#i might have more buried deep somewhere but i could not remember for the life of me

[wishchip106]

i open nearly all my posts with “hmmm” or “thinking”

BECAUSE I AM QUITE LITERALLY PUTTING EVERYTHING I THINK ABOUT ON HERE (specifically cherik)

turns out everyone on here is a mind reader and they’re just reading my mind 😱

although i don’t entirely care, i don’t have much to hide its just the fact this is the internet so no insanely personal details here

[nrdmssgs]

I'd like to be the one Nikto comes home to. Even if I was kidnapped by him (let's be honest in this economy having everything paid for, and you only have to take care of his home, his needs, and his big fur ball? I'd be on board 100%)

Like yes Love you go do your war stuff and I'll be here with my books and games. Me and Spud will snuggle while you're gone.

Masterlist

"Nikto! Bloody-... No, give me another one, he needs more... Nikto, don't you dare! Stay with us!"

His body produces a bunch of worrying sounds. Wheezing, gurgling, hoarse groans. Like a plane, that flew as long as it had fuel. And then a bit more. With all the engines dead, leaning against the cold wind, he glided as far as he could.

Someone was shouting right above his face - Nikto couldn't care less about that. He glided to the horizon and finally lowered his burning aluminium belly into the cool water. A great war machine could finally rest, enjoying the last rays of a sunset and slowly falling apart.

"This is the end," breathed out the left wing, cracking under the temperature difference.

"We flew so long," shivered the fuselage in cooling evening air.

"We rest now," yawned the jet engine, filling its mouth with water.

So many voices for one tired body.

Nikto drifts to slumber, not carrying about whatever his comrades are so nervous about. What is important now is that he can finally rest. From this blinding light, from their and his voices, from chaos. Just rest.

"You fucking kidding me! After everything, we have been through?! I won't let you!"

They can't just let Nikto go. But now it causes nothing but mild irritation. Why do they need him? Why does he need himself? Wouldn't it be easier to just-

"You promised her to come back, you piece of shit!" This time his squadmates voice hit in the right spot.

A soft image formed from cloudy pieces of memories. You. Your face, your body curled up on a couch in your common house. His lifeline.

The voices woke up again to bring him memories they managed to scrap together. One brought a vision of your eyes, full of life and hope, waiting for him. Others remembered your laughter, a sound that had always brought light to the darkest of days.

You were waiting for him.

A sharp breath filled his chest with air as he realized what he was about to lose. The thought of you alone, waiting endlessly for someone who would never return, twisted something deep inside him. The warmth of your last embrace, the whispered promises of your future together - they all surged back to Nikto, flooding his senses with a desperate need to hold on.

His heart pounded against the odds, and his hands clawed at the earth beneath him. He couldn't let go, not now, not ever.

All because somewhere out there was a house you two called home. And inside it - there were you.

Somewhere out there - a place where he can let himself feel a little more. There is a door he would swing open - and there would you stand with eyes widened in disbelief.

You would run to him, and he would catch you - he always does. He would bury his face in your hair, taking in the warmth of your body. Maybe you would sob into his chest, clutching him tightly as if afraid he might disappear again. And so you two would stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the rest of the world forgotten. His heart would pound against yours, and he would feel the steady rhythm of your breath, grounding him.

You would be the reason, he always returns.

That is of course, if you, these memories, his squadmates voices and everything around him is real, and not just a fairytale, one of his voices came up with.

[yoomiwrites]

Missing Ghost²

Summary: After losing her memory in a storm, a young Marine remembers only the name “Mihawk” and sets out to find him, convinced he holds the key to her past. As she sharpens her skills and follows his trail across countless ports, Mihawk is always just out of reach. Finally, she arrives at a port where his ship waits, knowing her answers are close.

Note: Since a lot of you enjoyed the first part —or rather the Trailer???— of Missing Ghost, I'll give you the second, which explains a little more. However, this story here won't get a fixed update scedule. But I promise, whenever we hit the 30 reactions, the new chapter will follow soon. Anyways, we got some skips here and there in this chapter, which might confuse you (sorry for that) but the next ones have a smooth flow. Gotta explain her side as well before we jump into our dramatic slow-burn.

The scent of saltwater clung to the breeze as I awoke, the distant murmur of waves steady and comforting, yet unfamiliar. It felt as though I’d drifted through a dream, a long, unbroken night I couldn’t remember. The first thing I saw was the kind face of an old woman bending over me, her hand resting on my shoulder as she whispered to someone nearby, "Thank heavens, she's alive."

For a year, the faces of this little coastal town became my whole world. These people—strangers at first, though I’d come to see them as family—had found me washed up on their shore after a heavy storm. They cared for me, helped me heal. They told me I had come in on a rough tide, barely breathing. My past was blank, a black slate, as empty as the horizon.

Yet there was a restlessness within me, a flicker of something left undone. I would catch myself watching the ocean, feeling a pull toward its vastness, like an anchor somewhere deep within me, half-forgotten and buried in the depths.

I tried to ignore it, forcing myself into a routine, helping with the nets, mending sails, doing small, clumsy chores around town. The villagers laughed at my mishaps, good-natured and warm, and I laughed along with them, though a part of me always wondered why everything felt so… wrong, somehow. Like wearing clothes that didn’t fit.

And then, one evening, as I watched the sun dip below the horizon, something strange came over me—a memory, slipping into focus for just a heartbeat. It was of a man, standing tall, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s gaze, cutting through everything they touched. His form was shrouded in darkness, yet I could sense the weight of his stare, the cool indifference he wore like a cloak.

Dracule Mihawk.

The name surged through me, as if pulled from the depths of the sea itself. It tasted familiar, filled with fear and awe, with a reverence that felt misplaced, yet urgent. His voice echoed in the back of my mind, words as cold and biting as steel: “You’re supposed to be watching me, not getting yourself killed.”

And then, like a fragile thread slipping through my fingers, the memory faded, leaving only the faintest trace, like footprints in the sand washed away by the tide.

Days passed, and I could think of little else. The name haunted me, a specter hovering at the edge of my consciousness, tugging at some long-buried duty. I tried to bury it, to shake off the strange yearning, yet each time, it returned stronger, more insistent.

Then, one night, as a storm rolled in, I felt a reckless determination rise within me. I had to know who I was—had to know why the name of a Warlord carried such weight within me, why it felt like my life had revolved around that solitary, distant figure.

As the storm thundered above, I knew what I had to do.

I packed what little I owned, slipping away before dawn. I didn’t know where I was going or if I’d even find what I sought, but I knew I couldn’t stay here, not anymore. I had to find Mihawk, to remember why he haunted my dreams. And maybe, just maybe, I’d find myself in the process.

In my heart, I could still hear the echoes of my own laugh, wild and breathless, lingering in the back of my mind like a fragment of the past I couldn’t quite grasp.

The small boat cut through the waves, though each crest grew higher and stronger, rocking the vessel with an intensity I hadn’t anticipated. For a while, I managed well enough, adjusting as the water slapped against the sides, my hands tight on the oars. I’d learned to fish out here, enough to know how to read the currents, to feel when the sea was ready to turn against you. But now, as I looked out at the dark, churning horizon, I felt a prickle of doubt.

My mind kept drifting back to him—this elusive figure who seemed to haunt my memory and my purpose. I couldn’t shake the feeling that finding him would somehow explain everything, that he held the key to the pieces I couldn’t remember. Mihawk. The name itself felt heavy, burdened with something I couldn’t name. And each time I tried to recall him, his face slipped away, features blurring into the shadows, like he was some phantom my mind had conjured.

But even though his image stayed frustratingly vague, the feeling was as sharp as ever. I knew it was real. And I knew I had to find him.

The waves rose higher, and I braced myself, leaning into each swell with a determination that was half instinct, half desperation. The salt stung my skin, the chill of the ocean seeping into my bones, but I pressed on. It had been around a year since I’d woken on that lonely shore with no memory, no past, nothing but the kindness of strangers who didn’t ask questions. And yet, beneath the surface, this pull toward something—someone—was always there, like a silent tide that had finally dragged me out to sea.

I tried to picture him again, forcing myself to concentrate. A flash of his eyes—piercing, unyielding—came to mind, and I felt my heartbeat quicken. I could almost hear his voice, cold and amused, saying once more: “You’re supposed to be watching me, not getting yourself killed.” There was no warmth in those words, yet something in them rang familiar, almost comforting, like I’d heard them countless times before.

A hard wave broke against the boat, yanking me from the memory. I gasped, feeling the boat tip precariously before I steadied it. Every time I focused on Mihawk, on those fractured glimpses of the past, the sea seemed to rise in response, as if testing my resolve. I wondered if he was as dangerous as the ocean itself, as indifferent to life and death, sweeping in and out of people’s lives without a trace. And yet, if he truly was that figure, why did I feel this pull to find him, this sense of trust mingled with wariness? It made no sense, but here I was, risking everything on a memory as thin as smoke.

Ahead, I could see the faint outline of an island, its shape barely visible against the steel-gray sky. Relief mixed with fear as I realized I was getting closer to my goal. If I could reach a port, I could ask around, maybe find someone who knew his name, or knew where he could be found. Mihawk was a Warlord; surely, someone, somewhere, would know something about him. At least that was what the kind people of my island had told me.

But as I rowed, a single question lingered, haunting me as much as his name did: If I found him, would he remember me?

I couldn’t shake the image of those intense, unreadable eyes watching me, studying me like I was some strange creature that had somehow stumbled into his world. And though the image was as unclear as the horizon in a storm, I felt a flash of defiance, of determination. If he didn’t remember me, I would make him. He was the only link to who I had been, to everything I had lost. And if I had to face the storm to get there, then so be it.

Another wave crashed against the boat, nearly knocking me back. My hands ached, but I held on, fighting the urge to look back at the safety of the shoreline far behind me. I kept my eyes forward, fixed on the island.

The dock was bustling as I arrived, my clothes soaked with sea spray, exhaustion settling into my bones. But my heart was pounding as I scanned the horizon, hoping, daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time he would actually be here.

I had been on his trail for what felt like forever. Each time I thought I’d caught up to him—whispers in taverns, rumors in passing, a hushed mention of “Hawk Eyes Mihawk”—I’d find nothing more than empty docks or vague traces of his presence. It was as though he was always one step ahead, a shadow slipping through my grasp. I grew used to the strange, half-maddening cycle of arriving somewhere, just a few hours too late. There’d be an empty mug in an inn, a murmur of a cloaked figure sighted in a nearby town. But never him.

At first, it had been simple enough to pick up his trail. I found myself listening intently to sailors’ tales and buying drinks for anyone with even the slightest hint of information. But as months turned into years, I learned quickly that mere words weren’t enough. I couldn’t rely on others. So, I fought. I survived, tracking down pirates and mercenaries who owed their lives to Mihawk—or feared him enough to give me scraps of knowledge, little more than breadcrumbs. With every fight, every encounter, I grew stronger, a clumsy, scattered style slowly becoming something sharper, something that could almost be called technique.

I could almost feel Mihawk’s ghostly disapproval as I fumbled my way through fights in the beginning, wielding a blade with a mixture of grit and inexperience. He was an image, a goal I couldn’t quite touch, and as time passed, I wondered if he’d simply vanish again like the dream I couldn’t remember. But something in me wouldn’t let go. He was out there. And the small memories I had of him felt realer, more vivid, as if he were watching, aware that I was on his trail, though always staying just out of reach.

Sometimes I wondered if he was avoiding me, if he had no intention of ever meeting me again. Perhaps, to him, I was nothing more than a ghost, something easily ignored and forgotten. The thought gnawed at me, but I kept going, surviving each storm and each struggle, clinging to the hope that I would find him, that I would finally learn who I was and why he haunted my memories.

And now, as I stood at the edge of this crowded port, I felt a surge of hope—and fear. His ship was docked here, the enormous black vessel unmistakable, casting a shadow over the water. People whispered in awe and fear, as if his mere presence filled the air with a kind of sharp, electric tension. There was no mistaking it; he had to be here.

