#sorry it’s just for months I feel like I am sort of dying like not to be dramatic

[freewilllife]

Viktor’s commune always gave off creepy vibes, but for me, the path it was taking became crystal clear at the start of ep6. That first scene basically spells out the extent of Viktor’s corruption and how far his actions and mindset are from any kind of altruism.

@jaybejaybeyes Personally, I interpret this after having some conversations as "Victor´s dream come true".

Indeed, it is a sort of corruption, but it seems Victor is actually well-meaning here.

And look at Viktor's face when it happens. That’s not horror. That’s not astonishment. That’s not grief. It’s… mild annoyance, I'd say?

Why should he grieve Salo´s death? I am just curious. They are neither friends, nor related. Victor "healed" them, but that doesn´t make him Jesus.

He may consider himself responsible in a way, but I doubt, that he became suddenly all-loving.

And that’s the thing about Viktor’s commune — it was never about the people who joined it. It was never about understanding them, helping them, or connecting with them. It was all about Viktor’s desperate need to be in control, about his refusal to confront suffering, pain, and all the messy, complicated parts of being human. From the very beginning, it was about Viktor going, “well, the end justifies the means”, but there’s nothing kind or humanistic about that philosophy, because it always comes at the expense of people’s lives. The end never justifies the means.

Nope, you are definitely wrong. Victor indeed has wished to make the lives of the people better with "hextech" , was even more outspoken, that he did not wish to create weapons and I guess that this commune is literally, how he envishioned it. There is corruption...but it is the arcane at work here. And maybe even in Jayce case.

There can be a conversation to be had, if the people are already dead or are still alive...but what is undoubtly true...The whole commune is dependant on Victor.

People can be both...Yes, Victor wanted to stay alive, but he is not a control-freak...And surely not a guy, who thinks that the "the end justifies the means". I mean, isn´t it funny, that the solution Victor is conviced of, plays in the hands of the arcane, which obviously has a will of its own?

It is literally right there...that the arcane heavily influenced and manipulated Victor, and most likely also Jayce.

The end never justifies the means.

That is an oversimplification. There are cases, where the end literally justifies the means.

And honestly, I was surprised to see how many people were mad at Jayce for blasting Viktor at the end of that episode. In my opinion, by then, it was quite clear that Viktor didn’t care much about his Arcane-modified toys. He wasn’t even pretending he did. Salo wasn’t a person to him. None of them were. They were just tools, stepping stones for his glorious evolution. And all of that was right there in the first scene of ep6.

Oh, that is interesting. Did suddenly "the end justify the means" or becomes murder a great deed, if the right character is killed?

In contrast, Victor tried to be responsible for his commune and tried to protect them, literally dying. I am sorry, but I am not sure, why you suddenly jump to such conclusions?

I still feel like we were ROBBED of that whole arc, watching Viktor descend to this. Because he gives a shit about Vander, so it's not like he's totally unempathetic--like he's still Viktor. It's just that from the start of the commune up to this point, Viktor has been going through a slow descent into madness from not having a single actual person to talk to who isn't completely bound to him in some way. There is nobody to question him and everyone is relying on him constantly.

@straysparks Yes, the influence of the arcane gets stronger.

Viktor is deeply empathetic but also vulnerable to megalomania, and having a whole group of people worship you for months on end is gonna get to your head eventually even if you really really really hate the idea. Which I think we can be pretty certain he does at first, unless you subscribe to the idea that the Hexcore is really majorly influential to his personality change.

Both, but why should this not be the case? The arcane has a will of its own and can be vicious if challenged. Victor was literally drowned in it and hears a voice the moment he wakes up...Of course, he is being changed/manipulated to a certain degree. When Ekko literally broke the armour, Victor woke up and realized, what he had done...This moment of "waking up" does not make much sense, if the arcane has not played a major role in the corruption process.

Because people being wrong are rarely persuaded by violence alone.

I think his disconnection from his empathy is driven by a need to get away from the closeness of the commune members. He's an extremely private person and he gets virtually no space or time to himself for months on end. Seeing the commune members as cogs in a machine is a coping strategy and I must stress that there is NO ONE to check him on this.

Or he already knows deep down , that they are already dead? He does care for them, but I mean, he is literally not Jesus, has hardly any personal attachment to them. In fact, Victor had always difficulties in that area.

Hexcore influence is convenient to the narrative, but Viktor's character is set up in such a way that his behavior here isn't even out of character given a particular series of events which we KNOW happen, we just don't see them on screen. It's ooc if you assume Viktor doesn't change between the times we see him on screen, but that's the thing, he DOES.

The hexcore influence is not just convenient, it literally explains so much...Look here:1,2

I saw the light after reading those posts. Nope, Victor does not suddenly become mad or cold for no reason, he literally is partly mind-controlled.

Viktor’s commune always gave off creepy vibes, but for me, the path it was taking became crystal clear at the start of ep6. That first scene basically spells out the extent of Viktor’s corruption and how far his actions and mindset are from any kind of altruism.

Think about it: Viktor sees Jayce kill Salo through Salo’s eyes. He’s connected to Salo but doesn’t even try to comfort him, verbally or mentally, or ease his pain with magic in his final moments. He just stands there, watching. Waiting for Salo to die, staring at Jayce. The only time he flinches is when Jayce lunges forward, and Salo dies abruptly — his vision cuts to black.

And look at Viktor's face when it happens. That’s not horror. That’s not astonishment. That’s not grief. It’s… mild annoyance, I'd say?

Like, ugh. Jayce didn’t get it. He didn’t appreciate my work. And now he’s also destroyed one of my puppets. Sounds pretty frustrating, doesn't it, Viktor?

Then Sky says, “poor Salo”, and Viktor? Immediately pivots to, “That’s not Jayce. It’s another will at work within him”. And a moment later, he’s fascinated by the Anomaly. Salo’s gone, and no one spares him an extra thought.

And that’s the thing about Viktor’s commune — it was never about the people who joined it. It was never about understanding them, helping them, or connecting with them. It was all about Viktor’s desperate need to be in control, about his refusal to confront suffering, pain, and all the messy, complicated parts of being human. From the very beginning, it was about Viktor going, “well, the end justifies the means”, but there’s nothing kind or humanistic about that philosophy, because it always comes at the expense of people’s lives. The end never justifies the means.

And honestly, I was surprised to see how many people were mad at Jayce for blasting Viktor at the end of that episode. In my opinion, by then, it was quite clear that Viktor didn’t care much about his Arcane-modified toys. He wasn’t even pretending he did. Salo wasn’t a person to him. None of them were. They were just tools, stepping stones for his glorious evolution.

And all of that was right there in the first scene of ep6.

[iwasntsatiated]

today I am sad because i want to be someone who is so full of joy and love and compassion for humanity, but I fear the world is slowly taking that out of me. I feel so disconnected from the things I used to find beautiful. I do not feel like myself, and I want someone to tell me how I can find my way back to me again.

[ghost-proofbaby]

september love (e.m.)

eddie finds you awake on the first night he's home from the hospital, and wonders what you're thinking.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of canon ending of season 4, except eddie didn't die. mentions of hospital and medical procedures (in passing). sort of sad, sort of not. a little bit of angst? hurt/comfort. religious imagery (specific mentions of heaven).

wc: 1.7k+

an: this was just some sort of weird rambling upon seeing the poem mentioned above at like 11 pm? 1 am? who knows. time is a construct. also, reader is compared to a 'violent' dog/animal during eddie's recovery, and if you like this metaphor/vibe, then i strongly suggest and urge you to go read @myosotisa's fic Half Life. she does it far more beautifully than i ever could, and it is one of my favorite fics. ever.

Your head is on his chest. 

Your temple and your ear are flush with the soft cotton of his wrinkled t-shirt, the one he insisted upon sleeping on his first night home, and it’s all you can think about. The smell of week old laundry, the stubborn linger of a cologne gifted too long ago to remember the worn name of. A steady heartbeat that still pumps along a little too slow for your liking. The rise and fall of each promised breath that you force your lungs to pace themselves with. Just enough heat radiating off of him to keep you warm, here in bed, here in the dim light of twilight as he rests.

No tubes and no IVs to worry about. No nurses barging in every ten minutes. No beeping of a dozen machines to be your symphony tonight. 

No, you don’t need a machine now to keep track of his heart rate. You’ve learned to do that entirely on your own; your heart has learned how to match his with each dulled thump against the skin you cling to through this dingy old t-shirt.

It can’t be long after 3 AM, the moonlight almost as bright as a rising sun as it peeks itself in through the curtains of the window, as if whispering to check if you might still be awake.

And you are. And all you can think about, is your head on his chest. 

It’s been over a month since you’ve had this type of moment with Eddie. A moment where you’re truly, sincerely, utterly alone with him. Privacy had become a delicacy that you weren’t aware of the fragility of. You hadn’t understood its importance until you had to bask in its absence, always on edge for the next body to walk into the room and take the air out of your lungs. Always anxious for the next sound of news, always worried for the next shoe to drop. 

You’d forgotten what it had felt like for Eddie to twitch his fingers along your spine in his sleep, and for you to be the only witness to his quiet worship, even unconscious. 

Your lips part, and you almost consider whispering hard truths into the trembling night air. There’s a million and one dying words cementing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and you know that every single one you could even manage to utter would only make you sound like a broken record. 

I’m sorry this happened to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it. 

All things already said to him when he had been drifting in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed. All apologies already buried between muted sobs as you’d clutched his knuckles a little tighter than you should have, a little too selfish in the moment to wonder if it might be hurting him. The only thing on your mind had been keeping him, holding him, feeling him. He was alive – he was alive. And for the first seven nights of his endless rest, all you could wonder is for just how much longer that desperate prayer could ring true.

Would he leave you again? Would he lose the fight? 

You can’t recall without bias which one of you had been the true wounded animal in that little room, scented with burning bleach and cacophonies of nearby patients just beyond the curtains. 

Eddie, looking up at the police who had finally come once he woke, eyes big and teary as he’d tried to wrap his head around his new reality.

You, baring teeth and claws at them in the end, ready to bite hard at anyone who got too close.

It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone. 

