#soul shattering sorrow
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She is not allowed to go. Quickly, call her back.
Zeng Li as SHEN MUYUE
THE LEGEND OF SHEN LI (2024) 1.23
#cdramaedit#cdrama#the legend of shen li#zeng li#与凤行#shenli spoilers#jlfx when i catch you#soul shattering sorrow#voice not recovered at all but the moment she was alone the mask completely fell#cradling the tattered personal effects retrieved#she didn't even care about her injuries she just wanna have ah'li back#current mood is the youlan meme yesterday except it's me hitting my head over and over grieving along with mother muyue
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- I understand how you feel, Yuma... and I don't want you to accept it. -
Rank 55: Yuma Jets!!
#Did you hear that? That's the sound of my soul shattering because of them#Astral's sorrowful gaze and Yuma's hopeless reaction#It doesn't matter if Yuma won the duel#there's no way for Astral to avoid his fate#and Astral has already accepted that dreadful future that was reserved to him#because it is the only way he could protect Yuma's world and his world as well#He wants to protect their worlds even at the cost of his existence#The fact that Astral sees himself as something small to sacrifice destroys me#for him his life is nothing compared to the safety of their worlds#and Yuma understands why he has to do that but how can he accept it?#how can he accept that there is nothing he can do to save Astral? How can he stand and watch Astral sacrifice himself?#it's unfair it's awful but there's nothing that they can do#that end was decided from the beginning#and it is made more painful because Astral has learned how to live thanks to Yuma and Yuma has got more attached to Astral day after day#and now Yuma has to watch Astral meet his terrible fate and Astral has to accept it because there is no way to fight it#the only thing Astral can do is ask Yuma to not lose his spirit his Kattobingu#to not accept that hopeless feelings to not let that sadness take over his heart#I want to hug Astral I want to hug both of them and never let them go#Every sentence in this scene is carved in my mind#especially Astral's ones because he accepts what will happen to him but there is also so much sadness in his words#he deserves to be happy I want him to be happy#yugioh zexal#yuma tsukumo#astral zexal#astral yugioh#zexal#yu gi oh zexal#ygo zexal#zexal manga#zexal manga spoiler
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My campaign is verified and added to the Gaza Donations page with number 192.
Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:
@sar-soor @heba-20 @el-shab-hussein @90-ghost @soon-palestine@ibtisams @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @northgazaupdates @fallahifag @fairuzfan
I love you all 🙏🙏♥️🌹
I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.
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My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters, who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, I am facing a severe injury to my leg, which is at risk of amputation if I do not receive the necessary treatment. My wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, and my wife is also suffering from uterine cancer.
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Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .
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I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .
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Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.
My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.
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Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.
My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.
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Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?
Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.
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Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.
I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.
Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.
If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!
To everyone with a compassionate heart,
To all who understand the essence of humanity,
This is a message from my innocent children, who trust that their words will reach everyone who truly understands the meaning of childhood.
We cry out to you, asking you to feel our sorrow and pain, and to extend a helping hand to us in this time when we are in desperate need of your mercy and compassion.
My name is being repeatedly added to many public and private donation campaigns. Please, be a support for me in this difficult situation.
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https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview
Sincere greetings & thanks
Mohammed & the family
#gofundme#palestinian genocide#free gaza#gaza strip#gaza#i stand with palestine 🇵🇸#free palestine 🇵🇸#from the river to the sea palestine will be free#palestine#gaza under attack#aid for gaza#palestine aid#support palestine#my posts#paypal#palestine news#please#war on gaza#🥭#follow 👑 share ❤️ enjoy 🍑#🇵🇸#save 🍉#palestine 🍉#much love 🫶#📍 pinned post.#sorry 😔#gaza solidarity encampment#gaza gofundme#palestine gfm#free palestine
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I love to get 2 on
Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, Toji x fem!Reader, mmf, polyamory, cursing, smut (fighting over who gets to breed you), dumbification, finger sucking, breeding kink duh, implied size kink, daddy kink, mdni.
An: this is so self indulgent of me to write but idc nothing else is intriguing me besides this thought. this will likely end up being a small series because i have sooooo many ideas about these two nasty fucks.
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Having both Toji and Satoru as boyfriends was not for the weak willed because these two men are constantly at each other’s throats when it comes to your attention.
“Don’t look at him. Look at me. ‘m the one givin this pussy what she wants.” Toji’s husky voice growls into your ear, breath fanning across your skin before he grunts.
His hips are slapping against yours — fucking you deep into the mattress while his heavy cock slides in and out of your sloppy hole. Pornographic squelches are coming straight from your pussy, making you cringe, but both of your boyfriends seem to be going feral from it.