I took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the thrill of adrenaline mixed with exhaustion. After all these months, all these years of following nothing but a rumor, I was finally close. Somewhere in this town, he was here. I could almost hear his voice again, cold and distant, watching me with that sharp, unreadable gaze, reminding me of how far I still had to go.

This time, I wouldn’t let him slip away.

[animehideout]

LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL

PART 11

Check out part 12 here

Gojo Satoru X Fem! Reader

warnings ⚠️: not proofread / abuse / SA just something vague not detailed.

a/n : I truly apologize for this late update, I was really unmotivated to rewrite it and I was struggling to find inspiration again, I'm sorry if this part didn't live up to your expectations but I read hope you like it though, I tried to make it longer but I ran out of ideas 🥹.

Music Suggestion 🎧

Satoru stood tall, alone in the balcony, his gaze fixated on the sky, lost in the depth if his own thoughts. The weight of regret hung heavy upon his shoulders, a burden he could no longer bear.

His mind played your last fight that night on loop, making him hate himself even more. He remembered his harsh words, actions and disrespect towards you. Forcefully shutting his eyes to make those images and voices that's been haunting him go away.

Unwelcomed thoughts yet impossible to ignore. Blaming himself over and over again for what happened to you, torturing himself to madness.

"It's my fucking fault" he muttered,

In all that darkness, the image of your face in his mind was the only source of light. The delicate curve of your smile whenever you were around your students etched in his memory. He remembered the way you slept, features softened by the gentle embrace of your slumber, your passion for teaching and your daily excitement to show your students a new weapon and new technique.

You were a vision of peace amidst the chaos he was living. He realized then how life became emptier after your disappearance, the void your absence had left in every bit of his life. He realized how much he fell for you, he realized that hatred was deeply buried by the birth of his love for you.

With a heavy heart, he bowed his head, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. For three days, his eyes wide open, unable to sleep without you under the same roof as him, cuddling a piece of your clothing every single night to take into your scent, to pretend that you were there, next to him.

Clutching his fists, his knuckles turned white , whispering a plea for forgiveness, a forgiveness he might never receive.

"I'm sorry Y/n.."

. ..

"Satoru?"

"Y-yaga sensei?" said Gojo wiping his tears away,

"Can I join you?"

"Y-yeah sure"

"What's on your mind? Still blaming yourself?"

"Do I have anything else to do except blaming myself?"

"I'm sorry for your loss Satoru" said Principal Yaga apologetically,

"I didn't lose her, she's still out there, somewhere! I know it, I'm sure of it, I can feel it"

"Pain is eating you up Satoru, you know you should let go already–"

"Let go? Easier said than done. How can all of you let go so fast as if she never existed?" he said in annoyance

"The higher ups orders, to not distract the sorcerers' focus from their daily tasks"

"Bullshit, –"

"Satoru I understand your pain"

"No you don't, none of you does! I did this to her, I built the wall between both of us brick by brick till it collapsed on both of us, she got abducted by Toji and here I am suffering everyday.. I just wish I can turn back time and undo the damage I had done"

"Is this because of regret or something else?" asked Principal Yaga

Gojo looked down, not sure of what to say, mastering the courage he finally spoke,

"I– I love her, sensei! I love Y/n so much, I just hope it's not too late to realize this because I really want to fix everything–"

Yaga sensei looked at Gojo with a reassuring yet sad smile, deep down, everyone accepted that you died except Gojo., and he didn't want him to hang on fake hope.

"Satoru–"

"I know what you're about to say, but I won't let go, I won't give up even if the higher ups chain me down.... I thought she was a curse when we got married but I think I am her curse, I was her curse while she was my blessing–"

"I hope you're right Satoru, I hope she's still out there as you said, I hope you get a second chance to be a real family"

...

*In Mei Mei's room*

"Look at this" said Maki her eyebrows frowning in confusion,

"Who's that in the picture?" asked Nobara as confused as Maki,

Both of them examined the photograph, their eyes flickered between the picture and each other in silence. In the picture a woman smiled serenely as she cradled a baby in her embrace.

Maki shrugged equally perplexed,

"I have no idea, do you think it's a family member?"

Their senses were on high alert as they scanned every corner of her room for any sign of wrongdoing, something out of the ordinary. They found that picture tucked under her bed after they flipped the mattress while searching for anything suspicious.

"And this stack of money? Didn't know she's got all of this cash here" added Nobara.

"And this box as well"

Intrigued, they opened it. As they lifted the lid of the box, a firegun revealed itself, its metallic surface gleaming ominously in the dim light.

"A g-gun?" started Nobara as she looked at Maki in shock, "what would she use it for?"

"Definitely not hers, why would a sorcerer with a jujutsu technique depend on a gun" she pointed out.

"Good point, so if its not hers then to whom does it belong to?" asked Nobara

"There's only one way to figure it out, but now let's take the gun, the damn photograph and get out of here" said Maki as she put he mattress in its place again.

.....

"GOJO-SENSEI" called Nobara out as she caught a glimpse of Gojo in the balcony "Sensei you need to see this"

"Hm? Nobara? Maki?"

"Gojo" said Maki as she saw Gojo with principal Yaga in the balcony "We found something–"

but before she could finish her sentence,

"Any news?" interrupted Mei Mei as she stepped in the balcony out of nowhere..

Maki and Nobara exchanged quick nervous glances, their eyes darting between each other as they attempt to maintain composure. Hiding what they took from her room behind their backs. Their expressions strain with the effort to appear nonchalant, but a subtle tension lingers in the air. Lips pressed into strained smiles,

"Nah nothing new" said Maki while Nobara nodded in agreement.

"Hm you sure about that? I thought I heard you said you found something, is it about Y/n? " asked Mei raising her eyebrows,

"What if we did? Is it really your concern?" exclaimed Maki offensively, only to get elbowed softly by Nobara,

"We found nothing important Mei Mei sensei, of course if we did we'd tell you" exclaimed Nobara, chuckling awkwardly.

"Oh alright then girls," she said luckily not giving too much important to the girls, then paused and drifted her gaze towards Gojo, "how are you holding up Gojo? I hope you're in the process of moving on" she added

Gojo's eyes burned holes in her soul, but he tried to remain calm,

"I'm fine"

"That's what all of us would like to hear, glad you let go" she said and then excused herself to go to her room,

Then moment she left, Maki ran towards Gojo and Yaga, showing them what they found,

"We found these–"

"WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THESE FROM?" snapped Gojo unexpectedly, his eyes widened as he snatched the gun and photograph form Maki's hands,

"Damn Satoru what's got into you, relax!" exclaimed Yaga-sensei,

"W-we.." stuttered Nobara

"How did you get these? they were well hidden"

"Well hidden under Mei Mei's bed?" asked Maki in confusion

"What? what did you just say?" said Gojo and Yaga in union

"We found these under Mei Mei's bed, the gun hidden in a box , tucked beside that photograph and a pile of cash, do you possibly know to whom it belongs?"

"These belong to Toji Zenin" said Satoru

Maki and Nobara froze in place, trying to process what Gojo just said,

"T-toji?" they said in disbelief,

"This gun was used by Toji to murder Riko Amanai, and these in the picture are Megumi and his mother–" explained Yaga sensei

"It can only be one thing" expressed Gojo through gritted teeth, "She must be behind it" he added and started walking away, thinking about confronting her,

"GOJO STOP!" yelled Yaga sensei, holding Gojo in place, "What's happened to your common sense? vanished?"

"We can't assume anything now sensei!" said Nobara

"So all of this isn't enough to assume that she's got some dirty work with Toji Zenin going on behind our backs?" said Gojo aggressively

"Okay you're right, it is suspicious but we need a plan! a proper plan, do you think she'll admit it if you confront her? she'll find a lie and you'll never find the truth, not out of her! We need to know more about her first" explained Maki

"Know what?" asked Gojo impatiently

"I mean, Toji has nothing right? not even a house, do you think if he'd take Y/n to a hotel room after abducting her? Mei Mei must have provided a place for him" she added

"So if we can't ask her, how would we know?" asked Nobara,

"We ask her best friend" Suggest Maki shrugging,

....

"Is it ringing?" asked Yaga sensei,

"Yeah shh it is" said Gojo waiting for her to pick up the phone, "–Oh hello" he said through the phone

"Gojo? Hi what's up calling me late at night, is everything okay?"

"Utahime, yeah everything is fine, we just need you here, if it's possible can you make here in one hour at least?"

"Well I can, but is it an emergency?"

"Um it's– it's about Mei Mei, we're preparing a party for her and we need your help"

"A party? It's not even her birthday yet–"

"It's for her service, it's a habit here in Jujutsu High to hold a party for a teacher to honor them, and this time it's Mei Mei, she did a lot for us and for the school, besides it's the higher ups orders so..."

"Oh the higher ups? sure then I'll be there in an hour"

"Don't tell Mei Mei that you're coming though, it must remain a surprise, now we don't wanna spoil it"

"So should be meet outside the school?"

"Sure yeah, you can come to my house?!"

"Oh alright then, I'll be there"

With that they hung up the phone,

"She'll be here in one hour, I hope we can get her to talk"

"I hope she's not part of Mei Mei's plan though" Said Nobara.

"Don't you think we must tell the others? Maybe we need some backup?" suggested Maki

"Yeah, but some of them need to stay here to keep an eye on Mei Mei" said principal Yaga

"Alright, I'll go and tell them then,"

*Time skip, at Gojo's house*

They sat there, Gojo, Nanami, Maki and Megumi waiting for Utahime's arrival.

"You've got a nice and big house" pointed Maki

"Yeah but never a happy house" mumbled Gojo to himself,

"Do you think she'll tell us more about her?" asked Megumi and suddenly the bell rang,

"I guess we'll find out now!" said Nanami,

...

"So Utahime, I hope you corporate!" started Gojo not wasting any precious second,

"Corporate? you make it sound like if we're discussing business, and not preparing for a surprise party! it's a p-party right?"

she chuckled nervously,

"Not really! you need to tell us more about Mei Mei, some information that we don't know about"

"wait? what?" she asked nervously

"Is she meeting someone? did she tell you about something?"

"Gojo wait! why are you asking about this? I mean she lives there in the school dorms as well, so I guess you know more than I do"

"I don't think so, she's you're best friend she must have told you something about her plan?" said Maki

"Plan? what plan?"

"Ah come on Utahime dont play dumb"

"No for real! what plan, I thought you had a plan with her , Gojo to push Y/n away!"

"What? NO. I'm talking about her dirty plan with Toji"

"Toji? wait what's going on?" she said truly confused

"STOP LYING AND ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION, IF YOU'RE PART OF HER DIRTY GAME I'LL END BOTH OF YOU" exclaimed Gojo angrily, making Utahime step back, growing more and more impatient.

"Hey hey Gojo calm down, what's wrong with you? I understand you're frustrated but that's not the right way to find answers!" said Maki and the others nodded in agreement,

"Megumi please take him to the balcony while me and Maki handle this, he needs to calm down" suggest Nanami,

Megumi did as he said and took Gojo to get some fresh night air,

"Geez, you really developed anger issues, you were more laid back even in risky situations Gojo" started Megumi

"Not anymore, people change and I've changed"

"Y/n sensei is dear to all of us, so I am eager too to know where she is, and I truly understand how you feel"

"No Gumi, you don't, you don't understand because I'm not just sad, I'm feeling extremely guilty, because it's my damn fault"

"I'm feeling guilty too" said Megumi lowering his head,

"Hm? what for ? you're pretty close to Y/n and you're good friends not only a student and his teacher–"

"It's my father, he's the one who abducted her and only God knows what he's doing to her, I don't wanna even think about it. Is there any greater shame than this?" he said his voice cracking,

"Hey Megumi! look at me, your father's actions has nothing to do with you, he's the one who abducted her not you! you've always been nice and kind to Y/n. Sometimes family does things that we are ashamed of and completely in opposition of it but it doesn't mean we're like them just because we're related by blood, you are what you're truly in here" he said and pointed at Megumi's heart "And I know well what's in there Megumi! I raised you and I've seen you grow up to be a loyal, strong and kind hearted man! you're the complete opposite of your father so don't ever compare yourself to him again" said Gojo with a smile,

"If it's his fault, then why are you blaming yourself Gojo?"

