#so now one person is giving the only love they can give to someone who can’t accept it

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.❞

Where is your future lover from? (Detailed)

Masterlist.

Authors note,

I finally fixed my links (starting here and with my masterlist), now you can press on them instead of clicking on my profile.

Moodboard. Divider.

Pile I.

Trigger warning: faintest mention of self-harm.

France, Indonesia, Canada, China, Afghanistan, San Marino, Norway, Some of you have someone who is on a cruise/overseas (may be a fisherman, work with the ocean, ocean is key), Sudan, and French Guiana.

You already know where and who your future person is. I, originally, was going to use tarot to figure it out, until I saw 4:44 on the clock, and it hit me, as it will do the same with you. Since you already know where they are, your mind has been running with ideas on what to do about it. Some of you like to travel a lot and want to find them since you are intuitive as it is. And the rest of you want them to come to you like a knight saving their princess. One word of advice for everyone here: allow your heart and intuition to decide for you. I know that listening to your logical mind is better and it can protect you, and sometimes where they are from and finding them can be exciting, but at the same time, with your current energy, it will not help nor happen for you. Right now, your main focus should be working on yourself, healing, and connecting with your flaws. I know that you have healed a lot, and I am so proud of you for that, but you need to connect with your flaws. Not everyone is perfect, not everyone will have the best or good qualities, and that is okay. Not everyone will always be perfect and only have a few of their qualities; sometimes they will have their flaws, and that is how they will act for that day. And that is okay. Everyone has flaws, and everyone has good qualities to them, and that is what makes them human.

A lot of you have been focusing on what is good and what is bad; try to focus on what you want your morals to be instead. A lot of you don’t believe in what society says about morality and how they pressure the world to focus on their ideology, but because of this, you started to feel guilty for it. Don’t. You are allowed to have your own morals and your own ideas on what is right and what is wrong, or in this case, what works best for you. That is the beauty of having your own mindset and not following the crowd, and that is another thing that makes you beautiful. Because I find you and your energy beautiful, and you need to start to believe that. You need to start to fall in love with yourself and learn to appreciate all parts of you. Some of you feel nervous about the flaws you have, and that is okay. But, at the same time, if you don't show appreciation to them, then you will start to feel scared around who you are. You cannot allow your future person to fill the void you feel. You have to do that for yourself first. Because if you don't, you will lose yourself throughout the relationship and become a people pleaser like you did in your younger days.

A lot of you desire for me to speak more about your future person, but there is nothing that I can channel, nor would tarot give me anything. The problem is your current energy. You need to stop chasing ways to find them and start to chase yourself back and accept all of you. I keep thinking of a mile run; some students will work hard to become the best, and some will cheer the slower ones so they can make it at the end. You are in between these two types of people. I know that you have healed, and again, very proud of you, but you honestly need to get a grip and start to cheer for yourself and your flaws. Fall in love with yourself again, you are deserving of that. I do not care what you have done in the past, everyone has forgiven you, so why can’t you? What makes it so worthy to sabotage your happiness for your past mistakes? What is done is done, and you know that, so why indulge further? Make yourself happy so you can be that princess and allow your knight to come your way. Because your future lover is supposed to come to you, not the other way around. Stop taking care of others, respect your younger self for healing your people pleasing ways, and get a grip back into the path you desire. It is your time for your happiness because you deserve that.

I know that sometimes you seek others’ validations or need for comfort, so take it from me. I read people’s energy, and your energy is fine. You’re okay, you deserve happiness, and I am telling you to go seek it. It is time for you to appreciate yourself instead of allowing yourself to be a widower to your past. Stop letting others hurt you and make you believe your flaws are disgusting when they are not. Who are they to say something about who you are when they do not know anything about you? Sure, you can say I don’t know anything about you, and that is true, but yet again, I am reading your energy, so I have the gist here. Do not allow your insecure thoughts to eat you alive again. Our insecurities can always shift into something positive, and you deserve that happiness, and when you do meet your future person, they will show you the same. But please, do not wait for them to arrive to feel their touch, do it for yourself. Take care of yourself, pamper yourself, appreciate yourself, put yourself on a pedestal, and no, that is not wrong. It is not selfish. Those who say it is selfish are the people who do not know how to respect themselves, they do not. They may have grown up in an environment where it was frowned upon, but yet again, it is a lack of respect. So, do not do that to yourself, understood? Some of you think you have selfish tendencies, and yes, you do, however, it is something that can be switched to gratitude. You need to show more gratitude for those who can be a little more selfish; those who aren’t and others say that you are, stop allowing them to make you feel that way and start to become more selfish. Being selfish is not a bad thing, excessive amounts are the problem. So balance it out with gratitude and self-love for yourself. Please show yourself compassion when things become harder and stress arises. Stop nitpicking everything you do, stop going back into picking your skin, chewing something that damages your teeth, and/or picking your nose with sharp nails (it can cause scabs in your nose damaging your inner lining meaning bacteria has a better chance of entering and thus bacterial infections). Stop the self-harm too, you do not deserve that. Okay? You deserve happiness.

Masterlist.

Pile II.

Greenland and Mauritius (drawn to it two times), Ireland, Some of your future person lives on a boat so their locations differentiates, Russia.

Your future spouse’s energy is so beautiful. I instantly kept saying, “wow, wow, okay, wow, wow.” Your future spouse's energy keeps shifting, meaning they like to travel a lot, but at the same time, people are drawn to them like a magnet. Their energy is very strong. It reminds me of taking shots and getting dizzy after one. So strong, wow.

A lot of you are trying to figure out if someone in your friends’ circle is your future spouse. From the readings you have read, the signs you have seen or wanted, the way the people speak to you, and the way you feel about them have made it harder for you to pinpoint or locate who they are. It is no one in your circle, but someone in your circle knows your future spouse online. And they will introduce you to them in the near future. My intuition says, “you are not ready to meet them. You need to let go of being the investigator and stop reading pacs. Give up on them and take a break for the sake of your mind and peace. It’s time for you to let go and have fun before you are introduced to them and fall for them on the sight of their words addressed to you.” They are such a romantic with you, with others, they are like, ‘’meh, whatever. Okay, and?” But with you, it is like let me just find the most perfect, stunning, angelic … (more lovely words) rings for the most perfect person in the world; you are my world, my life, my presence .. and so forth. Very lovey dovey with you, you make them so soft. At first it was gross and weird to have this switch of who they were, but then you started to make them realize how nice it was to feel something more. You are their safe haven, and the same can be said about them for you.

I see a pretty garden, filled with nice roses and pink roses, some dandelions, and dragonflies surrounding the both of you. You have an outfit similar to Alice in Alice in Wonderland, and they have an outfit similar to the White Queen. It’s such a warm and bright atmosphere that you can get lost in it and fall into a rabbit hole. The same can be said about who you both are and how your energy will melt perfectly with one another. So drawn to one another that no one can separate you both away from one another. Your adventurous and childlike wonder personality is what grabs your future lover’s attention and spins their world into the story itself. In short, your relationship will be magical but overwhelming with their parents and yours. There is going to be clashing. A lot of communication will mend it but not heal the relationship. Do not pour yourself into fixing it, focus on you and them.

Masterlist.

Pile III.

Trigger warning: faintest mention of rape.

Mongolia, Panama, Burundi, Northern Mariana Islands, China, Canada, Russia, and Kazakhstan.

Your future spouse grew up and is still living in a close bonded village or community. Their mindset is closed, very closed, hence why the energies you have read differ from one another.

II of Swords and X of Swords.

I need you to listen to me very carefully. Although this is a future lover or spouse reading, your lover is not someone you are supposed to be with. Their energy is so.. so very overwhelming, complex, and so damn off putting. I can’t even read it.. it is that bad. I have no idea if you are speaking with them on a dating app, met them and had a “lovely” date with them, if they are your ex, or even dating you, but leave or do not engage with them. I will describe them. I wish I could give you a cute reading about who they are, but their energy is so blank—so empty, shadow like, and so very much draining you.

This person blends into the crowds and projects themselves as a kind and lovely person who went through so much trauma. This person has told you, or will tell you (future energies appeared), that these people were awful, and these people made them feel small, but they were able to heal, or at least tried to feel better about themselves. (Red flags are waving in my mind), they like to talk about France or are associated with France (born there, love the food, know the culture, etc.). They will subtly mention how perfect you are but secretly hide their disgust for you. You may have noticed it and brushed it aside from how exhausted you have been lately. I would not say you have been gaslighting yourself; you could be, but something along the lines of ignoring it or acting ‘oblivious’ because you want something good to finally happen to you. They like to bounce around each topic, never fully explaining what they are saying but ‘appearing’ intelligent because they bullshit their words. Some of you have noticed it and have called them out on it, but they either love bomb you and you let it go, or they manipulate you and you believe their lies or will (future energies only). They believe you are easy to trick, and they are right. You are easily swayed to someone’s side because of how open-minded you are; you need to start to limit that and focus on your ideals.

They love, and I mean love, being perverse around you. They always act as if they are modest and clean, that they have innocent and pure thoughts, but they do not. Very disgusting mindset, it reminds me of those who think it is okay to rape others. Yuck.

With the X of Swords (ten of swords), they.. (sigh, I am so sorry for you, truly. I hope one day you can finally heal and find the right person for you). They prefer to put you down and make themselves feel better about themselves. Usually, people who are insecure do that, yet they are not. They see themselves as this perfect being who deserves the best, and everyone deserves filth for being around their existence. Very high unhealthy self-esteem and very close tendencies to being a sociopath. I am not sure if they are diagnosed or not, but they do or would have pride for that, for being a psychopath or a sociopath.

You got two sword cards, and when it comes to the more depressive or weaker genre, this symbolizes abuse, lack of empathy or care, and being harsh. This may explain this person’s inner thoughts and how they interact with others, yet on a surface level they act like the better parts of what the swords symbolize: being creative, being brave and taking charge, learning to communicate or perfecting it, and being overall intelligent with a touch of care. I believe now you know who this person is, and the fear that surrounds your heart is making you overwhelmed because you put so much into this relationship only to find out that it was a lie.  I believe it is time for you to let them go and let go of everything about who they are and what they did for you. In reality, it was for them so they could have you wrapped around their finger, and unfortunately, you gave them easy access. Block them, cut contact with them, simply get rid of them, and bring back your peace.

Intuition told me that you need two oracle cards, and I will explain it for you. The first one you got was ‘’dna.’’ It states, ‘’you are predisposed to follow the karmic dictates of your ancestral patterning to some extent, yet as you evolve in your consciousness and expand the light of awareness, you can make choices that shift and modify this ancestral design.’’ Meaning, you have to follow along what your beliefs were all along, stop allowing others to sway you and follow their beliefs, their morals, and their tradition. Though it is good to have an open mind, an open mind with a huge heart, and being naive is what makes you fall down; it is your downfall, and it will be hard to build back the same place you fell from. You can ever truly go back to that, but you can always rebuild it and make a place that is better for you, but at the same time, a safer and calmer place for you to rest when things become tough. The next and last card channeled is ‘’iceberg.’’ It states, ‘’whatever you suppress or deny and attempt to keep out of conscious awareness will show up somewhere and somehow.  These are your shadow aspects.  Now is the time to allow these elements to surface and embrace them.’’ It means exactly what I have been saying to you. Learn to appreciate your open mindset, but learn to push away being so naive that you fall into that spiral I previously spoke of. Learn to appreciate that you care, that you want good things coming your way, and that you know and understand that you deserve good things, but push away those who do not mean well to you. They will sink you like how the Titanic sank with the iceberg. And that is something you simply do not deserve.

Masterlist.

[murdockcastleslut]

𝔒𝔣𝔣 𝔗𝔬𝔭𝔦𝔠

synopsis: y/n is an up and coming influencer, who has established her own with thriving youtube channel and podcast. when she releases a new episode with her new co-host and special guests, things get messy.

a rafe cameron smau! |part eight| part nine |part ten|

a/n: This is a long one for you guys :) thank you to @ivysprophecy @kimoralov3 for letting me annoy the shit out of you as i bounce ideas off of y'all.

Off Topic Official Transcript

12:30 

Cleo: so Rafe, you did a recent shoot with loewe. 

Y/n: [you bite your lip subtly] oh my god yeah, i remember hearing Sarah talk about it. you looked really good. 

Rafe: oh yeah? [he raises his eyebrow] thank you. it was really fun, the crew and photographer were great. i’ve always wanted to do a shoot with them and i was so grateful when i got the chance. 

Rafe: i know it’s yalls’ podcast but if you could work with any brand, which would it be? 

Cleo: easy, easy man. either gucci or miu miu. 

Y/n: i think for me it would probably be ysl or prada. 

Rafe: yeah, you’d be a prada girl? [he asks cockily]

Y/n: yeah, haven’t you seen me rock a pair of prada sunnies. i always serve face. [you smile and then give a model face to him and cleo] 

Cleo: that is correct. my girl always looks good, especially in prada. 

Rafe: oh, i have no doubt. [he smiles at you brightly]

26:45

Y/n: [laughing at something Rafe said before hand]

Cleo:[smirks] so rafe, we have this recurring segment of this show called “be mine” and it’s where we ask the guest, what’s their ideal type or what they are looking for in a relationship.

Y/n: [stops laughing and is subtly looking at Cleo with bewilderment] 

Cleo: and since we don’t have more than one guest today, y/n will share with you! 

Y/n: [looks at Cleo with a look of confusion] i will? 

Cleo:[gives her look] 

Y/n: i guess i will be today. 

Rafe: [chuckles at your reaction] i have only been in two really serious relationships and they were both totally different experiences. the first person i'm really good friends with still but that relationship taught me all the things i did want like someone adventurous, kind, and someone who can communicate. in this life we live in the media. i never wanna be the last person to know something about my partner. i think from my last relationship we were very private and i didn’t really mind it but sometimes i wanted to share cute photos of them… [he shifts in the chair and manspreads a bit]

Cleo: [she looks at you and gives you a smirk at the mention at photography]

Rafe (continued): especially since i really like film photography and really i couldn’t share my photos, so i wanna find someone who's comfortable with that for sure. and by no means do i think i am perfect, i think i got somethings to work on but those are just somethings that are really important to me. [he finishes speaking and looks at you for your reaction.]

Cleo: [is smirking in her seat] damn model boy knows what he wants. 

Rafe: [laughs] sometimes if you want something you just gotta put it out there. [he shrugs and smirks]

Cleo: ya know y/n here loves film photography? has a whole account dedicated to it too.

Y/n: [your eyes blunge out hoping she’d be quiet] yeah, i do but it’s nothing. 

Rafe: [smirks and leans forward and places his elbow on the chair arm and places his chin on his knuckles] it’s not, nothing. it’s cute, sweetheart. [he gives you a kind smile] so, what are you looking for? [he points with his chin to you]

Y/n: um… i agree with a lot of what race has to say. i especially feel the same about communication, in my last relationship there was a really big lack of it and that along with cheating was the end of our relationship. 

Rafe: [frowns at the mention that you have been cheated on]

Y/n: So now i think i need someone who is willing to take things slowly and understand that it takes me a second to trust their intentions. but i also really want someone who likes to travel because i love traveling and seeing new places. also my friends have to give the stamp of approval because they are everything to me. [you smile at cleo]

Y/n: but my ideal type, i don’t know, tall, kind, intelligent, passionate, empathetic, and i don’t think it would hurt anyone if he was pretty on the eyes either.[you smile widely] 

Rafe: i think it's really raw and real of you to talk about trust in that way because i feel the same way. 

Cleo: you two have a lot in common huh? 

y/n's phone

taglist: @ivysprophecy @kimoralov3 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @charli123456789 @wearemadeofstardust0 @frankoceanluvr11 1 @harrys-housewife @urbrunettebombshell @mayhapsnini i @psychicnatural @aariahnaa @rafeycameronsgf @laniirackssss @cl4uus @honk4emoboyz

[canihaveacalmtime]

Short thin-boned legs running down the giant castle halls in their last attempt of surviving what's coming after them.

Well, who, I mean.

"(Y/N)~, please don't run from big sis, I mean no harm~"

You heard the tyrant said and knew that she is already so close to you and as you panicking, your eyes spotted a hidden spot behind the throne and you immediately went for it.

"(Y/N), you know that I killed them for you, you wanted this... right? Hahahahah!"

You were shaking like a leaf behind the giant curtains deep in the corner of your hiding spot.

You remembered how you were her only support in your previous life but when she later won the crown and became the new emperor, she murdered you brutally because of an accusation her secret traitors put on you.

But even if they didn't accused you, she would've wiped you out first due to the fact that she didn't like you, the youngest member of the family and her most worrisome competitor.

Though, to you, that crown worth nothing more than its appearance as you only focused on trying to have your big sister attention and love, you wanted to make her know that you support her and you can be someone she can rely on.

Unfortunately, all you received was a horrific death under the hands on the person you cherished the most.

The sound of a sword hitting the wall snapped you back to reality, the reality where it's 2 years before the crowned ceremony and where you're running from the person you now fear the most.

"(Y/N), I'm giving you a chance to come out right now or else, don't let me find you."

You squeeze your sleeves, heart's pounding, trying to make as little sounds as possible as her countdown ends, your right hand gripping on your small sword, preparing for the worst.

But nothing happened, you can't even hear anything anymore. Not even a breathing sound aside from your own and just as you were starting to carefully take a look around where you're hiding, a wave of tiredness suddenly attacked you out of nowhere, making you knocked out on spot.

One of the tyrant's pride skills is to make everyone within her radius go asleep and help her locate them easier. Maybe if you focus on your magic studies more, blocking that skill could've been possible, at least.

"That's what you get for didn't listen to me."

She gently carry you in her arms and her hand soothing your back.

"The ceremony is tomorrow, 2 years sooner, right? I apologize for not letting you participate but I can't risk any chance of you running away."

Aside from you, she was also reincarnated and realized that who she must keep and who she must eliminate, she waste no time on her plan and out of all was to keep you safe, secure and by her side forever.

"I can't lose you again, my only star."

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

👋●︿●

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

"That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likeable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control." "Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything."

"And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavoury, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained."

"When Styles began therapy about five years ago [so in 2017], he was reluctant initially, feeling it was a music industry cliché. "I thought it meant that you were broken," he said. "I wanted to be the one who could say I didn't need it." He returned to the home theme that has underpinned our conversation, explaining that therapy has allowed him to "open up rooms in himself" that he didn't know existed, allowed him to feel things more honestly, where before he had tended to"emotionally coast.""

"Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said."

"You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written."

He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said.

Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

"You can't win music. It's not like Formula One," he said. "I was like, in my lifetime, there will be 10 more people who burst onto the scene in that way, and I'm only going to get further away from being the young thing. So, get comfortable with finding something else that makes you happy. I just found that so liberating."

"I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said.

““In lockdown, I started processing a lot of stuff that happened when I was in the band,” he said. He thought about the way he was encouraged to give so much of himself away, “to get people to engage with you, to like you.” He thought about the fact that no baby photos exist of him that aren’t on the internet (you give a bunch to an X Factor producer doing a piece on your backstory without much thought, and suddenly your childhood is online). He thought about the journalists asking questions, when he was still a teenager, about how many people he’d slept with and how, rather than telling them to go away, he would worry about how he could be coy without them leaving the room annoyed. “Why do I feel like I’m the one who has done something wrong?” he said to me.”

— Harry for Better Homes and Gardens Magazine

[mononijikayu]

forg_tful — fushiguro megumi.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.  Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  “Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor. You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

GENRE: alternate universe - grim reaper au;

WARNING/S: mythical beings and creatures, aged up megumi, heavy angst, romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, unhappy life, depression, illness, hurt, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, humor, guilt, pining, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, depiction of character death, depiction of illness, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of panic attack, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, grim reaper! megumi, long suffering dying! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: when i was dabbling about what to post, i did a wheel of names and megumi won so here is another megumi fic. i was talking with @midnight-138 the other day and we got in this conversation about goblin, the kdrama. and there were grim reapers there. so i ended up writing about that here. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!!! anyway, i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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THERE IS A WONDER ABOUT HUMAN DESTINY. You heard a story about it then, at the orphanage. One of your carers would tell you about it often. How humans were born into this destiny in this new life after their old one.

And this life is determined by how good or bad that past life was. And that each and everyone must live a good enough life in each cycle, in order to have a good life in the next.

When you were a child, understanding this concept felt like a challenge. How could one’s destiny ever be decided just like that, by things you don’t even remember? Who gets to decide whether or not we are good?

Is good and bad easy to tell? You would ask the older kids at the orphanage this, and sometimes you caretakers. But they never seem to understand why you could not accept it as it is. 

After all, you were a child. And a child would always find that ridiculous, you think. You were a child. You haven’t done anything wrong. Not to anyone. Not about anything.

You doubt you could have done something in your past life that should warrant any punishment. You were someone people knew to be a good kid, you always have been. People looked at you warmly, ever so kindly. 

But now you can only say that you know better. You have grown up. You had seen the truth. And it was not good, it was ugly and rotten. It was a tragedy. And you hated it. You hated everything about it.

Because your past life, your past self — they might have been a terrible person. They must have been the worst of the worst. Because, if you weren’t, then what justifies that sad suffering? That painful existence you had lived up until now.

You sighed heavily, taking in the whiff of bitter antiseptic, that artificial fragrance. You like to think you’ve been cursed to live a sad life. And today was just another proof of it.

Every thought of it just lingers like a familiar shadow, whispering in the quiet moments when you’re too tired to fight back. It’s easier to believe in curses than coincidences, easier to pin your pain on something cosmic than accept a world so indifferent.

You were an orphan, after all. Not in the storybook sense where miracles come to those who wait, but in the raw, unvarnished truth of it. Alone from the start, without a name to cry out to when the nights felt endless.

There was no mother to call for warm hugs, there was no father to give you reassurances. Just that cold metal bunk bed, which creaks at night as you twist and turn and the dark moonless nights.

You were passed from one place to another, faceless in a system that churned endlessly, always one more lost child than it could handle. You kept being told that it wasn’t that because you were unlovable, that’s what they always said.

But it was just that they found out what love looks like when they look at someone else, at another child that they think fits in their family. That was just how they felt they said, that was just their truth. And it shouldn't be personal. 

You learned early on that love wasn’t guaranteed, that kindness wasn’t free, and that your worth was measured by how little trouble you caused. And just like that you grew up in that orphanage, being your own parent, being your own mother and father, your own sibling. Your own family.

When the kids at school found out, they immediately latched onto it. The teasing started small, barbs disguised as jokes, but it grew sharper, crueler. Just as the years dragged on, they had grown to be even crueler, even more vicious about being someone like you. 

Even as you started to have your own life and slowly became an adult, you found that people would never think to give you anything. You had expectations at one point that people would be more understanding. That they would give you more grace about it. 

But you would find yourself broken up over by your significant other because their mother didn’t like that you had no one in your family. Well, their mother never liked you from the beginning.

They thought you were difficult and had no manners, all because you never had a family, no parents to teach you all the things that would make a good person.

You would find yourself having friends and then getting into fights with them when you couldn’t show up for them at times, because you had to work multiple jobs to get through college.

Or how you couldn’t hang out with them because you had to take another shift for extra cash for your rent. They would say, what would be the need of you if you can’t be there?

Over time, you found yourself isolated from the world. No matter what you did, you found yourself alone. You found yourself unable to please people, unable to keep people. Unable to attain happiness or peace in this life. And over time too, you stopped expecting anyone to step in. You stopped expecting anything at all.

You’ve had a rough life—that’s what they’d call it, isn’t it? A neat little phrase to gloss over the thorny, jagged edges of this existence. It was as if that phrase could capture all of the nights spent crying into your pillow, the gnawing hunger for connection, for someone; the sense that the world moved on without ever noticing you.

And somehow, your misery can only continue.

It started with little things, barely noticeable at first—a name you couldn’t recall, a face that seemed familiar but unplaceable. Then it got worse and worse as time went by. Days lost to a haze of things you couldn’t explain, moments slipping through your fingers like water flowing downstream. 

You didn’t wanna worry about it that much in the beginning. Maybe you’ve been working too hard. You’ve taken so much work these past few weeks. And maybe you had forgotten to eat anything.

You had a sensitive stomach, after all. Maybe that’s what has been causing the fatigue and the headache. Maybe the headaches are the reason you’ve been forgetting a lot of things. Yeah, that’s what it could be.

Yet, it just never went away. Even with the lifestyle changes, even when you would cut back on work to take care of yourself and rest. Nothing had changed. In fact, the pain had only gotten worse.

And more and more, you would find yourself forgetting things more and more. At one point, you had cried so much after forgetting which street you lived on after work. 

You had felt your head spinning, your vision went on a blur and that night lamp began to burn against your eyes. Your breath labored over and over, and you had tried to get it controlled — but you couldn’t. Tears fell even more as you leaned against the lamp post. You felt like you were going to collapse.That you were going to throw up on the floor. 

It took some time for yourself to regain some control, you knew that much. You just stayed there, letting the tears fall. You still didn’t remember where you had lived. You were forgetting it all. And that frustrated you to no end. You knew then that this can’t continue happening. That this cannot continue on. 

That’s why you came here in this godforsaken place known as the hospital. You’ve always hated hospitals. It was such a terrible place. Even as a child, getting your check–ups with the other orphans terrified you. Nothing about this place spells any good. You were already with bad luck, with such a terrible destiny in this life and you didn’t want it to continue.

But you cannot control destiny, not ever.

You could only control yourself. 

And even that, you cannot have control.

Not anymore, not ever again.

The doctors confirmed it: a rare, terminal illness. Brain cancer, in its final stages. Not only was it going to kill you, it was going to take everything that made you along with it.

Your memories, no matter how horrible, your identity, no matter how empty, your self, no matter how broken. All of who you are — you'd fade away in pieces, becoming a hollow shell long before your body gave out.

You thought the universe had no more ways to hurt you. 

But you knew you were wrong, from the very beginning.

And then, on a night when the weight of it all felt unbearable, you saw him.

He wasn’t what you expected. No black cloak, no skeletal frame, no cold, lifeless eyes. The grim reaper was... human. Or at least, he looked that way. His dark colored hair fell in soft, dark strands over his forehead, his clothes unassuming—a rather plain and boring suit, even.

But there was something in his presence, a quiet intensity, that made your heart skip. His blue-green eyes, sharp and unreadable, pinned you in place, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“Who are you?” you asked, though deep down you already knew.

He studied you in silence for a moment, as though deciding whether you were worth an answer. Your eyes narrowed at him, as though trying to make sure that this isn’t just your brain making a mess of you. But he wasn’t. He was very much real. He was very much here. Finally, he spoke.

“Megumi.” he said. His voice was calm, steady, but there was something beneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You hadn’t expected that from a grim reaper. You had expected something more rough. Something more….grim.

“Is that all?” you pressed, desperation clawing at your throat. You wanted—no, needed—to know more. Why him? Why now? Why couldn’t you just be left alone?

“That’s all you need to know about me.” he said simply.

His words were a wall you couldn’t scale. No matter how hard you tried, you knew there would be no answers, no explanations, no mercy. At least not until you were dead. You sighed, leaning against the bench.

This was it. The final countdown was coming soon. There was no escape. Yet, as the silence stretched between you, a strange feeling took root in your chest. Not comfort, not exactly. But something close. It was at least something. And for once, you weren’t alone.

You didn’t know what this grim reaper, this Megumi, was meant to be to you. What was he? Was he a guide, a witness, a judge? You didn’t know. And perhaps it was easier not to ask questions, to not know. 

But as you continued to sit there, staring at the one who would carry you to your end, a thought crossed your mind. At least he wasn’t judging you. At least he was just there, waiting. He was calm as can be, quiet and without any grievances towards you. 

Perhaps, maybe — at least he wasn’t as cruel as life has been. You began to think to yourself as you closed your eyes about one thing. Maybe if he was here, then maybe the end wouldn’t be so lonely after all. Maybe there will finally be some sense of peace at the end. 

You opened your eyes, your lips seeping into a small smile. “I look forward to meeting my end with you.”

══════════════════

AS THE TIME GOES BY, HE WAS WITH YOU IN EVERYTHING. No one else around you could feel or see him the way you do. And he couldn’t go anywhere else. He was bound to you, until he could take your soul away and bring it with him. So, Megumi continued to watch over you as you continued to live your life, or at least what remains of it.

At first, his presence unnerves you. You weren’t used to this, being watched so closely almost everyday and every hour — especially with what remained of your miserable life. But slowly you found yourself getting used to him being around. And at the very least, he still gave you space when you did things that required privacy.

Otherwise, he’s always there, quiet and still, like a shadow you can’t shake. And as the days stretch into weeks, you begin to realize that he isn’t all bad. He does talk, sometimes. At least when he thinks you do something worth giving a response about.

He was truly quite reserved and serious half the time, yes, and almost cold in the way he speaks and carries himself, but there’s something beneath it. It wasn’t easy to notice at first, because it was ever so subtle. It was as if he never wanted anyone to notice that there was  something soft within that hard exterior of his.

Megumi didn’t seem to fit his job description—not at all. He was patient in a way you didn’t expect from a reaper. From what you’d gathered from folklore and stories about grim reapers, you imagined something far more ominous.

Shadows and sickles, maybe even whispers of death. But Megumi? He had a quiet presence that felt nothing like the foreboding figures you’d pictured.

When your mind betrays you, when a memory slips through your fingers like grains of sand, Megumi is there. He doesn’t judge the gaps, doesn’t rush you to remember. Instead, he catches the loose ends with an ease that seems effortless. 

Sometimes, it feels as though he’s more of a guide than a harbinger, steering you gently through the storm of forgetfulness. His voice is steady, grounding. His gaze is understanding, never invasive.

There’s a calmness to him, a patience that wraps around you like a soft cocoon. It’s disarming. You wonder how someone charged with ferrying souls could be so tender. Yet, when you look at him, you see no malice, no hint of the cold indifference you expected. Just the faintest trace of weariness in his eyes, as if he’s carried too many burdens that aren’t his own.

Sometimes, you forget who he is. And in those moments, Megumi doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets you speak, lets you ramble, and when the memory comes back, when you remember why he’s here—he doesn’t revel in the grief.

He simply nods, a quiet acknowledgment that this, too, is part of the process. He’s not here to rush the inevitable; he’s here to make sure you don’t face it alone.

“Your nurse’s name is Alice, by the way.” Megumi says again when you struggle to introduce yourself. 

You could feel your mouth fumbling over syllables that don’t quite fit together. Your cheeks feel red at the thought, now remembering as she smiled at your direction. You waved at her. His voice is calm, steady, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to find your footing. You blink at him, your thoughts swirling too fast to make sense of.

 “Huh?” you finally ask, the confusion thick in your tone. 

“She takes care of you in the mornings. Alice always makes sure to bring your meds with water, no ice.” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to know. “You told her once that cold water hurts your teeth, so she makes sure to bring you water without ice.

You glance down at your hands, unsure of what to say. His eyes felt warm against your own as you nodded slowly at him, trusting his words. Those details feel foreign to you, like a story you heard about someone else. But his words fit, even if you can’t remember saying them. They were warm, they felt truthful.

“Oh.” you mumble with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He looks away from you. “No problem.”

Later, in the cafeteria, you sit in front of a tray of food that feels unfamiliar. Your appetite is as absent as the clarity of your thoughts. You stare at the carton of apple juice, its horrifically bright label somehow irritating, though you can’t pinpoint why at all.

“You liked orange juice better than apple.” Megumi says, breaking the silence. He gestures toward the carton with a small nod. “That one’s your favorite. Not too sweet, not too sour.”

The simplicity of the statement hits you like a lifeline, tethering you to something concrete. You pick up the carton, turning it in your hands before setting it back down. You smiled at him again, but this time almost a mix of relief and embarrassment. You were relying on your grim reaper to remind you of everything, now more than ever.

“Thank you.” you say again, a little louder this time, just enough for him to hear.

The two of you sit in silence for a while before you decide to pull out the small notebook you’ve been keeping. Your doctor suggested it as your brain got even sicker. You needed to remember something and so this notebook, it was your place to track your thoughts before they disappear entirely. 

You scribble furiously, trying to make sense of the jumble in your head. You’re working on a sentence about feeling forgetful, but the words tangle together, your handwriting messy and uneven. You pause, staring at it. Something feels wrong. Something feels off. Your face contorts, your eyes narrow at the page.

“You missed an E.” Megumi says softly, leaning over to glance at the page. 

He doesn’t reach for the notebook, doesn’t try to take it from you. Instead, he taps the spot with his finger, just enough to draw your attention. Your eyes blinked. Sure enough, forgetful is written as forgtful. You bite your lip, heat rising to your cheeks as frustration bubbles up. 

“I—I know that, you know?” you say defensively, though the truth is you hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out.

He doesn’t laugh or tease you. “It happens, don’t worry.” he says simply, his tone free of judgment. “You caught it now. That’s what matters.”

You glance at him, expecting pity, but his stoic expression is as steady as ever, like this moment isn’t something to dwell on. You pierce your lips in a tight line. You carefully picked up your pen again, correcting the error with a shaky hand. 

“Thanks for telling me.” you mutter, embarrassed but grateful.

“You were talking about your favorite teacher, earlier.” he reminds you a little while later, after your thoughts derail mid-sentence. 

You’d been telling him about a memory. It was a rare one, where everything about it was good. It was such a warm, fuzzy one that had felt so clear in your mind just moments ago—but now it’s slipping away, leaving you grasping at straws.

You look at him, feeling lost. “I... was?”

“You were.” he confirms with a small nod, his tone encouraging. “You said they were the first people to notice how much you liked writing. You were just getting to the part about their funny laugh.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right!” you whisper, the thread of the memory slowly weaving its way back into focus. “Right. Mr. Greene. He laughed like a seagull.”

Megumi doesn’t laugh at the description, but his lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. That was a rare thing, you knew that. But you like to think that maybe, just maybe, if he tried — he would look even better when he smiled. He already has a handsome face, you knew that. But maybe, his smile, it would make it even better.

“That’s it.” he says, his voice carrying a quiet kind of approval.

It’s small, these moments of clarity he gives you, but they feel monumental in a life that’s slowly crumbling. For a moment, you feel like you’ve reclaimed a small piece of yourself, and you can’t help but glance at him, wondering how someone like him, a reaper, of all things can make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

You can’t help but admit it but he was your first true friend.

He was your longest companion to boot, with that.

And perhaps, he will be the only constant you’ll ever have.

But maybe he already knew that and he just doesn’t tell you.

He accompanies you often, especially in the long, quiet hours spent tethered to hospital machines. The hum of monitors and the rhythmic drip of IVs become a backdrop to his steady, unobtrusive presence. At first, you think he’s only there to observe, to do whatever grim reapers are supposed to do as your life ticks away. 

But the longer he stays, the more you realize he’s keeping you company at every appointment. Keeping you from being so alone. Even if it was his job, he could wait elsewhere. But he sits beside you, in an empty chair no one dares sit at. 

And he stays, throughout each and every appointment. Appointments which barely keep you alive. It was only a matter of time before he had to deliver your soul to wherever it had to be.

You started to wonder if he’ll think about this time with you too. If he will find this moment to be something that will cross his mind once this job, you, were done and gone. 

It’s strange, this relationship you’ve fallen into. He doesn’t talk much unless prompted, not unless you forgot something or need anything. But you like to think that you could start to rely on his silence. Especially when doctors and nurses give you all those complicated jargons that you didn’t even need.

It fills the void in a way words can’t. When you’re too tired to make conversation with visitors, when there are visitors, probably motivated by guilt or necessity, your grim reaper Megumi is there. Unfailingly, he would be sitting by your bedside, his gaze steady, his presence grounding. As though he wants to give you strength to deal with it all. 

But of course, as  you already know, no one else can see him. Just you. At first, you tried explaining him to the nurses, the doctors,  or when you felt like talking about something you knew he would listen to — but the looks they gave you were enough to stop. They chalked it up to the illness, the stress, or the medications. 

But Megumi is real. You know he’s real. The way he moves, the way he seems to sense your thoughts before you speak them, the way he exists on the edges of your life without ever intruding.

The way a glint in his eyes would appear warmer than before. He was here. He was there with you. You weren’t going crazy. And he knew that too. He was the only one that knew that.

One day, in the suffocating stillness of the hospital ward, you finally ask him the question that’s been gnawing at the edges of your mind. The pale light filtering through the blinds casts long shadows on the sterile white walls.

And the quiet hum of distant monitors feels unbearably loud. You shift uncomfortably in your bed, clutching the thin blanket as if it could anchor you to something solid.

“Why are you here?” The words escape your lips before you can stop them. Your voice is quiet, hesitant, but the question feels monumental, breaking the fragile peace between you.

