to keep — he defeats the Overlord but not really, and Zane has to pay the price to make up for that. He saves his father but not really because now he has to banish him. He keeps messing up and doing something wrong, but all he's done is follow what he's been told so he doesn't know what that is. The only thing he has is that the Green Ninja was supposed to win. Lloyd lost. 

Then you have Wu and Lloyd's relationship, which I think Lloyd values highly because for the most part, Wu is the most present family member in Lloyd's life. And for all that Garmadon and Misako love and care for him, Wu was the first person to give Lloyd a home. The first person to give him a place to belong, the first person to give him a chance, and the first person to truly believe in him. 

And as far as Lloyd can see, all he's done is failed to live up to that belief. So I think he’d be likely to see it less as Wu failing him, and more him failing Wu — maybe there was a reason Wu kept Morro from him, and maybe he won’t like the answer. 

I do think he’d be a lot more likely to snap about his dad’s monastery being turned into a tea shop, but I don’t think he’d reach boiling point quite yet. The other ninja might, though. Cole over here stuck as a ghost...

(Crystalized Lloyd, on the other hand! oh boy) 

Anyways there's cia’s tuesday night rant about Lloyd stay tuned for more nonsensical rambling :’D  

[yelenasbitch]

Death's Revival: Chapter 2 and 3

Summary: Natasha's sudden and tragic ending left behind many mourning loved ones, including her wife. Yelena tracked down Clint, and now she's going to meet her sister's wife, only without her sister there to help out. Grief is a process for friends and family, especially when it ends suddenly...

Word Count: 2,624 and 2,328 = 4,952

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death/dying, weight issues, memory issues, etc.

A/N: I wrote this bc this is what happened, and that's only if you believe Thanos was real and not an anxiety induced dream sequence...

Masterlist (coming soon)

                                                                       ~~

Steve keeps Clint up to date about your visits with Yelena, how you look and how you act when she’s there. He’s pleased to hear that the two of you are helping to heal each other, though he’s still concerned over your health, mental and physical.

After he met Yelena, after Christmas and New Years and things returning to normal, Clint reflected on everything. He thinks about Natasha and her sacrifice, of course he does, he’s been thinking about it non-stop since it happened. Thinking about the look in your eyes and on your face when he came back alone and as you had talked to him at her grave. Still, he thinks and thinks during the next few months, his conversations with Steve reminding him of the love and longing that follows his best friend beyond the grave, that haunts his days and nights.

He goes to visit Natasha’s grave again, stands there and thinks about how it’s empty, how she died thousands of miles from home, from anything familiar, from the people she fought and died to save. He remembers the way she told him to let go, knowing that he had children to return to, and while she had you, she couldn't do that to his family. He keeps brooding over her sacrifice until Laura finally makes him talk to her, and her suggestion after four nights in a row of talking things through for hours makes him feel like an idiot for not thinking of it himself.

“Why don’t you just ask the Wizard Guy, Strange, right? Ask him to open up a portal and take her and bury her here? Would that be any better? Maybe?” Laura misses Natasha as well, and cannot explain how grateful and devastated she is about her sacrifice. She knows it was for her and the kids, and feels so guilty and so thankful all at once. 

Clint stares at his wife for a few moments and then calls her a genius, running to find his phone. She makes him text Steve first, to talk through his plan, and after he sits for a minute, he thinks it’s a good idea, and agrees to wait and talk not only to Steve but also Sam and Bucky. Still, he falls asleep much easier that night, finally feeling as though he’s finally doing the right thing for his deceased best friend.

Once the three of them have talked, Clint calls Stephen Strange and asks to see him, wanting to make this request in person. He knows it's a big request, but he’s also ready to go toe to toe with this sorcerer in order to get his best friend's body back to earth. In order to give you a sense of closure and maybe get you back to earth as well. 

                                                                       ~~

They arrange to meet in the city at some nondescript coffee shop; Clint is wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, trying to remain unnoticed. He thinks wistfully of the days before every man, woman, and child in the world knew who he was and what he looked like. He thinks of past covert missions. He thinks of Budapest. He clears his throat and sips at his terrible coffee.

When Strange shows up, Clint straightens in his seat and waits for him to sit down.

“Well?” And holy shit, Clint remembers why he doesn’t particularly like this man, his arrogance overpowering with just a single word. He reminds himself that he needs a favor from this guy, and calms himself down enough to behave politely.