"Because I'm the reason she left that night! I've said too many hurtful words, no one can handle to hear, no one deserves to hear but I was too agitated, too overwhelmed by my mixed feelings, trying to push her away from me over and over again–"

"Why? why'd you push her away from you? couldn't you have tried at least? maybe after what you've been through you were destined to finally find happiness with her! "

"My heart was a messy place to make it a comfortable place for her!"

"Was? so what changed now?"

"I want to try to make it comfortable for both of us, I want t-t to– nevermind! I have to find her, I have to make it up for her"

"I understand and we will find her, Y/n is strong I'm sure she's safe wherever she is" reassured Megumi, trying to lift Gojo's spirit again,

....

"So Utahime, we really need you to corporate so you better put that bestie thing with Mei Mei aside cuz this is a life or death matter!" begun Maki,

"D-death?"

"Toji escaped and we think that Mei Mei had a hand in this" added Nanami

"No way! Why would Mei Mei do that? I mean you know what Toji had done to the Jujutsu world!"

"We know, but we know that when people are full of hate are full of unexpected things!"

"Nanami what's wrong? what happened?"

"It's Y/n! Toji abducted her, and we found Toji's gun under Mei Mei's bed, even though it was well hidden.. do you still think she's got nothing to do with that?"

Her eyes wide open in shock and disbelief, her mouth hanging open, sad expressions drawn on her face,

"W-what? I didn't know I swear to God! I've – I've never thought it will go that way, I've never thought she could fall this far" she expressed her feelings, her heart crushing, she's never expected her long time best friend would do or be part of such thing, to betray the Jujutsu community.

"That's why we need your help! You know how important Y/n is to our world! we can't lose her" said Nanami "So please if you know anything, any place she owns, any small details tell us, we really need to know"

With a deep breath, she started thinking, trying to remember if Mei Mei told her anything,

"I remember she bought a house! but that was weeks ago!!"

"A house?"

"Yeah, she said she might settle in Tokyo if things went well between her and Gojo–"

"She's truly delusion" interrupted Maki rolling her eyes,

"Where is this house?" asked Nanami

"I'll take you there" said Utahime determined to help.

Despite being best friends with Mei Mei, her morals were more important! she's too loyal to the Jujutsu World and committed to the greater good, she knows about the prophecy and she can't afford to witness another loss on the Jujutsu community part.

"I'll go and tell Gojo and Megumi then– maybe Y/n is there"

.......

[ Kill her, and I'll bring your cash tomorrow when I see her lifeless body ]

Read Toji through the message that he received,

"See! I'm ordered to kill you now! How much trouble did you cause her for her to free me from the prison just to torture you and kill you" he said with a smirk

"F-fuck you and fuck her" you said through gritted teeth as you were thrown on the floor, your body hurting from the chains that were tied around your wrists and feet.

your lips and nose bleeding after hours of tortures,

"And you still got that attitude, after being beaten up? If I were you I wouldn't act so brave.."

"You'll never be me Toji! we're both considered inferior in the Jujutsu world but I learned how to be the real me and not what others want me to be, I didn't let others to order me around and kill people–"

"Are you trying to save yourself? and convince me to not kill you"

"no, I know I can't be saved, not just now but for a long time ago, but you know the funny thing is that we actually have something else in common beside being monkeys" you joked offensively trying to get on his nerves, you're going to die anyway so why'd you not offend him, you were tired if being stepped on so why not talk back.

"what?" he said in anticipation as he kneeled down,

"Both our families are disappointed in us, I disappointed my parents and you disappointed your son, Megumi, nice kid he's nothing like you–"

"M-megumi?"

And you struck a sensitive nerve in him,

You started laughing when you saw his face dropped and his expressions changed, your stomach hurts whenever you laughed he probably had broken some of yours ribs.

The you paused,

"Do it Toji. Do what you were assigned for, no one will come to my rescue anyway, do it, kill me" you said in a serious tone,

"Change in plan, let me have my fun with you before I take the light out of your eyes"

"You still have time for fun? the dawn will break soon–"

"Oh I know princess, don't you worry about it, I know I can't delay the sunlight but I know how to make the night even more darker... and you were right, Megumi's probably disappointed in me but lemme tell you something–" he paused and leaned forward, his face a few inches away from yours "That's who I truly am, a beast that preys on the weak, and you are weak Y/n no matter how hard you try to come off as strong"

he said and he reached to take off your shirt,

Your heart beats quickened, you thought he'd torture you in another way, and not attempt to do something filthy to you,

"No -no! I'd rather die" you said trying your best to break free from his grasp, but his huge body got you pinned down,

"What? you're not a fan of big guys? or your pathetic ass is loyal to a husband who's never paid attention to your existence?" he said looking you deep in the eyes, his huge hands circling around your neck, posing pressure on it,

You couldn't deny the pain and disappointment you felt. You really hoped Gojo would appear and save you, you wished he cared for you. You couldn't deny that you wanted Gojo; your husband to be your first time and not with someone who would brutally kill you after taking what he wants.

You'd die even before he kills you.

"no don't " you whispered, loosing your voice as his grip around your neck tightened, making it hard to breathe.

....

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER"

All what you can feel is the weight of Toji's body being removed from on top of you.

Toji's body forcefully thrown on the ground, your blurry eyes trying to focus on the figure standing right in front of you, slowly approaching you,

"Damn baby what did he do to you?" he said softly, softly brushing his finger over your bleeding lip.

"S-satoru, y-you came!" you whispered, your vision darkening and ears ringing,

"Of course I'm here with you, Y/n! Y/N !!!!!no no Y/N WAKE UP" he yelled as he held you in his arms.

....

Your eyes slowly fluttered opened, your surroundings sharpening into details again, gulping with difficulty.

A serum attached to your vein,

"Sensei" said Yuji "Guys she's awake"

With that all of them circled around the bed you were laying on, their eyes look directly at you, greeting you with sincere smiles.

"How are you feeling?" asked Megumi.

You tried to leave the bed but they forced you to lay back. You looked around scanning the place, you were in the hospital, Shoko must have treated your wounds, everyone was there except your husband, Satoru.

Tag list ✨

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[freedomfireflies]

Destiny

Summary: You’ll lose Harry on August 17th, 2029.

They’ll say it was a freak accident. That nobody could have seen it coming. Nobody could have stopped it.

But you can.

And you will.

Word Count: 1.6k

“I’m not sure. I swear, it was right here on the dresser.”

“I’ll have Anthony check again. We might be able to find a copy somewhere in the office. Or maybe we can find the file through email.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Let me know. I was really looking forward to it.”

“Will do. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Harry nods to his manager, who disappears down the corridor of the arena, before he leans against the wall and hangs his head.

Your heart hammers inside your chest as that familiar ringing returns to your ears. 

There he is.

He’s so close. So fucking close, you can almost smell his vanilla cologne. Can almost feel his soft curls run through your fingers or feel his lips on your neck.

Hear his voice in your ear.

Your body aches to be near him. Every muscle, every nerve-ending, every joint vibrates with the need to be close. To walk over to him, throw your arms around his neck, and bury your face in his chest.

To hold onto him one last time.

But you can’t. You made a deal.

You do this…and you move on.

Harry sighs to himself and looks back up at the ceiling, hands digging into his pockets.

You know what this means. He’s stressed. Aggravated over something he can’t control, and annoyed with himself for being unable to fix it.

In the future, when he'll get frustrated, you’ll press a kiss to his palm, whisper three, “I love you’s,” and count with him to ten.

He’ll remember to breathe, to relax, and to handle the problem one step at a time.

You wish you could do that now.

But this Harry doesn’t know you. He hasn’t met you yet.

He doesn’t love you yet.

And he never will.

You take a deep breath and glance down at the envelope in your pocket that you’d snuck from his dressing room. The same envelope Jeff is currently on a mission to find.

But he won’t find it. There’s no other copy in existence and there won’t be again.

You promised.

If he never goes on that trip to Italy, then he never meets Alexander. And if he never meets Alexander, then he never agrees to the tour around Europe. And if he never agrees to the tour around Europe, then he’ll never be in that car on August 17th at 5:03 P.M. 

He’ll never be flipped over seven times before the vehicle crashes into the wall.

He’ll never attempt to crawl to you and drag you to safety.

He’ll never realize he’s bleeding out faster than either of you can stop it, and he’ll never collapse onto the streets of Barcelona.

You’ll never lose him.

You made a deal that day. Some deity in the universe found you begging anyone that would listen to give you one more chance.

And they decided to give it to you.

They’d let you come back and keep him from finding that envelope. The very envelope that would set everything in motion.

They’d allow you to stop him.

They’d allow you to save his life.

Even if it means he'll never meet you.

Because you and he will bump into each other at a cafe in Paris on March 5th, 2025. He’ll already be waiting there to conduct a meeting with Alexander. The same meeting where they’ll choose the dates for the tour. 

The day they’ll choose to send him to Barcelona.

He’ll notice your dress first and he’ll stop you to tell you that it’s his favorite color. And you’ll blush wildly once you realize who he is and thank him profusely for taking the time to speak with you.

He’ll offer to buy you a croissant and you’ll laugh at his attempt at a French accent. Then you’ll part ways for about half an hour as he and Alexander talk while you return to your chai in the corner of the restaurant.

But he’ll stop by your small table before he leaves. He’ll tell you his name and ask for yours.

You’ll give it to him.

And from that moment on, neither of your lives will ever be the same.

You’d thought long and hard about the decision before agreeing to this second chance. Wondering if there was any other way you could warn him and keep him out of that car without having to lose him completely.

Destiny said no.

As long as your soul is intertwined with his, he will always meet the same fate. 

The only way to save him…is to let him go.

You hear Harry curse to himself as he runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it until he winces. 

The last fragile shard of your heart shatters when you see him drop into a crouch, head cradled in his palms.

“The fuck is wrong with me?” you hear him mumble, the hauntingly familiar question echoing between the empty arena walls until it finds you.

He’s asked himself that at least a hundred times throughout your relationship.

Your answer is always the same:

“Nothing,” you’ll whisper before taking him into your arms. “Nothing, H. You’re perfectly imperfect and I love you.”

He’ll melt in your embrace before allowing himself to sink into your body. “I love you.”

You’d give anything to offer him that comfort now.

Not that he’d know what to do with it.

Suddenly, his head lifts, eyes drifting around the white corridors in thought before they find you.

Your breath catches as you scramble to hide around the corner, pulse racing as you hear him stand, his shoes squeaking along the linoleum floors.

“Hello?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, back pressing into the wall. “Sorry,” you call, silently commanding him not to come over. “Just…looking for the bathroom. My bad.”

But you hear him approach. Hear his feet lead him to you in a way that almost feels…destined.

You’re frozen to your spot, acutely aware of the way you should be heading for the exit. You did what you came to do. He’s safe…and you need him to stay that way.

But you couldn’t resist one final look. One final glimpse of the man that had asked you to marry him only moments before getting into that damned car.

His head peeks out from behind the wall to look for you, brows raising when he sees the way you’re cowering away from him. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, and his voice holds the same compassion he’s demonstrated with you a hundred times before. Despite the fact that he doesn’t know you now…he still cares.

One of the many reasons you fell in love with him. His kindness for everybody.

“Yes, sorry,” you repeat, eyes falling to his shoes. You can’t look at him. “I just…couldn’t find the bathroom.”

“I get it.” He laughs. And the sound makes your stomach rip down the middle. “S’place is huge. You wanna go down this hallway, make a right, follow that hallway…and then it should be on your left.”

You nod without lifting your head. “Thanks. Sorry again for bothering you.”

“No, don’t be,” he insists. “I was just…taking a minute.”

“Yeah,” you reply, and your voice is small. Weighed down by the burden of your grief. “Sometimes we need a minute. Or two.”

“Or twenty,” he adds, chuckling again. “I swear, sometimes I think I have a handle on this shit, and sometimes…it feels like it's completely out of my hands. Like somebody else is pulling the strings and I’m just…along for the ride.”

Your throat constricts as the imminent tears rush to your eyes. “Yeah.”