It was the same juxtaposition between the two of you at those nurses who would interrupt the nights, always frowning so dutifully at the sight of your carefully curled figure at Eddie’s side. When friends and family came to visit, and they all had the same look of disbelief. As if they were about to tell you that you had imagined it all; he hadn’t survived, he hadn’t come back to you, you were imagining it. You’d been all bark and awaiting bite towards Steve Harrington and the newly revived Jim Hopper, all the same. Their figures bore no difference to you when it came to protecting what was so holy to you. Him, Eddie, here and alive. Eddie, who slept enough for the both of you those nights. The pain in your back from all the uncomfortable hours spent in that little chair at his bedside was insignificant, all the headaches you’d endured from the smell of iodine that still clung to the air after every surgery were pitiful attempts at the Universe removing you from him. 

If you could, you might try to recall your reaction when Dustin Henderson had babbled on through tears as to what had happened to Eddie when the two were left alone. His final act of heroism, or so he thought. 

But you can’t. Right here, right now, you aren’t capable of living in the past. You’ve been haunted enough these last few weeks, and all your numb mind can handle is counting the beats of his heart. Like the rhythm of a song – 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. Staccato verses that you sometimes whisper in time, getting worried when they don’t follow the infallible metronome you’ve set for him. 

“You’re still awake.”

The murmur of his voice is a drink of cold water, startling in the dark greys and blues wrapping the two of you up. 

You lift your head ever so slightly against your better judgment, “Go back to sleep, love.” 

“Touche.” 

You can see his grin even through the shadows. It’s weak, not yet quite as vibrant as it once had been, but it’s there. He’s still alive. He’s still grinning. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” The pads of his fingertips are more intentional against your spine now, longer strokes and mindless shapes, “I’ve got a penny in my pocket if you tell me.”

His words are only slightly slurred. Probably residual of the pain medication they’d prescribed him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” you say, and you mean it.

You hadn’t been thinking. You had just been listening to his heart and his breaths, feeling the weight of him beneath you. 

Little things you had taken for granted once upon a time. Never again, your soul aches as you let your head drop back to his chest carefully. Never again.

“You’re just laying awake, not thinking about anything, at…” he trails off, turning his cheek and squinting in the direction of the alarm clock across the room. The glow is dim, and you know you’ll have to change the batteries soon, “Four in the morning?”

4 AM. Last you had checked, it had been 3 AM. You hadn’t even noticed an hour had passed. 

“Is that really so hard to believe?” you smile up at him, and it’s just as sincere as your words had been. When his honey brown eyes meet yours, warmth drizzles down your entire being. Across your brain, down your spine, wrapping around your limbs. You could spend an eternity here, simmering in his warmth, content to your heart’s fullest capability. 

You’d almost lost him. You’d almost lost this warmth. 

You take a second to memorize his features. Studying him as if you didn’t already know every curvature, every freckle, every winkle better than you knew your own soul. You’re looking at him as if you may never look at him again, and he can tell. 

He doesn’t have to say that he gets it. His hand simply wanders up to cup your face, basking in you as you were him. Two souls, intertwining over overlapping legs and synchronized heartbeats, and he doesn’t have to say a word. 

The moment his fingers card into your baby hairs, you’re turning your mouth quickly to that warm palm. One, two, three kisses. Quick pecks, rapid succession. A secret language that you know he, and only ever he, can begin to understand. 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you. 

It drowns out all sorrow, all guilt, all hauntings. Your cracked lips, and the feeling of those lines across his palms. If there is a Heaven, it’s not somewhere in a pearly gated kingdom above. There are no hark angels and there is no bearded man awaiting. 

It’s here. It’s now. It’s 4 AM, in bed with your lover, getting to experience moments you’d come so close to losing for eternity. 

Do the poets know? They must. All the love, all the adoration, in both your bodies is too abundant for them to not feel it. To not write about it. 

“Go back to bed, love,” you repeat almost a perfect imitation of your first command when he had awakened, and this time, his eyelids flutter with your words, “I’m not gonna disappear between now and sunrise. I promise.” 

“No,” he quickly whispers back as his eyes fully shut, and your palms smooth out the wrinkles of the shirt to feel the ridges of scars hidden for now. Scars he’s ashamed of, for now. Scars you’d one day show all the love in the world to, sacred proof that he came back to you, only once he was ready. One day. “But you’re looking at me like I might.”

His words are heavy in the shades of violet now sinking into the room. But the moon is high in her sky, and the crickets are chirping to the East, and he’s right.

You’re terrified the daylight will steal him from you. You’re terrified the new day might tear away all that you’ve sunk your teeth into. 

“I’m not going to,” he mumbles around a yawn, arms slowly encasing you, pulling you in closer, “I’m not going anywhere. Yeah?” 

He’s back with that warmth, coaxing you right back into heavenly notions with him. You let him; he baits you, and you follow. 

“Yeah.”

It’s a sigh. Of hopefulness, of relief, of belief. 

This time, the I love you is more than a prayer repeated in your mind. And he somehow manages to say it back, just as he begins to slip back under. Still holding you and hands still twitching where they rest against your back. 

Let daylight come. You aren’t capable of worrying about it, or stressing about all that has happened. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything right now, because only one thing matters as your temple and ear find his heartbeat once more. 

Your head is on his chest.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[sunoorintarou]

Catharsis: Christmas Special

Phos!Reader x Teen!Gojo Satoru and Teen!Geto Suguru

Warnings: Gojo - centric, usual angst, fluff if you squint, major character death, dead bodies, set in 2006, lots of talks of politics, death, murder, trauma, morals, etc, borderline bullying? (Satoru is a jerk), self - blaming, grief, and all it's stages, trouble processing and understanding emotions, Gojo is seriously just his own warning

Notes: Merry Christmas!!!

"You're weak. Why do you bother being a sorceror?"

Satoru's words make you freeze, eyes widening at their bluntness. He doesn't react, however, because in his mind, he's simply telling you the truth.

You're weak. He's known that from the moment you set foot in this classroom almost three months ago.

He doesn't understand why Suguru and Shoko seem so fond of you. All you do is get into trouble, injure yourself, and make it everyone's problem to save you. You can't fight, your Cursed Technique is subpar, not to mention that you're annoying.

Stepping into battle like some sort of self-righteous hero knowing full well that if a curse so much as touches you, you'll crumble. Literally. That's another thing he finds annoying about you. How easily your skin chips and cracks like porcelain revealing an ocean of Phosphophyllite underneath.

You can't lift anything heavy, you can't fight, you can't help out without injuring yourself, you're clumsy, you're annoying, and the list could go on.

What he finds the most annoying about you, however, is your soft voice going, "Gojo - san, are you alright? You look tired", "Gojo - san, you should rest, you don't need to use your technique so often", "Gojo - san, you haven't eaten yet, so I brought you this, I hope you don't mind".

Gojo - san this, Gojo - san that, God. You drive him crazy. How do you manage to see through every front he puts up? Every act? Even Shoko and Suguru can't see through it, and yet you have the audacity to call him out.

You're a liability in battle, and you're practically useless, more like the team's overglorified mascot. So, for the life of him, Satoru doesn't understand why everyone likes you so much. Even Nanami, his grouchy underclassman, doesn't seem to mind you.

What annoys Satoru the most, however, is the tug his heart feels when he looks at you. Because no matter how he tries to deny it, you're growing on him like a parasite, and a part of him wishes he was as close to you as they were.

"I am weak." You agree, seemingly taking no offence to Satoru's question. It's just you and him in the classroom. You're standing at your desk, bag still in hand, and he's sitting a desk, two desks behind yours. Shoko and Suguru are still on their way, and he's taken this opportunity to ask you what he's been dying to.

Satoru's eyes widen at your response.

"If you know you're weak, why do you try so hard? It's kind of pathetic, you know." His brows furrow, glasses sliding down his nose bridge as he tilts his head.

"I- because, I'm selfish, I guess." You say softly.

There it is again. That annoying soft tone of voice that makes his chest hurt whenever he hears it.

"I know I'm weak, but I want to keep trying. I want to fight. One day, I want to be able to repay everyone for everything they've done for me. Yaga - sensei, Shoko, Suguru, Ken, Yuu. Even you, Gojo - san. I want you to be able to rely on me. I want to be able to protect innocent people like you guys do. So I hope you can bear with me for a little more, Gojo - san. I'm sorry for being such a burden, but I promise I'll pay you back." You say earnestly, looking Gojo in the eye.

Satoru's eyes widen, and he's silent for a moment. Before he bursts out laughing.

You suddenly feel embarrassed. You were being serious and heartfelt, and all Gojo does in response is laugh.

"What's with that? Did you quote that from an anime?" He cackles, hitting the desk with one hand and holding his stomach with the other.

"I- I did not! I was being honest!" You defend, feeling the heat tinting your cheeks.

"If- if you really want to repay me, buy me something sweet from the vending machine." Satoru stutters between fits of giggles.

"OK, I'm on it." You nod, turning on your tail to leave the class. A hand grabs your shoulder, stopping you.

"Where are you going?" Satoru asks, leaning down to look you in the eye.

"The vending machine?" You reply, brows furrowed in confusion.

"You're going now?"

"Yeah? I'll be back really quickly."

Satoru scoffs, but there's a smile on his face nonetheless.

"Really? I'll time you then. You have 5 minutes." He challenges, smirking as he tilts his head at you.

"5- 5 minutes?" You stutter, eyes wide. The vending machine was on the other side of the school. There's no way you'd make it back in 5 minutes.

"Yeah. The clock is ticking. Didn't you say you'd pay me for saving your butt all those times?" He mocks.

Satoru's eyes widen as you put down your bag, determination clear on your face.

"I did. I might not be back in 5 minutes, but I'll be back in less than 10!"

"Hey, wait-"

And with that, you've rushed out the classroom, leaving Satoru absolutely bewildered. As he sticks his head out the door, watching you run and almost slip multiple times, Satoru thinks he's figured it out. He understands why Shoko and Suguru keep you around.

You're amusing. And he wants to get closer to you.

Unfortunately, things never go as planned. And if Satoru had known the outcome before, he would have tried to get to know you much sooner.

Things change quickly when you're a Jujutsu Sorceror. People come and go, live, and die. They change, they evolve. People grow apart, and people grow closer.

Regardless, it's not a pleasant feeling when you lose someone close to you. 

Gojo Satoru had never thought the day would come when he'd feel regret. He was the strongest, after all. Everything he wanted he got. The world was his oyster. Money, power, good looks, everything. So it's safe to say that loss was also a new concept to him.

