#grief of the person i wanted and thought he was

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter eight: In which the Express celebrates the Day of the Dead with you

Dan Heng’s room was nothing short of simple and surprisingly comfortable.

You’ve been digging around the archives again after your short trip to your favorite desert planet, ready to contribute to the logs that made up Dan Heng’s archive.

He’d allowed you to touch the monitors and type in what you wanted, surprising even Himeko as he was usually rather cautious to let other people(usually March, bless her heart) roam around and touch his things unless they only wanted to read up on things.

You thanked him for that, of course. It was rather sweet of him to allow you to do this.

And so you typed away— made little personal notes on what the culture was like, and people that you also knew as yourself and not Delia. While Dan Heng’s records of Sigonia IV already existed, you were compelled to make your own as well, as a thank you to the people that had been so far hospitable to you.

You haven’t seen little Kakavasha in your visit, so you too wondered how he is now. He’s probably an adult— not so little anymore, growing into the familiar visage of “Aventurine” that you knew in your past life, but you hope it’s not the same horribly tortured man you know.

There was still discrimination, even a bit more than a decade since the freedom of this clan— they still warred with the Katicans here and there, but the disputes were more manageable, less genocidal as the Avgin were more protected by humanitarian groups.

But there wasn’t really any real interest for the cultures of people that had been long discriminated even with your intervention, and if no one was going to do the job of helping them at least preserve a certain view of it, you’d do the job yourself.

Sigonia IV would not be the only place that would stay in the archives for the other future Nameless to find, maybe one day you’d ask for Boothill’s planet, because while it no longer existed, you believed it wasn’t fair for it to die along with him.

You’ve made notes of it, here and there from what little you could get from some books that made mention of it and Boothill’s ramblings. While you could always consult Fuli for the rest of the things, it felt disrespectful towards your friend. You may be an Aeon now, but you knew honor— prying without your friend’s permission felt invasive, you weren’t a human anymore, but you know that kind of stunt wouldn’t be something he would appreciate.

Suddenly, you wondered about the planets you’ve accidentally destroyed, about the lives you had taken without meaning to, and the ones you drove mad beyond your control. Your typing still continued, undeterred by your silent grief as information flowed into the data bank without even a slight inaccuracy despite the difference in how you felt.

You should grieve for the ones who were lost, you thought to yourself. Glancing at the date present in your monitor, you found it was the best time too.

The Day of the Dead.

You’re not even sure if people even celebrated that holiday in this world. Maybe Halloween, but you doubt Dia de los Muertos, as the Latinos would call it, or Araw ng mga patay, as the Filipinos would say, is something widely celebrated in an expanded universe such as this.

Maybe you’d find a world that does celebrate it someday, but for now, maybe you’re going to be alone in giving acknowledgment and silent grief to the ones that had been lost.

You weren’t very close to a religion in your previous life as a human, but now that you thought of the holidays that gave people solace and something to celebrate, you began to feel a little strange that there was no god you could pray to as you were now technically one yourself.

Worshippers weren’t so bad now when you think of it as people laying their problems to a willing ear they can’t see or hear to give them the peace of mind they desired.

You finished up the logs, determined to plant the Avgin’s language inside of it next on the next time you’d touch the monitor. But for now, you had a goal in mind.

——————————————

Some researchers knew you as a grieving Aeon, with your cries reaching the far ends of the cosmos for reasons they sometimes don’t understand.

They observed you once again, mindful to keep their distance from hundreds of light years away as the telescope that found your distant visage caught on the fact that you were crying yet again. But this time, you’re quiet. There was no horrible song of lament that fried wires and caused damage, this one was silent, this one was red.

The liquid that flowed from what seemed to be your eyes was crimson, your lips pressed together as your expression looked forlorn. The telescope saw your hands move, then suddenly, nothing.

You did not want it to see you.

——————————

Setting up an altar was relatively easy, decorated with flowers you’d grabbed from a world away in the expanse of a mountain and a lot of candles you’ve carefully lit.

Lives lost in the fight of freedom, and the lives you took without meaning to. There were too many to count, and you doubt Pompom would like to have the train set on fire.

There were no pictures, no relics, there was simply you, the flowers, the altar, the candles.

Welt had passed by your room and seemingly recognized the decor, quietly joining your side as you started to kneel in front of the altar and mumbled something along the lines of a familiar prayer that he vaguely recognized.

Sometimes Welt forgot you were a human in your previous life. You’ve told him before, when you disclosed things about yourself to him and Himeko.

There was no god that you knew to pray to here, and to make it stranger, you were one yourself. Maybe you were trying to emulate it— old habits maybe, old bits and pieces of your human personality, and reliving specific memories. Or maybe you’re just trying to commemorate those you’ve lost in the way you knew a distant life away.

Welt joined you in your prayer. There is no god to direct his thoughts to, but there’s a strange sense of peace there regardless.

Welt stood up after a few moments while you stayed, lingering before eventually leaving the room.

“Why does it smell like candles burning?” March asked as she encountered him in the hallway.

“It’s for a celebration.” He said. “A day to remember and honor the dead.”

She looked a little confused. “Day to honor the dead?”

“Yes, you can join [Name] in their room if you’d like. It’s not a bad thing, although I can understand why you’d be confused— it’s not widely celebrated after all.” Welt smiled as March slowly nodded.

————————

You weren’t in the room for much longer, opting to head to the kitchen so you could make something to eat. You were there for at least two hours, and everyone seemed to leave you alone to your devices as you made some dishes you remembered from a past life.

Some comfort food, and fluffy bread.

You brought it to the dinner table with a smile as Pompom trailed after you to arrange the bowls and plates for everyone.

Once you were done, you made do of calling everyone in to eat. They don’t really ask why there’s a different feast of savory and sweet food on the table that was clearly not Pompom’s cooking.

Welt looked at you in a certain way that you know that he knew things, and you sent him an appreciative nod as you gestured for everyone to sit down and eat.

“These are some.. recipes that I know from my homeworld.” You began. “These typically aren’t stuff you would get when you’re celebrating the holiday in a very traditional way, but sadly my knowledge of cooking is… kinda limited.” You scratched your temple awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize for it.” Himeko said. “It’s the intent that counts.” She smiled, then placed some bread on her plate and stew in her bowl.

“You’re right.” You gave her a small smile of your own.

You failed to spot Dan Heng at the corner of your eye, looking at the bowl of stew in contemplation as Welt’s words sprang up memories of old friends lost in a life he didn’t want to remember.

Maybe he’d allow himself to grieve losses just this once, even if that person who’s lost those people in a distant life away wasn’t him anymore. Maybe for those that Blade had taken from him too in this life.

“Are you okay?” March nudged him gently, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He said, blinking and snapping out of his thoughts before sinking his spoon into the stew.

Dan Heng found comfort in its flavor.

—————————————

March had taken photos of your room with the altar after dinner, plastering it into her wall with the label “Day of the Dead” in earth colored frames that contrasted the aesthetics of her room. She didn’t mind as much, surprising even herself as she was rather picky about her own decorations.

However, this was something that you shared with them, and that mattered to her. She couldn’t remember her past, and so to have a small piece of someone she knew that saved her was a nice feeling because she didn’t really quite know you. She doubt she ever would actually know you in the way the older crew members do, but that’s okay, that meant she could know you through the new memories she’d create.

She thought of you for a moment and what you’d lost, and she also wondered about the past self she can’t remember. Did she have people that she lost too? Were there people that lost her? Were there people that missed her?

She remembered her conversation with you, a strangely solemn topic for a girl so bubbly like her.

“What do you usually do?” She asked, clearly referring to the little holiday.

“People usually prayed, then offered food and flowers to their dead and all that.” You replied. “I thought it’d be a little nice to honor the people lost along the way. It’s a thing in my old world to not forget the dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She found herself saying. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“You don’t have to worry, it’s not offensive at all.” You smiled and patted the spot next to you. “It’s a pretty big celebration in my world, and in some countries it’d be a lot livelier than this.” You said as she went to sit next to you.

“They’d wear costumes and make up and bring out live music and everything. The food’s a lot better too I think— there’s too many for me to remember, so the ones I made weren’t the traditional ones people ate during that day.” You explained as she listened attentively.

“That’s okay, it was delicious anyways.” She giggled, shifting slightly to adjust herself before settling in comfortably in a few moments of silence.

“Do you…. Miss your old world? Ah— you don’t have to answer that.” March sputtered, realizing her mistake.

“It’s okay. And yeah… maybe just a bit. I’m not sure how to feel about it to be honest.” You said, glancing at the windows of your room.

She couldn’t see what kind of expression you were making, and so she found herself hugging you. There was something inherently sad about you despite your antics, like you’ve lost too many things.

You returned that embrace.

————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX(HERE), Part X……

Interludes: one, two…

Special chapter: link

Yeeeeee hello y’all!!! Pushing this chapter out in celebration of All Souls Day! :DD

I hope all of you are well! Also I’ll be happy to answer any of your questions regarding the series, so drop any thoughts, don’t be shy <333

[conundrumoftime]

Okay so look, here is why I want Celeborn in TROP as soon as he can feasibly get there

I know that many people feel he shouldn't turn up yet because at the moment Galadriel is still traumatised, brittle and emotionally entangled with Sauron. I want him to turn up now precisely because Galadriel is traumatised, brittle and emotionally entangled with Sauron.