He pauses and you can feel his eyes on the top of your head. He’s studying you. Your body language, your demeanor, your voice. Looking for something. Looking for what’s wrong.

He did this all the time when you were first dating.

Eventually, he learned to read you like a book.

“Seriously, are you all right?” he asks again, softer this time. Hoping to coax a real answer out of you.

No. No, you’re not all right. How are you supposed to tell him goodbye? How are you supposed to look at the man that asked you to marry him and see that he has no idea who you are?

And that he never will?

How are you supposed to walk through those double doors when you know that the moment you do…you’ll forget. You’ll forget him, you’ll forget your relationship, and you’ll forget the fact that you lost him.

And maybe that’s okay because at least then, you’ll forget that you watched him die. Forget that you watched the life leave his eyes as his hand went limp in yours.

He’d made you promise you’d be okay.

And it was the last thing he ever did.

You don’t know if he’d approve of this. You don’t think he would.

But you’d rather have his life than his love.

You take a deep breath and force your shoulders back. “Yes, sorry. Just taking a minute myself.”

He hums. “Yeah. I get that. Life is…hard.”

“Very,” you whisper before you trail your eyes to his.

He smiles.

And it almost guts you.

“Try…counting to ten,” you say as you take a step back, putting a lifetime of distance between you. “Whenever I’m upset, I just take a deep breath, hold it, and count to ten. And when I’m done…everything doesn’t feel so…loud.”

He seems intrigued by this premise, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk as he nods once. “Yeah. I’ll try that.”

You nod yourself and turn on your heel. You don’t want to leave him but you can’t stay.

Destiny is calling you back.

You make it about three steps before a hand snatches onto your wrist and spins you around.

You know this touch. Know what it means, and you can’t force yourself to see him as he steps closer.

“Wait,” he murmurs, and there’s an urgency woven between each syllable that springs the tears to your waterline.

You go still.

"I know you..." he whispers, eyes trailing over the side of your face, "...don't I?"

Even now, the echo of his love calls out for you.

You swallow every truth you wish you could tell him, and slip yourself from his touch for the last time.

“You used to.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter

[donotpush]

Bumpin' in Europe, 1

Monica wasn’t your aunt, and to be honest, you were never really sure what she was doing in your house. 

The few memories you had of her were like a fuzzy dream, disjointed bits with a touch of a few very specific sensations, like the smell of her perfume or the exact shade of tan she always had.

She was Mom’s friend, that was it. You couldn’t remember for how long she was around, and if anything, she probably had been your mom’s friend more than she was your auntie. 

The most vivid memories you had of her flourished around your teen years when the way you looked at her started to slowly shift. 

She would come around a few times a year, typically around the holidays and it always meant gifts, exotic trinkets and the extremely physical affection that the people from somewhere in Southern Europe always carried around with them. She would always bring good wine with her and that meant that mom would be a little less grumpy and that you were allowed to stay up past your bedtime, sitting in the dark in the backyard with them. 

But she wasn’t around that much for you to consider her a constant, an important part of your life as you did with some other of your mom’s friends, who you would actually call aunt.

Monica was just the woman that would get all the horny teens in the neighbourhood to conglomerate in your backyard to watch her sunbathe.

Cause she was pretty hot, too. As you grew older, the less you cared about if she brought you gifts and more if she was going to wear those shorts or tank tops that showed off way more skin than your conservative neighbourhood was used to. 

All the fond memories you had of her seemed to remain buried deep into your little box of wonders, until yesterday.

You shook your feet in the air before smacking them gently against the wall, trying to get rid of the sand that got into your sandals, grazing the bare skin and making you groan silently. Something tickled the back of your sweaty neck, and a small blood spot smudged your fingers when you killed the mosquito that landed on your skin. 

This far, this part of your journey has been hell on earth.

It had looked nothing like what the influencers on Instagram showed, and yes, you were aware that if there was something this trip wasn’t going to be, that was glamorous. 

But, come on! This was too much even for you.

The owner of the hostel you were staying in ended up being a total asshole, to say the least. 

The place was nothing like what it advertised on Airbnb, the posted pictures made you think that there was a cozy, safe, friendly and clean place that couldn't be less far from reality in competition with the building that stood in front of you.

And of course, you did expect to share a room with people. Maybe nine, ten at worst. Not fucking 25 other people in the most cramped place you have ever seen, and for the price you were paying might as well pay for a hotel room.

You could hear your mother’s voice saying I told you clear as daylight. 

Long short story, there was no way you were getting your money back that day, you were without a single penny in your pockets and waiting for some divine Airbnb intervention to come and rescue you. 

But it didn’t happen, and your mom was the godsend creature that served you the solution to all your problems on a silver platter, after the scolding of the year over the phone. It truly is a small world, and Monica, her friend, happened to live in the same hole lost in the middle of nowhere where you ended up.

Another argument with the hostel owner and a few more calls later, you were heading to Monica’s house, who gladly allowed you to spend as much time as needed at her place. 

There were a few little details that didn't escape your eyes at first sight, not the most obvious, perhaps. Her hair was shorter—no longer waist long, and a shade lighter, a nice caramel brown instead of black. And God, she looked younger than her actual age. Even when there were new wrinkles around her eyes and there was proof that she smiled too much on the corners of her lips.

Well, she was still a beautiful woman.

As a kid, you were bewitched by how kind and funny she was and what amazing gifts she always gave you. Now your interests were drafted to how fucking hot the woman in front of you was.

She wasn’t exactly like the vivid image you hold in your memory, she surfed the transition from young adult to mature woman smoothly and hot as hell. And you liked it, but as your eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in every inch and trying to remain as neutral as possible, it wasn't possible to contain the way your eyebrows raised and your lips parted, your face crumpling up in total surprise. 

Firstly your gaze shifted front the way the skin that revealed the risky neckline shined against the warm sun to lower, and all the curves were great. But the curves didn’t stop there, because the modest black shirt she was wearing clung tightly to the gravid stomach that protruded in her middle, stretching the fabric dangerously.

Your mind went blank and you weren't sure if you let out an audible gasp, but your eyes seemed to be glued to her heavy, big midsection. Not only she looked— she was pregnant. She was pregnant, and fuck, you were sure she had more than one bun in the oven.

Huge. She was huge. Swollen breasts and round, firm stomach that made you wonder whether she already was in the last trimester.

Lucky the bastard that knocked her up.

It took a moment for your brain to reboot and return to function normally after you almost drooled.

The fabric barely covered the curve of her stomach, leaving a bit of the skin of her underbelly exposed, soft and inviting and you wanted to touch. In an unconscious manner, Monica pulled the shirt down in a useless try, because it lifted again, exposing even more skin.

Her hands moved to your forearms, gripping softly at them before she pulled you closer into a hug, her arms circling your body. You hugged her back automatically, burying your face between her shoulder and her neck and she was wearing the same perfume as always.

“Oh, Y/N! Look at you, dear". Monica laughed quietly.

The weight of the backpack you carried didn’t help you to remain stable, and soon you found yourself almost leaning completely against her in a closeness you didn’t intend. The gravid roundedness of her stomach pressed against your thin middle in comparison, and for a moment all you could feel was your own body getting hotter by the second, not knowing what to do with your hands.

Thank God you already looked flustered and sweaty when you got there.

You knew where you wanted to put your hands, but that would be not respectful at all. You wanted to touch, run your fingers over the bump, to touch and grasp but God, you had basic human decency to not be that much of a creep.

She pressed a kiss to your right cheek, and you shivered at the feeling of her lips against your hot skin and the way her gravid body pressed against yours, then another kiss on your left cheek.

“Please, come inside”. 

You didn’t remember it, but she had an accent. 

She held the door open for you, and she had to turn sideways facing you to get her belly out of the way and let you fit past her into the house. 

The place was surreal, with high ceilings and spacious rooms, floors that conserved old tiles decorated with handmade colorful details you were sure weren't made anymore these days, paintings on the walls and art pieces that reminded you of abstract art pieces you had seen online.

Everything was taken care of, every little decoration carefully placed, every detail double-checked, and your attention should be there, but your eyes couldn't leave Monica’s body. 

“Look at you, you’re…” she smiled, walking into the kitchen, “God, you’re so… different. All grown up, now."

Leaning back against the countertop, one of her hands traveled to rest over her growing stomach, and the other one to rest behind her back for support. A drop of sweat rolled down her neck and slid down her collarbone, disappearing between her breasts. You realized she wasn't wearing anything under the shirt, and you got it, being all hot and bothered while being so pregnant didn't seemed like a good idea.

And for a moment your brain flashed with images of her naked on top of you, breasts full of milk bouncing and gravid bellies contracting under your touch. Then you shook your head vigorously, forcing yourself to remember why it was wrong and you shouldn't be looking at Monica in that light.

“Yeah, you’re...” you let out a shaky breath, your hands gesturing first to yourself, then to her before you shrugged. “I mean, you look-”

The words got tangled on your tongue before they could even try to get past your lips; you knew exactly what you wanted to say, but you weren’t sure if you should. You swallowed, taking a deep breath under the attentive gaze of Monica.

“I know, different. Different is good.” you forced out, smiling and waving your hand. 

You hoped the blush that painted across your cheeks wasn’t noticeable, that she hadn’t noticed. How to say anything without it coming off the wrong way? 

You wanted to compliment her so badly, but there were so many risk factors here, you didn’t even know where to start. 

She was hot. More than you remembered and even more than you expected, and pregnancy... suited her so well. Like she was born to be like this, to have a gravid body and carry a huge stomach, with a baby growing inside of her. Full and heavy breasts, glowing from the inside out, soft thick thighs and perfect curves everywhere, meant to be a mommy.

"Y/N?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, her hand rubbing the curve of her abdomen tenderly. "Everything alright?"

As you know, the future of this story is up to you ;) so vote, comment, or whaterver you like babe. I hope you enjoyed the start of this journey so far, and I hope we can get even more of this 👀 as always, criticism is always appreciated and likes feed my ego, so feel free to smash that little heart :)

[archiiel]

I was wondering can I hear your thoughts on this what if scenario?

I read this Nalu fic and Lucy even mentored she has no right to be angry at natsu for leaving he lost his father and she might have lost Aquarius but she's still out there somewhere .

Now I'm wondering what if after Lucy broke Aquarius key, Aquarius did get reborn along side her key .

The Aquarius that Lucy knew is gone, the Aquarius Scorpio was dating is gone. Now what remains is a different Aquarius maybe it's a child Aquarius ( shout out to her child design) or a completely different Aquarius who still has the mermaid tail and the water magic. But hair color different (example green) and maybe her personality is low-key similar (loud and sassy ) or completely different (quite and wise)

Just think of the angst potential.

Your not my Aquarius but your wearing her face 👀

🌺anon

that’s so interesting!! i was out of fandom for a long time and so now reading all the theories and what ifs are so refreshing!! i definitely love this particular one 😭 please do remember that i have very little memory of some particular aspects and deep lore so be free to correct me if im wrong with any info!!

as far as i remember she is still alive but lets dive into this what if scenario hehe

just my own take, but the more powerful the spirit, the closer the reborn person to themselves in their previous life. so, Aquarius, as powerful as she was, i think she could reincarnate into her mini self just as Zeref and Mavis!

once again, shout out to her child design, she would rock her sass with pride and nonchalance, and yet- i think she would definitely feel something in her heart, while looking at Scorpio as she reappears in the spirit world, and i imagine it would be a very big and powerful event, maybe even rambling into the earth land in any form? maybe other Celestials would perform some kind of ritual magic to fill her with needed knowledge or maybe she’s born either it? once again im so sorry if there is info about this, im just bubbling on my own

her key would be likely lost somewhere, buried under the ocean even, i can’t really think 😵‍💫 but i believe, the moment Aquarius is reborn, Lucy would feel it as well as the need to find her, like it was with Natsu and Igneel kind of thing

and surely, angst would be there, since no matter what happens, her and Scorpio wouldn’t be happy as a couple, not when she lost her memory and now learned how to be a zodiac. maybe she’ll grow and become good friends with him, maybe even get a crush, but from his side he couldn’t relive the relationship once again.

and as badly as she wouldn’t want or understand it, she would be so gravitated towards the earth, it would it her from inside out. of course she wouldn’t know why, but we all know, it will continue until Lucy will be able to find the new key and meet her grumpy auntie 🤭

and i’ll think about maybe doing her design as a reborn zodiac in the future!! thank you once again for the ask 💗🙏

[dry-yellow-marker]

every day i loose my mind a little bit more thinking about rengoku kyojuro so here's an analysis of "where is your rider" by the oh hellos and how i relate it to his character

these lyrics could refer to rengoku upholding his father's legacy and the times where people mistake him for his father. there are two big instances of this that i know of: the elderly woman in mugen train and the former lower rank two demon from rengoku's spinoff chapter*.

in the genius annotation of this song, the line "but i know that wicked shape to your smile" is a reference to the previous song in the album, "pale white horse", and the crooked smile of death. this line could also relate to rengoku realizing that he is unlikely to survive the battle with akaza-- as a demon slayer and a hashira, he is very familiar with death and might know when it is coming. if you REALLY wanted to get into specifics, you could also argue that the line above it, "see, your face wasn't quite as i remember" could refer to the sickness and death of his mother-- with that context, this would mean that rengoku saw death up close in the form of watching his mother pass and now recognizes that it is coming for him.