A feeling he decided he'd prefer to live without.

It hurt in a way he couldn't explain. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, as if there were something heavy on his chest. Almost as if he were having an out of body experience but could feel whatever the stranger he saw when he looked in the mirror felt. Pain. Anger. Despair.

Cold and light. That's how your body felt in his arms. He couldn't bear to look at the white cloth covering it. This, this couldn't be you. This body in his arms, the broken shards of its head cutting into the cloth.

Yet it was still vivid. Amanai Riko running out and finding him, letting him know that you had died saving her. A bullet straight to the head. Pushing her into Suguru's arms and telling him to run with your last breath. Riko's tear filled face as she begged for him to help Suguru because she couldn't bear to have anyone else die because of her.

Since then, he's felt numb. It hasn't faded. The coldness in his skin, the haze of his reality, brain clouded as it was forced to process the events that had taken place.

"Suguru... should we kill them all? I probably wouldn't feel anything right now."

Did he say something? The words don't register in his mind. Was that his voice? Raw and soft.

Them. The higher-ups. If only he had known earlier that they were supportive of your death. That there was a bounty for your head somewhere.

He didn't know why. He didn't know anything. You had kept so much to yourself. Just what were you dealing with alone? All this time, smiling wide, eyes always sparkling, hiding everything behind your carefree, happy - go - lucky persona.

You didn't deserve this. You of all people. You weren't weak. You were sweet, kind, caring, and selfless to a fault.

This was not you. Lifeless in his arms. You were never this cold.

He remembered it, how warm your hands were all those time your fingers brushed his forehead to check if he was well, when your fingers brushed his whenever you handed him something, how warm they were when you held his face in your hands and scolded him for being reckless. He remembered it vividly.

What would you say if you saw him now? The exhaustion in his face, the blankness in his eyes, the way his- his hands were... trembling?

He could hear your voice, clear as day.

"Gojo - san! What happened to you!"

"You should really take care of yourself more, what were you thinking?"

"I don't care if you're one of the strongest! You're a teenager. Right now, you're just Satoru, and you're going to learn to be kinder to yourself. You- you don't deserve this."

What did Satoru deserve? Was it really kindness? Care? Gentleness? Love? He had messed up. If he had been stronger, he could have saved you. If he had been stronger, you wouldn't be dead in his arms.

What was the point of awakening his powers when they weren't there when it mattered? What was the point of being the strongest if he couldn't protect the people he cared about? The people he loved?

What made matters worse was finding out the higher-ups were happy you were gone. The people that had singlehandedly been the cause for his suffering. His. Suguru's. Shoko's. Yours. Those filthy old bags who only thought of themselves.

What would really happened if he killed them all? Would it really be such a bad thing? Weren't they supposed to be the pillars of the Jujutsu world? The elders for people to look up to and learn from. A symbol of hope, something, anything even remotely positive, beneficial to the future of the young next generation of Jujutsu Sorcerors?

All they had done was applaud the death of someone innocent. A teenager. A child. How dare these self-righteous ba-

Your hand falls from the covers of the white sheet, hanging limply.

Satoru's brain goes blank. A pale arm, an empty hand, and familiar phosphophyllite fingernails.

"No need. It's meaningless." Suguru's voice is low, as if the reality that you're gone hasn't hit him yet. His eyes linger on your hand. The palm that patted his back, the fingers that ran through his hair, the hand that was so warm in his.

Before he can stop himself, he finds his own hand grasping it. It's cold. He drops it like the contact physically hurt him.

"Without the higher-ups, the Jujutsu world will go up in flames. And even if they die, there's the possibility even worse people will come into power. Killing them won't bring her back either."

His words don't make sense, even to him, but Suguru utters them nonetheless. The look in Satoru's eye is enough to tell him that if he doesn't do anything, today will mark the beginning of a massacre. And although he feels the same anger Satoru does, Suguru's moral compass, as well as his understanding of the type of person you are... stops him.

"Meaning... huh?" Satoru repeats.

The Satoru in front of him is not the Satoru Suguru knows. The playful, snarky, overburdened boy replaced by something else. Something unfamiliar. Something... cold.

"Do we need that?"

Suguru hesitates for a split second. The girl in Satoru's arms is just as unfamiliar. A bubbly, bright, kind girl replaced by something else. Something unfamiliar. Something... almost sinful. A shell. An empty shell. The existence it harboured long gone. A disgrace to the being it had once been.

"Yeah. It's very important... for sorcerors."

Your corpse wouldn't decompose. The crystallisation forming a perfect seal to your body, and perhaps that's why they can't bring themselves to immediately bury you.

Clinging onto the false hope that perhaps you'd wake up, bounce back like always. Familiar head of teal hair poking over Suguru's shoulder, a second softer set of footsteps padding behind Satoru's, a warm hand flinching at the touch of Shoko's cold ones.

It's sickening. How quiet everything has become in your absence. How the shadows seem darker due to the absence of your light.

Perhaps you wouldn't know it, but your death was beneficial in a way. Suguru spiralled into depression but your words of the past kept him strong, and somehow, he managed to graduate with Satoru and Shoko.

They left an empty seat between them at graduation. Your certificate is still in Shoko's office to this day.

Your warnings and nagging that reminded everyone of their mother saved Haibara's life. You had always told them to never accept missions alone, and it was thanks to your words ringing in his head that Nanami became paranoid while Haibara was out on a mission. This led to him going out to check on Haibara and ended in him saving his life.

It was almost idealistic how almost everyone graduated that year. A rare thing in the Jujutsu World to have so many young people survive.

Satoru jokes its because you took on the unwanted burden and closed the gates of Heaven yourself. You always did. Eating the bitter parts of his food that he didn't like, letting everyone choose first when Yaga gave you rewards, not touching your food until everyone had started eating. You always took on the unpleasantries so that everyone else could live without knowing suffering.

Why did everyone deserve happiness except for you?

Why did everyone deserve to live except for you?

"Gojo - Sensei."

"So even Sensei sleeps, huh?"

"Of course he does. What kind of nonsense is that?"

Satoru's eyelids flutter. He pulls up his blindfold, his vision coming into focus as he sees a blurry image of his students.

For a split moment, he's in high school again. He's in his second year, and he's sleeping before class. He hears soft footsteps approach him. Feels someone lean down near him, but he's not scared. Not even annoyed.

Rather, he plays dumb and waits in anticipation. There's butterflies bursting in his chest, a smile pulling at his face that's hidden in his arms. Smirking at the familiar scent of yuzu and caramel engulfing his senses. He'd chosen it, after all.

"Gojo - san? Wake up, class is about to start."

"Gojo - sensei!"

But when his visions focuses fully, he realises it's been 12 years and his beloved students have visited his office.

"Oh, he's awake!"

There's a red rim to Satoru's eyes, but it's almost unnoticeable. He smiles before pulling his blindfold back down.

"Please don't fall asleep after summoning us all here." Megumi states.

Satoru stands up, and Yuji and Nobara are quick to fight over who gets to sit on his chair.

"What are you smiling about?"

It's today. By 4 that morning, Satoru had found himself sat in front of a familiar grave. He was always the first to visit. He brings a bouquet of white heliotrope and places it on the grave. He crouches in front of it, his blindfold tucked away in his pocket.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Y/n. Happy Birthday to you."

If there's one thing Satoru wishes, it's that he was able to tell you his feelings truthfully while you were still alive. It's unhealthy, but he finds himself uttering the same three words on every occasion to a stone in the ground.

If only he could have seen your pretty face while he uttered them in person.

Satoru doesn't know if he believes in the afterlife, but he hopes you're listening. And maybe, just maybe, you're screaming at the top of your lungs, repeating the words in hopes he'd somehow hear.

"It's nothing."

A lie. Because deep down, Satoru knows he's thinking about a certain place, a certain person.

Maybe in his next life, he can finally go home to you.

[crescenthistory]

Hello lovely! Can I request Marlene McKinnon with b1+11 please? 🫶🫶

of course you can<33 my fav girl marls

Prompt: B1. "I require at least a thousand kisses to make up for it" & B.11 "Come back to bed"

Words: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, not proofread, idiots in love, established relationship, morning kisses, cuddles, quidditch player!marlene, loving jokes at james' expense, background marylily, very background prongsfoot, implied gryffindor!reader (you share a dorm)

While there were no limits to what you loved about Marlene, on cold winter nights spent in an ancient castle with terrible isolation, her running hot as a furnace ranked high on any potential list.

It had been months since you decided to push your beds together in the dorm and spell the gap between the mattresses away, and you had yet to stop commending yourselves for the idea. Practically every night before you went to sleep, Marlene would mumble about "what a bright witch must have thought of this", and you never knew whether she was referring to you in a flirty way or herself in a self-congratulatory way, seeing as you thought of it together. You usually didn't call her out on it though, too busy grinning so hard your gums hurt.

You were also too busy having Mary fling pillows in your direction as she begged you to "stop being so lovey-dovey". With quiet whispers, you and Marlene would giggle about how her tune would likely change whenever she finally confesses her feelings to Lily and could follow in your footsteps.

In the meantime, you had a large bed, warm blankets that the four of you dyed cute patterns into at the start of term – the traditional way without magic, just like Lily taught you – and a beautiful soft girl in your arms. It was the perfect haven; a motivating start to the day and a reprieve from the weathers at night.

That is, until Marlene tries to get up at 6 AM to attend quidditch practice. 

Again, on the list of what you love about your girlfriend, her commitment and loyalty were high on the list, the two qualities that truly drove her in her sports achievements. She was a pleasure to watch on the field in more ways than one, and you were there to cheer her on for every single match, painting both your and her cheeks in vibrant red and gold.

However, when you were swept up in a heavenly cocoon of plush fabric and delicate skin, the smell that was so distinctly Marlene swirling in your nose and your mind, the mere suggestion that it should be broken even before the break of dawn felt like a death sentence.

You let her know as much.

"Marls, please," you whined, not caring that your voice was hoarse with sleep and your eyes weren't even open. You had just barely registered the kisses peppered to your hairline that already carried an air of goodbye and Marlene beginning to move.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she whispered against your skin before kissing it and removing her hands from around your waist.