I do not want him to swoop in and instantly save her from that, to be clear. I do not want him to be her reward for getting through it. I want him to turn up as an almost-stranger to a wife he's been away from for eight hundred years and see her now, see her as she is, hairtrigger temper and trauma and grief and unresolved situationship with Satan's Little Helper and all. I want his love for her to include all of that.

(Because! They don't have to stay together! Galadriel's family is full of couples who lived out their marriages on separate continents due to what I'll just briefly gloss over as Some Significant Ideological Disagreements. We know they end up together in Lothlórien but the characters have not read Lord of the Rings!)

I want him to see her tempted by power, and know that whatever they have later is built on that kind of understanding of what she wants and who she is and what she nearly did - and what she might still do. I want Sauron to still be offering her that in their 3000-year-long mind battle and for her to still be tempted by it and for Celeborn to know, to fully know, maybe to have it as an unspoken pain between them, maybe to be the only person she can trust to tell.

I do not want them to sit around holding hands and smiling gently at each other, yay missing husband's back hearts and flowers THE END. I want them to argue. I want those centuries of separation to matter. I want hurt feelings and pain and grief turned to anger, and to see how they navigate through that - why they navigate through that.

I want Sauron to try a divide-and-conquer approach with the two of them by showing Celeborn that raft-vision of Galadriel as his queen, and for Celeborn to find himself horrified by it and loving her despite it, and - perhaps! - really quite intensely turned on by the thought of it, too.*

I want them to rebuild that marriage, not just to resume it like they were never even apart. I want it to be worth rebuilding. I want him to love her, and not love the perfect past-temptation no-longer-fighty image of her that angry male Peter Jackson fans on Twitter have told me she is Supposed To Be - I want him to love this Galadriel, this broken and grieving and furious one, this one that still refers to Sauron as 'Halbrand' sometimes, this one who's on Numenor's list of Prisoners Who Haven't Yet Finished Their Sentence For Causing Sedition when Pharazôn turns up ("Did you actually - you know what, never mind, tell me later"). I want him to love her.

---

(* one of my Silmarillion incomplete draft fics is Thingol trying to warn Celeborn away from her by bringing up stories about her from the Helcaraxë, "well she looks all happy and peaceful mingling with our court now but can you imagine her drenched head to foot in the blood of a bear she just killed?", only Celeborn is the exact opposite of put off by this. "No! That's terrible! I must go and speak to her about it immediately in private and get all the details, just to assure myself about how terrible it was.")

[fxtalitygod]

EPILOGUE. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy mentions, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 1-2x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), implied incest mentions

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Today marks the day I finish this series. Guys, I cannot believe it took me two years to finish this damned series. Do not get me wrong, I loved writing it, but boy, it was a major pain in my ass. As corny as it sounds, thank you all for sticking with me throughout this series. When I originally posted the first chapter, I did not expect ANY attention whatsoever; it was just a self-indulgent thing I wanted to write because I wanted a better representation of (Y/n) where, yeah, she may not be the strongest. However, she still knows how to make do with what she has and make that her strength. I also wanted to give a more realistic relationship with the pairing. As much as I love Sukuna's character, I did not believe him to be a character capable of "true love" but a character that values others but not in the way you might think. I'm talking literal value, currency value, and benefit value. I wanted a more realistic take on the story because I did not know how many more historical "Kuna," "Suku," or "Kunie" stories I could take. No hate for those who write it or those who enjoy it; it just isn't my personal cup of tea. I like true crime and dark stories (I have this serial killer project that I'm stoked about because I know I will get my group an A+), so I tend to enjoy those darker sides, which I believe is why I like Sukuna's character so much, he just feeds into that side of me. There are some of the fantasies I enjoy where Sukuna is non-canon, such as AUs and all that, but when it comes to JJK's storyline or his historical AUs, I tend to fall short of enjoyment of that type of fantasy.

Anywho, thank you all for sticking around and enjoy the epilogue. I hope it was worth the wait. I may or may not have written three times because my perfectionism kicked in every time I proofread it, and I found something I did not like and scraped half the chapter. I bet I'll find a little thing here and there when I post this. Still, it won't be anything noticeable, something along the lines of my tags and probably my TW, though Im usually very on point with those kinds of things. Still, it always seems that AFTER I make the post, I really start to notice things even after proofreading it 50x.

P.S. I plan to do a behind-the-scenes post on all my original ideas. I have worked on this little project for two years, so you bet I had alternatives. Feel free to send me asks or messages asking me about things you are curious about, and I will gladly answer.

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

The market was bustling at this time of day. Workers were heading home from a hard day of work, rushing through the roads as they grabbed ingredients and materials for their households to prepare their meals and homes; everything was so normal...and if she were being honest, it felt strange. The confined life of the temple had practically become a comfort, so when presented with a slice of normalcy, it was foreign and, if she were being honest, alarming as well.

Having so much freedom was intimidating and overwhelming– the fear of having something good and it being taken away was a looming thought that brought many anxieties.

Years have passed since that fated day, Sukuna Ryomen's downfall. Since the fire and the slaughter that had immersed, Sukuna's actions had remained silent. There were whispers of sightings and rumors that the curse user had met his demise, but she knew better. Sukuna Ryomen was unkillable, and if anybody had truly caught a glance of him, they would be dead before they could live and tell the tale.

"Mama."

The world seemed to stop as the word processed through her head. Blood ran cold, and breaths of air seemed to come in at a faster rate. The woman turned to the little girl holding her hand, causing her heart to shatter.

"Darling, I told you not to refer to me as your mother, remember?"

The question remained as a statement rather than an inquiry as if refamiliarizing the child with a rule she had been reacquainted with on multiple occasions.

"I-I know that, but why can I not? You care for me like a mother, so why can I not call you my mother?'

"We have discussed this before, child," the woman sighed, "I believe it unfair to be taking the title of your actual mother."

"Well, if my real mother had not given me away, it would not be like this..."

Pausing mid-step, the caretaker held her breath, controlling the emotions and memories that flashed through her mind. The girl's sentence rang through her head, eliciting a feeling she was not commonly met with... aggravation. With no hesitance, the woman's minimal steps turned into longer strides, her grip even firmer on the young girl's hand. Getting to their place of lodging was more vital than anything, as she wanted to avoid discussing such sensitive matters in a public setting. Prying ears were close enough in such a crowded setting.

Upon reaching the home, the stand-in mother pulled the child inside before shutting the door. She swiftly bent down to the young one's level and took the child's shoulders into her hands. The little girl was shocked by the woman's reaction, staying silent and still as if afraid of what was to come next.

"Child, I will not hear you speak such false claims of your mother. You do not know the sacrifices she made to get you here."

The girl's expression of fear shifted from dread to shame. Her face was red from embarrassment after she was caught for her prior statement. However, as children do, she made it her goal to justify herself.

"What is the point of her sacrifice if she left me. Did she not want to be around me?"

"She did not leave you; if she were still in this world, trust me, she would be right here with you!"

The caregiver's words came out with little thought; all she knew was that she would not tolerate the little girl's false assumptions. However, now that the words spilled out of her mouth, she began to regret them. Seeing the tears well up in the girl's eyes made her wish she had phrased it differently.

"What do you mean?"

The caretaker cursed under her breath before inhaling through her nose, exhaling softly before speaking.

"You deserve the truth, my dear, and the truth is that your mother sacrificed her life to ensure you had a good one. She loved you so much that she valued your life more than hers. You might not understand this now, but that is a mother's love." The woman's breath stuttered, "She loved you more than you could ever know. I will not claim the title as your mother for that reason."

The girl was overwhelmed with emotion, only knowing how to express it through tears. The woman could not bear it and brought the girl close to her chest, embracing her to give any form of comfort that might help– it broke her heart to hear the child's quiet sobs.

After calming down, the kid spoke, though with some light chokes.

"W-what s-should I call you then?"

The warden took a sigh as she thought over her charges question. In all honesty, she had no idea what to say. What answer could she even give her? She could not allow her real name to float between the child's tongue as it would expose her identity. What name could she let the child speak?

"Hmm," the woman loosened her embrace, looking the little girl in the eye with a soft smile, "What do you think you should call me?"

The girl tilted her head, wanting more elaboration.

The lady chuckled softly, "What do you think my name should be, child?"

The caregiver had expected the girl to take some time to come up with an answer; however, the kid took no hesitation when she blurted out...

"Makato-san!"

Silenced engulfed the home as her caregiver failed to respond.

"Makato-san, I'm going to the market. Do you need anything?"

Another prolonged stillness as the young lady waited for a response.

The girl scrunched her brows in concern, extending her neck to look further into the room as if the individual she was looking for would appear. With the growing silence, the young adult searched the home for her guardian.

"Makato-san?"

She searched and examined the silent home with slight panic before finally stumbling upon the older woman, staring blankly at the floor she was kneeling on– unresponsive as she continued to stare.