*i haven't been able to get my hands on this myself so this info comes from the kny wiki

rengoku's self-sacrificial and selfless nature!! this is so him!! "so bury me as it pleases you lover / at sea, or deep within the catacomb" could be the uncertainty of a demon slayer's life and the constant threat of death that they face. rengoku worked tirelessly as a slayer and was well aware that he was likely going to die on the job, likely somewhere out of his control and far away from his home.

"but these bones never rested while living" is literally every hashira idk what to tell you just trust me this is the most rengoku lyric to ever lyric

if you wanted, you could also see the last line as akaza calling for rengoku to become a demon and not squander his potential; instead of "languishing in repose" (becoming weaker with time) he should preserve his strength. it could also be akaza asking rengoku directly, "how can you stand becoming weaker with age/time when you have so much strength?"

the first line is again a reference to "pale white horse", which establishes "the cavalry" as death. if we continue with our previous metaphor for death being akaza, this section of the song can be focused on akaza and rengoku's battle and their warring philosophies.

i like to wrap the first and second lines ("he has thrown down the cavalry as gravel sinks / and as the stone founders underneath the sundered sea of red and reed") into general "ooo big fight", but i'd be really interested to see if anyone had anything to add to these lyrics!!

finally, "the shadow of hades is fading / for he has cast down leviathan, the tyrant, and the horse and rider". the song originally contains this segment to emphasize jesus christ's defeat of death through his resurrection with the "horse and rider" referring to death again. however, for rengoku (who did NOT beat death smh) i think that this instead refers to his life & purpose fighting demons. "the shadow of hades is fading" is about his FEAR of death fading because he knows that saving the lives of the people around him is more important.

"For he has cast down Leviathan, the tyrant, and the horse and rider" could be some of his past achievements as a demon slayer if you stretch it a bit! this section of the song is the hardest for me to explain, so i apologize if it's a little iffy compared to the rest

"he will hold with all of his might the armies of night" is his battle with akaza (akaza, as an upper moon, being the "armies of night"). following that, "still as boulders laid to the side 'til we pass by" could be his motivation to defeat akaza-- protecting the train passengers and tanjiro, zenitsu, & inosuke.

an alternative perspective (because i have a lot of those apparently) is that the "armies of night" are demons as a whole and this refers to his career as a demon slayer overall. he neutralizes demons, rendering them "still as boulders" so that others can go about their lives without fear (pass by).

finally, i see this chunk as relating to rengoku's legacy and his impact on the main cast (mainly tanjiro).

"he has hoisted out of the mire every child" is him saving not only saving the passengers of the mugen train but also guiding and mentoring tanjiro, inosuke, and zenitsu throughout the mugen train arc. ("every child" being the main trio-- not as much nezuko unfortunately but i still love her).

"so lift your voice with timbrel and lyre" represents tanjiro's growth as a person and as a demon slayer following rengoku's mentorship and death. he promises to honor rengoku's sacrifice and legacy by "lifting his voice" to become a better and more dedicated protector.

"we will abide, we will abide, we will abide" is tanjiro specifically promising to carry rengoku's final words with him, literally abiding by his final words: set your heart ablaze.

in conclusion,

[dr-futbol-blog]

Hot Zone, Pt. 4

McKay's final thoughts are about Atlantis and keeping the people there safe. He's desperate to share with them everything that might help them.

McKay: I've got some theories on looping the power on the Gate to charge a dummy ZPM. It probably won't work, but you should have someone look at it 'cause it might lead somewhere else. Zelenka: We'll look at it together. McKay: Look, you seriously have to stop interrupting my last thoughts! I mean, this is important stuff you need to hear. Now -- if you're here for more than a year, I've left some notes on how to roll blackouts to effectively maintain your power requirements.

It is in their final moments that people reveal their true character. Many aspects of McKay's personality are defense mechanisms but when the chips are coming down, we get to see his heart of hearts. We get to see how much he cares both for and about Atlantis and its people.

But, of course he doesn't die.

The Ancient gene protected him from the virus as it had either not been designed to target the Ancients, or had been designed specifically not to target them. His ATA gene is artificial and weaker than the real thing but it's still the thing that saved him (and let us remember again that he volunteered for the gene therapy because he wanted to be more like Sheppard).

This ties in with the city possibly allowing Sheppard to break quarantine because of his Ancient gene and not the hazmat suit, as theorized by Grodin. This pathogen was not a danger to the Ancients, and it was never a danger to Sheppard, albeit they had no possible way of knowing that.

McKay seems real relieved and happy not to have died. While he says that he doesn't care how he survived, he does actually start working on figuring it out right away. He started by worrying about members of his science team, and his own impending death had but distracted him from this. With that out of the way, he's able to dedicate his entire brain capacity on finding a solution and fixing the problem. And he arrives at it in very short order: it's a nanovirus. We later learn that it is a mechanical virus created by the replicators to eradicate the wraith food supply by killing humans and the fact that it was in the Ancient viral lab and that the city shut itself down to quarantine the humans therein while knowing that it wasn't dangerous to the native citizens just goes to show that they were trying to protect the humans of the galaxy.

Sheppard and Teyla are still making their way in the hallways that show no indication of even trying to stop them from advancing (and as an aside, we never see Teyla try to move through the city on her own here). Teyla and Weir decide that the best thing they can be doing is to go to the Mess Hall to do some crown control. Sheppard goes along with this but once they actually are in the Mess Hall, that's not what he's doing, at all. Where Teyla is trying to calm the people down, tell them it's going to be okay, Sheppard is by the dead body of Dr. Peterson. He killed this man who was not just a civilian but really an innocent one at that. He's lost in his own thoughts with nary a concern for the infected people around them.

If in the previous episode, having to watch Brendan take his own life right before his eyes had profoundly affected Rodney and his belief that he is unlovable, the same seems to happen here with Sheppard. Not only did he fail to keep this man safe, he had to take his life with his own hands. Oh, he manages to bury the feeling of guilt by the end of the episode like he always does, but it very much reinforces his belief that loving him would be a potentially deadly mistake.

It is when Sheppard is knee-deep in these thoughts that we get the first interaction between Sheppard and McKay in this episode. McKay contacts him via the intercom:

McKay: Major Sheppard, this is McKay. Sheppard: What is it? McKay: I could use your help at my lab.

Short. Professional. But notice how Sheppard picks it up as though they're just continuing an on-going conversation. Like he doesn't have to acknowledge that it is Rodney but just naturally jumps back into a conversation that had never ended but was merely on pause.

Here, McKay doesn't tell him what to do but indicates that he needs his help. This is in contrast to earlier, when Weir had relayed McKay's need to get something done to Sheppard and the result of executing what he had treated as a command was there, right in front of him. Sheppard looks lost for a moment, like he doesn't know what to do or is unsure whether he should do what was implied. As a soldier, it's much easier for him to execute commands (>'I need you to go to my lab') than to have to discern for himself how necessary a request is. Obviously, he wants to do what Rodney tells him to do. But his track record for making judgement calls was not stellar just then, as evidenced by the deceased scientist before him. He looks to Teyla for confirmation, as she seems to have a pretty good grasp of right and wrong.

Teyla gives him the go-ahead but he still pauses for a moment to get another look at Dr. Peterson's dead body. This dead scientist symbolizes both of their need to make things right. Again, though they come from different places, they have arrived at the same place emotionally.

I find the next bit interesting.

The people gathered at the Ancient viral lab are discussing what to do with Weir on the intercom. They have the following exchange:

Weir: So we give everyone the gene therapy. McKay: No -- it's not gonna do it. Zelenka: I've already been given the gene weeks ago -- it didn't take. McKay: I know. I'm already on it. --- Ford: There's gotta be another way! McKay: I have already told you -- I am working on it.

McKay tells them that he is already working on it. He is working on it as they speak. Only, we cut to Sheppard in his lab. McKay is working on it but Sheppard is the one executing his plan. They are literally working as one here. Sheppard is an extension of McKay. He's working as McKay's hands. McKay's mind is directing Sheppard's body.

He has such faith in John Sheppard that he, without giving it any conscious thought, confidently tells them that he is working on it. It is being worked on right now. By him. Whose only direction for Sheppard was "I could use you in my lab." He doesn't need to assume that Sheppard is getting there or will do what he needs to get done, he just knows it. We have not seen them physically at the same space at all during this episode, and yet here they are, one mind and one body.

Continued in Pt. 5

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: Take It All [2]

In which your fate had always been predetermined- but fate is a flickering flame, ready to change and morph at any given moment.

Tags/Warnings: ABO au, Alpha!Jungkook, shut up, omega!reader, shut up², anyone remember this?, well I do so open up babybird here's me feeding you another chapter

Additional Chapter Warnings: attempted murder, arson

Length: mid

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You can't do this.

Leaving Jungkook behind was one thing you could somewhat stomach. He was like a fever dream after all; a perfect mate and partner if only the circumstances had been different, though even then, logically, it would've never worked out.

You're not a leading person, you've got no drive to be at the head of a pack- so running away with him to start your own would've never worked out even if you wanted to. But right now, as you stare at the letter sent from Han, the man you're being admired (or more so demanded) by, you're sure anything would be better than the situation you're in right now.

It's why you pack your most necessary items right now, trying to keep the suspicion low on yourself, so no one was to tell the man that you're about to flee the scene.

Within the forest, you try to be quiet. As a female, you can't shift, so you completely have to rely on your senses to lead you where you need to go. The shed deep in the woods is your last effort to sit out Han's patience and hopefully make him loose interest in you, so that both your life and pack stays free and untied to his rather unstable emotions.

And for a while, it seems to work.

Days go by without a single letter, or any hint that he knows of your whereabouts. He surely must've given up on you to let it all rest like this, and for a moment, you believe that there might be a chance to travel back and find Jungkook even- at least attempt to find him, no matter if he's moved on as well or not.

But then you wake up coughing, eyes stinging immediately as you open them.

The shed is filled with smoke and glowing flames, everything in front of your makeshift bed already burning brightly. And one look outside shows the man you've been trying to run away from all along, holding the burning torch before he throws it to the ground, dead patch of grass catching the flames almost instantly as he turns and leaves you do die in the fire he'd set.

Just like he said; he will have you, one way or another. And if he can't , none ever will.

He'd threatened it before, and you know he's a man of his word. There's nothing he'd shy away from if it meant it would get him the prize he craves- in this case your life, your home, your pack. He's a hungry soul, never satisfied, always craving more than he has, even if he has it all.

He's the sin of gluttony reborn, it seems.

You've been running, trying to escape the fate you've known had always been set into stone for you- he'd told you so himself, that once your pack was his, he'd chain you to himself by the means of a bite, and there would be nothing you could do.

And you know what he meant with that.

The roof breaks and tumbles down, threatening to bury you beneath, when you hear the thundering footsteps on the ground somewhere, sounds of fighting heard outside of your walls that barely hold together at this point, and you pray that whoever tries to go against Han can at least escape with their life. Everything you want is for it to just be over- no one should fall into harms way for you.