You scurried after her and doubled down your own grip on her with surprising strength for someone not yet truly awake. "Marlene, baby, don't go." You weren’t entirely aware of what you were saying, just that you were begging and that you honestly stood by it – this was no time to leave.

You must be slurring your words because she began to giggle and her hand on the back of your neck came forward to brush over your cheeks and even squeeze them a little. "'M sorry my love, duty calls. You just sleep on, princess."

Another kiss to your hairline. You clung onto her harder and made a noise of distinctive disagreement.

One thing you had come to learn about Marlene over the years is that if she had not been sorted into Gryffindor, she would have been placed straight in Slytherin. Because this cunning sly witch made a sympathetic cooing sound, gathered you back up in her arms, and began rocking you ever so slightly back and forth. Only half your brain was awake – if that – to begin with, and within seconds your entire world was just your nose against Marlene's neck, her lips along your cheek and ear and the faint sound of her humming a Scottish lullaby.

You were swallowed by the abyss while wrapped up in love, and you would have stayed in the pit of its stomach had it not been for the gust of icy wind that brushed your face, some unknown time later.

With a low groan you opened your eyes into mere slits, trying to focus your gaze on the small commotion before you. There you were met with the sheepish smile of your lovely and traitorous girlfriend as she had just stood up from the bed and begun to pull on her red wool socks.

"Marlene. That was mean." You grumbled, but even so, you pulled the blankets closer around you as you shimmied clumsily to her side of the bed.

Immediately upon the reunion, Marlene's surprisingly warm hand went to caress your cheek where you looked up at her, scrutinising. "Sorry lovely, I wanted you to sleep." She pouted at you to make your frown wash away into a smile. "I have to get to quidditch practice with James in 30."

"I know you do." With a match against Slytherin coming up, James had the team practicing once or twice per day, at what you had promptly labelled ungodly hours. "But right now you have a cuddling appointment with me. Come back to bed."

You took advantage of her hand on your cheek to reach up towards her upper arm and shoulders and try to jostle her down towards you. Marlene chuckled quietly, trying to be careful not to wake your other two friends who were decidedly not known for being bright and cheery in the morning, and sat down beside you on the bed yieldingly.

You were ambushed by her peppering kisses across your face, each one its own silent silly apology. When she brushed her lips towards your own, you gave in for a few seconds before turning your head away.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you mumbled begrudgingly.

She quickly stilled your head’s movement with her hand and pulled it back towards hers, chasing after your lips. "Don't care, c'mere."

The kiss was the kind of domestic one that made you want to giggle uncontrollably despite knowing that you really shouldn't – though, if you did, Marlene would have joined you in a heartbeat. Marlene’s lips had the most beautifully prominent cupid’s bow you had seen, and you could feel the press of it against your own upper lip, could feel her smile and her love and her wish to stay with you.

You latched onto the last one.

“Just a little bit,” you mumbled against her lips as you snuck your hands up under her Heart sleep shirt to spread across her toned back and encourage her to lay down on top of you. “Five minutes, just five minutes.”

There was not an ounce of embarrassment in you for how much you wanted her with you, and there was not an ounce of judgment in her. A wolfish, pleased grin spread across her face as she relented and snuck under the blankets to lay comfortably on top of you, slotted between your legs with your chests pressed together. “Just five minutes, you say?” She spoke in between quick kisses, defined eyebrows raised at you teasingly.

“Mmm, maybe ten.” You didn’t bother hiding your smile, instead hooking your pinkies behind her ears to pull her face back up towards yours.

Marlene laughed into your mouth at a dangerous volume – thankfully you didn’t mind swallowing it with a kiss. You’re welcome Lily and Mary.

When you came apart, Marlene leaned her forehead against yours and heaved a theatrically overdone sigh, looking up at you through her lashes. “Whatever my girl wants, huh?”

Without giving you a chance to reply, she hooked an arm around your neck and one around your lower back before flinging herself sideways to flop back down on the bed, bringing you with her in her arms. It was a practised manoeuvre, one that landed you with your face in the crook of her neck and side pressed against her warm body, one that never failed to bring butterflies to your stomach.

You stared up at her as if she hung the moon, knowing full well that she was the sun.

The love must have been evident on your face because hers melted into a soft puddle before bringing your chin up with a finger beneath it to kiss you sweetly. “I love getting my way with you,” you teased, causing Marlene to snort.

“Yeah, I know you do,” she said dreamily. “But if you make me late to quidditch practice, I require at least a thousand kisses to make up for it.”

“Just for you, or does James need some as well?”

Marlene made a sound that effectively communicated gross that’s like my brother as she smacked your arm lightly, but you just laughed, holding her closer to you and kneading the flesh of her back contently. “You should enlist Sirius to give James his own thousand-fold kisses.”

“I reckon that will be easy enough,” you whispered, still laughing as you kissed along her cheek and jaw. “You drive a hard bargain, but I accept your conditions, McKinnon.”

Marlene shook her head and looked down at you with a gaze that was nothing short of lovesick. “What have I gotten myself into?”

[chippedshake]

Based on a prompt by @amethyst-writer

It's been a couple weeks since Darry and Ponyboy agreed to stop fighting. Of course, months of a strained relationship, of barely contained hollering and silent tears at night aren’t going to vanish with a simple conversation. They're going to keep on arguing, no one could believe anything else, but at least Soda won't be forced to be a middleman anymore. They won't tear their family apart anymore because they're communicating and talking to each other and not bottling up their emotions until they explode in a slap and running away and two of their friends dying.

But old habits die hard and Ponyboy is late again.

"Where've you been?" Darry asks, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

"M'I late?" There’s a testy undertone to Ponyboy's voice, daring Darry to disagree. Is he the only one putting any sort of effort into this whole "no fighting" thing?

"Yeah, buddy, you're late."

They aren't screaming. Two months ago, they would be screaming. Now they're trading tense, passive-aggressive statements with long stretches of silence in between.

Darry doesn't know which one he prefers.

"Sorry."

"Can you stop with the sarcasm for a second and actually talk to me?"

"I am talkin' to you, Darry, you just don't care about what I say 'cause you already got your whole speech prepared."

A scathing reply is crawling up Darry's throat and dancing around his tongue, tickling his gums and pulling at his teeth, trying to force his lips open.

Pony ran away and Soda ran away because you can't keep your temper down.

"Right." He shoves it back and down his throat "I'm sorry, Ponyboy."

Ponyboy can't meet his eyes and shifts his weight to his right leg.

"Don’t worry 'bout it, Dar. I'll try an' be on time next time."

He is. On time, that is, the next time he goes out. Which is the day right after, by the way. As if he didn’t want to spend time with his brothers.

The problem this time is that he's gone out with Curly Shepard and TPd their principal's house.

Pony didn’t even tell Darry. He had to find out when the school called him because they got caught.

"I just can't believe you were this stupid! Don't you ever think, Pony? How do you expect to get out of here when all you ever do is get into trouble with Curly Shepard, who spends more time in the reformatory than in his own house?" Darry takes his coat off aggressively as they walk inside the house and Ponyboy flinches back on instinct.

Darry freezes.

"Shoot, Pony, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't mean to scare you." His voice is soft and careful now; he's talking like he would to a scared child on the street who's missing his parents and scared of the big stranger talking to him.

Oh.

"I'm sorry, Pony." His voice is pleading and he's forcing tears back because he knows it won't help anything if he starts crying now. He's apologising for so much more than just taking his jacket off and they both know it, but Ponyboy won't meet his eyes. He looks anywhere but at Darry, his face drawing back awkwardly as his shoe tries to make a hole in the floor.

"S'fine Darry, I know you didn't mean to."

Pony may say it's fine, but nothing about their situation is fine.

Darry starts noticing. Every time he pulls a chair back. When he wanders out of the kitchen with a knife. A quick hair-ruffle without warning.

It all feels violent. Reminiscent of that night that gets further away with every day that goes by but still haunts Darry's mind the moment he closes his eyes.

And he's trying, he's really trying, to make sure Pony knows he doesn't mean it. Blubbering out apologies, moving slower, announcing actions.

None of it's enough.

Ponyboy doesn't seem to spend any time at home anymore. He's always out. With Cathy or Curly or Mark or even Bryon, who seems to hate him for some reason Darry can't wrap his head around.

He gets home right for dinner and hardly says a word.

It's Darry's fault, if course. No matter how much he apologises, no matter how much he tries to take back all the stupid yelling (and that night, that goddamned night that haunts every night that's come after), it's never enough. Ponyboy isn't going to forgive him and, honestly? Darry can't blame him.

But they promised. They promised Soda that they would try and that they wouldn't hurt him anymore.

And now they’re back in the same place: unspoken tension strung tight in the air whenever Ponyboy and Darry are in the same room, Soda trying his best to dissuade it without taking sides.

Darry doesn't know what to do anymore.

Is there even anything of his family left to save? Did their last hope at functionality die with their parents on those train tracks ten months ago? How can he get his little brother to forgive him?

Does he even deserve forgiveness?

Soda's gone to sleep and Darry's own eyelids are heavy but Pony isn't home yet and he's waiting up.

Ponyboy's fine. He's come home late before, always in one piece. Darry himself used to come home at ungodly hours of the morning when he was still in highschool, and his parents never waited up.

No one waits up for their kids when they go out with friends.

But the moment Darry thinks about going to bed, Ponyboy appears in the park, drowning because Darry trusted him to cool down and come back.

Sue him for being nervous.

The door squeaks open as Ponyboy comes inside and Darry leaps to his feet.

"Where the hell've you been?"

Ponyboy shrugs his jacket off and hangs it on the hook by the door before answering.

"Out."

"Out," Darry repeats sarcastically, "like you always are these days. I'd be surprised if you spent a single minute in this house that wasn't so we could feed you! You ever think about your brothers when you're off on joyrides with Curly Shepard – don't look so surprised, you know I talk to Tim –"

"If you know where I am all the time then you don't gotta worry about it, do you?"

"Yes, I do hafta worry about it because you’re my little brother and Curly Shepard is nothing but trouble."

"Like you ain't friends with Tim–"

"That’s different and you know it. I don’t know how you'd even know who I talk to since you never spend any time at home anyway, but–"

"You ever think that maybe I don’t wanna come home because all I ever get for doin' it is you hollerin' at me? Oh, it's all better now 'cause you apologise fer yellin' all day, but that don't change the fact that you do!"