Megumi doesn’t look surprised. He’s seated in the chair by your bed, one leg crossed over the other, his posture as calm as always. His gaze lifts from the book he’s been reading, something he always seems to have in his hands.

Though you’ve never seen him get past the halfway mark. He seems to be carrying it as though it was a prayer book he was forced to hold at a sermon at church.

“To watch you.” he says simply, his tone neutral. There’s no elaboration, no attempt to soften the starkness of his answer. As though it was almost like his words were that of fact. You furrow your brow, confused.

“I know that….But why? Why do you keep on watching me this closely?” you press, the weight of his presence suddenly more tangible. He isn’t like the nurses or the doctors who flit in and out of the room. He doesn’t belong here—not in the way they do.

“Are you uncomfortable about it?” 

You blinked at him, your mouth agape for a moment. “N–no.”

“Okay, then. I’ll continue on doing what I want.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. You like to think that it was all you were going to get from him. So you just sighed, leaning against your hospital bed and closing your eyes. This was the most he’d ever talk to you, and perhaps the longest. That could be a win, right?

“For you.” He spoke again, as though he couldn’t handle the silence between you. 

“For me?” you echo, your voice almost a whisper. The words feel foreign, as though they belong to someone else. “What does that mean?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your question. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion you can’t name. Not pity, not detachment, but something softer. “Does my reason matter?”

“You have me curious now.” You whisper to him, letting out a small laugh. “What was your reason?” you ask him again.

Though deep down, you think you already know. The thought lodges itself in your chest, sharp and unwelcome. Megumi doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. His gaze holds yours for some time, steady and unwavering. 

“I made a promise I’d like to keep.” he says finally, the words carrying a gravity that makes your breath hitch.

“What promise?”

His eyes narrowed at you, almost as though it was full of hurt. “You don’t want to know.”

The suffocating stillness of the room presses down on you, but somehow, his presence feels like a small crack of light breaking through the weight of it all. You want to ask more—how he knows, why he cares, but the words catch in your throat, tangled in the storm of your thoughts.

It’s such a brief answer, yet it lingers with you long after the words fade. There’s no pity in his voice, no judgment, just a quiet truth that settles like a blanket over your weary mind. And in some inexplicable way, that’s enough.

So, instead you nod, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. It’s not acceptance, not yet, but maybe it’s the beginning of it. And Megumi, patient as ever, doesn’t push for more. He simply stays, his quiet presence a reminder that, whatever happens, you won’t face it alone.

Over time, Megumi’s presence becomes less foreboding and more… comforting. If someone told you a grim reaper could be anything close to a friend, you would’ve laughed. But now? You’re not so sure.

He still doesn’t talk much, but the moments he does are starting to feel less like obligations and more like. Well, like he cares. His dry humor catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips when you grumble about hospital food or tell him a ridiculous story from your childhood that you’re shocked you even remember.

“They let you keep a pet fish in third grade?” he asks one day, his eyebrow quirking ever so slightly.

“Let me? No, I smuggled it back to the orphanage.” you reply, puffing your chest out like it’s something to be proud of. “Named him Mr. Bubbles. He lived in a mason jar by our shared windowsill until one of the staff found him.”

Megumi gives you a sidelong glance, and for a second, you think he’s about to scold you. But instead, his lips quirk into the tiniest smile. “Mr. Bubbles, huh.” he repeats, almost to himself, and the sound of it in his voice makes your chest feel light.

He’s always a comfort in the painful days of longevity treatments. You were getting even worse, not even the precious medication was working. Megumi was the one to urge you to continue, even if they were never going to do anything for you.

After all, he was here for a reason. Nothing was going to help. And yet, he still insists that having more time is better than having little.

This time, you like to think you could agree with him. With more time, you could continue to have Megumi by your side. You could continue to have conversations with him.

You could continue to see his small ghostly smiles and find him sitting there beside you, looking through pages of that book he never reads. You could have more time living, experiencing some good in your life – a good that was waiting on death’s door. 

Sitting in the chair beside you, his legs crossed casually, as though he’s simply there for the ambiance and not because you’re hooked up to an IV that feels like it’s siphoning the life out of you. Sometimes, you fall asleep mid-session, and when you wake up, you find him sitting exactly as he was, as if not a single moment has passed for him.

“I wasn’t sleeping at all.” you insist groggily one day, blinking the drowsiness away. “How could you even know I was sleeping at all? I know, it’s my body!”

“You were drooling.” he counters flatly, gesturing toward your chin. “Look, it’s still there in the corner of your lips.”

You hurriedly swipe at your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I was not!”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He could be a trickster when he wants to be. He could be silly from time to time. And funny enough with that dry humor that you could cry tears as you laugh so hard at what he says.

Despite his initial stoicism, Megumi starts picking up on your quirks, learning the things that make you smile. And most days now, especially now with these horrible and miserable treatments, you looked forward to them. 

Like the time he noticed you doodling on the edge of your treatment log and, the next day, casually handed you a pack of gel pens. Your face conforms to a confused daze as you look at him and then at the gel pens in your hand. There were so many that you don’t even think you could count them.

“How the hell did you get this, Megumi?” You asked him, your eyes narrowing at him. “Why are there so many?”

“They were free.” he said, refusing to meet your eyes as you stared at the colorful bundle in awe.

“From where?” you asked, skeptical at his response to you.

“Places.” He still wasn’t looking at you.

“Megumi.” you drawled, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Do you want the pens or not?” he huffed, crossing his arms in a way that made him look surprisingly boyish. “They’re really good too. I tried them downstairs. And they’re free. What? Is the security going to look at your bag when you leave? This isn’t a mall, you know.”

You looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded at his sudden ridiculous tirade. Then slowly, your tummy rumbled as you laughed and laughed. The notion of it all was silly. Still, you were entertained by it. Megumi seemed glad that you laughed. And that you went along with all of it. 

You took the pens, of course. You put them in your bag after he handed it to you. No one checked it and for the rest of the day, you tried them and made little doodles with them on your notepad at home. And that day, for the first time in a long time, you felt genuinely happy.

As much as Megumi claims he’s only there to “watch” you as part of his job, you found that it’s obvious he’s doing more than that. He’s doing the most out of all grim reapers you like to think.

Of course, you don’t know any other grim reapers. And you doubt you’d look sane if you tried to bring it up to another dying person. But your grim reaper, at least you, was the kindest. 

As you settle into bed, the hospital room bathed in the faint glow of a bedside lamp, you glance over at Megumi. He’s sitting in his usual chair, arms folded loosely, his expression calm but watchful.

It’s become routine now. His quiet presence is a constant that you’ve come to rely on, though you’d never admit it outright.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them. 

Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor.

You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or perhaps a glimmer of gratitude he’d never put into words. His lips purse into a flat line, as he looks at you. You could tell that there’s something in his green–blue orbs that you couldn’t read. But you knew better than to ask.

“Thank you, Megumi.” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“For what?” he asks, his gaze steady on you.

“For being the first good thing in my life.” you say simply, your chest tightening as you force the words out. 

It feels strange to say, especially to someone like him. You know you shouldn’t be thanking the person meant to take your soul, the one who will guide you into the unknown. But it feels right. You swallow hard, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. 

“I know it sounds ridiculous. Thanking a grim reaper. But I mean it. You were... the kindest thing in my destiny. And I think that’s enough to be happy about.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything right away. He doesn’t need to. The faintest nod of his head, the subtle softening of his usually stoic expression, is answer enough. The weight in your chest eases as you let your head sink into the pillow. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you fight to keep them open just a little longer. 

“Goodnight, Megumi.” you murmur, your voice trailing off as sleep begins to take hold.

“Good night.” he says softly, his voice carrying a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

As your breathing slows, becoming steady and rhythmic, Megumi stays where he is, his gaze fixed on you. And he knows. He just knows—it’s time. Your time. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and bittersweet, but he doesn’t flinch.

This was always the inevitability, but watching you now, peaceful and free from the fear that had once gripped you, he feels something akin to relief. Perhaps even a quiet sadness.

When the time comes, Megumi will be there, as he always has been. For now, though, he lets you rest, a faint sense of solace settling over the room.

══════════════════

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, THIS MISSION WASN’T EVEN FOR HIM TO TAKE. Megumi didn’t choose this assignment at random. No, not at all. That morning began like any other in the sterile monotony of his existence. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale glow on the rows of cubicles where reapers sat, reviewing their tasks for the day. 

He’d been staring at the dregs of his coffee, debating whether he had the energy to bother getting a fresh cup, when the assignments for the day appeared on the board—a mosaic of names, dates, faces.

He’d glanced up, disinterested at first. It was just another day in an endless cycle of endings. Souls came and went, and reapers like him did their jobs, guiding them to whatever came next. There was no time for attachment, no reason to linger on a single name or face.

But then he saw yours.

And everything stopped.

His coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor in a muted crash. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He blinked once, twice, as if his eyes might be playing tricks on him. But no matter how many times he looked, it was unmistakable.

It was you.

Your face stared back at him from the board, frozen in a candid snapshot. It was a face he knew better than his own, even after all this time. A face he’d never forgotten, not even through lifetimes of distance.

It had been so long since he’d last seen you. Lifetimes ago, you had been more than just a part of his world—you had been his world. The memories were fractured and blurred at the edges, but they still burned vividly enough to hurt.

He remembered your laugh, bright and unrestrained, echoing through a life that had otherwise been far too short. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your gaze full of trust, full of hope.

He remembered losing you.

And now here you are again, pulled into this cycle of life and death that neither of you could escape. But this time, you were already dying. You were going to go and suffer again, and there would be no one to save you. He couldn’t stop it last time. And now, he cannot stop it this time. It was set in stone already.

And yet, his heart breaks over and over again. You were barely more than a child, younger than either of you had been in your shared past life. You hadn’t even been given a chance to live, and yet the world had decided it was already time to take you away.

Megumi’s heart ached in a way he hadn’t thought possible anymore. He was a reaper. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. But as he stared at your photo, the weight of it all crushed him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that you’d been taken from him once, and now it was happening all over again. This time, there would be no miracles, no last-minute reprieves. He knew that. He’d seen it a thousand times in other lives.

But he couldn’t just let you go alone.

Without thinking, he rose from his chair, his movements mechanical as he walked toward the board. Each step felt heavier than the last, his resolve hardening with every breath. When he reached your name, he stared at it for a long moment before finally speaking.

“I’ll take this one.” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The room went silent. Assignments weren’t supposed to be chosen; they were distributed at random to avoid any emotional entanglements. Reapers were meant to be impartial. But no one questioned him. Megumi rarely spoke, rarely asked for anything. If he wanted this assignment, there had to be a reason.

As he returned to his desk, your face still fresh in his mind, he made himself a quiet promise. He couldn’t save you. The rules were clear. Your fate was already written, and nothing he did could change that.

But he could be there. He could make sure you didn’t have to face the end alone, that you wouldn’t have to feel the crushing loneliness he’d once felt when he lost you before.

Even if you didn’t remember him. Even if you didn’t know that in another life, you had been his entire world. He would carry that pain for both of you. Because this wasn’t just another assignment. It was you. And losing you again, even knowing it was inevitable, would be the cruelest fate of all.

When Megumi first appeared to you, he knew he had to keep his emotions in check. His job wasn’t to interfere, and no matter how much it hurt to see you again, he couldn’t let the truth slip. You didn’t know who he was, didn’t recognize the connection you’d once shared.

And why would you? To you, he was just a stranger. A quiet, brooding figure who had been assigned to shadow your dying days.

At first, he told himself that keeping his distance would make it easier. That if he stayed aloof, if he acted like this was just another assignment, maybe the ache in his chest wouldn’t consume him. But the moment he saw how lonely you were, trapped in a hospital bed, tethered to machines, fading faster than anyone your age should—he couldn’t help himself.

It was the little things at first. Reminding you of a nurse’s name when your memory failed. Offering a quiet presence during your treatments. Bringing you that pack of gel pens when he noticed your fingers twitching over the edges of your journal, longing to create something amidst the monotony of hospital life.

But as the days turned into weeks, Megumi found himself doing more than he should.

He started sitting closer to you, his usual stoic demeanor softening with every conversation. He started bringing you small comforts—a cup of coffee he swore he “found” a scarf on the day the hospital felt too cold, a faint smile when you told him a joke, no matter how bad it was.

“Why do you even hang around?” you asked one afternoon, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and weariness. 

You’d just finished another grueling medicinal session, your body too weak to sit up straight. He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in his dark blue–green eyes. Then, he shrugged.

“You’re interesting to me.” he said simply, but his voice betrayed the truth he couldn’t say.

You laughed weakly. “Interesting? I’m a walking tragedy.”

“No, never say that. Not ever again.” he said firmly, his tone surprising you. “You’re more than that. You are more than your tragedy.”

The words hung in the air, and you didn’t press further. But in that moment, something shifted between you. As time went on, you began to look forward to his visits. He wasn’t just a reaper to you anymore; he was someone who made the unbearable a little more bearable. 

Someone who listened when you needed to vent, who stayed when the nights felt too long, who reminded you that even in the shadow of death, you weren’t invisible. And Megumi… Megumi was breaking all his own rules. Rules he had set long after you, long before you again.

Every time he saw you laugh, even if it was just a fleeting chuckle, a part of him swore he’d do anything to keep that spark alive. But every time he saw you struggle; when your hands trembled too much to hold a pen, when your memories slipped further and further away—his heart ached in ways it hadn’t in centuries.

He hated this. Hated that you had to go through this. Hated that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t change your fate. But he stayed by your side through it all. He lets himself relive it all over again, no matter the pain. No matter what comes. Because it’s you. Come what may, it’s you.

“You know, Megumi.” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the hum of the machines. “You’re not so bad to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. “Not so bad?”

You smiled, your eyes heavy with exhaustion but still warm. “Yeah. You’re like... a friend. A precious friend.”

A friend. The word stabbed at him more than it should have. Because that’s all he could ever be to you in this life. A friend. A shadow. A quiet presence watching over you as you slowly slipped away.

“You think so, huh?” He asks you, as you nodded and smiled. Silence engulfs the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s precious friend before.”

“Then we are the same. Well, almost.” 

He blinks at your words. “What do you mean?”

“If you call me your precious friend too, then we’ll finally have it. Being a precious person, at least once.”

You’ve always been a precious person to me. Megumi thinks to himself. In every lifetime, in every you — you have always been my precious person.

And even though he would never tell you the truth, that you’d been so much more to him in another life, that losing you once had broken him and losing you again was killing him all over again, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

Because this was his last chance to be with you, even if you didn’t remember him. Even if it would never be enough. Nothing with you would ever be enough, not even if you lived a thousand years. 

But, every moment is worth it, no matter how short it would be. When you love someone that much, it has to be enough. It has to be more than enough. He has to live through this immortal and wretched life, making those moments feel like they were as eternal as him. Even if he wanted more.

“Alright.” Megumi says to you as you perk up, your eyes shining. “You are a precious person to me.”

You giggled at his words. “Was it so hard to say? I am grateful that you said it at all.”

It was never hard to say. It never had been.

But now he has to live that memory over and over again.

He lets his lips echo a small warm smile as he looks at you.

“No, no it wasn’t hard at all.”

══════════════════

THE TREATMENTS HAVE STOPPED FULLY. And because of that your condition was getting worse and worse. The moments of clarity you once had were growing fewer and farther between. The pain in your body became an unwelcome constant, a weight that pulled you down even when you tried to fight against it. 

Every movement felt like dragging yourself through glass, and the fog in your mind thickened, stealing memories and thoughts before you could fully grasp them. Everything about it felt so fragile, and you were afraid of breaking it. Even if it was already broken, you were scared at seeing it break even more. You were scared and he couldn’t do much about it.

Megumi hated seeing you like this. He watched as you lay curled in your bed, tears streaming silently down your face, your breathing shaky and uneven. He hated the way your hands trembled as you gripped the blanket.

It was as if holding onto it might keep you tethered to something real. Something solid enough to bring you back to earth, to existence. To humanity. Hated the way your voice cracked when you spoke, each word laced with frustration and grief over what was slipping away from you.

“I hate this, I hate this.” you whispered one night, your voice barely audible. Your chest hitched with a quiet sob as you turned your face into the pillow, trying to muffle your cries. “I hate... not being able to think. To remember. I feel like I’m disappearing, and I can’t stop it.”

Megumi clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but the words felt like ash in his throat. What could he say? That it would be okay? That you’d find peace? That this agony would end? None of it felt true, and none of it would matter to you at this moment.

You didn’t want peace. You wanted your life back.When you looked up at him, your eyes red  and swollen, the sight nearly broke him. You looked so weak, one couldn’t even think you were someone with such strength at one point. He hated this. He hated how miserable you’ve been, how pained you’ve been.

“I’m so tired, Megumi.” you admitted, your voice cracking as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Megumi moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid his presence might shatter you further. He sat at the edge of your bed, his usually impassive face shadowed with something raw and unguarded.

“You’re still you, you always will be.” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a choked sob. “How do you know that? You don’t even really know me.”

He froze for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands. He wanted to tell you that he did know you, better than anyone ever could. That he remembered you in ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine. But he couldn’t. Not now.

Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering over yours for a moment before he let it settle gently against your trembling fingers. The touch was warm, grounding, and for a moment, the chaos inside you stilled.

“I know because I saw it. I’ve seen it all, even for a while.” he said finally. “Even when you’re hurting, even when it feels like everything is falling apart, I see you.”

His words hung in the air, fragile but steady, and something in your expression slowly softened. You leaned closer to him and he didn’t mind it at all. He pulled you even closer, letting that warmth of him become even more felt.

“It’s okay to be angry about all of this.” he continued, his voice steady now. “It’s okay to cry. You’ve been fighting so hard, for so long. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Your tears flowed freely then, and Megumi stayed right where he was, his hand never leaving yours. He didn’t try to stop your sobs or hush your pain. He simply stayed, letting you pour out everything you’d been holding back. And for the first time in centuries, in his entire lifetime — Megumi couldn’t help but feel unequivocally  helpless.

He was a reaper, meant to guide and observe, but watching you crumble under the weight of your illness was unbearable. You didn’t deserve all of this. You shouldn’t suffer like this. You had done nothing wrong, not in your previous life and not this one. But this was still your fate. 

And he hated the unfairness of it all, the cruelty of a life that had given you so little only to take it away too soon. If he could have taken your place, he would have done it without hesitation.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t trade a life for a life. The gods do not have mercy in that regard. Fate was fate. He cannot do much about it. And he hates it. He hates seeing you like this. 