With caution, Y/n's daughter reached her hand out to her caregiver's, placing it on the woman's shoulder. The response she got was one she had not expected.

The Makato turned suddenly, grabbing onto the young woman's wrist with an ungodly strength that even the girl was unaware of. This caused the girl to wince in pain as she tried to pull her arm away. Her arm was turning a light purple from the lack of circulation, proving the grip's vice.

Despite her fear, the charge could only feel concerned as her caregiver made eye contact, tears welling up in her eyes. It stayed like that for a couple more seconds before she snapped back into reality, gasping as she was presented with the image of her actions, quickly letting go of the young lady's arm.

"I'm so sorry, my Dear. I did not mean to...I was just..." The woman paused, swallowing her following words; however, her stutter did not disappear: "D-D-Did you need something, m-my, Dear?"

"I was preparing to leave and was going to ask if you needed anything from that market," the girl paused, choosing her next words carefully. Makato-san, you've been acting strange as of late. Is everything alright?"

The young woman was old enough to recognize the hesitance in her caretaker's features and the short lack of response.

"Whatever do you mean, Darling?"

"Please do not take me a fool," the youthful female voiced before sighing and looking at Makato in pity, "I'm worried for you, Makato-san. Ever since the refugees from the other village came, you have been behaving irregularly."

The refugees.

To say that their arrival was a shock was an understatement. At first, Makato thought nothing of it until the newcomers began to tell their stories. Their village was burned in a monstrous fire by a "crazed" sorcerer, and their home was now unsustainable to live in as it was left entirely in shambles. Despite this information, Makato thought little of it as there had been few stories of criminal sorcerers destroying homes, most being "inspired" by Sukuna's actions after his sudden hiatus. It was not until an elderly woman, who she happened to hear at random, described the appearance of the sorcerer.

"He was monstrous, the vile thing; he had four arms and two faces if you do not count that horrid mouth on his stomach. I watched both of them grin as it chewed on the remains of my eldest son." the elder choked and sobbed as the memory came back to taunt her.

Makato's heart dropped to her stomach. Rushing home in search of her charge, she found the girl working on her studies. Seeing the child she worked so hard to raise brought relief, but it was not long before the memories and visions began to haunt her. Sometimes, she would see you standing there, looking down at her, motionless and silent, with a pained, pitful look.

She hated it.

When you looked at her that way, she felt weak and vulnerable—as if she were failing. She was not as cool and calculating as you were, nor as confident or intimidating. Had you been here, you would have more than likely been able to disappear from society and find a nice, quiet life for yourself and your daughter. But you were not here; that was the problem– you were just a figment of her imagination.

Even then, she wanted you to stop looking at her that way.

Sometimes, she was left in her privacy and saw your vision appear to accompany her. It would drive her mad as she tried to convince you, even herself, that she was doing enough. She would speak into the silence of the room and get no response.

"What else could you want with me? I am doing everything I can!"

Silence.

"I am happy. She is happy. We are happy. Is that not enough for you?"

Silence.

"He thinks she is dead– he thinks I am dead! There is no possible way that..."

Silence.

"Please, stop looking at me that way. I am capable of doing this...please have faith in me."

"Makato-san?"

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Makato tracked what the girl had said earlier, not wanting to worry about her charge further.

"I apologize for my irregular behavior, my Dear. I can assure you that I am alright. I have had a lot of stress these days regarding the refugees. I want to do my part to assist them, but I have been running myself ragged and am just...tired."

The girl hesitated, not wanting to accept her caretaker's excuse, but she knew pushing the subject would not do her any good, so she nodded in understanding. The worst part is that Makato knew your daughter was aware of her white lie, but she would not admit it for some slim hope that the girl honestly did not know. Sometimes, she wished your daughter had not inherited your intelligence and perception.

"Do you need anything from the market, Makato-san? I plan on leaving soon to aid the refugees."

"No, I believe we have enough supplied for quite a while. All that I ask of you is to be safe, Darling."

Your daughter agreed, letting a soft smile slip onto her face before hugging Makato. The woman accepted the embrace before experiencing a wave of realization. Intelligence and perception were not the only things she inherited from you; she happened to be a real beauty as well.

"My Dear, if you plan on seeing that boy of yours, speak your peace now and know that I only want you to be safe and happy."

The girl struggled to find words before lowering her head in embarrassment, her face bright red with fluster.

"You are of age now, and I want you to know the responsibilities that rest on your shoulders."

"Makato-san, I never meant to keep it a secret. I just...I was afraid of your disapproval."

The more experienced woman could understand where she was coming from. Long ago, she was in the girl's position. However, she was never allowed to pursue her love due to the circumstances of her arrangement, but that does not mean she did not try. Despite her efforts to keep her relationship together, it was all for not in the end. She was given away as a sacrificial lamb to a monster.

Your daughter had a chance of love, and the caregiver would not squander it for her. She wanted your daughter to have a chance at a relationship she never had. Maybe it was questionable on her part due to the circumstances of her mission, but she did not entirely care. She just wanted your daughter to have a normal life.

She knew that was what you had wanted for your child.

"I do not disapprove, Darling. I just want you to be happy and to be careful."

"I promise that I will Makato-san."

There was a pause of awkward silence before the young woman embraced Makato once more.

"Thank you, I'll be back soon."

Makato smiled as she watched her ward leave the home. She had no problem admitting she was happy for the girl, but something deep within her told her it was a bad idea. It was hard for her to come to terms with, but she had an itching feeling that did not settle with her.

The world was perfect at the moment. Your daughter had put smiles on faces from her charity and was now being rewarded with a proposal for her marriage. She hugged her lover, showing her love and adoration in any way appropriate for their stage in relationship. If you were here, you would be beaming with joy, giving consent to the marriage with no hesitation because this is all you could ever want for your girl, and it would have been all you wanted for your twins.

You never had a chance of love and a happy life; seeing your children be able to pursue their lives to the fullest, especially in romantics, would have been considered a blessing to you.

"This is the happiest day of my life, honestly, but have you received my guardian's blessing?"

The young man chuckled, caressing her cheek reassuringly, "I plan on coming over for dinner tonight to ask for your hand properly if you will have me."

The girl could only agree eagerly through her expressions, unable to speak in fear of shouting instead of politely inviting him. Hugging him one last time before parting to rush home and prepare their meal; however, a chill went up her spine the moment she left; everything felt cold, and she could not explain why. Maybe it was the lack of his embrace, but she had never felt that way. There was only one good reason she could name.

Her nerves were getting the best of her...

"What if Makato-san declines."

The young woman's moods changed throughout the day as she prepared for the most significant evening of her life. One moment, she had the goofiest, filled with overwhelming joy, but there were other times when she would find herself chewing her nails from anxiety, and right now, she was having one of those times.

"Dear, stop that. This behavior is far from healthy. What has you behaving this way?"

"Nothing, everything is fine. I suppose I'm just hoping dinner will turn out acceptable tonight."

"Dear, please do not insult my intelligence with these excuses. What is going on that you are not telling me?"

"Well, I—" there was a pause. How was the ward supposed to say anything without giving anything away?

"You what? Spit it out, child, you are worrying me."

"I cannot say. I am sorry. But do not worry, please; something good is about to happen. Please trust me on this."

Makato chewed the inside of her cheek. She did trust her ward, but she had this gut feeling, this sickening feeling that she could not name. Maybe it was just her nerves getting the best of her, so she pushed it aside. She trusted your daughter, the only trustworthy person that Makato knew.

"Alright... is there anything you need help with?

The younger one smiled sweetly, taking her caretaker's hands in her own.

"No, I have it handled. You have been so stressed the past few days that you should just relax. Tonight, all your worries will be washed away." With that, she parted to continue her work for the big news. She was all but too excited.

She was also naive.

She was a sweet little girl, but she was naive. To think all of Makato's worries and problems would go away by simply relaxing, through sweet and simple gestures, was an innocent way to think. It was how Makato raised that girl because she wanted that sweet little girl to have that luxury. There were times she wondered if she had made the right choice, but then she would remember what pain looked like and what too much experience could do to a person.

No, she made the right decision. This is what you would have wanted.

Right?

Yes.

Makato went, and she sat as the young woman finished her final preparations for the meal. The girl looked more stressed than ever, rushing at the final threshold, but it seemed that preparations were finished and she was filling time. She found little things to do that held no significance. She was in her head, making Makato question if everything was truly fine.

Then, the footsteps could be heard. He was here, and everything was going to change. Life was going to change, and it was between her and that door. The biggest day of her life was only a dinner conversation away. So she opened the door and was presented with an image she thought she would never see or experience.

"We must leave. The village is under attack, and we do not have much time."

The smell of smoke was strong, and embers could be seen from a not-to0-far distance. The world came crashing down, and she could not say a thing. She could only stand there with an oblivious smile.

"What?"

Fear, confusion, anger, any negative emotion she could feel, she was feeling. This was not how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to get a blessing and marry the man of her dreams. Why now? Why this? This could not be real, there was no way.