"What else am I supposed to do? You know damn well we can't keep tearin' Soda apart and God knows you ain't puttin' in any of the effort. Tell me, Pony, what do you want me to do? 'Cause that's all I do, aint it? Just follow your every–"

"I want you to be a better brother!"

A beat of silence.

Ponyboy's breathing quickly, his chest shaking, and Darry can hear the tears he won't let fall.

"D'you remember when I lost your football a year ago?" His voice is fragile, tense, barely audible over the silence that's rushing through Darry's ears. "The one the whole team had signed. You hated me for days. Then we bounced back a week later without even a sorry. And now–" His voice breaks and a faint hiccup makes it through his defences. It takes all that Darry has not to wrap his arms around his little brother "–now ya can't even say two sentences without a sorry bein' in the middle of them and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it because I ain't fragile and I ain't gonna break if ya tell me to do my homework! I just didn't want you on my case all the time, but even that's better than whatever this is.

"You wanna know why I'm always with Curly? 'Cause he calls me an idiot when I mess things up and he wrestles with me and only says sorry when he actually hurts me. 'Cause he don't treat me like I'm made of glass. And I'm not!"

Ponyboy ends his rant with a little stomp that looks so absurdly childish after their fight that Darry almost laughs.

But it's a stark reminder of the fact that Ponyboy is just a kid. He's just a kid and he's gone through about as much as Darry, who still feels unprepared for it. Ponyboy's fourteen but he isn't, not really. Fourteen-year-olds don't have to worry about their friends crumpling under streetlights or drinking so aggressively they end up in a hospital bed they can't pay for. They don't have to worry about carrying out their best friend's dying wish.

Ponyboy's sick and tired of everyone around him treating him like a kid when he can't really be called one anymore because kids are innocent and what part of Ponyboy can be called innocent right now? He's gone through enough loss to know what he can handle and how he should cope, and yet everyone's assumed he doesn't because he's a scrawny little kid.

Darry walks – stumbles – over to the couch and sinks down into it. He rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands and runs a hand down his face.

He can't look Pony in the eyes, not now. Not if he really wants to say it right. Instead he stares holes into the couch in front of him, trying his best to find where to start.

"God, I–" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "I'm so sorry, Pony. You're right. It's stupid, I wanted to protect you from the world, at first, make sure you got outta here." He laughs humourlessly. "Can't believe I didn't realise how pointless it was. You can't protect someone from the world they live in. Then I wanted to protect you from myself, which was even stupider, I don't even know what I was trying to do, but I was trying–"

He's cut off by a small body – too small, hasn't he been eating? – ramming into him as Ponyboy sits down on the couch next to him.

"I know," Ponyboy whispers as his arms snake around his older brother, his head buried in Darry's shoulder. "You're tryin' and you ain't perfect." He takes a deep breath. "And I also know I ain't exactly helped much."

Darry gives a breathless laugh. "It's fine, Pony. I wasn't a saint at fourteen either."

He wraps an arm around Ponyboy.

"We'll figure this out, someday, right?"

"'Course we will." Ponyboy's voice is muffled by Darry's shirt so he turns his head to awkwardly look up at him. "We did that thousand-piece puzzle that one time, remember? We're invincible."

He laughs again and ruffles Ponyboy's hair.

"Fuck yeah we are."

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - June-December 2023.

Can you believe we are almost at the end of 2023? These last six months have been quite busy for me so sadly haven't been able to read as much fic as I would have liked. But I am still here and will continue to create rec lists whenever I get the chance to read more fics. I am also rounding the word counts so please click on the links for the exact word count. :)

it doesn't have to be a snowman by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren) (1/1 | 4K | General)

The Beacon Beans coffee shop is what Stiles would refer to as a lifesaver. They supply his dose of sugar whenever he needs it, they don't ask questions, and their hot chocolate is delicious. And now they're running a snowman building competition where the grand prize would get him an entire year's worth of drinks. Really, all he needs is a partner to team up with. Only everyone else from the pack already seems to have paired up.

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by DefNotForWork (1/1 | 17K | Explicit)

“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly. The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection. “So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’ In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totally different conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they love each other. And that Derek should jerk off more.

Undertow by entanglednow (1/1 | 4K | Mature)

"I don't want you to die because my swirls weren't swirly enough."

Fire and Water by GreyHaven (1/1 | 2K | General)

Derek is full of unspoken words and unexpressed emotions that sear him from the inside out until finally, finally, he allows them to escape into dark ash stains that smear across the harsh white of his notebook. Or, the one in which Derek is compelled to write a story. Turns out, he's writing about Stiles. What will happen when Stiles reads it? Angst and healing and two people finding safety in each other.

eli's parents are so gross (read: in love) by ash_mcj (1/1 | 1K | Teen)

"I would’ve been here earlier, but nobody thought it would be smart to call the one person who’s intimately dealt with the Nogitsune before, so,” Stiles said bitterly as he threw his hands up. "Now I have a list of asses I gotta kick over this very avoidable fiasco. Scott’s first, since he’s the Alpha—I’m pretty sure that’s how that works. His responsibility, or whatever.” The familiar sound of Derek’s car pulling into the driveway caught Eli's attention, and he grinned. “Is Dad on your list?” “Hell yeah, Dad is on my list! Right under Scott.” “Well, he just got home, so—” Stiles didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence before stomping off in the direction of the living room—and Eli quickly scrambled to follow him, ready to eavesdrop on what was likely going to be a rather impressive and amusing lecture. [or: eli is glad that stiles is home, since derek has nearly died several times in his absence, but he really wishes they were a little less glad to see each other] -- prompt | a reunion kiss

Ashes, Ashes by ShanaStoryteller (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone's tried to burn down his home with his son inside. "I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes," John can't even call that a whimper, it's clearly a whine as Derek's hands tighten against Stile's hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek's hands can hold him into one piece, "and that thought was worse than dying."

Love Runs Wild by DevilDoll (1/1 | 9K | Explicit)

"You've got a hickey on the back of your neck!" A Neckz 'n Throats story.

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles (1/1 | 10K | Mature)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth. The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles. Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles. Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal. He’s still not convinced any of this is real. Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it. Edited in October 2022

Stiles is My Safe Place by Star_crossed02 (5/5 | 10K | Mature)

Stiles gets bitten by Kali, and after a brief adjustment period, proceeds to co-lead the Hale Pack to defeat the Alpha Pack once and for all. OR What happens when a sassy spark-werefox starts courting an alpha sourwolf?

It feels like a perfect night (for breakfast at midnight) by princecharmingwinks (1/1 | 1K | General)

Stiles is floating on cloud nine. He is absolutely living his best life. It's a Saturday night, he's out with his friends and he's dancing like it's his birthday. Because it is! (Or it will be in 20 minutes, once midnight ticks around). And what better way to celebrate the respectful age of 22 than a night out?

princecharmingwinks special mention (My plane flying companion - I read a new chapter every time I took a new flight)

First Son, Last Chance by orphan_account (12/12 | 60K | Mature)

When First Son Stiles Stilinski, beloved public figure and the bane of his private security team, goes missing without a trace, ex-security officer Derek Hale finds himself tangled up in the world of Argent Security, a world he was forced out of when rumours abounded that he was sleeping with his charges. There's no leads, no time and no way Derek is going to rest until Stiles has been brought home safely. (Inspired by this post.)

That is all folks for 2023! Sorry again for a late addition. See you in the new year. Remember to leave kudos and comments for our wonderful writers.

[gotham-daydreams]

Lmao posting pure nightmare fuel without even a “hi, how are you?” after an entire month is one way to announce your return on Tumblr

How would reader be treated after they’re kidnapped?

LMAO YEAH- I fear that'll become somewhat common... I apologize! Though really, I hope y'all have been okay and I'm sorry for dying off the face of the planet as per usual... :']

Though, as for your question... it's a little complicated! Especially with how things end up going.

Some members of the family will definitely try to be more 'light' and understanding - as in most will let you get away with saying and doing some things here and there as long as you don't flat out leave or anything.

Sure, their feelings will get hurt if you insult them or get pissed at them in general (and rightfully so), but they'll take it as long as you stay. They are very, very desperate.

I can't say things will be good for... many reasons outside of the obvious, and that will become more clear once Chapter 4 is posted, and I mean very, very clear (you won't be able to miss it, trust me)- but they'll still try.. mostly because they're pathetic and very desperate like that LMAO

'Try' as in some will act like nothing happened, and try to pull the 'happy family' act which will work as well as you think. They'll be softer, more 'accepting' of any and all venomous words you'll throw at them (as in they'll just tolerate it), but they'll try to not do anything to make you more pissed off, and truly try to be a good family- which might piss you off more depending on who ya are, and their attempts are still more self indulgent more than anything as they are yanderes. Nothing they do is truly for your own good, comfort, or pleasure. It's all about them and trying to lessen the guilt they feel, along with fulfill that sense of obligation and so on-

Basically, don't trust it, it is very self indulgent no matter what, even if you also technically get something good out of it. Though at least you get something... better than nothing, right?

Just don't let them know that, they'll definitely try to do that more. The more you think of the good, the more (they're hoping) you'll associate it with them (even subconsciously), and... well...

It's all down hill from here, folks!

Nevertheless, expect some sparks of life here and there, I'm sorta back but sort of not- though I am trying to get back into the swing of things, especially with some personal projects i have in mind that (in my opinion) are much bigger than the Not [ ] Series, and much more thought out. Believe me, that thing is only a taste of what's to come :]

[auraisereigh]

"Conflicted"

chapter eleven

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson reader Blurb: After her agreement with Brennan, she seeks her brother out to sort her own feelings out wc: 7.3 ☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. Talk about conflicted feelings. Grief. Uses pronouns: she/her. i use Star as a nickname as y/n sounds weird, and i'm awful with names.

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

I find my brother in the mess hall during dinner, he's sitting with Liam, I know Liam from his mother but I've never actually had a conversation with him.

I sit down next to Xaden once I reach their table, he doesn't seem that tense anymore, I suppose the healers gave him some soothing cream or painkillers.

I shift a little closer and lean my head on his shoulder and then it hits me, he's back. He seems to notice the shift in my emotions as his head turns to me, away from his plate. "You okay, little sister?" He asks as he raises a brow. I roll my eyes at the nickname. "Yes, I am, matter of factly okay. Best I've ever been in two months." I say sarcastic and he lets out a small huff of a laugh at my answer.