“I need help, I need a big favor.” Strange just sits there and waits. “I want to go to Vormir, where Natasha—where she—anyway… I want to collect her body and bring it home so we can bury her. Please, I know this is a lot to ask, but her wife is a wreck, and her sister is heartbroken, and I thought it would be nice for them to know, at least, that her body is here, so they can visit her.” He stops, takes a breath to keep going, desperate to persuade him to help, but he’s interrupted by Strange.

“I can try.” He says, and Clint feels a weight lift off his chest. “It’ll take some time to find the right incantation, and I’m not sure that her body will still be there. Sometimes when magic is involved, things get–they don’t work the way you’d think.”

Clint is nodding now, “I understand, I won’t be angry if it doesn’t work, I just have to try.” He also thinks that nothing can be expected now, with aliens and magic and a best friend shaped hole in his life. Still, he keeps going for Natasha and his family and you.

“Fine,” Stephen stands up, “I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

“Thank you.” And Clint shakes his hand and watches him leave, thinking that after Tony Stark, he shouldn’t be surprised by the depth of human kindness within everyone, even the people you want to punch in the face sometimes. 

                                                                           ~~

It’s another month and a half of angst-filled pacing before he finally gets the call that Stephen will be ready in two days, giving him time to prepare. He tells Laura everything, and tells the kids that he’s going into the city to see you and Steve, consoling himself with the fact that it’s not a complete lie, and then packs a bag. 

The two of them meet at the compound, sit with Steve for a few minutes, and then they go outside to a private area so he can begin. Clint watches with interest as Strange’s magic sparks into life, creating beautiful and intricate patterns of light and heat. Suddenly it forms a circle and through its growing opening, Clint can see the familiar landscape that haunts his dreams, his every move. Strange looks at him and nods, and they both walk through the opening, going from one planet to another in the blink of an eye.

They’re greeted by the familiar form of Red Skull making his way over to them. They both tense, though Steve said he had been perfectly cordial during their last encounter. 

“You’ve returned for her. Finally.” And he turns, beckoning them; they shrug at each other and follow, confused.

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” Clint asks after a few minutes of walking.

“Well, I will admit that time passes differently here, but I was surprised when the other one did not take her back with him, and then no one came to collect her. It was especially confusing after watching the two of you fight, not to avoid that fate, but to embrace it.”

“You mean that we could have done this when Steve returned the Stone?” Stephen asks, wanting to clarify things, wanting to know the rules of this magical plane.

“Yes, a soul for a soul, after all.” And before they can ask anything else, he stops in front of an altar that Clint could have sworn was not there ten feet ago. 

Natasha Romanoff is laying on top of this strange stone altar, looking as though she’s taking a quick nap. Looking like she might wake up at any moment. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes, though closed, seem to flicker. She even looks like she’s breathing, and–

“IS SHE ALIVE?” Clint screams, or maybe whispers, he can’t even tell right now, rushing forward to grab her hand, her warm hand.

“Well, yes.” Red Skull looks from Clint to Strange, settling on talking to the latter, the one who isn’t fawning over this ordinary woman.

“A soul for a soul. So when the stone was returned–”

“She gets to come back to life?” Stephen asks, and Clint can’t tell if his excitement is due to the fact that Natasha is alive, or because this is fascinating. Probably the second option. 

“Then why is she unconscious?” Clint is getting nervous, looking for the catch.

“I was unsure if anyone would come for her, so I kept her asleep. She is perfectly healthy and safe, and she will wake soon after you return to Earth with her.”

Clint shifts, picks Natasha up, and nods to Strange.

“I think it’s time we go home.” He wants to get out of here, wants to check her over back on Earth. Back where he knows she won’t be ripped from his grasp again. 

“Yes,” Stephen turns to Red Skull, “thank you. I apologize for intruding and not coming to retrieve her sooner. We didn't know.”

The odd being simply nods and walks a bit away before disappearing.

Stephen opens the portal, and they walk back through, breathing in relief when they’re back on the familiar green grass of the compound under their own blue sky.

“I’m going to take her to medical, can you tell Steve for me?” Clint is already walking as he says all of this, not wanting to waste any time in case something goes wrong with his best friend, who is miraculously back from the dead.

“Of course!” Stephen calls from behind him, and then it’s all a blur.

He arrives at the medical wing and the nurses and doctors converge on her, looking her over and taking her vitals. After a few tests she’s brought to a secure room, Natasha is infamous here for not being very happy to wake up in the hospital. Clint follows from room to room, test to test, texting with his wife and Steve, and finally sitting down in her room after he drags the chair a bit closer to the hospital bed, wanting to stay near her, just in case.

                                                                       ~~

He keeps looking at Natasha lying there, not believing his eyes, and unwilling to blink lest she disappear. 