If the world had crashed down for your daughter, the heavens collided into the earth, dissipating everything in its path in Makato's eyes. The older woman stood, no thoughts running in her head as she strided to the boy, grabbing him by his garments

"You tell me now, and you tell me true, boy! What did you see?!"

Her sudden actions left him too stunned to speak, but after some shaking and calling for his attention, he found himself capable of a response.

"Makato-san, what is happening?" It was like everything hit her at once, but she was still trying to understand why it was happening today– why it was happening now at the most crucial moment of her life.

"I do not know what it was, but it was a man of stature. He was disfigured; he had two faces and four arms. He came without warning, started flames, and began a massacre. His face was cold, as if he felt absolutely nothing."

There was no doubt in her mind that it was him, no doubt her former husband as reigning terror; however, based on the emotionless state of his ambush, bloodshed was beginning to lose its flavor. It was comical, but as much as it had some humor, this was no joke. This was all too real.

Makato grabbed your daughter's shoulder, pulling her out of her shock. Tears were in her eyes, looking at her caretaker pitifully.

"Makato-san, what is happening?"

She was naive, and being naive was safe, but being naive was also unrealistic. Makato gave the girl a sheltered life, eliminating the possibility of danger to the girl. That was no way to live.

"Your father, that is what is happening."

"What?"

And the shock returned. Makato made an effort to avoid mentioning Sukuna in conversation, only mentioning you in light memory. As far as your daughter was concerned, her father did not exist...until now.

"That so-called man is your father, Ryomen Sukuna. That is the man who drove your mother to eventually kill herself," A pause, licking her lip as she readied herself to elaborate, "Your mother sacrificed herself to protect you from him. He drained the life from her and left her no choice but to die, but she gave it purpose. She died to give you a life, a life away from him."

"I-" Your daughter was at a loss for words. Everything was hitting her too fast.

"I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping it from you. I wanted you to have an everyday life, but I should have noticed sooner or later that the truth would reveal itself and that he would present himself one day."

There was nothing to say, only to exchange expressions of fear and dismay.

"W-Well, what do we do now?"

"We run."

Taking the two charges, Makato grabbed whatever necessities they needed to start a new life. She had been planning this since the day she ran from the temple. She would admit that now, with a third party, it would be more complicated than she had intended, but they would make do.

They exited the home frantic. The smell of smoke became more potent, and the embers were closer than before. The flames became more evident as they spread. Any entrance to the main road would have been a route to death, but Makato had never planned to use that path. There was a back trail through the woods, one she had discovered when your little girl was merely five years of age.

They ran towards the thicket, avoiding as many obstacles as possible. Things were looking smooth, with hardly any disruptions. It was almost serene, but that was the issue. To have such tranquility was a nauseating notion for mayhem being at their backs.

It was too quiet to be safe.

And that is when she knew to push the girl and her lover aside, veiling their presence with her technique before everything went black.

Ringing...

Ringing...

And more ringing...

The lights were brighter, and the smoke and ash came straight from the source. She woke up coughing and gasping for air. For a moment, she thought she had been dreaming, immersed in a life that was not hers. Maybe she was waking up, back to her village, back to her parents, back to the life before she got caught in that awful nightmare.

"I am surprised that it was you, of all the women she let live." Sukuna started, looking down at what he believed to be the scum of the earth.

No, it was all too real. His voice registered through her head instantly despite not hearing it in years– at least in person. She had repeated memories, but sometimes she wondered if she had deformed his voice from years of not hearing him speak down on her. Turns out she remembered it accurately. It still managed to send chills down her spine and make her wish to be six feet under the ground.

"I was probably too forgettable for her to ever really care about whether I lived or died." Makato spat.

"That is reasonable enough, but that would not serve her memory well and rather insult her intelligence. I will say that, if anything, my Little Flower was too clever to let such technicality slip from her. She probably pitied you and your fruitless womb, so she gifted you with a child for you to care for in her absence. And knowing your broken state, she probably knew you would be eager at the opportunity."

Makato scowled, turning her gaze to the ground. How dare he speak of you in such a way. He said that as if you were on his level, as devious and conniving as he was, and claimed your actions were selfish when they were the opposite. You did this for her daughter, not for yourself. If you had it your way, you would be there.

"How old is she now?"

She refused to answer, turning her gaze back to the dirt. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of belittling her more than he already had. It was humiliating, but she still had some dignity and a promise she wished to uphold.

"What does it matter? She is dead. (Y/n) told you herself that she was gone."

A sharp pain was felt at the back of her head as he pulled her hair to force the woman to look up at him.

"Do not picture me a fool! For a woman whose last words claimed her daughter was gone, she left me the most humorous smile. I know that age of the girl, but I would rather hear from you, bitch, how long you have been holding her captive."

No response.

"Answer me!" Sukuna snarled, pulling at her scalp once more.

"Nineteen years of age," Makato smiled. Why? Do you wish to act as a father now? Well, you are too LATE! While you were out throwing tantrums, I raised her child, which you would not know how to do without being given exact handwritten instructions."

"On the contrary, you let her potential slip, and now she is nothing but another womb to breed. Unfortunate, due to the heritage of her mother and myself. However, a womb is still useful regardless."

Out of anything Sukuna had done, out of anything he had said to threaten her, that was the most horrifying.

"You are a disgusting bastard."

"Do not speak as if you can fill her shoes as if you have her confidence. You would not be in this position if you were half the woman she was."

"You are right; if I were half the woman she was, I could have easily manipulated you and have you play the role of the arrogant man with an ego so big, he does not notice the knife pointing at his back," A pause as she licked her lips, swallowing to try and quench her dry throat, "Everything that woman did was out of fear, much like everyone else; however, she knew how to tick your interest and she used that to her advantage. Honestly, I am ashamed. I only noticed it when she told me about her plan."

A twitch in his eye, he was irritated. It was known through body language and the knowledge of his nature that he wanted to tear Makato apart, limb from limb, until her body was unrecognizable.

"What? Afraid to face the truth of her decision. She could have run away with ease; she could have killed you, but both of those options would have been considered a mercy for you. She took away the one thing that you valued: herself. That must eat at you a lot."

With a swift motion, he scooped the former wife from her neck, squeezing her throat as he raised her to face him eye-to-eye.

"You are a worthless bitch who cannot even reproduce, summing you up to nothing. What is your worth?"

Nothing but the struggling breaths of the woman attempting to pry herself from this monster's grip.

"Exactly, you are worth nothing."

Darkness, wherever they were, was dark. The girl and her lover were still in the woods, alive as well as they could manage. She could only remember running into this place before being shoved into the dark area. She felt the ground around her and reached her arms out into the pitch black as she tried to navigate this strange place. It scared her.

"Makato-san? Where are you?"

No response, only silence.

It was dark and frightening, and she did not know what to do. What could she do? She could cry, so she did; she cried as she tried to find her way back. This had to be some kind of night terror. She would wake up, and she would be at that doorway, welcoming her lover into their home, eating their meal, and then sharing the news. Her lover would get her caretaker's blessing, get married, and live happily ever after, right?

Dreadfully wrong.

Instead, a hand reached out and pulled her out of the darkness. The world was still unlit, but moonlight and the flames dancing in the distance could be seen nearby; however, she was not a part of the conflict.

She was about to scream, cry for help, anything to get attention drawn to her location, but was stopped by a large palm to the mouth.

"Shhh, my love. It is only me. It will be alright."

For the first time that night, she felt genuine relief. Turning her head to see her man, she looked down at her disheveled features. She weakly smiled, moving herself to embrace him. It all lasted for a few seconds until she realized the missing member of their little group.

"Where is Makato-san?" she whispered.

The man looked down, not daring to respond. She attempted to make eye contact, but he would only look away.

"Where is she?" she insistently asked, but louder.

" I do not know; a couple curse users emerged from the woods. Makato shoved us into the ditch, and when I came out, she was gone."

"Well...Well, we must go look for her."

A grasp to the wrist effectively stopped the girl.

"No, I cannot risk losing you, and I know Makato-san would agree. She would not want you going out to risk your life to save her."

How could he say that? How dare he say that! What right did he have in this decision?

"Then you do not know her." she scowled, trying to withdraw from his hold, but his hand did not budge.

"Then why would she tell you everything had she not already predicted the possibility that she might die."

"Because... because...she needed me to know because if we were going to run away, I would need to put in my own weight by knowing our threat...yes, that was it! Now let me go!" She tried to reason, but not to him—herself.

Denial.

"It was a confession! As if she were lying on her deathbed, she confessed everything to you. She wants you to move on, knowing there are dangers like your father. She wants you to kno-"

"Well, she may not be dead yet, so we have to try!"

With whatever strength she had deep down, she broke free from his grasp, sprinting towards the village and the flame. She could hear him following her, but in her mind, she wanted to believe he was doing it because he could see her reason. He would help; she was sure of it.

She was almost there, and she swore she could see the silhouette of her caretaker, but then she found herself on the ground. It was only for a second before being lifted into the air, a hand covering her mouth as she got further from her destination.

Kicking, muffled screams, and the distant cackling of flames could be heard. She bit her partner’s hand in an attempt that he would let her go from the sudden pain, but he was resistant. He merely grunted and winced while continuing his journey back. But then there was a halt.