I look over to where Liam sits and he smiles bittersweet. He has a little sister, of course he would want to see her. My heart aches for him.

I sit back up straight and look at Xaden. "We need to talk." I say quietly. He looks my way and he raises his brow again on question. I give him a pleading look and he gives him.

"Give us a minute." Xaden tells Liam. Liam all but smiles. "Totally fine." He says, his voice understanding.

Xaden grabs my arm and pulls me up from my chair to my feet, letting go once we start walking. We don't speak, I don't even look at him. All I'm doing is going over what I wanna say to him once we're behind closed doors.

We walk up the stair case to the second floor and he opens the door to the family quarters for me, waiting for me to go first as he holds the door open.

I walk through and he follows closely, closing the door behind him. I stop at the couch, not sitting down but leaning against it.

The first time I saw my brother earlier it didn't last long as my anger took over but now I feel calmer, more relieved that he's here.

"How did the healers go?" I ask softly. I don't wanna remember what I saw on his back. The cuts, some healing, some not. "Good, they just cleaned them up again. Told me to come back again tomorrow for a check up." He shrugs. I shouldn't have expected anything else.

He steps closer, his much taller from towering over me. "Are you okay?" He asks with a raised brow. "You stormed out of the assembly room like you were going to light something on fire." I look away. How am I supposed to explain to my brother that the son of the woman who cut in his back is here, living, and that after I stormed out I yelled at him?

"I'm.... Confused- more like conflicted." Even my voice comes out confused. "Why?" It's a simple question yet I stay quiet, searching for the right words to explain it.

"What would you do... If you're friends with someone who you don't know at all, only to find out that he is not the person you thought he is but the person you know think he is isn't him either?" That has got to be the worst explanation the lord has ever heard. His brow stays raised. "You're talking about the Sorrengail." He states. Wait, he knows? "You're aware of it." I state back.

"Yes, they wanted me to know in case I would find out the way you did. Which is, what I'm assuming, your conflict?" He asks but it's clear in his eyes that he already knows the answer.

I stay quiet, not knowing what to say. His mother cut into Xaden's back, yet he seems to have less conflicted feelings than I do.

I take a deep breath. "Naolin died..." I start, my voice instantly starts wavering, emotions building up. His eyes soften. "I'm sorry, Star."

I ignore his apology, it's not his fault anyway. It's dad's. "Brennan was dying and Naolin gave his life for Brennan's. Naolin was smart, he wouldn't just do that for anyone..." I sniff a few times before continuing. "Which let me to trust Brennan. Until I found out who his mother was and ever since i... I can't look at him the same anymore. All I see is the son of the woman who did so much harm to us, to our people..." I feel a few tears fall down my cheek but I wipe them away. "I want to trust him, to know him and his connection to... Naolin. But everytime I try something happens like you coming back and she cut into your back and all the effort I put in to look over who his mother is just crumbles. Shatters in a thousand pieces that I can't put together anymore." I finish. And by the end of that I'm hugging myself in an attempt to comfort myself. I let out a deep breath.

After a moment of silence he speaks up. Unlike him, usually I just vent to him, he comforts me and that's that. Not advice. "And you're judging him because of his mother? Or because your gut tells you something is wrong with him?" He ask patient. He knows there's no point in rushing me.

"His mother." I admit in a whisper. It sounds awful, judging someone based on their parents and their actions even when a child cannot control what their parents do and it doesn't mean that you're your parents child that you're like them. He doesn't even need to say anything, I know where my mistakes lie but how to fix them...

It's like he can read my mind, not so abnormal for siblings to know each other but still. "Talk to him." He says encouraging. "Ask him what you need to know, what you need to start figuring things out when it comes to him." He keeps his voice slightly encouraging and reassuring.

Well Brennan had scheduled a... Date? Meeting? Whatever it is. It's now Wednesday, and he said he'd come pick me up at Friday night. So that means that Friday night I can try again to put the pieces back together when it comes to him.

I nod at him, showing him that I understand what he's saying and that I will take the advice.

☆

Later that night xaden and I sit on the couch of the family quarters, quiet, while we're eating. It's handy that the family quarters has its own kitchen, downside, almost all the food was expired. I still managed to find some things in the kitchen of the mess hall and one of the employees told me she'd bring some food up tomorrow so we could cook here. Not that that's the best idea, I'm pretty sure I would burn down the kitchen if I tried.

I look Xaden's way again, he hasn't said a word. He's just quietly eating his food. I know it's selfish but I need to know. I build up my courage and speak. "Did you still see dad? You know, after... he got captured." My voice is a quiet whisper.

He stops with what he's doing. He doesn't look at me, he just stares at his plate and it's clear he won't say anything. "M' sorry." I mumble. I stare at my plate, my mind hollow. The ache in my heart still hurts and it feels as if the wound in my heart still bleeds.

"I got to say goodbye." Xaden mumbles from the other side of the couch. "It wasn't much, not long but enough." His voice stays a mumble. Tears prick in my eyes and the ache in my heart hurts more. "What did he say?" I ask and my voice wavers over the question.

Xaden sits up straight and places his plate on the table. "Not much, that he loved us, that we had to take care of each other. The stuff you would expect." His voice takes a hint of coldness and I know I'm pushing. I know I shouldn't push him, it's selfish but I need to know. "He told me he has two letters in his office for us." I blink at that, I spend the first week back cleaning almost everything out, just to make sure I wouldn't miss anything for a possible future rebellion. I never found letters. Maybe I put them in one of the sorted boxes? Maybe he moved them and forgot it? He had been interrogated and... Tortured... Xaden probably saw him after that happened.

I can't help but reach out with my hands to his head, like a memory reader would. The red veins of magic appear on my hands. "Don't." He bites and I automatically retreat. "I know what you're gonna do. You don't want to see it." He says, his tone as sharp. I stay frozen in my spot, I'm used to Xaden not being the most emotional person but he was never this cold with me. I pushed too far too soon and the guilt seeps in, my heart starts hurting for another reason, that I had pushed my little brother to talk about things he wasn't ready for, after everything he'd been through and every burden he had to carry because I wasn't there for him. "I'm sorry." It's not enough but it's the only thing I can offer right now.

"I know why you wanna see it, you want to be sure but this is not something you need to see." His voice is a little softer but there is still an audible hint of cold. I can't blame him.

I get up from the couch, putting my plate on the table as well. I walk past Xaden, giving him a small goodnight kiss on his forehead and walk away but not in the direction of my room, but not that far away either.

☆

My hand trembles when I reach for the door handle and open it, the strong scent that I always associated with my dad still hangs in the air and emotions, just like the last few weeks, threaten to overwhelm me. I walk in the room and close the door behind me. Everything about this room reminds me of him, it's why I've avoided this room like the black death.

I don't bother to look for the letter, I'm too tired for that. Finding those letters will be something I'll do another day.

I make my way to his bed, he probably has the largest bed of all of us, the silk, beige sheets are neatly placed on the bed, pillows puffed up. His night stand holds normal things for a nightstand, unlike mine. A few candles, a book, a picture from when we were little. I know he keeps more pictures in the drawer.

I lay down on his bed and my body relaxes immediately. The scent of sandalwood, mint and vanilla hit hard. I pull at the sheets to cover myself. The warmth providing a protective barrier. His window is closed but the moonlight shines through. I stare at it until I fall asleep.

And dream of memories with my dad.

☆

Taglist: @honethatty12 @smashee0789 @awkardnerd @randomperson1234sblog@bangtanxberm@hyperactive-bookworm-0 @littowl @thebreadisthetruevillian

[trashcanforpoetry]

It’s one month after the end of the war when harry first speaks.

“Mr. Potter, you are here to testify in the trial against known Death Eater, Draco Malfoy—“

and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t started speaking until this point. Maybe it’s some sort of trauma response. He has heard Hermione talk about it to Ron.

Ron thinks it’s grieve. That maybe the world had been filled with the wails of friends and family to a point where talking seemed simply unnecessary. There is too much to feel, to say, to accept.

There is no point in talking when you know the simple joy of communicating wasn’t made for a time in war. Or after that, really. The words harry wants to say don’t exist. At least that’s how Ron explains Harry’s silence.

Because Ron himself longes to do the same. To just say nothing for once.

But Fred’s death has hit a vital nerve in the family. To say nothing is the same as closing off. Not speaking means working as an individual and not as a grieving family. They can’t carry George’s non-smiling expression on top of Ron‘s silence.

So no, Ron can’t keep his words to himself.

Harry, on the other hand, stays silent because he honestly doesn’t know what else he could do. He’s….exhausted. A feeling he grew familiar with from a very young age, with being the Chosen One and all.

But now. Now it’s over and at the same time not at all.

Harry feels as if he stopped breathing the day he saw Tom Riddle fall for the final time.

Or was it when he saw Remus’ limp body on the ground? Or was it Fred’s? Was it Sirius dying? Snape? His parents? Or even Draco, his blood colouring the water crimson around him?

Maybe it was the moment he recognised a stuttering professor as a mere vessel for a murderer.

Or had it been the giant named Hagrid, knocking down the front door of a house that was too cold, too dirty? Had his lungs worked before that? Harry can’t remember ever breathing in the cupboard.

No, maybe not.

He thought after everything, breathing, talking, would come easily. It doesn’t.

Now, simple talking brings more bother than sense and he can’t feel enough to feel sorry for it.

That is why he himself is irritated about the situation he’s now in. The walls are too high in the courtroom. Harry’s back is too exposed, his fingers itch for his wand every time someone so much as glances in his direction and Draco’s hair is flat, dirty and his face lifeless. Traces of Azkaban’s cell. Harry decides he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Mr. Potter, you are here to testify in the trial against known Death Eater, Draco Malfoy—“

“No,” Harry says firmly, the magistrate freezes. He does too.

There is no sense in talking when it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring back Fred. Dumbledore. Sirius. Dobby. Names. People. Faces he will never see again. Harry’s still an orphan and James Potter died thinking he could protect his family.

There’s no sense in it. It just is and there’s nothing he could do to change any of it.

Except this. Now. Breathe.

“I am here to testify for Draco Malfoy, in his defense.”