All he could do was stay by your side, no matter how much it hurt to watch. Because you deserved that much. You deserve someone who wouldn’t leave, even in your darkest moments. And Megumi would be damned if he let you face this alone.

As the night deepened, the room fell into a heavy, fragile silence. The only sounds were the steady hum of the machines and your quiet, uneven breaths as you lay spent from crying. Megumi hadn’t moved from his spot, his hand still lightly covering yours.

Your fingers twitched against his, seeking more warmth. The motion was subtle, but he noticed. Carefully, he threaded his fingers between yours, his grip firm but not overbearing. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your grip tightened just a little, like you were holding on to him for dear life.

“Why do you stay?” you asked, your voice hoarse from the tears but tinged with something vulnerable. You didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the faint outline of his hand entwined with yours.

Megumi hesitated. He wasn’t good at this—at talking about feelings. He was better at quiet gestures and staying in the background. But something about the way you asked, so small and uncertain, pulled the words out of him.

“Because you shouldn’t have to go through this alone, jot ever.” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

You blinked at his answer, a lump forming in your throat. “But you don’t even know me, not at all, Megumi.” you repeated, weaker this time, as if you wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. “How could you stay for someone like me?”

Megumi’s jaw tightened. 

You didn’t know half of it.

“I know enough.” he said finally. “I know you’re stubborn and strong, even when you feel like you’re not. I know you don’t like hospital food, but you’ll eat it anyway because you don’t want to make the nurses worry. I know you still draw on the edges of your notebooks, even when your hands shake so much that the lines go crooked.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words and Megumi felt his heart clench at the way you were looking at him, like you were seeing him for the first time. And as though, it was the first time in a while you had known him that he truly saw you.

“I see you.” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every part of you, even the ones you think you’ve lost. They’re still there. You’re still here.”

You felt the tears welling up again, but this time, they weren’t from frustration or anger. They were something softer, quieter. You take a deep breath, to calm yourself for a moment.

And he brushes your hand against your own. He was so warm, even when your hands were cold. He warmed you enough back to life, even for just that moment. 

“You make it sound like I’m worth something.” you murmured, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.

“You are. You always have been.” he said instantly, the conviction in his voice startling you. “More than you know. I promise you.”

Your chest ached, not from the illness this time, but from the overwhelming mixture of emotions his words stirred in you. It was almost too much, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to stop bringing you back to life. You didn’t want him to stop giving you reasons to want to live.

“Megumi.” you said quietly, finally looking up at him.

His name sounded different coming from you, like it carried more weight, more meaning than it ever had before. It was as warm as back then, when you would say his name and smile at him, like he was your world. Like he was someone you dearly loved.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice softer now, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

You hesitated, your dulling eyes searching for something you couldn’t quite put into words. Then, with a shaky breath, you smiled—a real smile, small but genuine.“Thank you. For all you have done for me, for all you will ever do for me. Thank you.”

Megumi’s lips couldn’t help but twitch at your words, and for the first time, he allowed himself to give you a wide smile in return. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it was for you, only for you. And you knew that it was only for you.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, his usual stoicism creeping back into his tone, but there was an undeniable warmth beneath it.

That night, as you finally drifted off to sleep, your hand still holding his, Megumi stayed by your side. He watched the rise and fall of your chest, each breath a reminder that you were still here, still fighting. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Megumi let himself hope.

Not for a miracle, no. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe in those anymore—but for something smaller. He hoped that in the time you had left, he could make sure you knew you weren’t just a fleeting soul, a name on a list, a face on a board. 

You were everything to him, even if you never remembered why. And as he sat there, his hand still holding yours in the quiet of the night, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could carry that truth for both of you.

══════════════════

HE KNEW THAT HE CAN’T KEEP BUYING TIME. That’s not how it works in this line of work. The higher-ups had been patient with Megumi for as long as they could. They had watched from a distance as he ignored the rules, as he lingered at your side longer than necessary.

He had been told once, perhaps twice, that his attachment was blurring the lines of his duty. But no one had come forward to confront him, not until now.

The meeting room was cold, sterile—just like all the others. It was almost like the hospital. It even smells like it too. The flickering lights did nothing to soften the sharp voices of his superiors, their words cutting through him like a blade. Megumi has always hated this room. As much as you hate the hospitals. 

He has lived for a long time. He has been in the reaper department for so long, he doesn’t even remember when he had started. But no matter how many times he stays in it, the smell will always linger and he hates it. Just as much as he hates the higher-ups, perhaps. Yet, he knew he couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Megumi, this isn’t working any longer.” One of them had said it, their voice cutting through the stale air of the room like a blade, sharp with frustration.

The council sat in their cold, unfeeling silence, their dark robes blending into the shadows that clung to the room. The words echoed in Megumi’s ears, even as he sat still, his fists clenched tightly under the table.

“They are already dying,” the voice continued, each word hammering against him. “You know this, you always have. Fate cannot be changed. You cannot keep delaying it. You’re prolonging their suffering, and you know it. We cannot let this go on any longer.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His blue-green eyes stayed fixed on the floor, a storm brewing behind them. He didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself, because deep down, he knew they were right. He could feel it every time he saw you. 

In this way your body grew weaker with each passing day, as if life itself was slipping through your fingers. Each breath you took was a silent battle, and every glance you gave him carried an unspoken understanding that your time was coming.

But what they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t understand, was why he couldn’t just let go. Not yet. Not when your laughter still lingered in the corners of the hospital room.

Not when you still found the strength to smile at him, even through the haze of your pain. Not when you had thanked him—thanked him—for being the kindest thing in your life. How could he take that away from you? How could he take it away from himself?

“It’s not for your benefit that they should stay alive, you know that.” another elder said, their voice low but unyielding, like a hammer falling against stone. “Do it for their sake. The sooner you do it, the sooner they can find peace. You mustn’t prolong the suffering for your wants.”

The words cut deeper than Megumi would ever admit, a blow he wasn’t prepared for. His fists tightened until his nails bit into his palms, but he kept his gaze down, unwilling to let them see the flicker of defiance in his eyes. 

He wanted to scream at them, to tell them they didn’t understand, that it wasn’t about his wants, it never had been. It was about you. About giving you every last moment, every fleeting second that you deserved, no matter how much it hurt him to watch.

But none of that mattered to them. The rules were the rules. His mission was clear: guide souls to the other side, no matter the cost, no matter the pain. He was meant to be impartial, detached, but he wasn’t. Not this time.

As the meeting adjourned, their final words hung in the air like a noose tightening around his neck. “You have to let them go, Megumi.” the elder had said, their tone devoid of sympathy. “It’s not about you. It’s about them. Do what must be done.”

When the room emptied, Megumi remained seated, his shoulders heavy with the weight of their judgment. He wanted to argue, to push back against the inevitability they demanded he enforce. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t delay forever. 

He could feel the edges of your life fraying, could see the way the light in your eyes flickered, like a candle in its final moments. And yet, even as he sat there, alone in the suffocating silence, he made a decision.

Not yet.

Because you deserve those moments, however brief they might be. You deserved the warmth of the sun on your skin, the chance to smile one more time, the chance to feel something other than pain before the end. And if he could give you that, even at the cost of his own heart, he would.

But he also knew the truth, the one he couldn’t ignore forever. Time wasn’t on your side. And when the moment came, when the inevitability could no longer be postponed, Megumi would have to let you go.

Just not today.

Not yet.

He needs more time.

When the meeting ended, Megumi didn’t move. He couldn’t. His mind was too heavy with the weight of their demands, and yet his heart felt too torn to process it. He takes a moment to compose himself before he walks out. 

As he walked out into the hallway, he wasn’t surprised to find Gojo Satoru waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall with that ever-present, cocky grin on his face. The two of them had known each other for lifetimes, especially with how Gojo was now his boss. 

Though Gojo was the opposite of Megumi in nearly every way. Where Megumi was reserved and quiet, Gojo was loud and unapologetic. He hated the elders too, he hated the rules as much as Megumi too. 

But he had never let himself be swallowed by what he feels personally as he works. And Gojo Satoru knew that too well, when he saw that look in Megumi’s face. He had not taught him well enough to separate it all. 

“Megumi, hey.” Gojo said, his voice a little more serious than usual. “Can we talk?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gojo pushed himself off the wall and fell into step beside Megumi, leading him down a quieter hall away from the bustling administrative wing. He already knew what he was going to say.

But Megumi wishes he wouldn’t say it. Because when Gojo says it, it becomes even more real. It becomes even more true. And it’s something he can’t handle. Not right now.

“I know what you’re thinking, okay?” Gojo began, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “And I know it’s hard.”

He’s saying it. He’s talking about it. There was nothing that would stop it from being real. Not anymore. Megumi didn’t answer, he didn’t want to. He didn’t need to.

Gojo  Satoru could always read him, could always sense what was going on under the surface, even when Megumi tried to hide it. He was always going to tell Megumi the truth, even when it was hard.

“I don’t get it, Gojo–san.” Megumi said, his voice low, rough from the strain of keeping it all in. “I know the rules. I know they have to go. But… but I can’t just let them die like this. Not again. Not this miserably.” 

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning to face Gojo, his face a mix of frustration and sorrow. “They’re suffering so much and miserable to boot, and I’m supposed to just… let them go? How is that even fair?”

Gojo’s expression softened, the usual smugness gone, replaced by something much more genuine. He took a step closer, his hands in his pockets as he regarded Megumi with quiet understanding. He takes a deep sigh.

“I know it’s not easy, kid.” Gojo said, his voice lower now, almost tender. “But this isn’t about what you want. You’re not their savior, Megumi. You’re their guide. You can’t heal them, that’s not part of the job description. It never was. You can’t protect them from everything.”

The words stung, sharper than Megumi expected. 

But it was the truth, the unavoidable truth.

This was a job, even if it meant the world to him.

It cannot be more than a job, not even like this.

“I know you care about them. Hell, you’re probably more attached than anyone in this damn place,” Gojo continued, the hint of a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But your job is to make them transition to something peaceful. To comfort them. Not to prolong their suffering because you’re too scared to let them go.”

Megumi looked away, his blue–green eyes burning with the weight of his own guilt. He could feel them water ever so slowly as he thinks about you, about everything you suffered — in all your lives. And now, when you suffered the most. He bit his lower lip. How could he just let it all go?

“I can’t just stand by and watch them die, Gojo–san.” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, betraying the deep ache inside him. “Not like this. Not when I… when I care about them this much. Not when….Not when I love them so much.”

Gojo Satoru’s gaze softened further, taking a moment to sigh at him. He’d known Megumi for so long. He’s a good kid, he’s always been the best of everyone here, if he was being honest. But even now, he was still so human. And perhaps that is his weakness. He cannot be a reaper, and be human too. He cannot have both.

“I know, kid. I know.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But this is the hardest part. You have to be strong for them now. It’s time. And you have to do your job. You have to help them let go. That’s the only way they’ll be able to be free from the pain, okay? If you do your job. They’ll be free. And it can be, if anything, the greatest act of love.”

Megumi wanted to argue, wanted to lash out and scream that it wasn’t fair, that this wasn’t right. But something in Gojo’s cerulean eyes made him stop. Gojo Satoru wasn’t just talking about the rules; he was talking about them. About the person Megumi had come to love more than anything in this world, someone who was ever so dear to him in each and every lifetime. 

He was right. He can’t do anything about death or about fate. And he was right — death was the greatest mercy, instead of suffering. This could be the greatest act of love, as it had always been in each lifetime. To be there for you, to hold your hand and whisper all the love he has in your ear as you go. To set you free.

The truth was hard to swallow, but the reality was clearer than ever. Your suffering wasn’t going to end unless he let you go. And if he truly cared about you, he would have to find the strength to be the one to guide you to peace. With a deep breath, Megumi nodded, the weight of his decision settling in.

“I’ll do it, Gojo–san.” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ll make sure they’re at peace.”

Gojo gave him a small, approving nod. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Megumi knew it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever do. But as he turned back down to earth, to the hall toward where you were waiting, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what was to come, he also knew it was the only way to truly set you free. 

He just hoped that, somehow, you would understand. And that you would forgive him. That you would smile warmly back at him once again, when you meet him again in your next life. That you could love him again, if you can.

══════════════════

HE BRACED HIMSELF FOR WHAT COMES NEXT. Megumi stood outside your hospital room, his heart heavy in his chest. The hallway was unnervingly quiet, the soft beep of monitors and the occasional shuffle of nurses’ footsteps the only sounds that kept him tethered to reality. 

He had never been so sure of something—so certain that this moment had arrived. It was time. He swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Having done it once didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder. He’d have to relive this moment over and over again, like all the other times.

But he had no other choice. If you were to die, he’d rather it be him holding you. He would rather it be him you hurt, leave a scar only he could see. Megumi would rather that he would be the one to comfort you one last time, to tell you that he’s got you. That everything will be alright. Because you were together. Because he was the one taking you away.

You were there, propped up against the pillows, looking so small under the white sheets. Your face was pale, your features drawn and tired, but when you saw him, your expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"You're here again, hm?" you said, your voice hoarse but warm.

Megumi stood frozen for a moment, the sight of you sending a wave of emotions crashing over him. You looked so fragile, so close to the edge, and yet here you were, smiling at him like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t been battling this slow, painful decline for so long.

He forced his lips into a small, bittersweet smile. "Of course I’m here."

You sat up a little straighter in your bed, your eyes trying to focus on him. There was a faint sense of confusion in them, as if the fog in your mind was thicker than usual today. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you sought his, and Megumi moved closer, carefully taking your hand in his.

"I didn’t know if you'd come today, you know." you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. “For the last time.”

Megumi felt the weight of your words press against his chest. You couldn’t remember everything, not anymore, but you remembered him. And somehow, that was a mercy. A small one, but a mercy nonetheless. He hated it, but it was all he had. It was all there was left.

"I’m always here when you need me, always." he said quietly, his voice unsteady despite the calm he tried to project. "You know that, right?"

You nodded slowly, as though trying to make sense of everything that was slipping through your fingers. The memory of his voice, the sensation of his presence, the feel of his hand in yours—it was enough to pull you back from the brink.

"I... I don’t remember... a lot." you confessed, your voice faltering, as though you were apologizing for something you couldn’t control. "But... I remember you."

Megumi’s heart squeezed at that, and he fought the urge to crumble. Don’t show weakness now, he told himself. Not with them. Not when they need you the most. Don’t falter. Love them, love them even if it hurts. 

“I’ll always be here.” he repeated softly, gently squeezing your hand. “You’ve always been important to me. You always will be.”

You tried to smile again, though it was faint, and the effort seemed to take everything out of you. "I wish I could remember everything... all the good stuff we did together. There was a lot, wasn’t it? Even before…..I’m sorry if I don’t remember it all. But I can remember you right now, Megumi. I hope that’s enough. I hope…I hope that’s alright."

He felt his eyes sting, but he held it back, keeping his gaze steady on yours. "That’s enough. That’s more than enough."

Your grip tightened a little on his hand, your eyes slowly drifting over his face, as if committing his features to memory, trying to remember every detail of him before the fog came back.

 "It’s always so funny to me." you whispered, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heaviness in the air. "You don’t look like a grim reaper."

Megumi chuckled quietly, the sound devoid of any real humor. "I get that a lot."

The silence stretched between you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt almost peaceful, like the calm before the storm. You leaned back against the pillows, but you didn’t let go of his hand.There were so many things he wanted to say to you. 

So many words that were caught in his throat, threatening to spill over. But now—now there was no time for them. No time for the confessions, for the truth he’d never dared to speak. He simply stayed there, sitting at your side, holding your hand, because that was all he could do.

When you spoke again, it was quieter, slower. "I don’t want to forget you, not ever, not now." you said, your voice so fragile, so raw. "But I know I will. I already am."

Megumi shook his head, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of your hand, as though to comfort you, even though the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. He couldn't promise you anything, couldn't tell you that this would all be okay, because it wouldn’t be.

“I’ll never forget you.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll remember for the both of us. Even when you aren’t here anymore.”

“Then….will you let me fall in love with you again, if I were to be reborn?” You asked him, tears in your eyes pouring down your cheeks. “Will you let me, Megumi?”

His breath hitches shakily. His lips wobbled into a small watery smile. “Of course, I will. You can love me as many times as you want. I’ll let you do it. Over and over again.”

You choked into a giggle. “Then….Then, I’m glad. I’m forgetful, after all. It’s good, you’ll remind me next time.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. Even at the end, you were taking care of him. You were making sure he wasn’t sad. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a brief moment, the confusion in your eyes faded. 

The fog cleared, just a little, and you smiled. It was a small, soft smile, but it was there, and it was for him. All for him. As it always has been. You take a moment, a breath. He waits patiently for what you want to say.

“I wish…..” you whispered, your voice trailing off as your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally taking over.

Megumi’s chest tightened as he waited.  

But the words never came out of your lips. 

As you slipped into a quiet sleep, your breath steady and calm, Megumi stayed by your side, his hand still holding yours. He knew it wasn’t enough to stop what was coming. But for now, he will hold on. He will cherish the warmth that remains. 

It was the last time. The last time he would see you, the last time he would hear your voice, the last time he would get to make you feel comforted before you let go. And somehow, it was enough. Because you remembered him. And that was all that mattered now.

“I love you.” He whispers to you as he closes his eyes, letting the tears flow. “Goodbye.”

[carbonfiction]

Could you do some angst Logan x mutant!reader comfort. Like maybe she has a similar origin to Logan where she was tested on for her powers and escaped. She ends up at the mansion and that’s how her and Logan end up together.

I’ve been wanting to write this myself for a while but haven’t had time. I need to see some truama bonding and comfort for that man with someone who really understands what it’s like. I would give anything to be that person. 😭

Hi anon!! Im so sorry this has taken me so long to get to- despite some little changes on the request, and my unsureness on writing angst, i hope you enjoy this drabble!

One step at a time

Summary: sleep can be a fickle thing, a struggle more personal than most.. But it just so happens theres another person in the mansion that understands. Written with X1 logan in mind!

Warnings?: angst, mentions of nightmares and troubled sleep, self doubt, slight depression? Comfort and fluff at the end? Idk how to tag this really.. Words: 1.5k Masterlist

People were scared of things they didn’t understand, of people that didn’t fit in to a societal box. And being a mutant? Well, you became the scariest thing of all. An unknown, a secret unshared in a room full of people.