Natasha is still unmoving on the hospital bed, hooked up to all the various and loud machines, but the doctor has assured Clint that she’s stable, in great condition even, considering… Still, she hasn’t woken up, and Clint is getting more and more anxious as time passes. He should’ve made Strange stay with them, either for his magical abilities or his medical knowledge; still, Clint is more grateful than he’ll ever be able to express. 

The heart monitor betrays her, beeping rapidly when she begins to regain consciousness, even though she keeps her eyes closed as she automatically assesses her surroundings. Once she realizes that it’s herheart rate riling up the machine, she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. They lock on Clint’s where he’s sitting beside her, frozen.

“So I guess it didn't work, huh?” She speaks first and then he’s crying and smiling and hugging her tightly as she tries to figure out what the hell is happening with him.

“Nat, Natasha, yes, it worked, but you’re home now.” And then he has to stop, tears of relief choking him again.

She looks around the room, confused when she doesn’t see you hovering nearby as well, used to your look of relief and frustration whenever she’d landed herself back here.

“Clint, what the hell happened? If it worked, then I should be dead. And if I’m dead I wouldn’t be in the hospital. What. Happened.”

He takes a breath and curses himself for not thinking this through, in his defense though, he’d simply gone to collect her body, and had come home with an alive but unconscious Natasha Romanoff. Not conducive to clear thinking. And of course she’s already frustrated with him. Typical.

He’s missed it so much.

“Well, you did it,” he starts, pausing at this part, unwilling to say the words, “and I got the soul stone.” He keeps going, describing it all, explaining what Steve did, what happened with Tony, all of it. He also explains how Yelena tried to kill him–Natasha smirks at this and rolls her eyes a bit at her sister’s dramatics. Still, he hasn’t said a word about you, and she’s started getting nervous by the time he’s (almost) caught her up with everything.

“What about her, Clint? What happened to my wife?! Where is she?” and her heart rate spikes again, which makes her angry, and just starts a vicious cycle.

“And get these things OFF of me!” She begins ripping at them, taking it all off, which of course brings in the nurses and starts the various medical questions necessary when someone comes back from the dead without a scratch on them. Even for people who work with the Avengers, it’s a bit weird.

Clint just watches off to the side, racking his brain as he tries to figure out what to tell Natasha, and how to prepare you for your dead wife’s sudden return. When he hears his former partner threaten to stab one of the newer nurses, he steps in, and they’re all done in another thirty minutes. The room empties, and Natasha begins to put on her shoes, preparing to leave; Clint winces and puts a hand out to stop her when she stands to go.

“Nat, we need to talk.” She looks at him sharply and he backtracks immediately.

“She’s fine, her and Yelena both; healthy as horses, really.” Not really, but you’re apparently less corpse-like when Yelena is around and he’s counting that as a win. 

“But she was really upset about what happened, obviously we all were, but you know how much she loves you.” He stops and takes a breath, wishing he had his own wife here to help him navigate this messy conversation.

“You promised that you’d watch out for her, and I know you did. Just tell me. Please.” She’s sitting there stone-faced as he continues, and it's one of the hardest things he’s ever done. And he’s been through a lot in the last few years…

“She, well, once we got through the funerals, she just kind of shut down. And she wouldn’t leave the compound, wouldn’t come stay with the family at the farm, no matter how much we begged. She went almost catatonic, Nat, and the only reason she didn’t is because we told her we’d have to move her to a hospital, take her out of your home. Still, it wasn’t good.” 

He goes on, describes the conversation he’d had with you at her empty grave, explains how Steve kept an eye on you, Sam and Bucky visiting when they could, and finally he gets to Yelena. He says that he’s heard you eat when she’s there, and spend more than an hour in her company, even if most of it is spent in companionable silence. By the time he’s done, Natasha has a faraway look in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks at how much pain you’d been in during the time she’s been gone. If the horrible things Clint is telling her is him being reassuring, she doesn't want to think about what he’s sparing her from knowing.

“I can’t–how am I going to face her, Clint? She’s going to hate me.” The guilt she feels is overpowering, and her head won’t stop spinning as she tries to reconcile the time she’s missed along with your crisis during her absence.

“Are you nuts?!” and Clint is yelling at her for the first time in quite a while, snapping her out of her thoughts. “She’s missed you so–I mean, how can you–? She’s going to be so happy to see you, Natasha. You are her everything, and she’s going to come back to life along with you.” 