Breath. Speak. Breath.

It gets easier with every word he says. This he can do. This changes something.

For the first time in a while, harry feels a sense of purpose.

[justkillingthyme]

Hai guys. Real talk. I’m taking a break for a few days. I’ll either be back this Friday or on Thursday the 31st (for the fics and trick or treating). Sorry to say that I’m breaking my 32 week writing streak and my however many month streak of doing fandom days.

Blah blah reading and mental health stuff under the cut if you want more information.

TLDR is that I’m mentally ill and so so susceptible to getting stressed out. I haven’t felt this bad since June. Which is saying something because in June I was getting harassed every single day and had finals to do. It’s whatever

I appreciate the people that have reached out to me and put up with my constant complaining here and on my personal blog. I have problems with emotional vulnerability and can’t take anything seriously but it does mean a lot. I love you guys.

That being said I’m so serious when I say that if I don’t take a break I genuinely don’t know what will happen to me. My usual thing of projecting all my problems onto characters and brute forcing my way through the depression isn’t working so it’s either take a break and stop stressing out or killing myself and I think we know which option is preferred. Kinda have been running myself into the ground here for months.

Oh but Valerie no one is going to kill you if you just stop doing fandom days. Wrong! I’ll kill me. Blah blah long story blah blah childhood trauma I’m physically incapable of relaxing and being chill. Intense fear of disappointment plus self worth issues. Bad combination and it means that I view myself as something like a content machine for you guys and I’ll die if I don’t live up to my own impossible standards.

That isn’t to say that I feel like being here is a burden. No, I really love this fandom and the people here! I just have a lot going on in my personal life in addition to the things I promised to do here. I’m just tired, I think. Pushed myself too hard for too long and I’m crashing. I mean there are times recently that I’ve been neglecting myself just to make my own self imposed deadlines, and I’ve just generally been in a shitty mood so thanks for putting up with me.

Yes I’ll still be responding to dms and stuff but I just need a few days to like. Factory reset. I’ll be interacting but this blog will remain empty for a few days. Enjoy your peace from my bullshit and be free 💞

Generally during breaks and hiatuses it makes me want to crawl out of my skin and die when I can’t talk to people. But I also feel like dying when I am posting. So.

Might just come back Wednesday if I feel too awful about not doing fandom days. I don’t trust myself to stay away from here. The torture sphere has a sort of je ne sais quoi you know.

[twinliches]

Sorry if this is a weird question, and if that's the case you can absolutely not answer, but how do you cope with having multiple full-time jobs and still having energy outside of work? Feels a bit like I'm dying of exhaustion every day over here lol

I've been ruminating for a few days on this ask because truly I struggle with this more than I want to admit. My jobs rarely leave me with energy outside of work, and I have gone through times in the last two years where working and sleeping were the only possibilities, and it sucks, and it is kind of embarrassing, but I have also found some ways to mitigate it even slightly which I am more than happy to share:

1. Schedule fun times (yikes)

It was a harrowing realization that I need to schedule hang outs and self care just like every meeting - weeks in advance, colour coded in both the calendar and the to do list - but since I started doing it, my success rate has skyrocketed. You either die a type b or live long enough to become a type a i guess

2. Bring your fun to work day

I will suggest anything that's fun to me as a work activity. I like drawing so you KNOW the ministry is littered with illustrations. My PowerPoints create envy across departments. I scout the world of my office for ways to have fun and I am not embarrassed to say so. I'm funmaxxing the grind. So what

3. Everyone is depressed bitch

Acknowledge that everyone your age is looking at their fifty-year olds in their work life with white-hot envy (WHEN THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TIME TO GARDEN) and that the loss of agency that comes with starting your career is normal and sad, but also means that...

4. Let's get some fruit

...you gotta stop thinking in old time frames of friendship expectations. people you haven't talked to for eight months will not be mad about your absence as they are stressed and hobbyless as well and will instead REJOICE at a scheduled hangout. I have friends I see once a year we love each other. no one is mad and everyone is stressed tf out LET'S HANG

5. Win the war not the fight

hey. listen to me. this isn't easy. it sucks coming home and feeling like having no agency left. and it's hard to break that cycle of exhaustion, and I fail all the time, when is the last time i saw the sun, oh god oh no my twenties. and if you feel like that is necessary in the time you are in, that is respectable. don't be mean to yourself for being stuck in a system that tries to squeeze all the energy out of you like a grape of some sort. you just gotta make sure you don't FORGET that you are a fully formed person with hobbies in another life. buy that plane model kit. bookmark that recipe. join that knitting group. i know you dont have time and energy. but your future self will thank you for paving the way.

I hope these are helpful. don't forget to have fun and be yourself. godspeed

[si1verghosts]

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie. 

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now. 

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe. 

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside. 

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now. 

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately." 

"That's great," you smile. 

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance. 

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine. 

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door. 

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back." 

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner. 

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot. 

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself. 

What are you doing? 

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work? 

Fuck. 

You swallow harshly, "trying." 

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay. 

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?" 

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel. 

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again. 

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead. 

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else. 

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways." 

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care. 

 "Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight. 

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice. 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do." 

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip. 

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me." 

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker. 

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once. 

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat. 

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care. 

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you. 

You love him. 

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this. 

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you. 

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat. 

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters. 

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it. 

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment. 

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac. 

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.  

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him. 

"Take me home?" You request, you plead. 

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity. 

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom. 

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs. 

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off. 

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes. 

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft. 

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting. 

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed. 

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall. 

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead. 

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better." 

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face. 

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon." 

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this." 

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright." 

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold. 

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom. 

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.  

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it. 

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed. 

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new. 

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof. 

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside. 

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight. 

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction. 

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it. 

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

[ludiharambasha]

Hello everyone!

Sorry for being inactive in the last couple of days.

A dear friend of my cousin needs help to get her family evacuated from Gaza. Down below is a gofundme link. If you can help, please do so, it would be very much appreciated. Just sharing this post would also mean a lot.

Here is Tasnim's letter.

"Dear compassionate souls,

I come to you with a plea from the depths of my heart, a plea for compassion, empathy, and the chance for a family to reclaim their shattered dreams amidst the relentless chaos of war.

My beloved sister, Nour Thabit, a dedicated English teacher and a devoted mother, along with her husband who runs a small electronics business, and their three precious children, have been engulfed in the horrors of the ongoing attacks happening in Gaza. They have seen their home reduced to rubble, their livelihoods snatched away, and their hopes and aspirations torn apart by the merciless hands of war.

Hadi, the eldest at only six years old, was filled with the innocent excitement of starting school, which he only got to experience for one month. He now only dreams of a life far away from the deafening echoes of bombs and screams of children under the rubble; a life where he could live his dream of riding horses like he used to do, on the shores of Gaza.

"I miss you, please take me away from here!" - the last sentence I heard from Hadi, on a rare occasion when I am able to reach my family since internet and electircity are cut off. Each time I do hear from them I can hear the terror and the trauma in their voice even though they are trying so hard to stay strong and not let it show.

Amr, at four years old, used to revel in the joy of playing football and the simple pleasures of kindergarten, until the sounds of violence forced him to flee, leaving behind his beloved activities and the safety of routine.

And sweet Julia, just two years old, now battles the cruel grip of waterborne illness, a consequence of being deprived of very basic necessities like clean water which my family got deprived off for more than 4 months now.

Their journey has been one of unfathomable trauma and loss. Moving from place to place, seeking refuge in a world where safety feels like a distant memory, they have witnessed horrors no family should ever endure. My sister tried all in her powers to shield her children's innocence, shattered by the brutal reality of death and destruction that surrounds them; she was even coming up with comforting lies about sounds of bombings being fireworks. But it soon became impossible to build any sort of illusion of safety since my sister and her family witnessed people dying before their eyes.

My heart aches as I witness their struggle, for there is no refuge left to seek. They live now in a makeshift tent, devoid of the most basic necessities, their health deteriorating with each passing day.

But amidst the despair, there glimmers a fragile hope. A chance to escape the nightmare they find themselves trapped in, a chance to rebuild their shattered lives and reclaim the dreams that once filled their hearts with joy.

Yet, this chance comes at a cost. A fee of $8000 stands between them and the border to safety, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in their path to freedom and peace. The only way to cross the border with Egypt is to pay this fee at the checkpoint. The rest of my family is also still in Gaza but we are hoping we can at least save the kids, and with heavy heart we are making this type of prioritizing. No one should have to make choices like this. My whole family was stripped out of everything which is why there will be additional costs to cover up for the traveling and living expenses during the travels. Their only hope right now is to reach the safety of Canada where they can recieve further help from our relatives who migrated there and a chance to rebuild their lives.

So, I humbly implore you, dear friends, to open your hearts and extend a helping hand to my sister and her family. Let us come together in solidarity, in kindness, and in the unwavering belief that humanity still exists in this world. Every contibution counts. Even if you are not able to help financially, please share our story.

Let us give them the chance they so desperately deserve, to find peace, to heal, and to build a future filled with hope and possibility.

With deepest gratitude and endless hope,

Tasnim Atia

p.s.

Since I don't have a bank account in a "gofundme" eligible country, your generous contributions will be safely managed and distributed to my sister's family through the trusted hands of my dear friend, Milena, whose family (living in the UK) have graciously offered their assistance in ensuring that every donation reaches its intended recipients promptly and securely. Your support will directly impact the lives of my sister, her husband, and their three children, providing them with the means to escape the horrors of war and rebuild their shattered lives. Thank you for entrusting us with your kindness and compassion. Together, we can make a difference."

[missmarveledsblog]

Lead me to you ( Eddie munson x reader )

summary: everyone thought they were dead but what happens when a ghost from the past brings hawkins metal head back from the so called dead or how their relationship stands three years after . 

warning : slight angst , some ptsd , mutual pinning  , strangers( sort of) to friends to lovers

The biggest universal epitome of cruel joke in eddie munson life was dying in the upside down after finally stop running away. The heartbreaking pleading of dustin henderson and the wails of the boy are eddie felt his eyes close finally succumbing to the demo bat brutal attack on his body . Or so they thought , he groaned quietly like his voice was learning to work again as he let his eyes focus and confusion come in ten folds waiting for the pain to hit yet all he felt was a dull ache only well adding to the completely tripped out state. He was in his trailer he knew that for sure well the dreary , doom and gloom version of his trailer . He looked down he was attacked the scars show that but why scars not wounds.