Satoru’s pale blue eyes roll as Toji once again steals the show away from him. His palm cups your chin, and he drags your focus right back to his swollen cock. His tip is a pretty shade of pink, and it’s sweltering — leaking beads of precum over and over while he leisurely drags his hand up and down his length .
“Don’t listen to him. Look at Toru.” He coos with a grin, loving how fucked out your face gets when Toji absolutely ruins you. “He’s just a placeholder, riiight~? You’re still going to let me breed you after.”
You’re so pliant for them, nodding your head like a dumb slut. Nothing else in the world is better than when they both take turns breeding you again and again.
“This placeholders ‘bout to make her cum again.” Toji taunts, gripping your hips with bruising strength as he rolls his hips just the way you like. His tip presses kisses of precum so deep inside you. You can barely breathe much less think.
“You better not, princess. Suppose to wait for Toru, remember?” Satoru’s voice grows stern, and his eyes bore into yours in an almost eerie fashion.
“C’mon, doll. Cum for daddy. I can feel you tightening around me. I know ya want to.”
It’s all so much. Watching Satoru fuck into his wrist while Toji’s tip is practically massaging your g-spot. You give Satoru a sorrowful glance before letting out a pleasured cry. Your hands fist at the sheets, and your toes literally curl as juices gush out around the base of Toji’s cock.
“Yeeaah, not bad for a placeholder, right?” Toji’s lips quirk up into a smirk before he presses a kiss to your lips, drinking down your moans just to rub it in Satoru’s face even more.
All it takes is one look from Satoru, and Toji slides out of you with a grin. “I got ‘er warmed up for ya.” Toji laughs as he and Satoru switch positions. You lazily part your thighs for Satoru, still trying to catch your breath from the soul shattering orgasm Toji just gave you.
“Nuh uh. You wanted to be a slut on his cock. ‘m gonna treat you like one.” His hands grab your waist, and he rolls you onto your stomach forcefully.
From the outside, everyone would probably guess that brooding Toji’s the mean one in these scenarios, but they’d be dead wrong.
Satoru, after a life of being spoilt, gets so rude and aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants. Toji purposefully pushes him to that point — partly so he can watch you get railed deeply into the mattress until tears fall from your eyes.
The heel of Satoru’s palm connects with your back, and he forces your face and shoulders down into the sheets while his other hands guides his cock to your weeping entrance.
You grip at the sheets immediately, letting out a hiss as he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one fluid thrust.
“Fuck.” Satoru groans as if he’s genuinely mad at how wet you are — frustrated that Toji could get you this messy.
Toji brushes your hair away from your face, and his large palm rubs at your cheek gently — a tender reminder to keep your eyes on him while he jerks his cock right in front of your face.
“Just couldn’t wait, could you? I was- ngh.. gonna be nice to you tonight… since hah~ I’m trying to put a baby in you.” Satoru’s hips are forcefully slamming into your backside. He’s not moving fast, but his pace is punishing. “Toji’s already got a kid. It’s my turn.”
Your juices are seeping around his cock, forming a thin white line right around the base that makes Satoru’s cock twitch in delight. His hand slaps at the fat of your ass smack! before he’s pulling on your hips, making you meet him halfway just so he can make his thrusts count.
“Takin’ him so well. Keep it up for, daddy, yeah?” Toji murmurs before pressing a loving kiss to your temple.
Your mouth opens for Toji, and he gives you an affectionate chuckle before placing his thumb against your tongue to soothe that oral fixation you have. He knows that if he fucks your face, Satoru will have even more of a hissy fit and probably fuck you out of commission for a few days.
“Focus on him, doll. Looks like he’s making ya feel real good.” You nod, sucking on Toji’s thumb in between breathless whines and moans.
Satoru’s balls are so heavy, brutally slapping against your puffy clit with each thrust. Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! He’s been saving up for you, adamant that he needs to breed you. He’s the upcoming Gojo clan head after all; it’s natural that those old hags want a baby with his blessed genes.
All it takes is feeling your spongy walls clench around him like a vice, and Satoru’s jerking you up by your arms, forcing your back in to an arch to where the imprint of his dick bulges through your belly.
Both of you are so noisy when you cum, Toji thinks. He watches in slight awe as Satoru pumps you full with his sticky seed. He can tell by the look on Satoru’s face that you’re milking him for all he’s worth too, and it’s so fucking hot.
Toji pushes you back down into the bed. Both men aren’t good with words. They’re good at doing. He arches his hips out before rope after rope of white hot cum spurt from his tip all over your face, marking his territory.
After a moment of cleaning up and giving you small tokens of affection through praises and kisses, the men are right back at each other’s throats.
“Ya know, if you’re not able to keep up, I can breed her cunt, and let ya pass off my kid as yours.” Toji taunts with a smirk.