He can tell that Natasha isn’t fully convinced, but he makes her follow him out of the medical wing, and towards the almost deserted Avenger’s quarters of the compound. Walking next to her is a relief, and he feels almost like himself again.

                                                                      

Chapter 3                  

  ~~

Nat and Clint stop to see Steve before they go up to your floor, and though Clint and Strange had warned him, Steve looks so surprised that for a second Clint worries about his heart giving out. Still, he’s smiling and laughing, and looking so pleased to have Natasha back home, alive and well. The smiles last until Nat asks about you, wanting Steve to tell her in his own words about how her wife has been doing, especially since he sees you so often. 

His version of events don’t make her feel better; if anything, it’s worse. And she doesn’t know if Clint was trying to soften the blow, or if he genuinely didn't know how bad things were. She thinks it’s a bit of both, based on his body language and words, but she is a bit distracted at the moment, so she’s not too sure. Steve also seems like he’s trying to make her feel better, ensuring that she doesn’t panic about you even as she hears how you’ve been grieving her death. Their combined words have painted a horrifying picture of you in her absence, and she avoids trying to dig deeper into their words to figure out how much they’re hiding from her.

“You need to go see her, Nat.” Steve’s voice is gentle but reprimanding, breaking into her thoughts.

She nods, hears a rushing sound as she tries to figure out what the hell she’s going to say to you, how she’ll explain something she doesn’t really understand herself. She hasn’t even been gone that long in her mind, just going to Vormir and then waking up in the hospital. Still, she stands and makes her way out, shaking her head slightly when Clint goes to follow her. She needs to do this alone, owes it to you. He nods in understanding, sitting down again, and she squares her shoulders and sets out, goes home.

                                                                           ~~

When Natasha reaches your floor and steps out of the elevator, she can immediately feel the desolation, the loneliness that you’ve embraced in her absence. Still, the small lamp that sits on a long thin table in the middle of the hall is turned on, the way it always was when she’d come home from a mission. It was your way of showing her that you’d missed her, that you were waiting for her to return, and she’d bet everything she has that the lamp hasn’t been turned off, not even once, since she’s been gone. Heart beating fast and breathing shallow, she makes her way through the hall towards the door that leads to the kitchen and living room, knowing that that’s where you’ll be, curled up in your spot. The bay window had been your favorite spot since you’d moved in with her, and she takes a few seconds to remember all the times she’s carried you to bed after you’d fallen asleep waiting for her to come home after missions. ,

She opens the door silently, sees you curled up in the bay window, head against the glass. She holds in a gasp at how…sickly you look. She still thinks you’re the most beautiful person in the universe, any universe, but your appearance is shocking. Hair gone brittle, skin dull, dark bags under your eyes, and your wasted figure all makes her heart ache, especially when she remembers how both Steve and Clint had reassured her that you were eating more with Yelena, enjoying her company. If this is you getting better…she really can’t imagine worse, doesn’t want to. She’s horrified enough as it is.

She keeps walking towards you after taking in your appearance, and suddenly your head moves up from the window, your eyes take in her figure. You always seem to know, she thinks fondly, when she’s close, no matter how silently and stealthily she moves, and no matter what's happening around the two of you. You blink a few times and then force yourself up, untangle yourself from the comforter you’d been wrapped in, stand there and look at her where she’s frozen, unable to speak with how happy she is to see you, even like this.

“Natasha, Natty,” you smile, and then you’re speaking in a rush, “I knew you’d be here, but I don’t know–I mean I can’t–can’t quite remember how I—how I died. Is that normal? Although it doesn’t matter. I’m just so happy to be with you again.” Natasha’s smile fades as she realizes what you think is happening, and the happy look on your face makes her stomach turn as her mind races for the words to fix this.

“No, no my love, you’re not dead.” She starts slowly, not wanting to overtax your grief stricken mind. You look confused at her words, and she takes a few steps towards you, heart clenching when you mirror her actions with a look of trepidation. Though confused and fearful, you’re still aching to be close to her.

“I don’t get it, what—? Please, no. No, I’m so tired, don’t leave me again!” And you take another, frantic, step towards her, and then she sees you falter, catches you just before you hit the ground. She checks, and your pulse is steady, but you aren’t waking up, and so she scoops you into her arms and heads back to the medical wing, asking FRIDAY to alert the others as she stands in the elevator holding your limp body.

When you wake up in the medical ward, you start screaming before anyone can talk to you, your last memory being Natasha’s ghost coming to take you away and then rejecting you (or at least, that’s what you think). You begin clawing at yourself, sobbing and screaming, asking for them to let you go, let you join her. Eventually they’re forced to sedate and restrain you, and there are still tears running down your face as the drugs take over and send you rushing into oblivion. 