Then it moved the figure in the kitchen darkness that completely covered them and yet he felt no danger , shouldn't he feel some form of danger being in the upside down with some unknown strange being looked human but he couldn't see them probably . the figure seemed not to notice he was awake muttering something he couldn't hear . Sitting up he knocked over the cup alerting the person he was conscious making them take unsure steps towards the small living area of the trailer candle light showing exactly who the mysterious stranger was. That face he'd seen it for month plastered all over the paper for month a couple of times from found to deceased in space of couple of years . He'd seen that face going around town too or in the halls of school .

" Holy shit your y/n hopper" he gasped .

" The one and only" she smiled sadly .

" Your suppose to be dead i mean you closed the gate , they said you died " he said completely freaking out .

" You know about this so that mean you know the gang ... harrington and henderson? Shit are they here i didn't see them out there" her eyes widened.

" No there not , you've been here for eight months this is crazy"he said .

" Guess least now i've company i was like across town and heard the music just my luck to get their too late" she laughed . "

how am i alive i am alive right?" he asked. "They didn't tell you what i can do ? When i found you it was faint pulse but i was able to heal you sort of took too much out of me so sorry ... scars" she nodded to his bare chest .

" Shit i don't care thanks like angel in this place" he joked still reeling over it all . " you know they talked about you all the time i mean like a god which from what really happened and well now , you are pretty metal" he winked.

" Yeah well see how metal i am when we're stuck down here" she huffed.

" What about the gate" he asked.

" What gate" she furrowed her brows only for him to point upwards . her eyes looked at slight light that was on the ceiling.

" Well it was a gate" he winced.

"It's a gate sort of , eddie this might kill me but if it does can you tell my dad something for me and my sister" she asked only for him to freeze she didn't know hopper was gone.

" Of course" he smiled weakly not wanting to break the new and hoping for a better outcome .

" Tell them i'm sorry i did it and i love them" she smiled as she looked up at the ceiling blood coming down her nose as the light got stronger and she weaker finally the gate was opening completely as she fell to the ground .

" I'll get you home" he sighed securing line slightly relieved to hear her breathing stil .

" What the hell is someone there" a gruff voice call .

" HELP PULL IT " he called as he began to see the light of the really world coming blinding him completely , he was home and he didn't run this time.

" Eddie" the voice gasped .

" Hey wayne" he smiled holding the girl in his arms .

......

"Hey you listening" steve harrington snapped his fingers across her face.

" sorry been in a daze" she smiled remembering three years ago when eddie pulled them from the gate with the help of his stunned uncle.  Their friends nearly passed out when they saw the car pulling up  with eddie hidden and her unconcious only for them to both nearly pass out at sight of the supposed dead sheriff.  now here she was standing working a shift in family video with steve since robin was in college and couldn't do  as many shifts as she did before.

" Shit angel i only realised you want to go i can hold the fort down" steve sighed seeing the date knowing why she was not with it . 

" Nah i got it down don't worry  fluff ball" she laughed heading over to stack the videos of returns . 

" Don't fear peasant i am here to save you from dreaded bored" the voice called .

" Hey who you calling a peasant" she glared.

" Oh my apologies dear princess sorceress " he bowed dramatically.

" Dear knight you are lucky or you would be a maiden" she joked back.

" Total nerds which is shame cause you are hot" steve scoffed .

" Thank big boy" eddie winked.

" I mean her asshole" he rolled his eyes.

" Thanks fluffy" she cooed.

" Remember i rescued you" .

" Ah yeah after i nearly killed myself to heal and free you" she asked .

"Ok fine we're both heroes" he waved .

" what am i" steve asked .

" The babysitter" the both called before laughing . 

" assholes" he muttered although he couldn't hide his smile at the two.

" I was actually here to get the movie for our  movie night so make yourself scarce it's a surprise" he ushered her off.

"I'll check the stock out back" she laughed.

" You two and your date night" he teased.

" Least one of us can get a date big boy" eddie smirked. 

" he's just jealous we're such good friends" she headed out the back .

" Just friends my ass you look at each like henderson does those dolls of his" steve scoffed.

" Collectables action figures actually get it right , that actually why i'm here i need advice man i think i might actually die.. this time" eddie hopped on the counter.   

"Wait shit really when did you grow the balls" steve quirked his brow .

" When henderson bragged about  confessing his love to his suzie poo whatever sick shit he calls her i cannot let henderson be ahead of me man" .

" Fair point what advice you need".

" All of it i mean what ever you have in that big hair of yours" .

" Well as cliche it is be yourself man just tell her its angel"

. " Have you met me" he deadpanned .

" Yeah i have and she still goes all giddy around you and that's saying something for a woman who spent most of her life in a lab and basically hell , you know billy hargrove nearly cried trying to get her to catch on he was flirty and she barely batted her lashes  , you do your nerd shit and she twirling her hair like a highschooler" steve bluntly explained .

  " Did you pick yet because keith left his bag out here and honestly i'd rather face vecna again than look to see what died in that thing" she called out.

" Movie me" he quickly said as steve grab closest pile and rang them up before handing the bag to eddie . " your free to leave princess" he called hiding the bag behind his back .

" Which place?" she asked.

" your since you live alone" he chuckled .

" Of course how silly of me i was hoping to see wayne is all" she pouted.

" You using me for my uncle  that hurts sweetheart" he placed his hand over his chest.

" I'm his young bride though true love" she sighed happily making steve snort at eddies horror struck face .

" I'm joking your my favourite munson ... sometimes" she sang heading to put more of video's on the shelves.

"Your a menace princess" .

" robin calls me a brat but she said it's a different kind ?" her head tilted making eddie gulp .

" Well i'll see you later" he called. " if i survive" he whispered heading out the shop. 

She spent most of the day messing around the store with steve only to head home . An apartment five minutes from town and work something she loved about her new little home . Living in the byers home was good but it was too cramped up for her . She must of checked herself over twenty time  a usual before eddie arrived or before she met him . In the three years of being back in the real world she found herself feeling something new which nancy and robin explained were feeling of romantic kind for eddie . It wasn't like she was a virgin she hooked up couple of times with date but this feeling was different , stronger beyond the bounds of what she felt before . it was getting  more strong as time went by too like it was becoming heavy whenever she was around the brown eyes metal head.  Yet it was worse when they were apart even if they had just left each other it was like she instantly missed him . In all the new and  exciting feelings she was feeling old feeling . nightmare that was keeping her awake , the flashes of  being in the upside down.  Hopper could see the signs but she kept telling he was fine . she would hear a bang or a ring and she could remember as if she in there in real time like she never escaped .  she could smell it  , taste it all her senses where locked in a memory as if it was reality.  she felt her breath quicken and her palms sweating til the buzz of her doorbell snapped her back . Shaking herself making sure she was feeling somewhat normal a fake smile plastered on her lips she opened it seeing eddie standing with a pizza beer and the movies in his hands.

" Ready" he asked nervously .

" Always" she shakily replied. 

part two

[nanabansama]

Spoilers for Chapter 110

Did you notice that Mitsuba, School Mystery No. 3 whose name literally contains the kanji character "3", died 2 times and is now dying a third time!?!?! WELL, I DID!!!!

Sorry, I've just seen others theorizing about this for a while and always thought it was such a sadistic idea and I can't believe it actually happened... AIDAIRO!! AIDAIROOOOOOO!!!!!!!! *wordless wail*

If that wasn't bad enough, AidaIro had him meet Mitsuba Sousuke's mother and, unbeknownst to her, her son is dying all over again RIGHT NEXT TO HER...!!!! Keep in mind that she doesn't even know he's here, either. And now she may never even get to know this new version of him!!! NGYAAAHHH!!! Yet another example of the sadistic torture AidaIro enjoys putting us through...

Anyway, a moment of respite before I start yelling again: I enjoyed comparing my prediction posts to this chapter! I was right that Tsukasa would win, but...well, I think I got everything else wrong? HAHA. But seriously, I never could have fathomed the plot twist that Mitsuba has no yorishiro, effectively meaning that Tsukasa is literally STEPS away from completing his goal and destroying himself, yet here we are. I'm beginning to think the end of the series is closer than any of us could have anticipated... (it's almost sad to think about!)

But sadly, even though Hanako is trying his best to get through to Tsukasa, Hanako is still shackled and effectively powerless to stop him if he gets to Nene. Maybe there's some sort of schoolmystery-yorishiro power dynamic going on where Tsukasa is always weaker than Hanako, but with the state he's in now, I think Tsukasa should be safe to just shove him off...

That said, this move was so well-played! Hanako, stripped of power, could not stop Tsukasa with force alone, so he instead had to use the force of gravity to force Tsukasa on the ground and pin him with his knife and body. I still don't think this is enough to stop Tsukasa entirely, but it is enough to give Hanako time to plead with him. It also restores my faith in the fact that Hanako is a good fighter.

Anyway...I feel like everyone's already wibbled and wobbled about the ending of this chapter by now, but I just want to say I am SO GLAD Amane communicated his feelings to Tsukasa. That he said "i love you" in every single word he said, even if Tsukasa didn't hear it. It was so heartwarming, since Amane almost never does this. He always either bottles things up or shoves his feelings to the side until they're suddenly wrenched out of him and he's forced to care again. And while he was only able to do this because he was literally seconds away from losing Tsukasa, I am SO HAPPY that he could even do it all.

But unfortunately, he still couldn't say "I love you". He had to settle for the tsundere version. (Siiigh...)

Yet even if he did I'm not sure if Tsukasa would be convinced...That boy is soooo traumatized by the time Amane pushed him as a child, it's actually concerning. (._.`)

All I'm hoping for is that something happens to stop Tsukasa. I'm not emotionally prepared for him to go yet!!! But even if he does go within the next chapter or the next few after it, I just hope he goes out knowing he was loved. Like Sumire did. 💔

It feels like each new chapter has been more exciting than the last...if we get a Yugi backstory chapter next month I think I might actually die of happiness. Goodbye everyone...I'm going to a better place... 👼

I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter as much as I did!! This was such a good one I'm sure I'll be back later to tack on more thoughts. Thanks for reading!!