To some, that fear, that little nagging doubt about what you are, what you could do.. fuelled somthing else entirely. Not fear, not quite, more an evil kind of curiosity. A fixation to poke and prod, bend and snap, push the limits of their fear regardless of yours in the name of science. Regardless that you too, we’re a person, different now yes, but still born of the same matter once.

Careless to the person you were, only the thing you could become. And even then, if you weren’t useful.. you were useless. Another mistake in a pile of scraped idea's, a caged creature begging for a way out.

You never wanted it, never asked to sit in a room and wonder why. Why you, why this. There was never a good enough answer, never a reason, not really. Some People were just cruel, vile and nasty, out for their own gain.. to test the limits of humanity.

But then it begged the question, what was humanity? Because it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the sleepless nights afraid to close your eyes. The sanctity of sleep a luxury. Peace a rationed thing.

Therefore It had become normal to find you in the dead of night, curled up the couch in front of the fireplace; whilst everyone else slumbered. Sometimes a book in hand, other times just your thoughts. Embered flames burning bright and warm, the crackle of wood often the only sound. It was how your relationship with Logan had bloomed.

From wordless nods walking down corridors to conversations and nights shared infront of the fire; he had become pleasant company, a friend you regarded higher- one who understood better- than most. He'd seen the same horrors behind his eyes, the years a tiresome thing.

So it's here you sit, like always, in your spot on the couch peering between pages of a book and the old grandfather clock, waiting for Logan.

It was late and he'd usually show up around now, your meetings held in a trusted pact- an agreement that if sleep held pain, this is where you'd find one another. It was up to choice then, if you'd relocate to one of your room's; if you felt the embrace of the others arms would quiet the horror, just for a while.

Because while it's true that you both may no longer be broken here in the mansion.. you'd always be bruised bone deep.

"Hey" Logan murmers softly, breaking you from your thoughts as you crane your neck toward him. Hes stood tall in the doorway, clad in sweats and a white vest, two steaming mugs in hand as he pads closer, handing you one over the back of the couch. "Figured you'd want a drink, tried to make it how you like"

You nod, taking a tentative sip with a greatful smile. Your eyes fluttering shut a moment as you swallow, relishing the warmth. Logan had indeed made it the exact way he knew you loved, and it swells your heart; the fondness you feel for the action- for him. "'S perfect, thank you.."

"Was nothin.." he shrugs, sighing into his own cup, back hitting the couch besides you. the cushions are a soft embrace for his aching body, the days seeming longer. He'd confessed one night, that the winter had never helped his affliction. That the cold air made his adamantium bones ache in a way that seemed impossible to describe. The sting of his knuckles that bit sharper with each snikt of his claws.

You shift quietly, book page marked and now placed on the coffee table. Logan watches silently as you reach for the soft blanket that lays dormant on the back. Your fingers adjusting the fabric carefully, unfolding and draping it until it rests over his knees too.

Logan smiles, a look reserved for these nights- for you- in his eyes. Its a soft, greatful, little thing; Unreminicent of his usual gruff demeanor. he lifts a large arm bringing it to rest snug behind your shoulders, tugging you closer.

Theres a comfortable silence that follows then, sat side by side. Logan simply watches as you pick the book back up, resuming your page. A warm feeling in his chest that he hasn't felt for a while as your eyes flit across the words.

He still cant understand how anyone could- would- hurt you. Would even dare harm a delicate hair on your head. It boils a possessive type of anger inside of him, that people, the very same that had hurt him, had dared. That they had ruined your trust, made you into something of their design, just like him.

And Its then that Logan cant help how his mouth moves, how it burts the words before he can even think to stop them, make them sound less jumbled. "You uh.. didn't deserve it you know?.. What they did"

The words feel foreign on his tongue but they hold meaning- one that you can feel as you cast your gaze to him.

Theres a look in your eyes he cant quite read as you hum honestly. "Neither did you. you know that right?"

And Logan knows. Hell its deep down but he knows. Yet hearing the words still bring an ache to his chest. Its beyond hard for him to even think about- admit really- even after all this time. He hadn't deserved it and neither had you. But that was certain weather perceived or not.

"Im.. Tired, logan" you trail quietly, casting your book aside as your head falls to rest on his shoulder. "Just.. So tired of being tired."

A shattering feeling stabs at Logan's chest from your admission, a sigh falling against your hair. "I know you are. Hell so am i but.." he pauses, trying to find the correct sentiment.

"We- you- can do this"

You can't help the exhaled sound that slips from you, not a laugh, not not a breath either. "Logan-" you try to protest, try to shift back inside your non vulnerable shell ready to shut down, but he has you locked next to him, fingers coming to rest on your jaw.

"No, look at me, Cmon" he murmurs, cupping and turning your cheek gently until your gaze meet his. "like you told me that once. Its one step at a time alright?"

You recall saying it, remember the context, and yet the idea of saying it to yourself feels foreign- as foreign as the words blurted from logans tongue.

He'd had a nightmare that night, had woken with a hoarse scream and his claws embedded in the plush mattress; pillows ruined with feathers everywhere, soaked in sweat. You'd come barreling in from downstairs having heard his sounds of distress, knowing the situation.

But.. You hadn't laughed, despite him being so surrounded by pillow feathers that he's sure he looked like big bird. You hadn't been cruel or judgemental, pitty in your eyes. You'd just been.. Well, you. Kind and understanding, reassuring him that it was okay, that he was safe. To take a shower and you'd sort the rest. It was from then that the fondness he felt for you had bloomed to something a little more inside of him.

You nod gently, a small, barely there smile on your lips now as you repeat. The light of the fire a soft glow in your eyes, tone a fraction more hopeful. "One step at a time"

"Yeah, thats it sweetheart" he smiles gently, a proud look in his own eye's, before his throat clears. A bashful look taking over his features as he continues, thumb absentmindedly stroking over your cheekbone. A distraction to the honesty he was going to drop "Besides.. you got this knucklehead who'd really like to keep this.. Us.. up"

You swallow, breath stuttering as your cheeks heat."You.. You would?" you sound a little surprised, yet a little hopeful, and It makes Logan smile, hearing your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yeah sweetheart" he breathes, voice a low gravel as he anxiously nods, before rushing to add. "if- if thats something you'd want?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, so excitedly it makes logan chuckle, the deep rumble joining the crackling fire. "I, uh, i mean.. ofcourse i do Logan"

Logans fingers tilt your face higher, his forehead coming to rest on yours as your fingers trace over his scruff coated jaw. "Things are better with you.." you murmer, breath puffing over his lips. "Lighter. You get it, get me.. This.."

He hardly lets you finish before his lips are pressed to yours, breaking the miniscule gap between them. His kiss so uncharacteristically gentle, like he was afraid one taste and you'd break.

"Things are better with you too.." he says quietly, forehead on yours, a smile against your mouth as his nose rubs your cheek.

And so Its that night you both agree, while wrapped up in one another, that things are better together. Better with each others shoulder to lean on. And despite the darkness that would still linger sometimes, that's all that mattered. You and him. Him and you.

[midnightmah07]

Template can be found here.

Background & personality:

Fan Ying is a young girl who deeply loves and respects her family, especially her father, and because of that, she's willing to do whatever it takes to make them happy and bring her family honor. She was born in an influential family with a military past, so she was held to a high standard as the only daughter. Not only that, but Ying's hometown is very traditional and conservative, to the point of being over the top and sometimes even unhealthy; she was always a clumsy girl, she always had strong opinions and failed to fit into the role of the ideal woman in her hometown.

One day, she was selected to represent her family in an important event where most of her hometown takes part in, however, due to her nervousness and clumsiness she ended up failing and shaming her family in front of everyone. Although her father was always supportive of her, he felt the pressure of the rest of his family, so when this happened he was mad at Ying and ended up saying some hurtful things without meaning. Ying was hurt, but she was determined to show her worth and value and make her family proud.

A year before this whole situation, Ying had received an invitation to attend Royal Sword Academy, but her dad would miss her dearly, and she wanted to stay by his side and help take care of him and his decreasing health. However, after that shameful experience, Ying decided she'd attend RSA, pretending to be someone else, going to the extent of pretending to be a man, just so people wouldn't associate her with her family and speak of how she was a disgrace to them; her plan was to graduate with honors in RSA, and once she got back home, she'd finally be able to tell everyone how wonderful her family is and that she was able to make her family proud.

Ying is very clever, being able to think outside the box and create solutions to different problems, she's very clumsy but she tries her best in everything she does, and her family is her top priority above all else. She's very determined and never gives up once she puts her mind on something, but she can also avoid certain conflicts that seem to get too close to her insecurities.

Fun fact: Shijun ( @4necdote's OC) went to RSA to watch over her, they're very close friends; when she gets excited about something, she can talk a bit too much; once she goes to RSA she uses the name "Hua Ying" instead of "Fan Ying", her actual name, in order to not be associated with her family while she's at RSA, the Headmage is aware of all of this and keeps Ying's secret until graduation; she's a descendant from Mulan herself.

Height: 171cm

Age: 18 years old

Grade: sophomore (2nd year)

Nicknames: Xiao Ying (her parents & Shijun)

Birthday: January 6th

Dominant hand: left

Favorite food: chicken fried rice

Best subject: physical training

Club: equestrian club

Hobbies: tea making

Homeland: a country in the East

Unique Magic: Reflection - Ying is able to create an illusion of herself or anything around her, not only people, it's very similar to Cater's Unique Magic but the difference is that Ying's are not tangible.

Character relationships:

♡ Silver Vanrouge: Ying and Silver met during their freshmen year at VDC. Ying was in a corner complaining about how her performance in physical training wasn't anywhere near ideal, and she felt helpless; Silver overheard her talking to herself and asked her about it, it was then that they met and Silver began teaching her everything he knew, trying to help her improve. Silver challenged Ying and encouraged her to think of her own ways to improve not only in that subject but in general, and it was through him that Ying gained a love for training and swordsmanship. Ying and Silver got closer during the days they decided to meet up for training, and they also opened up about who they are as people, their insecuries and values, and found out they have more in common than they've thought. Now, she's the best in her class at physical training, and she also has harboured feelings for Silver in the way, which she doesn't act upon. Silver was unaware she was a girl until the end of their freshmen year, when he accidentally heard her speaking to Shijun, and he referred to her as a woman. He keeps the secret that she's a girl and didn't even tell her he knew, deciding it was best to pretend he was unaware. Silver has feelings for her as well, but he's oblivious to them, and to Ying's crush too.

Shijun: Barbs haven't posted anything about him yet but from what she told me so far, they have a really good friendship with a lot of banter. Shijun is really needy and Ying sometimes doesn't have the patience for it, she sometimes give him sarcastic remarks but nothing ever seems to affect him, and he continues to be the "all powerful and great" Shijun he is. Still, they love each other very much, and Ying is very attached to him. He's the only one besides the Headmage, Lilia and Silver to know about her secret.

Lilia Vanrouge: Lilia and Ying met through Silver, and although Ying has no idea about Lilia's age nor the fact that he's Silver's father, she does see comfort in him given how fatherly he can be sometimes, which kinda freaks her out because for all she knows Lilia and her are the same age. She respects him due to how Silver respects him, and Lilia often tried to act as cupid between the two. He has also found out about her secret because well,,, he's Lilia, ofc he knows.

Neige: Ying doesn't have a formed opinion on Neige, she sees him as a kind and wonderful individual, sometimes reminding her of Silver, and she appreciates him very much.

Chenya: she doesn't understand him but she tries her best to be nice.

Character reference:

[tillinghastcorporatemedia]

Well shit im about to ruin everyones dash with this one time for OC parade with some familiar and unfamiliar faces

You got Adelheida, tech wizard extraordinaire and synth-hash smoking Romulan that'll keep shit running longer than expected

We got Artemis, The secondary character in some of our short stories and one of the most popular models (only second to Katerina) in Palikata. Loving, sweet, and looking for adventure Artemis knows where to party and where to play and she goes for it everytime

We got Delilah, Current vocalist and guitarist for Era of Hubris, loves pink, animals, and Drum and Bass.

We got Draynor, Aka Daxkel, the stankpop media darling musician. Will give you a beer to get a beer in return

We got Elellin, faster than most and one of Palikata's favorite athletes, Elellin always draws a crowd to any event she's participating in

We got Elisha, Current bassist and backup vocals in Era of Hubris. She's quiet, romulan, and ready to party

We got Elizabeth, one of the upcoming amateur models that's fighting for her seat at the table. Her and Nina are often competing for jobs.

We got Faison, aka General Grump, aka Mistress Melancholic, Faison loves complaining, her friends, and finding good food.

We got Genevieve, master space station technician and occasional synth hash enjoyer

We got Halston, Genevieve's lackey on the space station. They're trying to get a new position but it's not going well

We got Hugo, parkour enthusiast, mannaferment sommelier, best friend to Terrance, Orrum, and always has a tendency to point out flaws.

We got Katerina, Palikata's favorite media darling, model, and lover of open relationships. Basically you will see her in most if not all clothing advertisements.

We got Letitia V, brilliant, one of the few people who know some form of defense art, bunqua drinker, and all around mellow babe.

We got Lydia, lover of femmes, smart, and absolutely cannot see Artemis without the two of them arguing (they've broken up a few times)

We got Maya V., Architect, scientist, and best friend to Rhys

We got Nadja, skateboarder, graphic designer, and all around team player. They're working on getting the very first extended length skate video together.

We got Nina, Palikata's amateur model that's really making waves in the scene right now. She's toxic, she's kinda mean, but she sells pretty much anything that has her face on it. (including her own beauty line)

We got Peter, squimpp salesman and fisherman, obsessed with Paris even though they've been dating for a bit. Works hard and loves harder

We got P'iquloth, it professional and lover of chaos. They'll help you with anything

We got Pruitt, aka the genius behind Opulent Proxima Ruin, Dating Byron, and one of many musicians in Palikata

We got Rhys, writer for the paper Palikata Times, Rhys hands out with Elizabeth, Maya, and Vincent. Often travels far to get a story

We got Sariyah, Lover, drinker, all around competive person. They'll drink you under the table and want to go play kickball

We got Terrance, the main character of Romulan Nights, bike courier for contract disputes, bit of a dumbass, but will stand up for his friends

We got Tiarra, Faisons right hand, thinks Terrance is so hot, and is willing to make a fool of herself to get a laugh. One of the main stars of Romulan Nights

We got Ulyana, Terrance's current girlfriend, one of the fewer Or'otl that have gone through engendering. Ulyana will break you down but in an attempt to build you up stronger. Lovely, often seen in leisure wear.

We got Valery, the mind behind eccLesio, musician, artist, and sometimes the local menace.

We got Vincent, Rhys' best friend. Often seen with new partners as he can be a bit of a buzzkill

We got Xendelne, If you need someone to get you something, you go to Xendelne. Artemis' party guide and overly networked artist, if Xendelne doesn't know where the parties at they will shortly

just for extra ocs, no descriptions just names

We got Mitzi

Irina

and apparently ive hit the post limit on photos.

OC PROPAGANDA!!! I WANT OC PROPAGANDA RIGHT NOW! Everyone show me the oc blorbo!!! I gotta know everyone's OCS tell me why you're spinning them around in your head!!! I want propaganda!!!

Please and thank you 🙏

[heartfullofleeches]

ITS MY BIRTHDAY TODAY🎉🎉🎉🎉 I was wondering how my favorites would wish me a happy birthday, Tobi, the cafe, host, static, the supernatural harem and the fast food, if that’s too many you can shorten it but I really wanted to have some of my favorite characters from my favorite writer congratulate me on my special day! BTW I’m the one who sent the Prince leash ask, I don’t know if you got it but I accidentally did it anonymously

(The Cafe was a bit too much for me to get this out to you the same day, but I hope you like this regardless! On the bright side, I did get your Prince ask and am working on that too. Happy birthday, chief!)

Tobi:

Has never had a birthday himself, but they know what they are and their significance to humans other regular people. Tobi's the kind of guy to surprise you with presents year round, but as your birthday rolls around they keep items you've had your eye on in their back pocket to gift you on your big day.

Its too embarrassing for them to give you in person, but Tobi creates a collage of all their favorite pictures of you to put up somewhere in your bedroom. Tobi loves baking and cooking so a homemade breakfast, dinner, and your treat of choice would be on the top of their list of surprises for you.

Host:

"Looks like it's a special someone's birthday- Those only come around once a year, you know? If - that's how you want it, anyway."

That time already? Time is a tricky thing for Host to wrap his head around. He could've sworn the last one was just yesterday. It hardly matters. Everyday could be your birthday- Contenstants come and go, but you'll always be his star.

That would, of course, wear the novelty of it all thin. Host is more than happy saving the pinnacle of his gratitude for you as his co-host for that one day. That day's contestants better be too if they want to leave with all the parts they came with intact.

Which is his funny way of saying they won't get any cake.

Static:

"Happy birthday to you.... Happy birthday to you...."

Hunts for every variety of birthday song they can find to serenade you with the second daylight bleeds into your room. Static's disappears predating your birthday can swiftly be explained by the trinkets they bring you, majority centered around the shows and movies you've watched together it knows you adore most.

They'd attempt to rope you into another movie night with you in full control of the remote since it's their favorite way to bond with you - and it's optimal cuddle time.

Supernatural Harem:

"Baron, must you make everything a challenge?"

"Piss off! I left enough room for you two to put your names on the cake.... Maddox more importantly than you, but still."

"We appreciate the consideration, but... Where are we supposed to write "happy birthday"?"

Nothing like waking up on your big day to your Demon husband roommate swearing today will be the day he slaughters your Angel husband roommate. Luckily, your Grim Reaper spouse roommate has the expertise to ķeep you soothed until things cool over long enough for all of them to prepare breakfast for you.

Baron stalks you around to shower you with mandatory birthday kisses- only to get pouty when he's done before noon and continues well past the age you're turning. You'll be older than all three of them by the time he's through.

Maddox, as usual, fills their journal with sketches of you to unveil at the end of the day. Their art skills is the only thing they're proud of in themselves and monetary possessions don't hit quite the mark they're trying to reach when it comes to presents they like to give. If you're a gamer/a fan of stuffed animals they'll pick up a couple so they can use them when you're away and they miss you.

The first birthday you celebrate with Alasdair has to be one to remember. He's watched you from the sidelines for years and now it's finally his chance to do what he's always wanted. It may be a tad selfish of him in hindsight, but he'll pull you aside the day before or after to enjoy a relaxing evening with just the two of you.

Fast Food:

"Code C! I repeat, Coqde C - The clown is loose!"