There she was, Makato, thrown onto the ground. She could see her in the distance. The woman looked weak but very much alive, and she was right there. The daughter kicked, shoved, jabbed, and bit even more, trying to get loose. However, her lover would not budge because although he could see Makato, he could also see the shadow hovering over the woman, the shadow your daughter was refusing to look at.

Then the shadow disappeared, and the dreadful monster emerged, Sukuna Ryomen, hovering over Makato with disdain. Watching as she tried to crawl away but failed miserably. She was fighting, doing her best, but her fate was inevitable.

Death was the only option, and death is what she got.

Ryomen Sukuna caved into his impulses, ripping her limb from limb until she was unrecognizable. The daughter watched, horrified, as the woman who raised her was mutilated to nothing but a pulp. What sort of sick joke was this? She remained silent as she tried to think of who would pull such a childish trick, watching as the image got smaller until nothing was left. Eventually, it was just a tiny yellow dot in the distance and nothing more; all she could do was look at it.

"Promise me you will live."

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe o-

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

The scream echoed through the dark room, and you tried to comprehend where you were. The walls were closing in, and the air was too thick to breathe. It felt like like suffocation.

What was this?

Why now?

Where is this?

Why is this?

How is-

"Y/n!"

You snapped back into reality, frantically looking at your surroundings to notice you were in your bedroom.

"Y/n, what happened? Are you okay?"

The silence was tense as you sat there, trying to remember your nightmare. You thought long and hard, but in the end, you had nothing.

"I...I don't know."

You heard a sigh, a hand rubbing your back, and another reaching for your cheek, wiping the stray tears you were unaware of.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight, again?"

Some of you wanted to say no, but the opposing side longed for it. You stared at the clock on the wall before you, reading the time. It was a little past midnight, and you had hardly gotten any rest. You had a big day tomorrow, and rest was crucial to get through your day. God knows the things you would do if you did not properly sleep.

Turning to your twin brother, you weakly nodded, "Okay."

He did not hesitate to tuck you under his arm as if in an attempt to protect you from any harm to come your way, to shield you from the nightmares. However, despite his presence, it was like a part of the dream appeared that you remembered but didn't at the same time.

"Do you think I'll be a good mother?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Please just answer me...for my sanity."

Your brother sighed, resting his cheek on your head as he rubbed your shoulder to comfort you.

"Y/n, I have no doubt you will make a great mother. Come on, let's go back to sleep. I'll stay here, and everything will be better in the morning."

"Promise me it will be better in the morning."

"What?"

"You don't have to hold up to it. I just...I just want to hear you say it."

"I promise it will be better in the morning."

"Okay..."

New series?? Sequel???Maybe, but first, a little break ☆~ (˃̵ڡ‘˶ )

Taglist (Thank you all so much for being a part of this series):

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya @pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident

@fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx @chariotwaves 

[seungsuki]

my dove - a dance between lovers on a thread (gn!reader) warning: spoliers if you didn't finish aot note: i havent been writing alot but i push myself to release this. enjoy :)

scars are beautiful, aren’t they? they tell a story of strength and survival. find the perfect person, and the scars turn into fallen stars on a once dark night, twinkling as a reminder. they don’t hurt, but they remain- preserved, better than any exhibit in a museum.

every scar deserves love. they act as a history book, each line portraying a different chapter of your life. that’s how you felt, gazing down at the sleeping figure on your lap, your fingers tracing the titan marks etched into his skin.

you took your time to feel each line, as if by memorising them, you could learn more about the man beneath the tree with you. they felt so fresh, perfectly carved into his face, a living sign of all he had endured. how could someone look so angelic? you often told him he was a sculpture, it’s unfair how his smile could stretch wide enough to draw you deeper into his world. 

maybe you’re just lovesick for him, to the point of wishing to see that same smile for the rest of your days. he was so engraved in your soul, intertwined with your very heart, making it impossible to separate. he often joked about how he’d like to be buried in one coffin, a perfect solution to keeping you close to himself.

call it selfish, but you wanted him all for yourself. no one else was allowed to see him the way you did. no one else could touch him the way your fingers did, brushing over the scars he hated with all his heart. no one was allowed to talk to him the way you talk to him. you would rather be devoured by a titan than watch someone else steal moments from you- moments that felt would end if you blinked too quickly.

his voice played in your mind like a cherished record, the silliest of conversations clouding your thoughts, but always bringing a smile. was there ever a day you weren’t thinking of him? 

you reached out for his hand, warm and familiar, as memories flooded back of  him inviting you for tea with his mother. his voice would always calm the oceans that flood your mind. he was your guide, always bringing you back to shore no matter what. he once brought up about loving him for his looks, to which you always tell him about loving his heart more than his face

even his titan form had a special place in your crowded heart. the way he would gently unfold his enormous hand for you to stand on his palm. allowing you to look down on the world from heights you never imagined.

he’d lie on the grassy field and you would take the biggest brush to comb his tangled hair. sometimes, he’d drift off to sleep, letting you work your magic. in those moments, you’d sneak in a flower and he would pretend to never notice, anything to make you happy after all 

his titan form would move boulders for you, quite literally. seeing a giant titan crouch down to hear you would be the funniest sight as he would be straining to hear your whispers. he would go to such great lengths for you. you remembered the day he brought you an entire apple tree just because you mentioned how much you loved the fruit, his titan eyes shinier than emerald

“will you release the dove? it’s fast asleep on your lap.”

you snap out of your thoughts, looking up to see armin standing in front of you. had you really fallen asleep under the tree? his words register as you glance down to find a dove resting peacefully on your lap, utterly unbothered by the world.

“a dove…?” you murmur, confusion creeping into your voice.

you don’t remember seeing a dove at all. your heart tightens, tears pooling your eyes. have you truly gone mad? you swear you felt him here with you, in this very field of grass. how is a dove here, but not him?

you gently raise your hand to wipe the remains of your tears, the salty reminders of your grief lingering on your cheeks. the warm winds push your hair strands to your eyes, as if trying to shield you from the truth resting on your lap.

brushing your hair aside, you catch sight of the tombstone beside you. your heart sinks further as you read his name, the date below it a haunting reminder of the reality you wish wasn’t true.

“again? [name]... he’s gone now”, armin sighs, settling down in front of you.

“no! he was just here! i-” 

you stopped talking,voice trailing off as you looked down. the dove stirs at the commotion, gazing up at you. you swear you could see his face on the same dove. his innocent head tilt, a carbon copy of the man you loved 

“you should seek help. how long will you keep sitting here? you come every day,” mikasa says softly, observing the two of you.

you look up to the girl before looking back at armin. they both shared the same look- pity. you shudder at the thought, already hating the sudden shift in the air around you.

“eren isn’t dead. i’m going to visit him so don’t wait for me” you insist

you flutter your eyelids shut, throat barely coughing out the words for them to hear it.  why do your eyelids feel so heavy all of a sudden? your heartbeat slows, breaths lengthening, as if time itself is stretching.

“you’re back,” a familiar voice rings out.

you open your eyes and look down, and there he was. eren yeager, lounging comfortably on your lap. he looks up to you, waiting for a response. the same small smile dressed his usual look 

“i’m back,” you whisper, reaching down to stroke his hair

“are you leaving again?” he asks, sadness lacing his words.

“no,” you reply firmly. “i’m staying here. for good.”

his smile widens, brighter than before, and you lean in closer, letting your fingers trace the scars you’ve always loved. he lifts his hand, resting it over yours. together, you both sat at the same tree, clouds replacing the leaves. 

© seungsuki 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images are from pinterest

[griddleharkbrainrot]

I’m currently thinking about how John and Co. refused to call Alecto by her name. They named her fury and vengeance but could not acknowledge what made her thus. They call her Annie Laurie, reducing her to her looks, those so inhuman and frightening yet beautiful all the same. John gave her the name Annabel Lee, naming her existence as a tragedy in that she was his love lost. In both instances the literary references reduce the woman mentioned to nothing but set dressing for the man of the story and it truly betrays John’s thoughts on Alecto for as much as he claimed to love her, he sees her only as the stepping stone for his own story. “For John so loved her that he had made her she. For John had loved the world.” And that is the crux of the matter, John had loved the world but she is not the world, she is its fury. John wanted her to be calm beaches and lapping waves, he wanted a wife, sister, mother, and daughter all in one, but instead, he got 7 million silenced voices crying out in agony, furious at the injustice done to them. I think subconsciously he understood that when he named her Alecto, fury of wrath from Greek Mythology. But even if he had called her Gaia she would still be furious, for was it not Gaia who gave her children the scythe to kill her husband? Was it not Gaia who roared and shrieked to the depths of Tartarus when her children were torn from her arms? The first bearer of prophecy was forged from the grief and rage of an anguished mother; the earth has always been furious. John’s fatal flaw was that he could not comprehend that the rage was for him. He who promised love and safety but cut and stripped her soul stole her children and butchered her corpse. John could never truly comprehend that what he deemed his perfect creation could resent him the way she did. He took her away and reforged her into something she could never be. John denies the resentment Alecto feels for him and we can see this reflected in how he refers to her. John is the sort of man who thinks that if he sees a woman as nothing but her looks, he can make her lesser. To him, she is Annie Laurie of beautiful bust and a personality nonexistent; To him, she is Annabel Lee, a woman so pure and lovely that the angels stole her away from him. Subconsciously, the lyctors have adopted this as well, calling her these names out of fear and not realizing the implications of what they are doing. Even in writing, she is A.L. to them because somewhere deep down they know that to name her wrath is to invite it and invoke it. John believed that if he could compress the Earth into a beautiful shell then he could control it. The Earth has been around for far longer than he could ever truly comprehend, and she is furious.