“Yeah, as if your first kid didn’t look like he came from your ass. Fat chance. Sweets and I are gonna make a pretty blue-eyed baby with white hair.” Satoru hums as he affectionately ruffles your hair. “Isn’t that right, pretty~?”
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#fanfic#drabble#jjk suggestive#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jjk smut#jujutsu gojo#gojo x reader#gojo smut#satoru x y/n#satoru x you#satoru x reader#satoru smut#toji x you#toji smut#jjk toji#jujutsu toji#toji x y/n#toji x reader#jjk x reader
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A Stark’s Fury
Cregan Stark x targ!wife! reader
[warning: blood, you getting cut in the arm
[synopsis: You are the wife of Cregan and younger sister of rhaenyra. You get cut in the arm and your son, Eddard, also gets hurt. Which makes cregan furious.
[note | here’s a lil something while i write the final chapter for winters embrace, just a short drabble :) also instead of rhae getting cut it’s you.
[requested: by anon
The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting an amber glow across Driftmark. Laena Velaryon’s funeral was a somber affair, filled with the mournful silence of the assembled nobles and the soft lapping of waves against the shore. Among the gathered were you, the younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, your husband Cregan Stark, and your son Eddard, who clung to your skirts, his wide eyes taking in the solemnity of the occasion.
Your silver hair flowed down your back, and your violet eyes glistened with unshed tears as you stood beside Cregan. His strong arm encircled your waist, offering silent support. Despite the warmth of the setting sun, a chill hung in the air, a reflection of the grief that weighed heavily on your hearts.
As the ceremony proceeded, you noticed the tension simmering among the children. Your son, Eddard, stood with Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, trying to comfort them in their shared sorrow. Your heart ached for them, especially for Rhaena, who had just lost her mother.
When the time came for the family to pay their final respects, you and Cregan approached the bier. You whispered a prayer for Laena’s soul, your voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. Cregan squeezed your hand gently, his presence a solid rock amidst the turbulent sea of emotions.
After the funeral, you found yourself in the grand hall, where the tension between the Blacks and the Greens was palpable. You kept a watchful eye on Eddard, who was playing with the other children. However, the peace was shattered when a scuffle broke out between Aemond and Jace. The sight of Aemond taunting Jace, and the resulting fight, sent a shockwave through the hall.
Eddard tried to intervene, but in the chaos, he was struck and fell to the ground, crying out in pain. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding with fear and anger. Cregan was by your side in an instant, his protective instincts flaring as he assessed the situation.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
“Aemond taunted Jace, and then the fight started,” you explained, your voice trembling with emotion as you cradled Eddard.
Cregan’s eyes darkened with anger. “This has gone too far.”
The confrontation escalated when Alicent Hightower, her face twisted with rage, advanced on Rhaenyra, who was defending her sons. You stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation, but Alicent’s fury was uncontrollable. She drew a knife, lunging at Rhaenyra, but you intercepted the blow.
The blade sliced across your arm, and you cried out in pain, clutching the wound. Cregan’s roar of fury echoed through the hall as he moved to shield you. He grabbed the knife from Alicent’s hand, his face a mask of rage.
“Enough!” he bellowed. “This madness ends now!”
King Viserys, looking frail and distressed, tried to intervene. “Peace! There must be peace!”
Cregan turned on the king, his eyes blazing. “Peace? Look at what your family has done! My wife is injured, my son is hurt, and for what? Petty squabbles and insults?”
Rhaenyra, tears streaming down her face, reached for you. “Sister, I’m so sorry.”
You managed a weak smile, despite the pain. “It’s not your fault, Rhaenyra. But something must change.”
As the maesters attended to your wound, Cregan kept a protective arm around you. He glared at the Greens, making it clear that any further aggression would not be tolerated. The hall was filled with a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken threats and unresolved grievances.
In the aftermath, Cregan insisted on returning to Winterfell with you and Eddard. “We’ll be safer there,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I won’t risk your lives any longer.”
You nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thank you, Cregan.”
He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your cool skin. “I love you. I will always protect you.”
As you prepared to leave Driftmark, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the family you were leaving behind. You took a moment to say your farewells to Rhaenyra and her children.
“Please, take care of yourselves,” you whispered to Rhaenyra, holding her hands tightly. “We’ll be in touch, I promise.”
Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Be safe, sister.”
With a final embrace, you and Cregan gathered Eddard and boarded your ship, setting sail for Winterfell. The journey was long, but Cregan’s presence and Eddard’s innocent chatter kept your spirits high.
Winterfell welcomed you with open arms. The cold, crisp air and the familiar sights brought a sense of comfort. As you settled back into your home, the events at Driftmark seemed like a distant nightmare.
Cregan, ever the doting husband, ensured you had everything you needed to recover from your injury. He personally oversaw the maesters’ treatments, and his protective nature brought you solace.