Birthday? Well you can't expect to have a celebration without the designated party planner, can you? As everyone closes up the restaurant early to commemorate your big day, Twister hoovers over the crew to insure everything goes swimming. The Janitor follows behind it with their trusty spray bottle to keep the clown in check - its the only excuse they have not to give their present to you by hand because they're too embarrassed.

The bathroom Succubus would insist on you opening her gifts to you first - if a certain goat wouldn't pout over it all day as a result. The ballpit hands shower you with all the shiny items lost in their depths. The Storyteller reads you the tale of someone who's birthday happens to fall on the same day - where nothing bad occurs and the universe smiles kindly in their favor.

The ice cream machine ghost whispers in the ears of customers they'd better wish you a happy birthday or be prepared to have dairy filled nightmares

[missshinazugawa]

I normally don't post anything about controversial subjects, but this time as one of the member in Love and Deepspace community, I wanted to speak up about this horrible issues going on currently.

I've been in the LnD community for a while, from February 2024 till now, it is sad that CN server is spreading hate about Sylus just because they think Sylus 'plagarized' Zayne. While in reality, I know damn well they most of them came back to the game BECAUSE OF SYLUS

Be fucking for real, no ML has been plagarizing any ML. I'm Malaysian Chinese, even me myself felt so embarassed for yall CHINESE PLAYERS to spread hate about one of our beloved. Imagine how devastated Sylus will be if he's real and when he knows this.

Fuck yall mean Sylus doesn't deserve to be famous because he was released late?? This is something that an uneducated people sounds like. I don't see yall hating on Caleb? Cuz tell me why yall want your ADOPTIVE BROTHER to be one of your love interest, its fucking weird. Not to be racist, but yall Chinese glorify that indirect sibling relationship as romance so much.

I will stand for Sylus bcuz he loves us just as much CN Sylus fans loves him. Imagine it's your fave ML, Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier getting hatred, would you guys want that? Seriously isn't Confucius our ancestors? What did he taught us? Yall should be ashame. TRULY AND REALLY, REALLY AND TRULY ASHAMED.

Sylus is the fucking reason LnD blows up. Yes, before he was released, we thought he is the villain in the storyline, but as we play through the game, we do realized he's actually a sweetheart, he is our beloved. But no, yall clearly wanna headcanon him as a red flag, he's a bad guy, he doesn't love MC. Excuse me, are we playing the same game?

It is clear, as we play the game, our first impression on different LIs is different, Sylus looks like he's a bad guy, a villain that likes forced love but actually someone who will do anything to us, no forcing us.

Zayne looks cold outside, but deep down he cared for MC so much, he's willing to love us in every single universe no matter Astra cursed him to not love us. He's warm inside.

Rafayel carefree and often bratty and petulant personality on the surface, but when he's with MC, his beloved, he can be childlish, whiny and all pouty.

Xavier looks like an honest boy, a golden retriever,acts clueless but he's the most possesive LI ever.

From all of this, didn't we already know, or obviously know that all LI have something beyond the surface? Don't villainize any of them for fuck sake. Pls use the brain.

No one is forcing anyone consume other's content, if you love Zayne, then look at Zayne's content, but if you love Sylus too, you as a Zayne main can go look at Sylus's content too, IT IS THAT SIMPLE.

Sylus didn't ruin us, as a Zayne main before, I can assure you, he didnt ruin me. It's just that I prefer Sylus because he is my type, I love his reassurance on Mc's insecurities, I wish I have someone like Sylus beside me, I still love Zayne regardless. It's called OTOME GAME for a REASON.

Please don't give up on defending our beloved as Sylus's fans. We love him and seems like we are the only one that knows him deeply.

If you're a player in LnD, we should stand together, no matter which character we love.

fuck CN antis

Humans doesnt want each other to enjoy A GAME in peace clearly speaks about how childlish we are as mankind. I don't see yall fighting for women's right that much since yall CN people likes Trump.

The post in the ss is from X user @sub_textually

[rose24207]

The heir‘s weakness

Summary: there is only one person who can crack Lando’s shell infront of his men

Genre: Mafia!Lando AU, fluff

TW: Mafia, mentions of guns (I think)

A/N: Not really happy with it :( English is not my first language. I hope you like it though! Requests are open and welcomed!

Masterlist

Lando Norris was known for many things—his calm demeanor, his sharp mind, and his ability to strike fear into anyone who crossed him. As the heir to one of the most powerful mafia families in Europe, he had everything under control. His men respected him, his enemies feared him, and anyone who dared to stand in his way learned quickly that it was better to stay out of his sight.

But there was one person who had completely undone him. One person who made him lose his composure every single time. And that person was you.

You hadn’t planned on becoming involved with a man like Lando. Hell, you didn’t even know who he was when you first met. You had just moved to the city to escape a mundane life and had ended up working at a little coffee shop near one of the wealthiest parts of town. It was a chance encounter, a quick conversation, and then Lando was gone. But he came back the next day, and the next. And the next. Eventually, he became a regular, ordering the same black coffee every time, and giving you the same charming smile that made your heart skip a beat.

At first, you thought he was just a guy with a lot of money and a bit of arrogance. But then, one day, when the cafe was dead quiet and you found yourselves alone, Lando had said something that made your blood run cold—“I’ll make sure you’re always taken care of, love. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

You had no idea what he meant at the time, but over the next few weeks, it became clear: Lando Norris wasn’t just some rich guy who liked his coffee. He was someone—someone dangerous.

His men were always around, in the shadows, looking at you with eyes that seemed to watch your every move. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stay away. There was something about Lando—the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel special, like you were the only one who mattered.

But what you didn’t know was that Lando was already obsessed with you. And no one, not even his loyal men, had any idea just how deep his feelings for you ran.

It all started on a cold Friday evening, when Lando invited you to one of his “business meetings,” which you quickly learned was his way of pulling you into his world. It was a private affair, held in one of his family’s most luxurious properties, and you couldn’t help but feel out of place in the sea of expensive suits and cold, calculating stares.

But when you entered the large room, filled with his men, Lando’s eyes locked onto yours. The corners of his lips twitched upward into that signature smile you’d come to know all too well.

“Ah, there she is,” he said loudly enough for the room to hear, his voice warm and inviting, though there was a darker undertone that sent a ripple through the group. “The most beautiful woman in the room, as always.”

The men, who were normally stoic and unwavering, exchanged confused glances, their eyes darting between you and Lando. They weren’t used to him acting so openly. His usual composed nature had always been something that earned their respect—and his control over his emotions was something they admired. But now… now they were seeing something entirely different.

You smiled awkwardly, but before you could respond, Lando was already making his way over to you, his tall frame cutting through the crowd effortlessly. He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours lightly, sending an unexpected jolt of warmth through your chest.

“You look stunning tonight,” he whispered, leaning in just close enough for only you to hear.

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and for once, you weren’t sure how to handle his attention. There was something about the way he said it, something in his eyes that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

As Lando led you to a table in the far corner, all eyes in the room remained on the two of you. His men were no fools; they watched every movement, taking in the way Lando spoke to you with an affection that was foreign to them. They were used to seeing him in complete control—calm, collected, and untouchable. But now, with you by his side, everything had shifted.

Lando took a seat, and without asking, pulled the chair next to him out for you. “Please, sit,” he said, his voice low and almost possessive.

You hesitated for only a moment before you sat down, trying to steady your nerves. But then, something caught your attention: the men.

They weren’t looking at Lando the way they usually did. Normally, when they spoke to him, it was with a level of respect and reverence. But now? Now, they looked confused, almost flabbergasted. Some of them glanced at each other, muttering under their breath, while others stood with their mouths slightly agape. It was as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Lando was never like this. No one made him blush. No one made him lose his cool in front of his own men. But you? You had completely undone him.

One of the men, a towering figure with a scar across his face, leaned in to whisper to the person next to him. “Is he actually blushing?”

The man he was speaking to, clearly just as taken aback, gave a small shrug. “I’ve never seen him like this before. She must really mean something to him.”

Lando heard the whispers but chose not to address them. He couldn’t bring himself to break eye contact with you. You were everything he wanted, everything he’d been silently watching from afar for so long. And now that you were in his world—his real world—nothing, no one, was going to tear you away from him.

The meeting carried on, but you could tell that it wasn’t the same for Lando. Every so often, he would glance your way, his gaze softening when he saw the way you fidgeted nervously in the chair, trying to fit in with a world you never asked for.

And then, in the middle of the meeting, something happened that no one could have anticipated.

Lando, completely uncharacteristically, reached out and gently placed his hand on yours. It wasn’t an act of power. It wasn’t to assert dominance over the room. No, this was something else entirely.

His hand rested on yours for just a moment, and you could see the way his fingers tightened around your skin, his lips curving into a subtle smile.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered to you, just loud enough for you to hear, but the men in the room were still looking on, stunned.

One of them, a grizzled veteran with years of experience, cleared his throat and muttered, “This is different.”

Lando’s men were beginning to understand: You weren’t just another fling. You were his. And that realization hit them all like a ton of bricks.

But for you, the evening had only just begun. You were still trying to process what was happening, still unsure of just how deeply you had gotten tangled in the web that was Lando’s world.

But there was one thing you did know: You were under his protection. And when it came to Lando Norris, that meant you were untouchable.

The men may have been shocked by the way he looked at you, but Lando’s feelings were crystal clear. He didn’t care what they thought. You had completely captivated him, and for the first time in his life, he was willing to let them see it.

And no one—no one—was going to take you away from him.

Thank you for reading!

[liviawildrose]

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

it’s a hard pill to swallow, but sometimes, you’ve got to step into a role you never signed up for. maybe your mom wasn’t the nurturing, protective figure she was supposed to be. maybe your dad let you down in ways that left scars. maybe your friends only stuck around to take, never to give. the truth? you can’t wait for someone to come and save you. you have to become your own mother.

ask yourself:

if your child was in your shoes—stuck in a bad relationship, getting treated like crap— would you tell them, “stay”? or would you say, “you deserve better than this”?

if your child was chasing their dreams but struggling, would you mock them? no. you’d guide them, push them to be their best. you’d discipline them with love and cheer them on with pride. now, apply that same energy to yourself.

be that mom who says: “get your shit together because you deserve the best life possible.”

but also the mom who says: “it’s okay to rest, i’ve got your back, and i’m proud of you.”

start showing up for yourself the way you needed someone to show up for you. and yes, it’s sad. sad that we even have to do this. but it’s also empowering to realize you can.

personally, here’s my story.

my mom never cared to take my pictures as a kid nor cared if a haircut made me happy or not, it was literally everything up to her convenience. it hurts now because i would’ve loved to look back and see those memories. but i don’t have them. i can count the photos of my childhood—20 pictures in 17 years. insane, right? so, i made a promise to myself: from now on, i will document my life. i won’t delete my photos. i’ll make sure there’s a record of who i was, what i felt, what i achieved. and when i have kids? you bet i’ll take pictures of them. i’ll curate their childhood with care because i know what it feels like to not have that.

but being your own mother isn’t just about the pictures or the memories. it’s about analyzing everything you missed out on and providing it for yourself now. it’s about being selfless enough to let go of bad habits that hold you back. it’s about kicking toxic people out of your life the way a mom would protect her child from bad influences. it’s about prioritizing your healing, even if it’s messy and uncomfortable. you have to heal your inner child. that 5-year-old who was bullied, that 13-year-old who was treated like shit in her first relationship, that 7-year-old who dreamed big but was told she couldn’t they’re all still inside you, waiting for someone to nurture them. and unfortunately, no one else is going to do it for you. no one else is going to come and fix the damage.

i made a pact with myself: when i have kids, i will raise them so well that they won’t ever need to “heal their inner child” at 17 or 18. they’ll be whole. they’ll be loved. they’ll know their worth from the start. but for now, i’m doing that for myself. and you need to do it for yourself too. because at the end of the day, the only way to heal is to become the person you needed all along. become your own mother.

what is the inner child?

the “inner child” is the part of you that holds your early experiences, memories, and emotions. it’s the 5-year-old you who loved to laugh but was scolded for being “too much.” it’s the 10-year-old you who dreamed big but felt dismissed. it’s the teen you who felt heartbreak for the first time but didn’t know how to process it. your inner child carries the wounds, fears, and unmet needs from your past, but also your natural creativity, curiosity, and joy. healing your inner child means reconnecting with this version of yourself, giving it the love and understanding it never received, and releasing the pain it has carried for years.

how do you heal your inner child?

1. journaling: dialogue with your inner child

dedicate a journal specifically to your inner child. write letters to them, like:

“dear [your name at 5/7/13], i remember when you felt [insert memory]. i’m sorry you went through that, but i’m here now, and i’ve got you.”

let your inner child respond. write as if you’re that younger version of yourself—pour out your fears, dreams, and questions. this process can uncover emotions and patterns you didn’t realize were affecting you.

2. therapy: safe exploration with a professional

a therapist (especially one trained in inner child work) can help you identify wounds and patterns from childhood. they’ll guide you in understanding how your upbringing shaped your beliefs about yourself and the world. therapy also gives you tools to reframe those beliefs and meet your emotional needs.

watch “dear zindagi” lol

3. look at old photos and memories

revisit old photos, journals, or artwork from your childhood. don’t just look at them—analyze them. (i wish i could d this but im stuck with 20 photos so… 😭) what do you notice in your younger self’s eyes, body language, or expression?

• ask yourself:

• what was i feeling here?

• did i feel safe? loved? excited? scared?

• what did i need in this moment that i didn’t get?

• use this reflection to understand your inner child’s unmet needs.

4. create new positive memories

your inner child is still alive within you, and they crave fun, love, and freedom. do things your younger self would’ve loved but never got to do: buy yourself a toy you always wanted. go to an amusement park or build a pillow fort. dance around your room like no one’s watching. this isn’t childish it’s healing.

5. practice reparenting

treat yourself as if you were your own child. when you feel sad or scared, don’t ignore it.

ask yourself: what do i need right now? and give it to yourself.

be the loving, supportive, and protective parent your inner child deserved.

6. identify triggers and patterns

notice when you’re acting out of a place of childhood wounds.

for example: do you get overly anxious when someone’s mad at you? do you seek validation in toxic relationships? trace these behaviors back to your childhood.

were you taught that love is conditional? did you have to “earn” attention by being perfect? once you identify the root, you can start rewiring your responses.

7. inner child meditations and visualizations

find a quiet space and imagine your inner child sitting across from you. visualize yourself comforting them, hugging them, and telling them they’re safe. remind them: “you don’t have to be scared anymore. i’m here for you.”

8. nurture yourself daily

make self-care non-negotiable. eat foods you love, sleep well, move your body, and spend time doing things that make you happy. when you treat yourself with care, you show your inner child they’re worth it.

9. forgive

healing isn’t about excusing those who hurt you. it’s about releasing the hold they have over you so you can move forward. write a forgiveness letter—not for them, but for yourself. (they don’t deserve the love i’m sorry)

“i release the pain you caused me so it doesn’t control me anymore.”

10. promise to break the cycle

vow to yourself (and your future children if you want them) just cause your grandma bleed on your mom and then your mom passed it to you does not mean you will make your future kids life miserable too. the generational trauma must break with you. your future child does not deserve it and so your inner child protect you inner child and when you have a child of your own be the best mother possible, i personally would love to make my future kids childhood so memorable and happy that they will feel the need to comeback and relive their childhood that’s the kind of childhood i want to give them

“i will not let this pain define me. i will create a life of love, joy, and freedom.”

healing your inner child isn’t easy, but it’s life-changing.when you reconnect with that innocent, wounded part of yourself, you’ll find that the love and peace you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

11. foster your inner child’s dreams

when you were a child, your dreams weren’t influenced by fear, rejection, or societal pressures. you dreamed with your heart wide open, purely and authentically. reconnecting with those dreams can heal the part of you that felt unheard or invalidated back then.

a. reflect on your childhood aspirations

• sit down and ask yourself:

• what did i want to be when i was 5? 10? 13?

• what made me happiest back then?

• what did i lose interest in because someone told me i wasn’t good enough?

• write down every dream, no matter how “unrealistic” it seems.

hint: those childhood dreams often point to your soul’s calling.

b. start chasing those dreams now

• even if your dreams have evolved, find ways to honor the essence of them.

• wanted to be a singer at 13? start singing lessons or recording yourself.

• wanted to help people? explore careers like psychology, teaching, or coaching.

• don’t hold back.

it’s not about being perfect, it’s about reconnecting with the passion your younger self had.

c. create small wins for your inner child

• maybe 8-year-old you always wanted to paint but never got the supplies. buy yourself a beginner’s set and paint, even if it’s messy.

• maybe 6-year-old you wanted to be a dancer. take a fun dance class and twirl like no one’s watching.

• small wins send the message to your inner child that they are finally being prioritized.

e. validate your inner child’s feelings and failures

• remind yourself:

“it’s okay that 10-year-old me struggled with making friends. i was just a child trying my best.”

• instead of shaming yourself for past actions, honor them.

every mistake was a step toward becoming the incredible person you are now.

f. use your dreams to shape your future

• your childhood passions aren’t just hobbies—they’re roadmaps to your authentic self.

• align your current goals with your inner child’s desires.

• if 7-year-old you dreamed of making people smile, maybe your career or side hustle should reflect that.

• if 12-year-old you loved storytelling, find ways to write, act, or share your voice.

fostering your inner child’s dreams doesn’t just heal the past—it builds a future that feels authentic to you. every time you take a step toward those dreams, you’re telling your inner child: “you were always worthy. your dreams always mattered. and now, i’m making them come true for you.”

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

what am i to you | pablo gavi [part ii]

🌧️ synopsis: In an attempt to get over Pablo, you go on a date, only to end up in the hospital with a sprained ankle. When Pablo shows up uninvited, trying to take care of you, the moment turns into a full-blown fight. tags: angst, unrequited love, emotional tension. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 2.5k words)

you can read the first part here.

After the confession, you both said you'd stay in each other's lives, like nothing had changed. You promised. But promises, you realize, are easier said than kept.

The calls become even rarer, and when they do come, they’re awkward, halting. He used to be the first person you’d call when you were bored, the one you’d go to when you needed to vent or laugh, and now? Now you just… don’t.

That’s when you meet him – this other guy. He’s nice, funny enough, interested. And he’s not Pablo. You don’t have butterflies, but there’s a kind of safety in that, a relief in the way he looks at you with no expectations, no memories weighing you down. So when he asks you out, you say yes, not because you’re excited, but because you’re desperate to move forward, to stop feeling like you’re stuck in that moment when Pablo said, “I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want.”