Natasha watches from outside the room, and feels her heart break.

                                                                       ~~

When Yelena gets to the compound, arrives at the medical wing, the sisters go into a private room to talk. Clint had called her and she’d cut a mission short, rushing back even though she couldn't quite believe him. The sisters stand there, facing each other, and Yelena looks over Natasha suspiciously. 

“C’mon Yelena. Just ask me what you want and then let me give you a hug.” It may have only felt like a short time since she’d seen you, but she hasn’t seen Yelena in over five years. At least her sister looks healthy, looks like she’d been able to carry on after the blip and Natasha’s death. 

Yelena asks two questions before she finally breaks, crying as she falls into her sister’s embrace, grasping tightly as the redhead whispers to her in Russian. Eventually the crying subsides and they sit together, catch up. Natasha asks her sister about everything she’s been up to, starting from when she reappeared after the snap. She asks follow up questions, makes sure that Yelena knows how much she is loved by her older sister. Eventually Yelena gets to you, talks about what it was like to hear about you from Barton and then Steve, and then to meet you, to see her room. They both start crying again, even though neither one will admit it. 

“What’s going on with her?” Yelena finally asks. She’s been avoiding the subject since she arrived. Yelena has grown to love you and she knows that her sister is scared by what’s happening, more scared by this than facing her own death. It’s an unsettling thought, and she shies away from it immediately.

“I don’t really know. She thought she was dead, when she saw me,” Natasha explains slowly, “and then she fainted when I tried to explain…things. The doctors are saying that she was out for so long because of how…fragile her body is right now. I brought her here and then when she woke up she completely lost it, tried to—they had to sedate her, even put on restraints.”

Yelena looks shocked, trying to picture you raising your voice even a bit, cannot connect this picture to the idea of you, the low tones you use, your shuffling from one room to the other, the soft smile she’s coaxed from you a couple times. She holds her sister tight, silently promising that she will fix this all, make sure things get better for all of you. And then she thinks that Natasha is probably thinking the same thing. She rests her head on her sister’s shoulder, knowing there is nothing she can say right now, knowing they will both have to wait for you to wake up, and hope that you’ll be calm.

                                                                       ~~

The next time you wake up, you’re restrained, arms and legs tied to the bed, but it doesn't matter. The sedatives are still working their way through your system, you’re groggy and disoriented, and it takes you a few minutes to even remember what's going on, to open your eyes and scan the room. When you do look around, you see Clint staring at you, worry and something else, something you can’t figure out, on his face.

You turn your head to the other side, not wanting to see him. 

You remember now, it all comes rushing back; you’d seen Natasha, thought she’d come to bring you to the afterlife, instead, it seems you fainted and someone found you and dragged you to the hospital. You remember waking up the first time, and tears leak out of your eyes as you feel the same desperation creeping up on you. 

You face Clint again, gasp out “please.” It’s all you can say, but he’s shaking his head, grasping for your hand.

“No, no. I have something to tell you, I need to explain everything.” He watches for a reaction, but you just blink, cannot muster the energy to respond. He continues anyway, praying that you’re coherent enough to listen and digest the information.

“I talked to Stephen Strange about going to get Natasha’s body,” it hurts when he says her name, the first time he’s said it out loud to you in over a year.

“I wanted to bring her home to bury her here, so that, well, anyway. When we got there, apparently it’s a soul for a soul, and so when Steve returned the stone, he was entitled to–he could’ve–I guess he didn't know–wasn’t told–” Clint keeps struggling, starting and stopping. It's annoying enough to stir you to speak, it helps too that the drugs are wearing off even more as your heart beats faster, annoyance giving way to adrenaline, expelling the drugs.

“Spit it out, I just want to be finished with this.”

“We brought back the stone, and by doing that, we got Natasha back. Alive, I mean. She’s home. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s alive.” You stare at him, unable to believe what he’s saying.

He says it again, all of it and slowly, and then he keeps repeating those two words: ‘she’s alive’.

“Bring her,” you say finally, and he looks concerned. You sit up, frustrated and coherent enough to look like it.

“I’m fine now, you idiot. Someone should have told me! Of course I was going to think I had died, when I SAW MY DEAD WIFE APPEAR! GO GET HER!” You’re yelling by the end, angry and frustrated, and still not quite believing this isn’t some horrible trick. Still, you’d been married to an Avenger, you’ve seen plenty of crazy things over the years. You’re afraid to hope, but you need to, need this to be true.