For @commanderbabygirl thoughts?

I did not realize just how many opinions I had on this until I started typing

[ragnarokhound]

thinking fondly of you<3 want to ditch the kids and go to a winery this weekend? (drink some red wine(supernova))

also thinking fondly about jaytim. specifically, about how oftentimes we think of them as a slow burn… but you know what might make them a fast burn (an explosion?)?

one of them gets kidnapped and everyone thinks they’re dead:( but then they’re alive

Always, love, I'm sure they'll be happy to spend some time with their favorite familial babysitters, I'll give them a call tonight🍷💥

And OUGH. Yes. SUCH a classic action hero hurt/comfort trope, I'm always here for mortal peril being the trigger that forces a couple to realize what they mean to each other and that they WANT to take that chance!!

I am reminded strongly of one of feyburner's comics that I love so much... in this comic they were hooking up beforehand and this is the scenario that like. Makes it emotionally REAL for Tim and i love that sooo much... but also OwO

thinking about The Scenario:

One of them is kidnapped. Due to inspo in part from feyburner's comic, I'm thinking Jason. But it's been so long/the method in which he was taken leads everyone to believe that Jason's dead. EVERYONE. Tim included. Thinking that he's dead hits Tim harder than expected. Why? It doesn't make sense. I didn't even like him that much, what the fuck.

But he goes after the bastards who did it twice as hard, ridden by this sharp grief he didn't know he would feel. He's on a warpath. He's chasing down leads, shaking down goons, snapping at everyone that it doesn't matter that Jason's already dead this is about justice this is about vengeance this is about preventing it from happening again-- and finally finds the Organization's big base. Their big HQ.

Methodically he goes about tearing it down, one-man guerrilla style. As he moves through the complex, KO'ing goons, sabotaging weapons and computers, hell he might even rig this place to blow--

He picks up chatter about moving the 'livestock' and 'dealing with the troublemaker' and figures there must be human prisoners here. Possibly trafficking victims. He's been raising all kinds of hell, and security is just now going on alert as they find the evidence of his entry--

--when over one of the radios on the goons he just took out, Tim hears a very familiar and very alive voice taunting the Organization that he's out. They should have killed Jason when they had the chance.

Tim immediately factors Jason and the victims into his plans, gets in contact with Jason over the radio (full mission mode, no time for feelings or explanations yet) to work together on bringing this place down.

So by the time things are cleared up-- bad guys busted, victims rescued, base blown to smithereens-- Tim has been wildly coming to grips with the fact that Jason is alive after all and the confusing rush of emotions that's inspired in him, but Jason still has no idea that everyone thought he was dead.

So when Tim finally sees Jason in person, missing half his gear and still wearing the clothes he was snatched in, dirty and bloody and asking what took him so long-- he's not exactly thinking clearly, okay? Kissing him was a purely adrenaline/relief fueled action.

"Woah," Jason breathes once Tim gives him the chance. "What was that for?" "Thought you were dead," Tim muffles against the skin of Jason's throat. His pulse beats hard against Tim's cheek, his lips, sternly refuting the allegations. "Oh," Jason says, bowled over and bewildered. He's still holding Tim with an arm around his waist, his other hand cupping the back of his head, big and steady. "Well. I'm not." Tim squeezes tighter, his fists trembling in the back of Jason's shirt. Jason is solid, and warm, and alive-- and Tim might be in love with him. "Yeah," he apologizes. "Sorry. Had to check." Tim's clearly stumped him. "Huh." Tim doesn't let go. But neither does Jason. Jason clears his throat. "You know, I don't have the best track record with being alive after all," he says in a rambling tone so casual it makes Tim's chest hitch. "You maybe wanna... check again?"

[ender-cloud]

SCREAMING OH MY GOD HYDE!!!

(Spoilers ahead)

This page is the transition to the depression stage of grief, I knew it was going to be Depression and then bargaining.

Depression:

The start of an eventual break down, Hyde is on the ground, blood on his hands, as the reality of what he just did hits him, the reality of Jekyll not coming back, its all hitting him, and he can’t handle it

He broke what he thinks is his only possible way to communicate with Jekyll and he’s officially lost. He needs Jekyll badly, Jekyll is the one who keeps him sane, weather he likes to admit it or not he cant handle this body on his own.

Hyde can’t sleep, he can’t eat, if he doesn’t have Jekyll he will literally die because he isn’t able to function as a human being and won’t be able to take care of their body. I feel like subconsciously Hyde must know this.

Even if it’s not his main concern right now it’s probably still lurking in the back of his mind that without Jekyll; he will not be able to survive

“You ruined HIM”

Not it, not yourself, HIM

This could be referring too two different things; the mirror Jekyll, or Jekyll as a person.

If its the mirror; He broke the mirror, therefore ruining it, not really that deep so that’s why I think he’s talking about ruining Jekyll

He pushed Jekyll to the edge, he ruined Jekyll’s sanity and patience to a point where Jekyll will do anything to ruin Hyde. Hyde knows that he caused this and he feels horrible about it.

Not only is the “Broken, Shattered, Smashed” talking about the mirror but It’s also talking about how everything is broken now, the system that once was no longer exists, Jekyll broke Hydes control, everything in Hydes life is Shattered to bits now

He’s kicking himself over it again and again like his mind is against him, but he agrees even if it’s not said outright it’s obvious with Hyde apologizing to the broken mirror that at least a bit of him thinks it’s true.

Seeing Hydes reflection, broken in Two, is like Jekyll and Hyde being broken apart now, his two sides even more separated more than before; even though its just 1 person again its different. Jekyll had both sides before the separation but now Hyde only has his side, he has no part of Jekyll except for the Parts Jekyll didn’t want. He Is Alone, he is a half of a whole

Hyde’s eyes look so bright and big, he looks so young here, so confused, and so desperate

“I’ll put you back together. Just don’t-“ theres a few things Hyde could’ve been saying here, but my first thought was that he’s saying “Just don’t leave” but stopping himself because Jekyll already has left him, and asking someone who isn’t there not go leave might just make him realize it more.

“I’ll fix it i swear” He’s so desperate, so desperate to show Jekyll he’s sorry and so desperate to get him back.

“Don’t leave me alone”

Hyde’s always had company, Unlike Jekyll theres never been a moment where he was alone because Jekyll was always there, even if he wasn’t talking while Hyde had taken over he was still there and Hyde knew that

But now that Jekyll is being silent, now that Jekyll has left him, he feels like he can’t do anything now. He’s officially lost, desperate for guidance, wanting to hold on to anything but all he can do is beg Jekyll to stay with him.

Hyde has no control, Jekyll has left him with nothing

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thought it was weird that Moon didn’t try to comfort Sun. Like, I know he says emotional comfort isn’t his thing, but…even so, he could’ve tried. He just immediately jumps to trying to track down Dark Sun, and it just felt really…off to me. Like Sun just killed someone he once called a brother and probably went to go have a panic attack, cry, pass out, or all of the above. Man needs any and all support. Even then, just hug him or something and don’t say a word. Even distracting him could work after a few days. There’s more than one way to comfort and be there for someone than an emotional feel-good speech comfort thing.

Will say, when Sun went up to his room, I was half expecting Nexus hallucination to show up. 😅

Props to Solar, I think he’s become more protective over Sun after seeing the What If? scenario of his own Sun, and I appreciate that. I like it when the two get to hang out, it just makes sense that Solar would feel protective over him.

Old Moon, Even before he died, was not like this. He had his occasional moments of comfort. Even he asked Sun "you good" or patted him on the back once in awhile...

Moon here doesn't even do that.

Maybe he doesn't want to acknowledge that Nexus was ever loved. Or that Sun ever loved him more then him?

Just how Sun never brought up to N!Moon he felt like Solar was replacing him. (which was stupid I hate that plot point so much. These siblings are so toxically codependent it makes my skin crawl. Your siblings can have friends.)

We get just.... NOTHING from Moon.

And the sad thing is, Nexus, as N!Moon, in Moon's place.... was able to comfort him after Sun killed Bloodmoon and was able to help him through his hallucinations.

But I'm not sure if Moon is experiencing Mental turmoil at all. Nexus was a villain. Sun and Earth have not said all the good deeds he did in the past year. Just what recently happened. Nexus's history as a former 'good sibling' was erased by pretty much everyone. Including Nexus himself.