And then it's quiet, save for the flicking flames around you, and wood giving up on the structure. Your eyes are closed as you hear someone approaching- probably to take you with him now, as you try and at least stand your ground, eyes opening to look at the man your heart simply doesn't want.

But the wolf that's standing in the wooden shed you'd been hiding in doesn't wear the sandy brown coat of Han. It's not his cherrywood eyes in which the flames reflect as if they're raging inside them that are staring at you. It's not his fangs that bite into the burning wood trying to save you from drowning in the heat that's trapping you inside this place, despite the danger he's facing himself, flames licking at his fur and skin.

No- his coat is darker than the burned walls of the shed, and those eyes that remind you of molten glass belong to one wolf only.

The one that said he'd change your fate.

You want to say his name, but all you can get out is coughing as you struggle to breathe, as he leans his head down for you to grab onto. You know it must hurt, it must hurt a lot- but you want to survive, because if he's here, that means there's hope, that means he at least fought off the man trying to kill you in sick twisted desire. It means there's a chance of a future for you.

Outside, he runs off into the woods for a good moment, leaving you to somewhat limp towards a stream of eater to drink and soothe your throat, when suddenly, a hand holds your hair out of your way.

You know it's Jungkook. His scent is everywhere.

"..why?" You ask, sitting in the soft grass as you turn around to find him watching you with a warm gaze.

He simply sits down next to you, holding your arm out before he gets some water into his hand, letting it cool the already angry red burns on your skin. "I told you " He simply shrugs, tending to your wounds. "I'll change your fate."

"He will come back.." you start, but he shakes his head, avoiding your eyes.

"He won't." He simply shakes his head, occupying himself by helping you. "Never again." He mumbles, and its only now that you notice the red stains on his neck, remnants of what you can't be sure is his blood-

Or someone else's.

"You-" you start, but he simply looks over to a lump of fur on the ground, close to the burning shed.

"Its not my first time taking a life." He confesses. "But I was hoping I wouldn't have to do it again." He explains.

"Then why?" You ask, and he slowly turns back towards you.

"Because you deserve a choice." He tells you. "And as long as he was to live, he wouldn't have given you one."

That much is true. He's right in that as long as Han would've been alive, he would've tried to get you under his claws, no matter the cost. But what hits you most about his answer is that he's not justifying his actions by claiming you- he doesn't give you the answer of 'I want you instead', no. He gives you a choice.

For the first time, someone is giving you the power to decide your own fate.

"And if I choose to stay with you?" You say, making his eyes widen a bit as he looks at you- before they soften.

"Then I'll gladly keep you at my side-" He nods, leaning in to place a kiss against your neck, right where your bonding mark would be, "-for as long as you want."

[ghostwise]

20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

cw: wanton murder 💃🏽

In a nameless tavern on a filthy street, the kind that makes Fraygo’s flophouse look luxurious, she orders a mug of ale which sits untouched before her.

Here, she waits. While she waits, she strums her lute and sings. It’s a simple song, not imbued with any magic. She simply sets her voice out on its own, to see what it can do without the shine of her bardic abilities. It’s a good voice. Strong and smoky like the opium wafting from upstairs.

“They say grief is like a bird,” she tells.

“And it soars on ragged wings.

And it flocks to anything.

So won’t you please come back again?”

Aya is in Baldur’s Gate not three full days when she kills again.

The streets are etched somewhere into her mind, a map buried deep enough that no passage of time can erase it. She can guess at the right turn to take before she meets it, where to go to quickly vanish out of sight, and she remembers which alleyways teem with easy prey.

She’s home. And old habits die hard.

Aya aches to kill, so on the second night she lets herself go among the people, who are compelling, rich, and varied, and so alive. She can quicken those lives with a song or end them with a knife. What could be sweeter?

In the tavern she sings about life, about the way pain accumulates so much quicker than joy. She knows herself that happiness can be erased in a second, while a deep enough sorrow never fully heals. It lingers. That’s the nature of living. It’s a creed followed by even the tiniest fly, that it must fear the spiderweb every single day. This has been the case since the first fly was consumed, and the first murder committed.

Then, a tug at her web.

“Shame to waste all that good ale,” the man says.

Aya does not stop singing. She smiles as he picks up the mug, and takes a drink. A tall fellow, middle-aged, handsome and slightly pox-scarred. His eyes search hers for a reaction, which she does not give right away. She makes him linger.

“You took the bait,” she chuckles after the final note of her song.

“Did I, now? Men!” he says sheepishly. “All too easy to predict, I’m afraid. A pretty girl and a song and a mug of ale is all it takes.”

“Had a sip myself,” Aya says with a shrug. “It was no good. Weak shit. You can have it.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I can buy you another? This place keeps a few different brews stocked, and those might be more to your taste.”

“Didn’t know that. I would be very much obliged.”

“Then I’ll return shortly, pretty miss. With something strong.”

Aya nods. “Hurry, or you won’t hear my next one.”

He’s not a bad man, she comes to find out over a pint. He apologizes several times for his boldness—it’s not like him, he’s just new in town, he’s out of sorts, she’s just so beautiful—and he laughs easily. He cannot hold his drink, for he wavers unsteadily as they depart the tavern and walk into the night.

This is not some gentle story to neatly tie up with a moral. It is no song with a triumphant twist at the end. Aya likes the drunkards and the addicts, for they take the sight of her with a helpless sort of terror and confusion. It’s an indulgent night.

She kills him against a wall, catching him by surprise with a hand on the nape of his neck, cracking his skull against the bricks. Together they perform a beautiful staccato: her blades and his startled, lonely voice.

.

It’s a good feeling, until it isn’t.

The glow of killing never lasts. Like warmth leaving a corpse, she finds herself likewise tired and numb all too quickly. She walks home to the Elfsong Tavern, weary from the long night.

She is not hiding, not necessarily; she could vanish from sight with an invisibility spell or a simple strum of her lute if she needed to. Nonetheless she is surprised to be caught. Suddenly she feels like she’d been sneaking, though she hadn’t.

“Well,” Astarion says from his perch halfway up the staircase. “Someone had a busy night.”

“Uh-oh,” Aya says, smiling up at him. “What time is it? Sorry, mother, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Not now, Aya…”

“Pff. Spoilsport.”

The sight of her ambling up the stairs would frighten any rational mind, but Astarion watches her with an unimpressed and tired expression. Something else, also. Relief.

She frowns lightly as she draws nearer to him, until she’s eye-level, despite being several steps beneath where he’s seated.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Peachy.”

“Was it the Urge again? That dreadful little monster, Sceleritas?”

Aya sighs. Astarion presses.

“You’ve washed, I see. But I can still smell the blood on you.”

Hearing a slight tremble to his words, Aya grins, yellow teeth and yellow eyes. She leans in and presses a blood-stained kiss to his mouth. She can feel him relax lightly against her; his shoulders curving in, captivated by her god-touched blood mingled with that of her prey. She draws back, satisfied.

Astarion nearly smiles at her… then he bristles. He stands, suddenly towering above her; he’s taller than her naturally, and much more so with the addition of a couple of feet.

“Aya,” he tries again. “We already have one of our number missing. If your fugues are getting worse, I need to- well, we have to do something about it.”

“You’re sweet to worry,” she says gently, and she moves up the flight of stairs until she’s reached his level once more. She faces towards him, hanging onto the banister behind her. “But the Urge has not clouded me in weeks, Astarion.”

“Ah… it hasn’t?”

Aya shakes her head. “It is getting quieter all the time. But I feel like… it is biding its strength. Preparing for something more. You know? I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Astarion regards her carefully, his red eyes holding all sorts of wonderful things. Worry, irritation, fatigue, some sort of conflicted fondness. She wonders at the way she can be so honest with him.

“Tonight was all me, Astarion,” she tells him. “I was restless. I went out and killed a man. I was never in any danger.” Her lips lift briefly to a smile. “I was the danger.”

“And not a bit sorry for it, I see,” he huffs. “Worrying me half to death and strolling in without a care.”

“As I said. It was sweet of you to worry. I am going to bed now. And,” she adds as she turns away from him, “you are welcome to come.”

“I’ll pass, thank you.” A long-suffering sigh leaves him. He is definitely thinking about it. “We can talk more later. After you’ve had your rest, darling.”

[robinyourcreator]

I know SO MUCH about where Alde is going in life but I'm so curious about her past SO! 2, 7, 15 and lastly 23 because I want to know how Alde related to Gortash and what might have driven her to write that. Or!! Does the prayer not exist in your canon? Does it exist and it was Alde just latching on to a single human being who had roused a single emotion in her for the first time in her life and that terrified her?

Aahhhhh thank you Auntie <3333

Questions are from this post.

Aaaaand, these got Long, so we're gonna put em under a read more.

-2- Do they ever miss the cult or Bhaal or wish they chose differently? How are we coping is what I'm asking.

-Alde's firmly of the belief that everything and everyone she knew before she lost her memories was a Tar Pit, and she excludes not herself. She doesn't miss it At All. She doesn't really Have any memories that Aren't of the Urge, but she is Aware that she leaned heavily on the Urge to cope. She was miserable, and lonely, constantly overstimulated and in pain-- but when she let herself be the Urge, she was Safe, she was Strong, she was Loved. All she ever wanted or needed was her father's love, and she was fortunate enough to be the favorite. For a time.

Alde was built to suffer, so that the only relief she would know would be her father's love, and the end of all things. She does not miss it now. She's learned ways to exist in the world that don't hurt her or anyone else.

-7- How do they feel about never getting the majority of their memories back? Is it relief, that they won't remember what atrocities or mistakes they make or perhaps dread, because a Bhaalspawn undoubtedly made enemies and they'll never know who they are?

-Oh, it's a RELIEF, even though Alde DOES remember Every Time she gave herself over to the Urge, and not much of anything else. She's of the opinion (though it is not the truth!) that she was only ever happy when she was completely absorbed in her father's love and his work, that she was a cruel, and spiteful, and completely miserable being. If she could STOP remembering all the Urge killings, she Would take that deal with only token gestures towards guilt and the endless self-flagellating potential in keeping them.

She's not terribly worried about Old enemies coming to find her on the Hallowleaf homestead, (WHAT old enemies. was she THAT BAD at running her assassin cult?) but she IS constantly worried that she'll cause trouble for her loved ones in the form of Bhaalspawn hunters or similar showing up and making themselves New enemies.

-15- What's their biggest struggle now that everything is over?

Deep in her bones, Alde believes she doesn't deserve to be happy. It's only by a series of coincidences that she's here at all, that she wasn't the Chosen of Bhaal who was killed for her Netherstone, or that she wasn't one of the True Souls or mind flayers killed by the others. She has done more terrible things than perhaps the rest of the poor mundane sods the party killed combined. The Merciful does not believe she is deserving of mercy. No amount of self-flagellation or running away or scrubbing temple floors will ever wash away the blood on her hands that she's drowning in. If she didn't know her girls would IMMEDIATELY put their lives on hold and run after her if she ran away to seek penance elsewhere-- maybe as a wandering healer or vigilante, another sword of the Moonmaiden-- she'd do it in a heartbeat. As is, she knows she is not only wanted but loved, and loved more desperately than she could have ever imagined. Strange as it is for her to consider, her presence and indeed her happiness are vital to the happiness of the people she loves. And they deserve to be happy, even if she doesn't. Her penance can wait. She's going to be around for a long, long time.

-23- What happened to the physical prayer for forgiveness? Is it stored in a lil chest somewhere in their new home? Did it get burned? Did it get buried? What's going on here?

-no lie I COMPLETELY missed this on my playthrough. I had to google it. BUT!

It does exist, and it IS in character, and I think she still has it somewhere, as Adana Kept every fucking note and book they ever found, and has a METICULOUS organizing system for them. I think Alde squirreled it away for herself, though when she did it I don't think she entirely knew Why.

NOW, she knows Why, and keeps it safely tucked away in a secret hiding place. A reminder of who she was, and who she could so easily have become again. She will never allow herself to forget that she was made to burn the world and offer up everyone she loves on an altar to her father.