The night of the date, you’re almost ready when your phone rings. It’s Pablo, and your heart jumps, he hasn’t called in weeks, and it’s like he knew, like he somehow sensed that you were trying to step away from him for good.

You answer, trying to sound normal. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice distant, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to keep it casual. You’re trying to decide between two different shoes for the date, and it feels wrong. “I guess we’ve both been… busy.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it. But you’re not about to get into that now. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, all dressed up, ready to leave.

“Actually,” you interrupt, “I’m kind of in a hurry. I have… plans.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you can almost picture the look on his face – confused, caught off guard. “Plans?” he asks, and you can hear an edge in his voice now, one he’s trying to hide. “Like… a date?”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing yourself to sound like it’s not a big deal. “I’m going out with someone.”

“With who?”

“Just… someone I met,” you say, trying to brush it off, “We’ve only talked a couple of times.”

There’s silence, and you’re about to check if he’s still on the line when he says, “So that’s what you’re doing now? Just going out with random guys?”

You get defensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, his anger leaking into his words. “It’s just… you’re already –” He stumbles over the words, his voice tight. “Is that what you want now?”

“It’s not like that,” you insist, feeling the heat rise in your face. “You’re the one who –” You stop yourself because you promised you wouldn’t do this. You wouldn't blame him. But he doesn’t make it easy.

He lets out a bitter laugh, and it cuts deeper than you’d like to admit. “No, go ahead. Say it.”

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to lash back. “I miss you,” you say.

“It doesn’t look like you do,” he says quietly, and there’s a hurt there you didn’t expect. 

Your chest tightens, and you can feel the tears burning at the back of your eyes. “Pablo, you stopped calling,” you say, your voice breaking. “You left me here alone, what was I supposed to do?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you wish you could see his face, wish you could understand what’s going through his mind. “I just… I thought we’d be okay,” he says finally, his voice sounding defeated. “That we’d get through this. Together.”

You take a shaky breath. “I thought so too,” you admit. There’s a silence that stretches on, heavy and suffocating.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, “have fun on your date.” And then he hangs up before you can say another word, leaving you staring at your reflection, feeling like you’ve lost him all over again.

part 2

The date wasn’t going great, you didn’t have much in common with the guy, and things got even worse. One minute you’re walking across the street after dinner, pretending to laugh at some lame joke he made, and the next, your ankle twists under you, the pain shooting up your leg like a lightning bolt. You try to catch yourself, but you land hard, knees buckling beneath you.

The guy freaks out, asking if you're okay, but all you can focus on is the pulsing pain in your ankle. You're pretty sure it's sprained, but you're too embarrassed to admit it right away. He helps you up, practically carrying you to the nearest bench, and that's when you finally let yourself wince in pain.

A trip to the hospital later and you’re sitting in one of those sterile, white rooms, cradling your swollen ankle in your lap. Nothing too serious, just a sprain, but it’s enough to make you feel like an idiot. The guy’s hovering by the door, looking uncomfortable, like he wants to leave but doesn't know how. You can’t blame him. The awkwardness between you is palpable, and this was supposed to be a fun night.

You’re ready to get out of there, but you don't want to be alone for the discharge process. The guy’s already looking at his phone like he’s counting the minutes. So, you make a decision.

You pull out your phone, thinking of someone nearby, someone who won’t make things more awkward. Aurora. You don’t really want to call her, but she lives in the neighborhood, and you can’t stand the idea of sitting here with the date guy. It's nothing against him – well, maybe it is, but you really just need a friend right now.

You hit call, and it rings a few times before she picks up, her voice bright and concerned.

“Hey, what’s up? You good?”

“I’m at the hospital,” you say quickly, the words sounding so much worse than they feel. “I sprained my ankle on the date, can you come? Please?”

Aurora doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course, I’m on my way.” You end the call, grateful she’s coming, and feeling a lot better knowing someone familiar will be here soon.

A few minutes later, the door swings open. You expect it to be Aurora, but when you look up, you freeze.

Pablo stands there, his eyes wide with concern, his posture stiff. And right next to him, Aurora is visibly cringing, her face flushed red. She’s holding her hands up in an apologetic gesture. “I didn’t mean to –” she starts, but Pablo cuts her off.

“Are you okay?” His voice is frantic, as if you’re on the brink of death instead of sitting there with a sprained ankle.

You blink, taken aback by how he’s acting.

“I’m fine,” you say, a little too forcefully, but the last thing you need right now is to be treated like a patient. “Just a sprain. Nothing serious.”

Pablo doesn’t look convinced. He steps into the room, eyes scanning your ankle. He’s clearly overreacting, but it’s hard to argue with him when he’s looking at you like that.

Aurora stands off to the side, a sheepish look on her face. “I’m sorry, I called him,” she whispers. “I thought you’d want him to know.”

“Really?” you ask, a little irritated now, because it’s clear Pablo doesn’t know how to handle this. You’re still pissed at him for the phone call earlier, but now? Now it feels like he’s intruding, even though you’re happy to see him, just not like this.

Pablo, still standing too close, suddenly shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know, I just… I thought I should be here,” he says, his voice a little quieter, like he’s realizing how ridiculous he’s being.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, trying to lighten the mood. “Seriously. I’m just waiting to be discharged.”

Before you can say anything else, the date guy clears his throat. You turn to see him stepping forward.

"Um, should I leave?" His voice is a little too high-pitched, trying to be polite but also clearly uncomfortable now that Pablo’s here. Pablo, who’s still looking at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re dying, shifts his eyes to the guy standing by the door.

“Who even are you?” Pablo’s tone is confused, but there's also a sharpness to it now, something territorial. It doesn’t make sense, but you can feel the weirdness between them.

You open your mouth, about to explain, but Pablo cuts you off.

“Is that the guy you just had a date with?” His eyes rake over him. "Yeah, you can leave now. I got it." He waves him off, voice firm and final, like he’s the one in charge here.

“Pablo, what the hell?” you snap. Your blood’s boiling, you look over at the date guy, who’s still standing there like he’s waiting for a command. “Yeah, you can go now,” you say, softer, sweeter than Pablo, but the sentiment’s the same. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

Pablo scoffs, and it’s the kind of sound that tells you he’s annoyed, but it’s also kind of funny, considering he’s the one who’s ruining the moment. You’re not sure if he’s jealous or if he’s just being an idiot, but it pisses you off all the same.

Once the date guy leaves, the silence between you and Pablo is loud. You cross your arms, staring at him like you’re daring him to keep pushing.

“Well, now you can leave!” you say, voice cool, as you face him. 

Pablo doesn't budge, though. "And how are you going home?" He sounds offended, like you’ve done something wrong by even suggesting that he should leave.

You roll your eyes. “Aurora can take me,” you mutter, already tired of the back-and-forth.

Pablo’s face twitches like he’s winning the argument. “I drove Aurora here,” he says, smug. Like the fact that he’s the one with the car makes him the one in control now.

Your eyes narrow, but deep down, you know you’ve got no choice. “Fine,” you grumble, defeated.

part 3

Pablo’s arms are strong, but his touch is gentle as he picks you up, carrying you bridal style like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands are steady as he lifts you, his face close to yours, it makes you feel like you're back in that place where everything between you two was simple. But that’s not the reality anymore, is it?

He doesn’t say a word as he carries you to the couch, setting you down so gently it’s almost too much. You want to tell him to back off, to let you handle it, but you catch something in his eyes that stops you – he’s looking at you like you’re the most important thing in the world, and you can’t deal with that, not right now.

“It’s just a sprain,” you say, but your voice cracks halfway through, and you hate yourself for it. You hate how kind he’s being, how his touch makes everything hurt even more.

Pablo shakes his head. “I miss you too,” he says, his voice low, almost broken. It’s a call back to the phone call, to what you said earlier, and it’s like he’s holding onto those words for dear life.

Your heart feels like it’s about to shatter. “Then let me go,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “We can’t be friends if I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

He’s closer now, wiping the tears from your cheek, his hand lingering longer than it should. He’s too close, and you’re drowning in it. But you let him stay because, in some twisted way, it’s all you have left of him.

“Don’t go on dates with idiots,” he says, his voice is exasperated. “You don’t need them. You just need to be with me, and we can make it work. We can go back to how it was. I promise.”

You shake your head, trying to stop the tears that just won’t quit. “Just because you don’t want me doesn’t mean no one else will,” you say, the words bitter on your tongue. “Don’t act like I can’t find someone who can make me happy.”

Pablo’s face hardens, his eyes narrowing. “You’re just doing this to get back at me, and you know it.”

You almost laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not trying to get back at you, I’m trying to move on. I can’t keep pretending we’re okay.”

“You don’t need someone else,” he says through gritted teeth, his hand clenched into a fist. “You never needed anyone else. You’ve always had me.”

“Not anymore,” you snap, your anger flaring. “I don’t have you anymore! You’ve shut me out like nothing happened!”

His eyes flash, he steps closer, his hand reaching out for you, but you flinch back, afraid of how close he is, afraid of what it means. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, his voice so small. “I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you say, your whole body trembling. “You just had to stay.”

His face falls, and for a second, you almost reach out to him. But you stop yourself. “I want my best friend back,” he says, his voice cracking.

“You don’t get that,” you shout, the words rushing out. “You can’t pretend I’m the same person I was before any of this happened. I’m not!”

“I don’t care!” His voice rises, raw and desperate. “I don’t care if it’s different, I just want you in my life. I don’t know what to do without you.”

You pull away. “You can’t keep saying that.”

He looks at you, devastated. He’s leaning closer now, his hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing circles against your skin. It’s like he’s pretending nothing’s changed, pretending this is how things always were.

“Pablo –"

You push against his chest, the tears running down your face now, uncontrollable. “Please, just leave,” you say, your voice shaking, but you mean it.

You’ve had enough. You’re done.

But Pablo just looks at you, he doesn’t move, doesn’t leave, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s not going to listen.

“Please,” you beg, your voice breaking. "Just go."

Pablo’s hand brushes his own cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized fell. He speaks like he's trying to convince himself more than you. “I’ll come back,” he says. “To check on your injury, make sure you’re better.”

He looks away quickly. “I’ll take care of you... like you took care of me.” His words hang in the air, painfully.

You watch him go, every step tearing at you. As the door closes, you stare at it for a second, your body tensing as if it’s about to snap in two. And then you can’t take it anymore. You reach for the nearest pillow, throwing it at the door with every ounce of anger you’ve been holding inside.

“Idiot!” you scream, everything hurts – your heart, your head, your stupid, stupid tears.

You sit there, staring at the door, feeling the ache spread through your chest. It hits you like a punch – you haven’t touched him, haven’t held him in over a month. It feels like the end of everything, and it’s crushing you.

You curl up on the couch, hugging yourself, wishing things could go back to how they were before everything went wrong. But they can’t. All you have is the emptiness he left behind, and it’s swallowing you whole.

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Six)

Summary: She had tried so hard all her life to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, in hopes that maybe someday, someone would love her. But that day had never come, and now it never would. Because who could ever love a dirty, broken thing like her? She had never been a person, only a piece of art—beautiful and silent, to be enjoyed and admired, but easily replaced. She had been traded from her father’s private collection to her husband’s, and he had knocked her off the gallery wall, had smashed her frame and ripped apart her canvas, destroying her value and leaving her with no sense of self. Who was she, if not the pretty, proper little thing the men in her life could show off and gain approval for? Who was she? Word Count: 3942 Warnings: still no smut (but Ghost has explicit thoughts), non graphic mentions of past abuse Notes: This chapter is pretty fluffy/funny actually! It's one of my favorites that I've written. Triple asterisk (***) denotes a POV change as usual, dash asterisk dash (-*-) is a time skip but not a POV change AO3, Masterlist

There was no food in the cabinets of the house, nor of the next five—though there were several other infected that Ghost had to kill. But in the seventh, they got lucky.

Lelia practically cried when they opened the pantry in the basement to find a shelf fit to bursting with canned veg and soup. She opened a can right then and there and devoured it like he had the buck, desperation in every swallow. He’d tried to stop her, to get her to slow down, but she wouldn’t listen, dancing out of reach every time he tried to clumsily take her spoils from her. Of course, she had thrown it all back up not two minutes later.

Ghost awkwardly held her hair back as she heaved, careful not to touch any other part of her, no matter how badly he wanted to rub her back soothingly.

When his dove finally stopped retching, she straightened up with a groan that sounded like one of his, her small hands clutching her belly. He reluctantly let go of her hair—or tried to. His stiff fingers got stuck in a tangle, and when he began to move his hand away, it pulled on it, startling a yelp from Lelia. He let out a panicked, apologetic gurgle, and tried again to free his fingers—only to pull her hair once more. This time, she whimpered, and for one delusional second, he thought it sounded like one of pleasure.

“Simon,” Lelia gasped, hands reaching up to grasp his own. He jumped at the sudden warmth, fingers twitching, wanting to curl around hers and soak up their heat. “You’re going to pull my hair out if you're not careful. Just— just let me do it.”

Ghost obeyed, going still as he simply savored the feeling of her skin against his. She carefully collected each strand of hair from between his fingers, sometimes grasping the cold, stiff digits and guiding them out of the bigger tangles. It took several minutes, and those minutes were the very best of his undead life.

He couldn't help but hold onto her hands for a few seconds even after she was done. She looked over her shoulder at him with a raised brow, thankfully amused and understanding rather than disgusted. She was so kind. She was far too kind.

“Did they lock up again?” She asked him. He groaned out a no but it sounded like nothing and so she took it as a yes, just like he knew she would. She gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hands lightly and—oh. He— he felt that.

He stared at her in awe as she twisted awkwardly around, her hands still in his. He knew he was being selfish, stealing her body heat when she needed it more, forcing her to touch him… but he could feel it. Not the softness of her hands, but the warmth and the pressure when she tightened her grip. Unbidden, he thought of another part of her that could give him the same sensations…

Ghost quickly let go, feeling guilty and terribly ashamed with himself. He kept having these dirty thoughts about her, and that would have been bad enough back when he was alive, an old man creeping on an innocent young thing like her. But now? When he was dead and decaying? It was foul. He was foul.

“Better?” His dove asked, oblivious to the disgusting images of her in his mind, of her beneath him, on top of him, on her knees, bent over a table—

He turned around with a noncommittal grunt, putting his back to her. He grabbed the rucksack they’d found in house number four, and began swiping the cans of food off the shelf into it. Several missed and fell to the floor, but he ignored them, not wanting to risk catching sight of Lelia if he went chasing after them.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy.

“You’re making a mess,” she scolded lightly, with no real heat behind it. He wished there was. He deserved her censure. “Let me do that. I’m not feeling nauseous anymore. Though if we stay in here much longer that might change.”

It did smell quite bad, the dust and mildew overpowered by her puddle of sick. But as always, Lelia’s sweet scent was the most prominent to him, delicious and tempting. The vile part of his infected brain that he couldn’t seem to shut up wondered if eating her out would be enough to satisfy his hunger for her.

He ignored just how enticing the idea was.

Ghost was silent as Lelia took over packing up the cans, hanging back, but he did take the rucksack from her once she’d zipped it up. She gave him a surprised but grateful look, eyes wide and a little smile on her face. He wanted to kiss her. But his fucking lips had rotted off, because he was a walking gods-be-damned corpse.

He was all out of sorts just from her holding her hand, like he was a virgin touching a tit for the first time. If his blood was still pumping, his dick would be hard as steel in his trousers. It was pathetic. And if his little dove knew, she’d run screaming for the hills.

For once, he was glad he couldn’t talk. It made it that much harder for her to tell that something was wrong.

***

Lelia walked next to her zombie as they searched the rest of the house for warm, sturdy clothes that fit her—a surprisingly difficult task—sneaking worried glances at him every few minutes. Something had upset him, but she wasn't sure what. Was he still embarrassed about the drool incident? He’d seemed to put it behind him, after they’d left that first house. She wished he could talk so she could just ask him…

They didn’t find satisfactory clothes in the next few houses. Simon had vetoed the pretty dress she'd wanted to bring with them—”I’ll only wear it inside, Simon, I promise! Just look how beautiful it is!”—pointing at the full rucksack to show they had no space for it. Lelia had eventually given in and put the dress back with a sad sigh, and they'd continued their search.

The sun was setting by the time they found something Simon didn’t growl disapprovingly at, but at least he no longer seemed so bothered, anymore.

The clothes—and the room they’d found them in—looked like it had belonged to a young teenage girl going through a very intense emo phase. Her jeans were skinny enough that they didn’t immediately fall off Lelia’s hips, and her shirts were incredibly tacky, full of what Lelia assumed to be band logos. She wrinkled her nose when Simon shoved one with overlong sleeves and thumb holes at her, aghast.

“You want me to wear this?” She asked, disbelieving. “It has thumb holes, Simon! Thumb holes!”

Simon’s face almost always looked blank, but right now, she had the distinct impression it was because he was trying not to laugh at her. She huffed, but didn’t protest any further. She did complain, though.

“A fashion travesty,” she mumbled under her breath, not caring if Simon heard her. It was strange. She usually didn't complain—complaining always made things worse, in her experience—but she felt safe with him. It made no sense—he was a zombie, and he'd admitted to wanting to eat her earlier that same day—and yet it was true. Simon, her undead companion, made her feel safer than anyone else in her life ever had. “I understand that it's the apocalypse, and options are limited, but thumb holes…”

When she returned from the toilet after changing into her new clothes, Simon held out a black leather jacket with studs on the shoulders to her. She physically recoiled. And to think, she thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“Absolutely not,” she said instantly. He shook the jacket in her direction, and she crossed her arms stubbornly, turning up her nose at it. “I said no, Simon! That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Simon rolled his cloudy eyes, and then gestured at his face and grunted disbelievingly. She didn’t understand what he was saying at first, and she looked at him in consternated confusion, before it dawned on her.

“That jacket is far uglier than you,” she replied honestly. Though Simon couldn’t be described as handsome, she’d grown used to his visage in the last few days. Ironically, seeing his sunken, colorless face, with its permanently bared teeth, broken jaw, and milky, white eyes brought her comfort, now, since she knew it meant that she was safe. That she wasn’t alone.

A face that was now looking at her with a distinct air of skepticism, despite its lack of expression. She could just tell—she was getting better at reading into the slight narrowing or widening of his eyes, his body language, and each noise he did or didn’t make. It was still impossible for him to communicate more complex ideas to her, but she usually understood his reactions to her own words.