But grief is weird like that. Like everything comes back, and the regret Sun feels must be massive. He already feels regret of locking Nexus up, and also pressuring him to be like Moon...... Everything is crashing down on him hard and he thinks Nexus became who he was because of him. I don't doubt it.

Not to mention this is the third brother that Sun feels responsible for killing.

He blew up the mana pool, causing OMoon to die inside his head.... He had a huge argument with Lunar, which lead Lunar to the position for him to be venerable for Eclipse to just... snap him out of existence. Sun has expressed guilt over BOTH of these instances.

Sun feels he gets his family killed.

But yeah... Even Old Moon before he died, was NOT like this. He at least provided Sun SOMETHING... When he was stressed, even if that something sucked........ it feels like he over corrected and just isn't giving Sun anything.

Or he doesn't even understand his brother. "I know what it's like to kill people, we need to track down the person who made him kill"

......Moon, that is not what Sun needs. N!Moon understood that and gave Sun a break, comfort, therapy and he was there for him as a brother.....

Moon can't even do that.

[mirroredmemoriez]

With my other poll coming to an end in a day, I thought I’d make another because I may even implement these into a one of my character study type posts!

One thing I’ll state first is that there isn’t really a correct way to handle grief. The way people deal with it and show it can differ from person to person! However wording that for a poll is quite long winded…. I also want it to be a bit open so there is room for discussions.

Moving on- I think that Lynn may be the one to sweep this poll. But at some points I believe this is due to the fact that people will only be looking at these characters through the lens of what happened during their run in with Jigsaw.

Which I don't think really is where people should hone in on, because it's imbalanced. Lynn does not have to come face to face with her grief within her test like Jeff does. We have no real basis to know how she'd handle that besides assumptions based off of her as a character. Other things to remember is the fact that Jeff actually WITNESSED Dylan get hit by the car. This isn’t to say his grief is more powerful than Lynn’s, but it is a factor to dwell on! Witnessing your own child’s death right in front of your eyes is a very heavy thing to deal with.

Moving on! Here’s some snips off their Saw Wiki’s…. I'll get it out of the way that both neglect Corbett and one another.

As individuals? Jeff has depression and an obsession with vengeance in regards to those involved and linked to his son's death. We see him drunk and threatening himself with a gun, picturing his reflection to be Timothy Young- But we also get to see how he let's this grief impact his daughter and the disregard for Corbett's own feelings.... At the end of the day she did lose a sibling, yet Jeff's focus is on a plush pig being missing from Dylan's room. On to Lynn. She also has depression and is constantly taking anti-depressants to try and stabilise herself. Lynn is having an affair with a man named Chris and her job performance is slipping, which in her line of work can mean life or death for a patient. We never get to see her interact with Corbett.

Anyway, I’ll stop the rambling here… Below are some of my previous little Denlon studies.

[fandomfablesunleashed]

When Leaves Fall

Kazuha x reader

English is not my first language

I wrote it like two years ago after learning about Kazuha's backstory, and I finally got around to editing and posting it. It was the first thing I wrote for Genshin, and, unashamedly, I still love it.

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

He ran to you as though every heartbeat depended on it, unable to bear the thought of leaving without one last glance, one final touch. For two weeks, he'd been on the run, evading shadows and whispers, haunted by his past and hunted by those who believed him guilty. But one thought anchored him through it all: he had to see you. He moved carefully, assessing every step and ensuring his presence wouldn’t bring you any trouble.

You were waiting, standing under the old maple tree, where countless stolen moments had once blossomed in the dappled sunlight. Yet today, you looked different, your face etched with worry, your lips pressed tight, and your fingers winding anxiously through your hair—a telltale sign of a troubled mind. As he slowed to take you in, his breath caught. Even under a veil of sorrow, you were magnificent—a sight he wanted to lock in his heart forever. The reality of what he was about to do clawed painfully at his chest.

“I heard about what happened,” you began, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I was so worried about you. It’s… heartbreaking. He was a kind, good person, and you… you deserve better. So much better.” Your words wavered, and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

He moved closer, close enough to notice the glistening traces of tears marking your cheeks—a painful revelation. His anguish felt suddenly insignificant in the face of yours. How much have you suffered since hearing the news?

“Please,” he said softly. “We can’t dwell on the past as it is unchangeable. And you shall not disturb your mind with my troubles. I did not come here to seek pity from you.”

You gave a sad, quiet laugh, devoid of its usual warmth. “I know that. But I cannot help but feel my heart break for you. You have a pure soul, undisturbed even by the immense pain you’ve experienced in your life. And now…” You shook your head, anger darkening your eyes. “Now you did nothing wrong, and yet, you're probably the most wanted criminal out there. It’s ridiculous, even.”

You finally turned to him, and he felt the weight of your gaze—the love, the pain, the silent desperation. He must have looked a mess: weary, disheveled, his crimson eyes shadowed by sleepless nights and relentless worry. But you looked at him as though nothing else in the world mattered.

“That’s why I came,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ve come to say goodbye. Being near me isn’t safe. You know that.”

You signed deeply upon hearing this. You got accustomed to saying goodbye to him. But this was different. It seemed final.  You may as well never see him again. And that was too much. How can you go on with your life without him by your side?

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Stay with me. You could hide here, with my family. My father has ties to the Tenryu Commission—they’d never suspect you here. We could keep you safe; find a way out of this…” Your words were choked, tears spilling down your cheeks again, your gaze pleading. “There has to be a way.”

He shook his head, a gentle, sorrowful smile playing on his lips. “I would never put you, nor your family, in harm's way. I would never know peace knowing I could bring danger upon you. I must leave. We both know it.”

And you did. But that didn’t mean it was any less painful. You let the tears flow freely, no longer hiding the grief you felt at the thought of losing him. He lifted a hand to your face, his fingers brushing away a tear, his eyes soft, drinking in every detail of you, as if committing it to memory one final time.

“I…” always the eloquent, the poet suddenly could not find the words to convey everything he wanted.

Just as he was about to say something more, the wind carried the faint sound of soldiers approaching. “No time, then,” he murmured, casting one last, longing look at you. In that instant, he decided that perhaps, this time, actions would say more than words ever could. With quiet resolve, he moved closer, inch by inch, until he pressed his lips firmly to yours.

You felt your hand rise instinctively to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. You held each other in that kiss, pouring everything unsaid into the embrace, as though it might be the last thing you’d ever share. And maybe it would be. You lingered, savoring every fleeting second of that bittersweet moment, until the approaching footsteps grew louder, shattering the spell.

Reluctantly, you pulled apart, and he looked at you through tear-brimmed eyes, offering a soft, trembling smile. You returned it, a faint smile of your own, holding on to the memory even as the world pulled you away.

“Go,” you whispered, your voice a plea. “Be safe.”

He nodded, his tears beginning to slip free. “Remember, the fate that brings people together is not a cord so easily cut. I will do everything in my power to return. To you.”

And with that, he turned and slipped into the shadows, accompanied by the red leaves falling from the maple tree. How appropriate. He had lost his home, his family, his name—and now he had lost you too, the last light in his life. As he faded into the darkness, the weight of longing wrapped around him like a shroud, heavy yet familiar. A fierce determination flickered to life in his chest, a spark ignited by the thought of you. He would return. He had to.

Deep within your heart, you clung to a fragile yet unyielding hope—that this was not a final farewell, but a temporary parting. The memory of your love, unspoken yet profound, etched under the watchful gaze of the maple tree, filled you with strength. For the maple would remember. The leaves would bear witness, rustling softly in the breeze, echoing the promise that your bond would withstand the trials of time and distance.

[viladlind]

to love every part of a person, even the ones that hurt you, even the ones they can barely bear to talk about. it is something fiyero considers himself lucky to be able to do. in truth, zevran could say anything in this moment, and fiyero would have him nonetheless. once he loves somebody (once he falls in love with somebody), there's no turning back on his heel to look the other way.

this, too, is part of that. more of zevran's past, spoken distantly, keeping his voice as indifferent as he can. and what he says is devastating. fiyero's stomach drops halfway through, like he's falling with no way to get back up, and all he can do is remain silent, keep his eyes on zevran, track his expression as he speaks.

the hint of pain. not born of physical hurt, this time.

that is all.

' zevran. ' fiyero's voice sounds wracked with grief. he doesn't even know where to begin. zevran says he was bought when he was seven years old, brought to the crows only to be ... tortured. there's no other word for it. picked apart and put back together, to make him an effective assassin. he was so young. what was fiyero's life like, when his seventh morn day passed him?

filled with luxuries and comforts. and zevran, in a room somewhere, by himself, somebody tearing him open and burning his insides. the image that fiyero's mind provides is entirely too intricate.

' that's awful. that must have been— gods, there are no words. horrible. unjust. you were entirely undeserving of training that put you through such pain. ' the hand on zevran's chest raises, fingers curling around his chin to gently tilt it towards fiyero. his own expression shows a deep sadness he doesn't attempt to hide, a want to soothe and protect so clearly visible on his face.