He runs out of the room, and anticipation blooms in your chest; you start breathing heavily, vision going fuzzy, but you try and calm yourself down, knowing that they’ll sedate you again if you get too overwrought.

You have your eyes closed as you try to manage your breathing, and so you don't see Natasha come in, but you can tell when she’s there, though she’s as silent as ever. It was your own superpower, that's what she’d always said.

“Are you really here?” you ask, voice wavering and eyes still closed.

“Yes,” she says, and you’d forgotten just how sweet her voice sounds, “open up and take a look.”

You steel yourself and open your eyes, take in the sight of your beautiful wife, standing in front of you, looking as though she’d never left.

You go to reach for her, but the restraints that you’re still attached to prevent you from getting very far. You start tugging at them, and she quickly comes over, sitting next to you on the hospital bed, and undoing them with speed and efficiency, not quite meeting your eyes.

Once she’s done, you take her face in your hands, run them along her nose, cheeks, lips, mapping out her face, trailing your hands along her arms, touching her skin wherever you can, trying to prove to yourself that she’s here, alive, in front of you. Your eyes meet, though you can hardly see through the tears of joy and relief that are clouding your vision. You blink to clear them, swallow heavily to unstick your throat; you hold on tighter.

“Natasha,” you whisper, and her eyes close as she leans her forehead against yours. “I missed you so much.” And you’re crying, and the words are pathetic, a shadow of the pain, the misery, the destruction that you felt at her loss, a drop in the ocean of your grief. These are, however, the only words that your tired and drugged brain can come up with, and you begin to repeat them, over and over.

She pulls back to look at you, “I know, I’m so sorry–”

You shake your head, not wanting to think about it anymore, and then you both lean in, your lips meet, and it feels like coming home.

                                                                       ~~

[cloudsmovingcastle]

I am begging, on my hands and knees I am begging people on this godforsaken bitch of an earth

to check the goddamn sources of the posts they reblog

or rather, the disturbing lack of sources

I am sorry but if you want to call yourself an activist you have to do the bare fucking minimum to ensure that you are not actively spreading incredibly fucking harmful and incendiary misinformation

google is free. mediabiasfactcheck is fucking free.

Do better.

[mygwenchan]

Me after watching 3 episodes of 'My personal weatherman': Yeah, ok... it's confirmed. They're an idiot couple 😂

And I'm also convinced that Segasaki is a bit of a sadist who likes to tease his boyfriend. He's deliberately getting all up in Yoh's space to make him feel shy (and also because my man can't keep his hands to himself lol). To be fair though, Segasaki probably wants to push Yoh to finally admit that he's been in love this whole time. But poor Segasaki... his boyfriend is as dense as a brick wall and as stubborn as a mule. You really have to pin that one down to get a confession out of him 😩 (which Segasaki will gladly volunteer to do I'm sure hehe)

[front-facing-pokemon]

[ardentlytess]

- What happens tonight ends tonight. - I'm not sure about that.

MOONLIGHT CHICKEN (2023), dir. Aof Noppharnach Chaiwimol — episode 01

[coachbeards]

beard: Ted is my best friend, he is my savior, he is my rock. I will define my life by servicing him as his assistant and I will drop my entire life in the span of three days just because he asked me to. My biggest regret that still haunts me years and years later is that I betrayed him, and I have been punishing myself ever since. He’s an agent of good, I follow him like he is Jesus and I am just a simple worshiper. I love Ted. I have ruined relationships because of my devotion to Ted, my own girlfriend turned wife hates Ted with a passion due to her jealousy. I am constantly having to pick between my girlfriend and ted.

ted: this is my best buddy beardo :{D

[spiritofpassionfruit]

Scene idea running through my mind; Lucifer full of despair after having his last meeting with God because he has been told the events of the future and the role he is supposed to play, far far away from everything he has loved, just for their sake, everyone’s sake, maybe even his own— and as he slowly walks, dazed and terrified, the young prince appears from a corner with a gentle smile, coming closer to his aid, worried over his apparent fears. In that instant he finally understands, and asks the naive prince if he wishes to have a taste of the tree of knowledge. When the prince accepts, both flaming souls meet and part away just as quickly. The prince can only realize what the action was when he sees the human do it, their lips meeting, their bodies trying to become whole again before they had been separated.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Hello! Hope you don't mind the random ask 🥺 You said after the newest episode that Mushitarou is one of your favorite BSD characters; could you talk a little about your thoughts on him/why you love him/his arc? He's one of my favorites too, and it makes me so so sad how underrated he is, because imo he's one of the most well-written and tragic characters in the entire series, despite how little screentime (pagetime?) he gets :' ) I wish more people would talk about him. Really hope that changes after the next episode 💚

I honestly almost screamed when I got this ask YES I CAN TALK ABOUT MUSHITARO. I CAN TALK ABOUT HIM ALL DAY.