Because I think Alde DID love Gortash, in her way. And yes, it did fucking terrify her at the time, that anything might compete with her purpose, with her father's love.

She admired competence and well-earned confidence. She so rarely felt she had an equal, and she found one in him. And, admittedly she is and has always been easily charmed-- and he was certainly a charmer. I have these scenes in my head of her stealing goggles or ear plugs from his lab, (after using them in the lab and realizing how much they Helped her constant overstimulation,) and Gortash pretending not to notice-- and Alde KNOWING he is pretending not to notice, to spare her pride.

They also may have slept together once or twice, because while Alde IS aroace she's more of a "sex is on par with folding laundry" sort of ace, and it would have been mostly out of curiosity. (Conclusion: not for her. Nothing compared to her father's love. She would do well to remember that.) I'm still not certain How Alde handles -gestures at All of Act 3- so I'm not sure if she feels Some Sort Of Way about killing Gortash or if it is completely overshadowed by her panic when Orin kidnaps Adana. But she certainly doesn't trust him or try to work with him-- anyone who worked with, who LIKED the monster that she was can't be trusted-- and she trusts Karlach's and everyone else's assessments far more than her own, anyways. Sad baby bird, only just born yesterday.

[sirendeepity]

[ Nessian Week, day 5: Home ]

A/N: Another day, another "I don't really know if it fits the criteria, but here it is anyway". Pretty sure it was supposed to be a lot more heavier on the "emotional side" and very less literal, buuut it's been sitting in my drafts for ages, and I needed a valid enough excuse to publish it even tho I don't even have a second part ready (or any idea how it will end, because it could be a very easy, mostly Nessian thing, or it could drastically and dramatically change the course of everything and be as not Nessian centric as they come. So it's either peace of mind or complete annihilation. No in between. I personally love the drama, so there might be a big one coming for you.)

@nessianweek

W/C: 1.7k

T/W: the House is in danger, natural cataclysm, mention of possible injuries? (I don't know how to write trigger warnings without spoiling everything, just know that it's bad, or it's going to be)

“Please, spare my life, oh cruel, blood-thirsty warrior!”

Cassian huffed once more as Mor and Feyre’s mocking laughs followed him through the glass doors of the shop. A shop he’d just got out of with an extra-large sized teddy bear holding a “Hug Me!” sign between its chubby paws.

He tucked the furry thing under an arm as he kept the door open for the two ladies.

Ever the gentleman, Cassian, he thought to himself, wondering what would be Nesta’s reaction to the gift.

She’d laugh too.

Which was a very possible, almost certain scenario.

“Never, in a million years, I would have pegged my sister to be the helpless romantic,” Feyre said, catching up to him. Mor was still giggling a few steps behind.

“She’s not,” was Cassian’s reply. “Not in the way you think, anyway.”

That 4’9 feet tall plushie was not exactly a cheesy gift. It was a necessity. Well, it was a healthy mix of both.

Things were not great in Illyria, so Cassian often needed to fly there early in the morning only to come back home Gods knew when - if he managed to come back at all.

A few times now Cassian had come home from the camps in the middle of the night, tired to his very bones; all he wanted was to take a bath and snuggle in his bed, hug his wife close to his chest, and never, ever let her go again. That had been the plan, at least, until he’d opened the bedroom door and found his beautiful mate curled around a pillow. His pillow.

Cassian knew better than to ask Nesta straight-forward and expect her to answer with her heart bleeding and bare for him: she’d made huge steps, but it was a hard wall to knock down at once. Nesta Archeron was not built for vulnerability. But she was trying - doing her best, really - and that was all he cared about. All that mattered, really.

So he had waited for Nesta to open up about what was really going on - about her missing him, about her being so used to having him by her side every night that she’d felt the need to fill the empty space on the bed in a different way.

The first time he’d been welcomed by that view, Cassian was almost sure his heart had shrunk a size and slipped through his ribs, ending up somewhere around his ankles. He had felt the urge to wrap his arms and wings and every molecule of his being around Nesta and tell her not to worry anymore because he was finally home, home, home.

Yet, he had found himself unable to move, not trusting his knees to keep him standing if he even dared to take a step in her direction. So he’d stood by the door and took her in. How Nesta’s nose was buried so deep into the cushion he had wondered how the fuck does she breathe?; how her long hair, free of any braid and band, waved down in every possible direction, covering the silk bed sheets like a second blanket; how her hands were clawing the pillowcase in a white-knuckled grip, as if she was afraid it would go away, too.

As soon as blood came rushing back through his body and Cassian remembered how to function—basic coordination and all of that—, he’d walked toward their bed and woke her up. Nesta had opened her eyes, brows already furrowed as her sleepy gaze cleared and her focus snapped into place. As she realized it was not her mind playing with the darkness.

Cassian had kissed his mate ever so gently. He’d kissed her again and then kissed her once more, as he’d gotten rid of the dirty clothes he was wearing. What had come after was not as gentle—it had started as such, only to turn quickly into something else, something a little more—and neither of them had found sleep until sunrise.

That was the real reason behind the disgustingly big teddy bear.

Pity his High Lady and her Third were currently acting way too childish to learn the truth about it.

“Can we go back and buy another one for Amren? I bet it’s taller than her.”

Cassian turned to Mor, opening his mouth to suggest her next Solstice gift for their pocket-sized demon of a friend, but before a single word left his mouth, the ground underneath their feet shook violently. The plush bear was the first thing to fall as Cassian reached for the two females and shielded them both, his wings spread wide open above their heads. It was not long before silence fell again, the only noise being Feyre’s order to “tuck in that bat wings of yours”.

“It had been decades since we’d had an earthquake in Velaris. Are you all okay?” Mor’s voice was full of worry as she eyed her companions, checking for any kind of injury, hands ready to heal. Cassian knew she would find none on him: all his wounds were inside.

It had happened just a heartbeat later, stealing the air from his lungs and knocking him to the ground, every muscle tensed and ready for an enemy that wasn’t there. The panic and the fear build up to undiluted terror—to pain. And then nothing else.

Feyre was shaking him—or maybe it was Mor. Hard to tell, given that all he heard were distant murmurs, remnants of what should have been words. He couldn’t bring himself to get back on his feet, to take a deep, full breath, to remember where the fuck he was and what had just happened.

“Cassian, Gods damn it, look at me. Tell me what’s wr-”

It’s not me, he said. Not me, not me, not me.

No, he just thought it. Because the females in front of him were looking somewhere else.

The bubble popped as Cassian came to his senses—awareness rushing back along with a cacophony of sounds from all over Velaris.

Cassian gulped air down his lungs and jumped to his feet, turning his head in the same direction as everyone else’s standing in the streets.

It had not been an earthquake.

It had been the House. His House. Collapsed onto itself - dragging the Library, the whole fucking mountain, with it.

“Mother help us.”

[ * * * ]

For a long moment, everything was quiet. Until it wasn’t anymore.

Her ears were ringing. A whistle, constantly playing the same plain note, high-pitched enough to cut through her brain. She couldn’t even think above the sharp, throbbing pain, like a hammer against her skull.

She opened her eyes—or tried to: everything was still dark, so dark Nesta wasn’t sure she did it in the first place.

The Library. I’m in the Library.

Right. Azriel had brought Emerie over and they had both joined Gwyn and the priestesses.

Emerie. Gwyn. The priestesses.

Nesta could have called out their name, could have just whispered them, could have said nothing at all.

She tried to move her arms, found them free of any injury or impediment, and proceeded on with the rest of her body. Just as Gwyn had once told her. Frankly, she’d just half-listened to her friend’s babbling, catching words here and there and nodding along in encouragement. There was a different sort of spark in her big teal eyes whenever that side of Gwyn took control, as if the spirit of a long-deceased scholar had just possessed her body and that was the only relief the poor soul could find after centuries of torments. That was a fun way to put it, anyway.

Neck, nothing.

Ribs, nothing.

Spine…

She wiggled her toes, only to realize she could not. A bookshelf had fallen on her.

Not a bookshelf, Nesta thought, just its books.

Something must have blocked it before it hit the ground.To prove her point, dozens of tomes of every size and texture were on her. Burying her alive. Life had a wicked sense of humor. Nesta moved them away ever so slowly, lest something was not quite right yet.

Once the way was clear, she tried again, just higher: bending her knees, she hold on to what felt like a crumbled piece of wall and pushed herself free from under the now empty bookshelf. The idea of running out of luck and being crushed underneath it did funny things to her stomach. To her self-control in general, given that she was already running low on it.

Spine, legs, feet: nothing.

Sitting up, Nesta started to cough at the cloud of dirt and dust and debris floating through the air. It was hard to breathe and there were one too many reasons why.

Nausea and dizziness hit her all at once, in a rush so strong she barely managed to turn her head to the side before throwing up, emptying her guts.

Nesta could almost hear Gwyn say in that tone as condescending as ever, “That’s called having a concussion.”

“Here I was, believing your skull was the hardest thing to crack open.” That would’ve been Emerie, of course. Never missing a beat.

She needed to find them, but first, she needed to make sure she wasn’t going to die in the process. A moment later, her hands were on her head, in her hair, feeling her scalp and looking for open wounds. She didn’t find any, and yet her fingers were warm, wet.

Mh, strange.

She retreated her hand, squinting as she tried to make out the slickness coating her fingers, to no avail. It was too dark.

Something brushed her thigh, making her startle. It was cold, the whisper of a touch.

And it was warning her. Nesta felt it before it happened, before another rumble shook the ground. It was an aftershock—the first of many.

Her head started floating above her shoulder and her limbs felt so inexplicably light. But Nesta’s existence as a feather was short-lived: she’d flown too high, she’d touched the sun. She was free-falling.

Her knees hit the ground first, the rest of her body soon followed, her marble bones too heavy for her to move, to breathe. Cold sweat pin pricked her skin, and Nesta prayed for luck to kiss her once more. She wasn’t known for her faith, though.

And then the ringing began.

I’m sorry, the phantom wind whispered against the shell of her ear. She could hear it clearly over the screaming and the shouting of that noise inside her head. It was a faint embrace, but Nesta reveled in its familiarity for as long as she could.

I tried.

[andrewminyardapologist]

A Kevin Day hc I assume I'm not the first to have:

We see Kevin drinking during the course of the series. Often, he uses it to relieve extreme anxiety, like when Wymack handed him a bottle of liquor at the banquet and told him "you have ten seconds, go."

(While that's really funny, it also shows how MUCH Kevin drinks because I think he got half a bottle down in that time. In a liter of vodka there is somewhere around 25-30 standard drinks I believe? So that would put anyone without a drinking problem on their ASS. I was a heavy drinker for several years of my life, to the point where I could be blackout drunk and act sober. I am a lot smaller than Kevin, but that would probably put me into a coma if I didn't space it out over a couple of hours. Not mention Kevin was not appearing to be drunk during the banquet. So this leads me to believe he drinks a LOT. More than we see.)

The other time we see Kevin drink is at Eden's, and around the other Foxes for card games or bonding nights. Things that make it easy to not spiral into a dark place because of the alcohol.

He's also very drunk when he gets the chess piece tattoo, and is alone that time, drowning in memories. That was SUCH a huge deal for him. And, he was ALONE.

This is why I think that Kevin probably spends a lot of nights getting wasted by himself. While outwardly he is often very analytical in terms of things like exy and relating to other people, for example his apathy regarding Seth's death or Neil's injuries. Internally, however, he is an extremely emotionally intense person.

This comes out only when he is around really significant trauma triggers, essentially only when Riko is mentioned or when he has to see him in person.

A lot of people joke that Kevin is a coward, but I don't think he is. I think the amount of abuse that happens at the Nest is so intense that the fact Kevin can be in the same room as Riko at all proves how strong he is.

I think what drives him more than fear is grief, that's buried so deep down he can't see it until he's wasted. Riko was his abuser, but they were also inseparable. It's hard to reconcile that.

Kevin is grieving the loss of a brother, he is coming to terms with the fact that someone he cared for so deeply, who was such a large part of his life, could betray him in all of the ways he did. He is grieving the fact that he left Jean there, knowing how horribly Riko treats him.