' i'm so sorry. i know it won't change anything, ' not what happened to him, not who zevran is today, none of the pain he carries with him, ' but i'm sorry. you deserved better. you don't have to— i don't want you to push this away. ' he strokes a thumb over zevran's cheek, puts his hand on his shoulder instead. ' it's a horrible thing, and it makes perfect sense that an evening such as this would remind you of it. that you would feel badly about it. you may feel that, zevran. '

fiyero squeezes his shoulder. ' there's nothing to fear, here. ' with me. the thought is belated, and then fiyero speaks it. ' with me. '

zevran hesitates. he is not ashamed of his upbringing, his life before or during his time with the crows, always willing to share his backstory whenever anyone bothers to ask. he may not be quite the same cocky, arrogant youth he once had been all those years ago, but he still retains a measure of pride in his accomplishments, even now that some of the bloom has faded from the rose. but there are some things assassins do not talk about. things that are meant to be secrets -- poorly kept as they are. he still finds it difficult to give voice to these.

and maker knows how he loathes talking about his feelings.

"i have told you about the antivan crows," he begins, carefully. he has not shared many details, simply because it has never really come up. fiyero knows what he is, and that is that. the details he has dropped have been fairly light hearted so far, mostly humorous anecdotes about the people he once considered his comrades, contracts he has fulfilled and so on. "they bought me when i was still a boy of seven. i fetched a good price, so i was told."

especially considering how knobby he had been. all skin and bones. being one of many orphans in a brothel will do that to a kid.

"of course, the crows take pride in their training, but their methods are... shall we say, not so gentle." there is a slightly pained expression on his face, but it lasts no more than a second before he is able to smooth it into something more neutral.

"we are taught to withstand pain. an assassin who breaks easily will never be very good at their job, you see." as if it makes the most perfect of sense. it does, he thinks. it is the way of things. is it not easier to withstand the cold when you are already numb?

"when you cauterized my wound earlier it... reminded me of some of my training, that is all."

[badcountryofficial]

The way that u really have to choose clarity that hurts over hope that confuses it sucks

He rlly just wanted to scrub his life clean of me and move on after 2wks like if that isn't a very clear indication he wasn't the one for me idk what is. Idk what is. He wanted to be soooo mad at me for Leaving but then turned around and deleted anything that involved me and found someone new to obsessed over in 2 weeks. Like I'm better now and I'm coping and I'm moving on too but once in a while I think abt it and I do cry. Because I really thought he was the one. I wanted it to be him so bad I gave up SO much I sacrificed SO much and he wouldn't move a foot outside his comfort zone for me. It just hurts. And then for him to move on so quickly because he's just so vindictive. And I know very well that could have all been a lie to aggravate me and make me feel like shit but I'd rather believe he really did move on. I'd rather believe that than believe he'd lie to upset me, that's so much worse.

[bidisasterevankinard]

Wip Wednesday

do I have the stage where I start new wips but barely write the one's I have because I'm super indecisive and not inspired? yes. let's hope soon I will be fine and work on my wips I want to work on. Anyway meet new wip where bucktommy will have long angst in their relationship because Tommy needs to grief "what ifs" with Sal he never thought about till he sees Sal as Captain of 118 (it's an au where Sal is a captain instead of Gerass)(it's only the start of the fic btw)

thanks to nonny @racerchix21 and this song (the title taken from the song and it's "I tried to go on like I never knew you"

Tommy knows it all should be in the past. In stolen kisses in bars they knew Gerrard and the team would never come too. In usually passionate and wild - almost never tender and sweet - sex. In secrets they shared under sheets, when they both knew that the moment their fabric cover was gone they couldn't talk about those moments of comfort and vulnerability they shared. In breakfast’s Sal made for him and his nonna's lasagna recipe Tommy cooked for the man. In wild dreams Tommy knew could never be a reality. Especially not when Sal changed stations and firstly their meetups were less and less frequent until they stopped after Sal’s wedding. 

And Tommy swears he thought he was over it. Over Sal. Over dreams of the future they could never share. But one look at the man whose appearance barely changed since Tommy last saw him five years ago, staying near 118 trucks the same way he always did, while talking with Chim, and all that got back at him. All the memories of stolen love and painful hope to be happy, proud and loved. Preferably by his “best friend”. By the one of the best men he ever met even if they could be rough with each other or rude or just wrong. Sal always came back with sorry, that Tommy knew was genuine. They were so wrong together, but also so wrongly perfect. So electric. Sal made him feel how almost no one could. Only his first crush Eric from the army, Sal and …

“Hey, handsome, sorry for the delay, Hen needed help to choose a present for Karen,” Evan kissed his cheeks, smiling like thousands of suns.

If Tommy didn’t know and was pretty acquainted with Evan’s quirks and little signs of his fatigue, he would never think the man just ended his 48 hour shift.

“It’s fine, baby.”

Tommy smiles and he hopes his inner turmoil of seeing an old friend is not shown on his face.

“Have you met my new captain yet?”

“No, but I don’t need to.”

Evan adorably tits his head and Tommy wants his heart to be so fast only because of it and the taste of Evan’s lip balm on his cheek, but he swears he can feel the taste of liquor he and Sal were drinking last time they kissed. Right before Sal asked Jennifer out on their first date.

“I worked with Sal. Even more than Chim and Hen,” Tommy says and Evan for a second frowns and then hits his face.

“And they were no less inseparable as you and Eddie,” Chim says, with the loud sound of gum bubbles breaking.

Tommy doesn’t know when he and Sal got closer to them, but he would really happy if they never see that Tommy was there at all. 

“God, of course. In my defense it was so long ago I just haven’t even thought that all three of you were a team.”

“Yeah, I left the station almost a decade ago and it feels like it was in another life, so it’s fine, Buck.” 

Sal smiles at his boyfriend and Tommy wants to make as much room between them as possible. Maybe it will help him to to separate all these feelings of worry and anxiety and love and confusion from the sight of the man he had loved for years, but had never had the opportunity to own his love completely for himself, never feeling that Sal had given him his heart, and a man who he knows is step away from get into his own chest and rip out his heart with all the vessels and give it to Tommy if he just says the word. Sal would never do it even if Tommy would beg

I was tagged by @tizniz @cal-daisies-and-briars @diazheartsbuckley @diazsdimples

Tagging @wikiangela @neverevan @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @evnnkinard @evansboyfriend @evanbegins @evanbi-ckley @repressedqueen @rogerzsteven @racerchix21 @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley @pirrusstuff @saybiwithme @steadfastsaturnsrings @devirnis @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @kinard-buckley @loveyouanyway @lonelychicago @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @bi-buckrights @bewilderedbuckley @monsterrae1 and anyone who wants to

[if-we-are-free-tell-me-why]

every time I hear someone say "oh you have to listen to Dear Evan Hansen it has such good mental health representation" I cry in Next to Normal

[bcntbouquet]

Each new I-L-Y he received from Cecelia went straight to work—one by one, undoing the scar-like tally marks of others-wronged-him he had scoring his heart.

“… It… I was disappointed, hurt, at first, but… it’s water under the bridge… I just… got afraid that maybe I, you, thought I wasn’t… worth… it…” Derward’s point was simple: Since coming over, Cecelia had been trying to make it clear that she loved him, truly loved him. He believed her. Loved her. The pain he’d felt was only temporary. The pain was never over a matter of what could he possibly take from her, but that what he had to give her—Whatever should be inside him—was not wanted.

“If you love me, Cec, which I trust you do, you don’t have anything to make up for. And even should there ever come a time you feel you no longer love me… you won’t have anything to make up for. Because something from someone who doesn’t love me, is nothing to me, and I can’t accept nothing because it’s not there. So you see, either way, you’re off the hook. Because I LOVE you.”

He kissed her toes again, this time a little more aware of what he was doing, and where on her body he was doing it. Jennings watched Hulot bumbling around a minute, the funny Frenchman never quite accompanied by anyone in particular, and Dee remembered what it was like to be unaccompanied himself. From unaccompanied, he arrived at unloved—Not to be confused with unlove’ing—and the emotional wound—too recent to be healed over—oozed, and his eyes bled tears… which eventually washed over Cecelia’s feet, because by that time Dee’d braced himself against one of them, looking like a man who’d nestled the telephone in the crook of his neck so the person on the other end of the conversation couldn’t overhear his crying. But of course it was a foot, not a handset, and his conversational other half was on the far end of the couch, not the far side of the world.

Her other foot, the one that was not not being spoken into, was as his traditional phone caller’s pencil ‘N’ pad, where he took down with devoted digits, all those words he wanted to say still but had put on pause until he might collect himself.

Centre of the arch, rub out from there. Even in his grief, he hadn’t forgotten her instructions.

His hands on her slender, small feet felt nice. Just his skin against her skin was nice. Cecelia gazed so lovingly at Derward as he held onto her feet. "Of course I showed up. Even though I was late, I wouldn't miss anything you do for the world. I love you, Dee." she coos.

A giggle escaped her quickly as she felt his lips to her toes. "I'm still so sorry I was late. How can I make it up to you?" she asks before she spoke about her feet. "Press your thumbs in the center of the arch of my feet and start to rub from there..." she would assist to tell him, eyes continuously filled with love.

[faaun]

pls i need to provide updates