Ok well first of all he is the poor little meow meow. Pathetic scrunkly man. I'm sorry but you can't deny that it's true. Even in-universe, it's like he's the BSD world's chew toy. He keeps getting kidnapped by different organizations with like. No breathing room in between. Give him a BREAK. Funnily enough, I enjoy and usually like to poke fun at these kinds of characters, but they're not typically my favourites. Mushitaro is, by far, an exception to my usual favourite character types.

Second, I am a lover of bittersweet tragic storylines. Yeah. Honestly, the way the storyline built to the slow reveal - I knew immediately after Poe mentioned the water droplets that they were his tears, and I was starting to suspect what was really going on, but the way it was unraveled was so, so painful and beautifully done. Even knowing it was coming today when I watched the episode, it still hurt.

Thirdly, Mushitaro's circumstances raise some intriguing questions we still don't have answered. He was captured by the Seventh Agency and made to work for them with his ability - he considers them a worse alternative to Dostoevsky and refers to them as tyrants. (We also know of another shadowy organization that takes on ability users with useful skills for nefarious purposes, V. V also somehow managed to not be discovered by either the government or Ranpo in 13 years. I'm not saying there's a connection there but... but... there might be. 👀) Anyways, point is, there's stuff goin' on there. And I wanna know. (Also I like the motivation parallels with Ango very much.)

But most of all, I fully agree with you - he is very well-written. What I love most about his character is actually the way his narrative showcases what I believe to be some of the series' character writing's biggest strengths - to excellent (and heartbreaking) effect.

Characters are often revealed to be quite different than what their initial introductions would suggest. Later revelations serve to recontextualize earlier character cues - these early cues are often misleading but not outright lies.

To be clear, this isn't a hard or particularly unique thing in character writing - in fact, this is... kind of a minimum requirement. Your audience should be able to go back after the fact and notice new things about characters that you only get on re-read. But I find BSD is interesting for this because these initial impressions don't frequently tell you what these characters actually value - the "establishing moments" are often incredibly misleading. Mushitaro is an excellent example of this.

The best part of the perfect murder arc is the way it slowly unravels piece by piece - and as it unravels, more and more, we get to see the real Mushitaro. He starts off with these terrifying facial expressions, bragging and boasting about how he is the "detective killer" and how none stand in his way, cackling like a shallow cartoon villain. There's not much there to suggest a deeper character. Then there's the first flash to Yokomizo's murder, and Mushitaro appears to revel in it and the idea that he can't be caught. Another flashback shows him making these arrogant demands of a literal terrorist, like all his tableware being silver and porcelain and having access to a library of occult books for his study. Ok dude. This all paints the picture of a selfish individual, primarily concerned with expensive things and money and image - all things that perfectly fit Ranpo's initial conjecture as to the kind of person behind the Kindaichi murder. And just like Ranpo later says, it's a little too perfect.

The reveal builds slowly but surely, and Mushitaro's built-up image as a dramatic, remorseless murderer crumbles. Because he didn't kill out of hatred at all. He killed Yokomizo because Yokomizo asked him to do so. Because this, and the legacy of a mystery that transcended fiction into reality, was his only friend's dying wish. It was enough for Mushitaro to delay his escape just to fulfill it - what Ranpo refers to as a kind of willing self-destruction.

What Mushitaro ultimately values then is honouring the wishes of those he cares about and repaying those he owes. He will take the secret of Yokomizo's ultimate mystery to his grave. He used what he likely thought were his last moments alive to grab the transceiver and warn Ranpo about the danger the Agency was in. He only decided to trust Ango after Ango admitted his use of the Seventh Agency was to honour Oda's memory and wishes.

So, going back and re-reading his intro again, it becomes more clear that he was suffering from a kind of cognitive dissonance. "But wasn't he just playing the role he was supposed to?" No. He wasn't. The first flashback to Yokomizo's murder is much more violent and ends with Mushitaro cackling and going into a full villain monologue when there is no one else around but him. There's no one to perform this role for - except Mushitaro himself.