It is to the point where he needs Andrew to ground him to the Foxes, to not run back there for all of the things he has lost.

I think there are a lot of moments readers didn't get to see where Kevin gets really drunk and can't help but sob. Quietly, into a pillow, somewhere where he's alone and no one can hear. I think when that happens, he either finds Andrew or Andrew finds him.

Andrew doesn't comfort Kevin. Doesn't try to. He just listens to the sounds and if Kevin wants to talk he lets him, even though it's basically unintelligible or sometimes it's in French. Andrew takes the bottle from him and puts it out of reach when Kevin is getting too drunk to not get alcohol poisoning.

Andrew makes sure Kevin gets to bed and leaves a puke bucket within reach. For his sake, not Kevin's. On the worst nights, he's stayed up to make sure Kevin doesn't die in his sleep.

They never speak of this. Andrew doesn't know if Kevin remembers, but he does in bits and pieces. And he seeks Andrew out enough times for Andrew to know his presence is wanted and not an intrusion.

I think when he finally gets sober, Andrew is there for him like that too. Just a presence. Instead of keeping Kevin from returning to Riko, he keeps him grounded when he wants nothing more than to drown himself in a bottle of something. Years down the line, on the rare nights Kevin contemplates breaking his sobriety, he video calls Andrew.

Andrew always answers, and rarely talks. Kevin might say one or two things, but mostly they just sit there together on the phone, Kevin knowing Andrew will come after him if he thinks Kevin is relapsing. Kevin will get a look on his face when the urges get bad, and Andrew will see it and simply say "no," and for some reason that's always enough to drag him back.

[wellpresseddaisy]

I never thought I'd be writing anything with James Potter, but 'what if Potters had an...interesting relationship with death' showed up in my dreams last night.

The soft night air blew in through the windows of the bedroom, moonlight making patterns on the walls. James and Sirius lounged together in the dark, one on each end of the deep window seat. They’d let the curtains down to give themselves more privacy.

Sirius looked curiously at James, his friend uncommonly pale after speaking to his father.

“Dad…he said I could tell you…” James stopped, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “He said with the war coming we should both know. Avada Kedavra doesn’t really work on born Potters.”

“What do you mean ‘Avada Kedavra doesn’t work on born Potters’?!” Sirius swallowed convulsively.

“It just…doesn’t, so much?” James shrugged. “I don’t know why, but it’s sort of like Dreamless Sleep for us. Dad didn’t explain more than that.”

“You’re an absolute eldritch horror, you know that, old thing?” His voice shook a little.

“You tell me that every time I turn into Prongs. I can't help being giant and glowy.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re ridiculous, the whole lot of you. Just…I’ll try to remember. I won’t…I won’t let them bury you, Jamie.”

“A house elf will bring me back here to sleep it off, anyway. There’s one with that job every generation, apparently. But, thank you.”

Sirius just blinked and sighed deeply. What was his life, even?

Somewhere in Northumbria, May 1992

James woke slowly, his body sluggishly returning to the land of the living. He stretched and rolled to his side…

And thumped painfully onto the floor.

Lily. Harry.

He had to…where…

He looked up and froze. The ceiling of the chapel soared above him. He had lain on a low plinth before the altar, just as Dad said he might…how many years ago?

“An elf of House Potter. I need an elf.” His voice croaked, but he forced the words out.

“Master Jamie is awake!” One of the elves (he thought it might be Horace) popped in.

“What year is it? Where is Harry? Lily?”

“It is nineteen-ninety-two, Master Jamie. Miss Lily did not survive that night. The elves…the elves do not know where little Master Harry is. The Ministry took him.”

James pulled himself up, disused muscles screaming in protest, and tottered toward the doors.

“Master Jamie, what is you doing?” Horace scolded, shocked into forgetting his grammar.

“I have to get to the Warder's Tower.” He gritted it out, hanging onto whatever came to hand to stay upright. “I never took the ring. I must, immediately.”

“Mister Potter’s portrait ordered us on war footing.” Horace squeaked. “Master Jamie must rest!” He pulled his ears in distress.

“I’ll rest once my son is secure, with me.” Would his useless legs work?

“The others didn’t know of the…the not dying. Master Jamie has a headstone.”

“They think I’m dead?!” He turned so quickly he almost went arse over teakettle. “What about Sirius? He knew.”

“Master Sirius…he is being in Azkaban. For murdering Pettigrew with a blasting curse.” Horace tried to keep up with James, scuttling next to him.

Damn the previous Potters for warding the towers against elves.

“With a single curse?”

“Just one, Horace heard.”

“That isn’t right. Sirius always cast double—one underpowered as a warning and then an overpowered. He never cast a single blasting curse in his life.” The problem of Sirius gave him something to chew on beside his shaking body.

He fought for every step down the long, curving interior corridor to the entry hall. The doors opened at his touch and he lurched down the path to the tower. Eleven years he’d lain there, clawing his way back from death, while Merlin knew what happened outside the walls. First, though, first he needed to accept the family Headship.

Stupid of him not to have done it sooner…but he supposed everyone behaved stupidly at twenty-one. He’d certainly participated in a parade of idiocy that lasted up to his brush with death.

Honestly, he sort of wondered what Lily even saw in him. Perhaps she saw the potential for change? He would, now. He’d have to. The responsibility of it — the Potter Headship and the paterfamilias — weighed on him as he scrabbled the last few feet to the door of the Warder’s Tower.

He shouldered it open, breath ragged in his lungs, and made for the trapdoor he knew existed at the back corner of the tower. Once, they used it as an escape route. Now, it served a much different purpose.

He'd dreamed, once, of his descent into the Ward Room, of that moment when he proved himself capable of leading the family. His dream never included both his parents dead, Lily gone, and Harry and Sirius lost to him. He thought it would be a joyous day, not one where he only made it down the ladder through sheer determination, where the loss of his family ached in his bones.

He dropped to the floor, finally, and leaned against the wall for a moment. The dark pressed in on him, whispers and shuffling just at the edge of his hearing. He breathed the cold, slightly stale air and steeled himself for what came next. He pushed off the wall and walked forward, closing his eyes and tuning himself to his own magic. It guided him where he needed to go, through the warren of escape route and basement. Down and down he went, deep into the earth and deep into the family magic. Those who went before plucked at his sleeves and whispered, trying to draw him away from the path, but he closed his ears to them.

He knew when he arrived by the utter lack of sound. He felt it, seeping into him as he slowly found the center of the cavern. He stood, content to wait for the moment, and knew the precise moment he was judged. Still, he waited, not speaking and barely breathing. He’d been dead for eleven years, what was an hour or so? He would wait as long as need be.

“Son Potter and Peverell, do you come here to be judged?”

The voice came out of the dark, from all sides.

“I do so come.” James answered clearly

 “Do you seek to lead your House, to be a sanctuary to those in need, and to be a light in dark places? The Potter of Peverell has always walked paths others feared. Will you walk where you must?”

“I do. I will.”

“You who have been touched by Death, will you hold close the secrets of this House?”

“None shall hear them from me.”

The magic in the place deepened. His breath caught in his throat at the upswell bearing down on him. He would not buckle, not when he’d come so far. He would face whatever lurked in the dark, would face his own past, but he would not fall to his knees.

The pressure changed and his ears popped. Magic whipped into a gale, but still he stood firm. Slowly, a bright pinpoint of light overtook the wind, whirling into a blinding maelstrom. James squeezed his eyes closed against the light even as it felt like it seared straight through his eyelids.

The pressure coalesced about his hand, them his finger. Slowly, the light died down, but the weight remained about his hand. He looked down to see the Potter ring still gleaming on his finger.

Of course it would be made of pure magic. Sirius was right. His entire family was one giant eldritch horror.

“We who walk with Death as an old friend judge you able.”

Two items clattered against his feet…one heavier and larger and one smaller.

“Take the gifts of your ancestors as you walk the third path. The way will be steep and the climb dark, but we will see you succeed.”

He crouched down and felt first a…hilt? A sword? And then the smooth, polished wood of a wand. The magic of his family, of Potter and Peverell, swirled about him as soon as he gripped the wand. He felt himself open to it, reveling in the feeling of Family.

“Go now, child of our house. You are needed.”

A door opened across the cavern and James made his way to it as quickly as he could. Once through, the door closed behind him. Only then did he slide to the ground, exhaustion overcoming all else.

[mischievoushiddleston]

Enemies (Part 17)

All Parts here! / Masterlist here!

Day after day. Week after week. Time continued to pass as Shuri tried every single way to wake Namor from his sleep. Her belly was getting bigger and the birth date was getting closer, but she didn't want her child to be born without her husband. She was scared and wanted him by her side. She spent every moment in her lab while Nakia made sure the princess ate enough. Shuri started the machine and closed her eyes as her hand rested on her stomach, stroking it gently and lovingly. "Process complete," the voice in front of Griot finally sounded, and the young woman opened her eyes before reaching out and mindfully taking the modified heart-shaped herb. She had once again altered the substance of the herb so that it matched the DNA of the God King and, with any luck, it would remove all damage. Shuri placed the herb in the bowl and ground it until it was just a blue-purple liquid. Her hands wrapped around the bowl and lifted it up before carrying it into the room where Namor lay motionless. Gently, she sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. She lifted a hand and stroked through his black hair down to his chin, where she gently parted his lips.

"This must be working," she breathed softly to herself, placing the bowl to his lips and pouring the liquid into his mouth. The young woman glared at him, hoping for even a single sign of life from him, something that would show her that it was having an effect. When nothing happened, she sighed and stood up. The further she walked, the more she felt the sadness inside her and how her vision was blurred with tears. Why was it that nothing wanted to work? She thought, looking down at the bowl in her hands before hurling it with all her might against the opposite wall, shattering it. Splinters flew across the room to the floor. They stabbed through her hair, which by now had grown longer and reached her shoulders. That had been her last attempt, but her husband just kept sleeping like that. Shuri sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

"Miss U'Daku-," the AI began to say, but she interrupted Griot by shutting her down. At the moment, she didn't have a nerve for anything. The princess heard someone enter the lab, but did not raise her head, as it could only be Nakia.

"I'm not hungry," she said softly and felt someone sit down next to her.

"Good," a voice she had missed so much rang out, "Because I don't have anything to eat, even though I'm hungry myself." Shuri looked up and saw her husband sitting there, looking as if nothing had ever happened.

"Ch'ah?" she breathed, and the man looked at her gently as he smiled. "How?"

"I was probably awakened by your tantrum," the man said with a grin. "Can you tell me what happened?" Shuri gulped as the question of whether he remembered came up.

"Do you remember?" she asked as a counter question, but he shook his head.

"Nothing more than the stories you told me...I'm sorry," he breathed softly, looking down at her stomach. "Do you know what it's going to be? So the child...our child?"

"A little girl," Shuri replied, feeling the unborn baby kick. She smiled slightly and took his hand and placed it on top of him. "This is so surreal," he said softly, looking at her, "What about this Talokan? You meant that I am their king."

"They are waiting for the return of K'uk'ulkan," she said, taking a deep breath, "We've had plenty of time to prepare for all the possibilities should you wake up..."

The black-haired man hummed and continued to stroke her belly gently. "So what happens now? I still can't remember."

"I don't know," she said then, shrugging her shoulders. "I want you to be there for our daughter, Ch'ah, with or without memories, okay?"

"All right, princess," he said gently. Shuri smiled for the first time in a long time when she heard him say that, because it meant that somewhere inside him was still his old self. Lovingly, she put her hand on his cheek and stroked his stubble.

"I know you don't remember, but could you just hold me?" she said, because she really needed that. She needed that closeness with him again. That bond between them pulled at her heart when there was distance between them. To her relief, he immediately did as she asked and wrapped his arms around her and held her tenderly. Shuri inhaled his scent and held tightly to him.

"I feel the bond too, you know. And I realize I can't stay away from you, not because of the bond, but because I can understand the old me. I understand why he fell in love with you," he said softly, but Shuri didn't say anything, instead feeling hope that everything would change for the better.