“I’m being serious!” She replied to his pointed silence. “Leather jackets are vulgar. I would never be caught dead in one.”

Simon growled, stepping closer and shaking the jacket at her more aggressively. She made no move to reach for it, arms stubbornly crossed over her chest. Her zombie growled again, louder this time, closing the distance between them and draping the jacket over her shoulders. She let out a noise of protest, but one quelling look from Simon had her shutting up. He was very close, close enough that she could smell the ever present scent of rot and death that clung to him. It was worse now than it had been after he'd first cleaned himself back at the cabin—likely because of whatever animal he'd eaten earlier—but not nearly as bad as it was when they'd met. Besides, she had started to get used to it. It wasn’t pleasant, but it no longer made her nearly gag every time she caught a whiff of him.

Undistracted by his scent, all she could think about was his proximity. She’d known he was tall, but he’d never been so close to her that she had to crane her neck to look up at him, even when their hands had been locked together back in the basement.

Inexplicably, she found herself blushing. Though his hands had been cold and rough, and he’d not actually been holding them of his own free will, they had cradled hers so gently, fitting perfectly around her own. It had felt nice, and she wanted to hold them again. She was just so starved for gentle touch. She had been her whole life, with parents who didn't love her and a husband that found joy in her suffering.

And how ironic was that? That a zombie was the first person in months—years, had it not been for the occasional shoulder squeezes from her governess Ulyana when Lelia did particularly well at something—to touch her with no intent to hurt her?

Spurred on by the memory, she uncrossed her arms and slid them into the sleeves of the ugly jacket, looking up at Simon hopefully for his approval. Another thing she had been denied constantly, growing up. She had never been good enough for her parents, no matter how well she did in school or how perfectly she behaved. She had tried so hard all her life to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, in hopes that maybe someday, someone would love her. But that day had never come, and now it never would. Because who could ever love a dirty, broken thing like her? She had never been a person, only a piece of art—beautiful and silent, to be enjoyed and admired, but easily replaced. She had been traded from her father’s private collection to her husband’s, and he had knocked her off the gallery wall, had smashed her frame and ripped apart her canvas, destroying her value and leaving her with no sense of self. Who was she, if not the pretty, proper little thing the men in her life could show off and gain approval for? Who was she?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever known.

Suddenly, she felt cold fingers brush against her cheek, and she was pulled out of her spiraling thoughts. Simon was looking down at her with what she could swear was concern, and he groaned softly, head tilted to the side in question. It was then that she felt the wetness on her face. She was crying, and she hadn’t even realized. And now Simon was gently wiping away her tears.

Her eyes grew hot and she could feel a sob building in her throat. She resisted the urge to lean into his kind touch, sniffling as she reached up to scrub at her face harshly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed. Simon tugged lightly at her jacket, like he was trying to carefully pull it off, clearly assuming that was what had made her so upset. She let out a wet laugh, though there was very little humor in it, and shook her head, gently pushing his hand away. She hoped he didn’t notice how she let her fingers linger against his for a few seconds longer than necessary. “It’s not the jacket. I just—I was thinking about something sad, is all. I’m sorry I worried you.”

***

Ghost felt like an arsehole.

The second his dove had looked up at him with those big brown doe eyes of her all shiny and wet, his undead heart broke. He’d never meant to make her cry—he just wanted her to be safe and warm, and the jacket he’d found would help do just that. The tough leather would protect her from glancing bites, as well as conserve her body heat. He hadn’t expected her to put up such a vehement protest at the thought of wearing it, though he supposed he should have. She was clearly used to the finer things in life, and her style was quite feminine. He remembered the look she’d had on her face as he’d presented her with the hiking boots he’d found back at the cabin, and she’d had to leave her dainty ballet flats behind. She’d seemed sad, then, but also relieved—though he figured that had more to do with the painful looking blisters on her feet than approval of his fashion sense.

Nonetheless, he hadn’t been about to give into her—admittedly adorable—pouting. He’d draped the jacket over her shoulders, and had been trying to figure out how he could get her arms into it without crossing any lines when she’d shrugged it on herself. For a second, he thought she’d come to her senses—and then he’d seen the tears.

Instinct—human, this time—had kicked in at that moment, and he’d reached up to tenderly wipe them away. The distant look in her eyes had disappeared, and it almost seemed like she’d leaned towards his touch before she’d pulled away, but Ghost knew he had to have imagined that part.

He let out noise between a groan and a gurgle at her apology, waving a hand dismissively as he tried to communicate that she had nothing to be sorry about. He was the one who should be apologizing—he’d clearly touched some sort of nerve, to remind her of something that made her cry. He only wished that he knew what it was. He only wished that he could ask.

They didn’t spend much longer at that house, using the last dredges of daylight to search the one next door. And it was a good thing they did, because they found a half empty water cooler in what appeared to be a home gym. Lelia, who hadn’t had anything to drink since they’d run out of boiled stream water, was overjoyed. Though thankfully, she did listen to him this time when he warned her to take it slow.

Ghost handed over a can of veg, then rolled up one of the yoga mats on the and shoved it into the backpack. If Lelia had to sleep on the ground again, which he knew she would, the mat would make it a little less uncomfortable… or so he hoped.

When his dove finished eating and had drunk her fill, she reached over and tugged the zip he was having so much trouble with closed. He grunted, half annoyed, half grateful, and she patted his hand soothingly. It made him jolt, that shock of heat, and as always, he struggled not to grab ahold and pull her as close as physically possible. She seemed far touchier today than usual—though that wasn’t saying much, as she had only ever briefly brushed her fingers against his hands before when removing his wet gloves—and he wondered if it had to do with him running out on her earlier to hunt. Like she was trying to show him that she did want him around, that she was glad he’d come back.

Or maybe she was just in a good mood now that they’d found food and water.

Yeah, that seemed far more likely.

“Do you think they’ve got toothpaste here? I’m sure my breath smells something awful.”

Ghost jerked his shoulders up in a shrug, but when she moved to stand, he did too. He straightened from his crouch with a creak and a pop, muscles locked from rigor mortis protesting the movement.

He followed Lelia into the toilet, her hulking, undead shadow, and his eyes crinkled a bit in a smile as she crowed happily over finding a mostly empty tube of toothpaste. She put some on her finger and began to brush her teeth with it, wisely forgoing the dirt covered toothbrush next to the rusting tap. When she was done, she turned to him, reapplying the minty smelling paste to her finger and holding it up to his mouth.

“Your turn,” she said, but lightning quick, he grabbed her hand, stopping her. She jumped, but didn’t pull away, just looked at him with those big brown doe eyes of hers. He grunted, shaking his head as he gently pushed her hand away from his face. He could feel drool collecting in the corner of his mouth again. He was floored by just how much she trusted him. He knew she had very little survival instincts, but even she had to know better than to go sticking her fingers in a zombie’s mouth. And yet, she’d been about to do just that. And he had no idea if he’d be able to stop himself from trying to bite down the second he tasted her hot, sweet flesh on his tongue.

He clumsily grabbed the dirty toothbrush—he was already dead, what were the germs going to do? Kill him?—wiped it off on his tactical vest, and then handed it to her with a pointed grunt.

“You want me to brush your teeth with this?” His dove asked, cute little nose wrinkled up in disgust. He would have nodded, but he could still feel the drool on his chin, and the last thing he wanted was a repeat of earlier. So he just continued to stare at her until she gave in with a sigh. “Fine, then. But sit down. You’re too tall.”

You're just short, he thought but couldn’t say. Instead he let out a grumbly huff of laughter, and then sat down on the closed toilet seat. She stepped closer so she was right in front of him, and his gaze was perfectly level with her small, perky breasts. The shirt he’d found for her clung to her tightly, accentuating the slight curves of her chest and waist. She was far too skinny, ribs showing through the fabric, but she was still beautiful.

He started to drool again.

She wiped it away on her sleeve, mumbling about thumb holes apparently being good for something, and then gently—more gently than he ever remembered being touched in his undead life or the bits of his actual life before that—cradled his broken jaw in one of her small hands. He blinked up at her slowly—not out of an actual need, but out of shock—and let out a strangled groan. She paused, looking at him in concern.

“Did I hurt you?” she said, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it still caused you pain…”

She moved to let go of him, and he lightly grasped her hand again, bringing it back to his jaw. In truth, he could barely feel it. Just a scant pressure and her addictive heat. But it was the fact that she was willingly touching such a destroyed part of him, and so tenderly, that undid him. She was… ethereal. Everything that he had ever been denied—softness and warmth and light and kindness. He didn't remember very much of his old life, but he knew enough that he had never experienced something like this—like her—before. Her existence was proof of heaven. He just didn’t understand what an angel like her was doing down on earth. Especially after it had turned into Hell.

And he certainly didn't understand why such a pure being would deign to touch a wretched monster like him.

He should have moved her hand away, should have stopped tainting her with his undead skin. But he was selfish, and so he just shook his head, tilting it back a little to look up at her.

His dove smiled at him, caressing his broken jaw sweetly for a second. His eyes went half lidded in pleasure, watching her as she carefully brushed his teeth.

“Your breath smells even worse than mine,” Lelia said with a little giggle, even as she grimaced in disgust. Somehow, she made the expression seem adorable, and her pure laughter took the sting from her words. She was teasing him, like she would a friend. The thought made his eyes crinkle slightly in a smile. She was being playful, and it looked good on her. Everything looked good on her, but happiness most of all.

His dove took her time cleaning his teeth, growing quiet as she focused. He could feel bits of flesh and fur unsticking from between his blackened gums, and he knew it must have disgusted her from the little wrinkle of her nose, but she didn't complain. She just let him spit into the sink before applying more toothpaste and continuing her task.

“There we are,” she said nearly fifteen minutes after she’d started, finally removing the brush from his mouth for good and letting go of his face. He mourned her touch, but her bright eyes made it a tad easier to bear. “Minty fresh.”

Ghost groaned quietly in thanks, and she wiped her hands off on a towel—he’d drooled quite a bit during the cleaning process, but she hadn’t even flinched—before yawning. He stood up, gently nudging her towards the door with his elbow.

“Yes yes, it’s bedtime, I know,” she said playfully, nudging him back. She looked excited. “There's a king mattress in the master bedroom—it will almost feel like home.”

Ghost huffed a laugh as he walked her down the hall. He took up his post outside the door, and her hand brushed against his as she slipped past him and into the room.

“Goodnight, Simon,” she said quietly, giving him a sweet smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, she was gone, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

And once again, he was alone.

[tyrantisterror]

Wherefore Art Thou Clownfucker?

A while back I made a post explaining why vampires appeal to me, and while it was mostly in a more general sense, there was a specific focus on why I find them, you know, hot. And it was that was in part because I had recently discovered that I'm apparently surrounded by Werewolf fuckers on here, much to my dismay as a Vampire fucker. It's like being the only goth kid at a rockabilly concert or something. I felt defensive, is the point! I needed to go to bat (heh) for my pale ladies (and Astarion.... and Spike)!

And now, because Muncher compels me to do so, I'm doing the same for Clowns. My other pale ladies.

Now, keep in mind the fact that I'm a monsterfucker first and foremost, and that my clownfuckery is really more derived from my monsterfuckery. I imagine the middle section of the Clownfucker/Monsterfucker diagram is pretty big, but I also know there are some clownfuckers who are very much NOT monsterfuckers, and vice versa. This is not the case for vampirefuckers, who are nestled firmly within the monsterfucker circle, because while all vampires are monsters, not all clowns are monsters. I bring this up because while I'm gonna try to explain clownfuckery on its own terms, there is likely going to be some monsterfucker bias in my explanations and defense. That's just how it is on this bitch of an earth!

I'm gonna get real pretentious here and talk about the historic role of clowns for a moment. From Comedia del Arte harlequins to medieval court Jesters, the clown's role has always been that of Comic Relief. They are, simply put, here to be tonally dissonant - when everyone else is serious and dramatic, a clown comes in as this weird, silly, incongruously hilarious element that contrasts the gravity of everything around them. "Relief" is really the key word here - a clown's job is to provide levity when otherwise there would be none. When everything is dark, they provide a little light.

That's the core emotional appeal of clownfucking - a clown is/should be someone who can make you smile when you need it the most. Kingdom's at war, family's fighting, your life's in shambles? The clown will make you laugh. Everything feels dark and gloomy and depressing? Here comes a silly little goofball wearing bright, clashing colors and jingling with each step because they're covered in bells, and all they want to do is tell jokes until you start laughing. Clowns are, by intent, that sweet sweet hit of dopamine personified.

Clowns are here to make you smile.

Another important historical detail about clowns is their unique place in the hierarchy of society - namely, being entirely outside of it. A jester was in some respects the lowest person on the totem pole, a fool that had power over no one and nothing, living to be laughed at. Yet, because they had no power over anyone, it was generally poor taste to take offense to anything a jester said, which meant they could talk more freely than anyone else - when everyone else acts like a butt-kissing sycophant, a jester is free to talk shit and speak their mind.

The traditional attire and appearance of clowns plays into both of these traits: the bright, gaudy clothing and makeup is silly, yes, but it's also a sign that the clown does not give a single shit about fashion and other social norms. A clown is, by nature, an anomaly, a misfit, a rebel.

Nowadays we have another word for people with that attitude. Clowns are punk.

Weird makeup, crayola red hair, patchwork clothes...

I would say the very fact that "normal" people look at clownfucking as some sort of inexplicable fetish is, in fact, part of the appeal. It's a form of xenophilia, of attraction to things that are different and othered, a love for outsiders and misfits and oddballs. To fuck a clown is to show love and adoration for something outside of the realm of what is socially acceptable - something silly, goofy, and weird, yet also often harmless. After all, a clown's main purpose is to make you smile.

That's not to say that clowns have to be harmless to be attractive, mind you. Tons of people, many much smarter than I, have talked about the cultural shift of our perception of clowns that began somewhere in the 1980's. Clowns went from being viewed as genuinely fun and cute to primarily being figures of fear and terror - if a clown shows up in modern media, even if it's innocuous, there will always be at least one character who vocally talks about how creepy they think clowns are.

That may in part be due to the fact that clowns have such a benign mission statement - a lot of people, especially nowadays, do not trust a person who claims they just want to make others happy. Anyone who acts like that MUST be up to something - there must be something nefarious going on, some evil plan, some lurking danger.

Which is where you REALLY bring the monsterfuckers in.

You really don't need to do that much with a clown's design to push it firmly into monster territory - "a pale person with sharp teeth" is the bare minimum it takes to make a vampire, after all (and even the pale part can be downplayed).

And a clown's dedication to making things "funny" can make for a very enjoyably-scary persona for a monster - hell, half the appeal of the Addams Family is that they're a bunch of freakish inhuman monsters who react to a bunch of scary shit with absolute delight and adoration. Again, the tonal dissonance element is at play here, albeit in a different way - even when Clowns are the darkness in your world, they still bring light in the sense that they view it that darkness as funny in of itself.

(hell, the word "harlequin" means "five horns," and may be rooted in folkloric monsters like Herne the Hunter depending on who you ask, so in a way clowns have always been monster-coded)

I think all of this is pretty well exemplified in the current Patron Saint of Clownfuckers, the goddess of Clownfuckery if you will, Harley Quinn. Hailing from a story whose main setting is such a Gothic Horror-inspired nightmarish shithole of a city that it's literally called Gotham, surrounded by characters who are at least 60% gothic horror archetypes by volume, opposed by a hero who literally dresses like a Dracula, it is inarguable that Harley Quinn is surrounded by darkness that's both literal and figurative.

But she's always smiling, and not in an ironic way.

Harley Quinn suffers intense abuse, she's drawn into wicked schemes, and in the way of most modern clowns, she causes no small amount of mayhem and suffering herself. But even at her darkest, she's always smiling, always trying to find the bright side.

She's a rebel, she's a punk. Almost everyone thinks she's beneath them. Almost all of those people get proven they're wrong. In a world full of tyrannical hierarchies, she steps outside of them.

She's an outsider, a misfit, an oddball. And she wants to make you smile.

I think you can probably see the appeal of that.

[evelynpr]

Might be a hot take as a bkdk and tgck truther here, but I find izuocha endlessly fascinating, beautiful, but also tearfully tragic.

I see their love for each other as something representative of their innocence and naivety when they only knew so little about who they were, and what was to come.

I think the main barrier of their relationship is that its rooted in how they see each other very idealistically, specifically that they're attached to the image of their Best Heroic Selves, and not the deeply selfish, destructive, freaky, and egotistical parts of them. To each other, they need to keep fulfilling that image or else that same person they looked up to would almost die in front of them, and that would be too cruel. Although that hero is still there, that same person they looked up to is not the same now because of...well...everything.

Izuku had barely even talked to girls when he first met her. She was Izuku's first ever real friend (Sorry Kats, everyone and him knows he was terrible), so he saved her in that entrance exam even if it was so dangerous. She gave a new meaning to his derogatory nickname just by being a friend that believed in him. After that, she saved him several more times (Blackwhip and Megaphone are the biggest samples iirc). It makes perfect sense that she is Deku's hero.

Ochako hardly knew what it meant to be a hero when she first got into UA. Just by reaching out to some kid tripping, she made a new friend who would then save her in that exam, then save him again in return. This boy then became someone who was always working so hard to save everyone in trouble, and she realized she wanted to be just like him too. "I want to save people"

But...Deku changes. The weight of One for All is on his shoulders and he needs someone to carry this burden with him. He continues to want to save other people at the expense of himself, still not letting his true selfishness and ego ever show- and it only grows more and more unbearable.

Then...Ochako fell in love with Himiko. Truly, relentlessly, selfishly and devotedly in love with a girl who then dies giving her blood to her- the greatest expression of love Himiko could ever give.

Not that they can't love each other because of this happening (and...so many other things oh god), I'm honestly not sure how to explain it- But them ending up together after losing that innocence and naivety? After Ochako will forever grieve the girl who showed her love in its most beautiful and ugly form? After Izuku changed so fundamentally as a person that the butterflies of a nice girl talking to you doesn't exist anymore? After that simple image of being a hero and being in love has completely changed for them both?

Even so, I believe they still love each other. There is no label I know of that can properly describe them though. They are each other's image of being a hero when it comes to saving people. Aside from Shoto, no one else can grasp the grief of the person you tried to save dying in your hands. They would no doubt try to cope with these losses together, and just try to get better together...but so much has changed. They've changed. The world changed. What are they now? Who are they now?

"What happened...to us?"