Both the killing and the ensuing grief stemmed from the exact same source - Mushitaro loved his friend deeply. But there is, I believe, no small amount of bitterness too, for the way they argued frequently, and the way his friend asked this of him. It's practically irreconcilable in his mind, and so Mushitaro leans into his role as the evil perpetrator who hated Yokomizo to such a degree that I honestly think he started to believe it - Mushitaro, with two narratives in his mind running parallel to each other that are fundamentally conflicting, tried to make a monster of himself. Insisted on being the monster, at least until Ranpo made it impossible for him to deny the true motive behind his actions - protecting his friend's last wish.

Fittingly for the climactic reveal of a mystery storyline that blurs fiction and reality, Mushitaro's real-life grief was his perfect fictional role's undoing.

Is he boastful? Arrogant? A bit of a coward? Absolutely. But Mushitaro is no monstrous villain - he is a man unable to confront his grief over his friend's death, and who, ultimately, doesn't intend any real harm.

Because other than Yokomizo, revealed as an agreed upon assisted suicide - Mushitaro never murdered anyone.

2. Characters are not cured of their pain and trauma. They continue to struggle with it during their development and it actively impacts the way they view and interact with the world around them.

Mushitaro's story is heavily themed around grief and his consistent denial of it's effects on him. At first, he denies by embodying the role Yokomizo wanted him to play - it seems to the point where he legitimately started to lose it. He's slipping when we first meet him. In a weird way, for as much as Ranpo tore his perfect crime apart... I feel like he also saved him, in a sense. The dissonance he was experiencing likely only would've gotten worse if he had not been forced to speak the truth aloud.

After that point... the denial focuses solely on the idea that Mushitaro doesn't miss Yokomizo at all. That he's doing just fine and Yokomizo should be jealous (he's far from fine; he doesn't even see a point in going outside anymore now that he won't be able to see his friend) and that he hated him (he doesn't. he never did. but he has to. he can't deal with it.).

Another thing I really like about his arc is that Mushitaro's grief also clearly stems from the entire thing being traumatic for him - but neither Yokomizo nor Mushitaro are demonized or victimized for this; rather the situation is just shown as it is. It's nice, that the story allows the reader/viewer to draw their own judgements. Both had their reasons for their actions - Yokomizo was already dying and wanted to go out in a way that was meaningful to him, while Mushitaro chose to fulfill this wish in spite of the cost to him. They both mutually self-destructed, in a way.

The narrative doesn't frame either as the villain. It doesn't fully frame either in victimhood either. It's a tragedy all the same.

Mushitaro continues to see and hear Yokomizo wherever he goes, not because he can't get rid of him... but because he never wanted him to be gone in the first place. Stabbing me would hurt less I think. :/

3. Characters often grow and change before they consciously realize it or have any sort of "epiphany".

This ties in a lot with the ongoing theme of uncertainty, and I above all really like this aspect of the series. BSD has characters grow and change and try to be better, do better by themselves and others... without being sure of the outcome. Sometimes before they're ready to consciously admit a change is necessary. There are few epiphanies. The characters are forced to slog through hardship and only then suddenly realize how far they've come - for better or for worse.

Mushitaro does change, even in the short span of time he is a focus character. I love the first little signs of it too - Mushitaro, who doesn't even like mystery novels, uses a trick Yokomizo told him about to help himself, Atsushi and Kyouka escape. Look at him :')

Afterwards, he starts to wonder if he can see Yokomizo whenever he enters a locked room - as in, if connecting to the memory of his friend through what he loved in life will mean that he keeps that memory alive.

And as annoyed as he is with Poe's attempts to get him to write a mystery... a part of him is happy to be around people that he could start to consider his friends. Enough that the Yokomizo he hallucinates wonders if maybe he doesn't need him there anymore. And finally Mushitaro bursts.

But this is actually good. He's finally past that denial phase, the part that had him talking about hate when really he missed him all along. Thing is, he'd already been developing and changing by this point, in that he needed the growth to come to terms with this truth, and it was not the truth that drove the growth.

In a sense, Mushitaro working through his grief and uncertainty led him to a brighter outcome, one where he has more friends and can start anew. He lost the closest person in his life. But his arc continuously asserts that in spite of the fact that he will always miss his friend, Mushitaro himself is still alive. And he should live that life - both moving forward and keeping the memory of his friend with him.

Odasaku believed that writing a novel was to write people. Poe was so insistent on getting him to write because it's a way of seeing the people we want to see anytime we want.

What a beautiful character arc, that began with fiction as an escape from real-life pain, and concluded with fiction as a means to work through it and with it instead.

Plus he's just such a funky little dude.

I. Love. Mushitaro.

[gaugedgauntlet]

in myth lies hope

[july-19th-club]

love season 2. i'm concussions! and i'm psychic visions! the headache brothers