A few hours later, as you sat by the fire, Cregan wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders and handed you a cup of hot tea. “How are you feeling?” he asked, concern etched on his face.
“Better,” you replied, taking a sip. “Thanks to you.”
He smiled, sitting beside you. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
You leaned against him, finding comfort in his strength. “I know. And I’m grateful.”
Life in Winterfell slowly returned to normal. Eddard resumed his lessons and playtime with the other children, while you and Cregan focused on the responsibilities of ruling the North. Despite the distance from Driftmark, the shadow of that day lingered.
Later that night, as you lay in bed, you turned to Cregan. “Do you think things will ever be right again between the Blacks and the Greens?”
Cregan sighed, his brow furrowing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The wounds run deep. But we must try, for the sake of our family.”
You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “I want Eddard to grow up in a world where he doesn’t have to choose sides.”
Cregan’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”
Many moons have passed, and your wound healed, leaving only a faint scar as a reminder of the confrontation. The bond between you and Cregan grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity. Winterfell thrived under your joint leadership, a beacon of stability and strength. In the morning, as the first snow of the season blanketed the ground, you stood on the battlements with Cregan, watching Eddard play with the other children.
“He’s so happy here,” you remarked, smiling at the sight of your son’s laughter.
Cregan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Of course he is, this is our home. He’s meant to be here.”
You nodded silently, feeling a deep sense of peace. Your eyes went to the scar on your arm, being reminded of what happened. You looked at your husband, with sadness in your eyes.
“I hope my family will stop this infighting, i wish for all of this today end” Your thoughts began to wonder of all the possible outcomes this conflict can end with. This could very well mean that death will linger in your family. Something no one will ever be prepared for, war costs everything.
The quietness of Winterfell enveloped you as you drifted into a fitful sleep beside Cregan. The room was cold, and the memory of the somber events—the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, the sharp sting of your wound—still weighed heavily on you.
In your dream, the landscape was bleak and foreboding. A storm raged over a desolate battlefield, its fury tearing at the very fabric of the sky. You wandered through the chaos, a spectral figure in the storm’s heart. Amidst the destruction, you saw a vision of a great dragon, its scales a dim and faded silver, bound by chains of ice that slowly constricted around its body. The dragon’s eyes were filled with a profound sorrow, as if it sensed the end drawing near.
A shadowy figure emerged from the storm—a man cloaked in shadows, his face obscured but his presence undeniably menacing. His voice cut through the tempest, speaking directly to your mind, “The chains of fate are not easily broken. A great loss is coming to your house.”
As you reached out to free the dragon, a dark prophecy formed in your mind, clear as day. “Cregan will face a treacherous choice,” you heard yourself say in the dream. “A betrayal will come from within. Death will follow.”
You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering like a cold shiver down your spine. Your breathing was rapid and uneven, and a profound fear gripped you. You turned to Cregan, who was lying beside you, his face furrowed in concern.
The sudden movement and your distressed state had startled him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep as he reached out to steady you. His hand found yours, his grip warm and reassuring against your icy fingers.
“My dream,” you managed to stammer, your voice trembling. “I saw... I saw something terrible. A dragon in chains, and a warning about you—”
Cregan’s eyes narrowed with concern, but he quickly sat up, his arm wrapping protectively around you. “What did you see? Tell me everything,” he urged, his voice steady despite the worry etched on his face.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I don’t know all the details, but it felt so real. I fear that something dark is coming, and it will bring pain to us and our house.”
Cregan nodded, his expression resolute despite the alarm in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly, pulling you closer to his body. “For now, try to rest. You need it” He cradled your body as you leaned towards him, the warmth of his body bringing you comfort.
As you lay back down, you could feel the storm of fear inside you slowly ebbing, but the weight of the dream’s prophecy remained heavy in your heart.
taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession @giovanna-hyt @r-3dlips
banners: @cafekitsune
#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#house targaryen#hotd cregan#cregan fanfiction#cregan x you#cregan x y/n#cregan stark#cregan x reader#tom taylor x reader#tom taylor#house stark
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𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄- HOW YOU MET THEM
WARNING: mentions of violence (Toji and Sukuna), flulff SYNOPSIS: Introductory post of my HYBRID JJK VERSE NOTE: Upcoming- Mating season (smut)
ᯓ★ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎- BAT HYBRID
THUD
You jolt up from bed, heart racing, as the sound pierces the silence of the night. Throwing off the covers, you leap out of bed, curiosity mingled with concern driving you to investigate. Creeping to the window, you cautiously peek outside, squinting into the darkness.
There, sprawled on the ground below, lies a figure, human in form but distinctly different. Your breath catches in your throat as you discern the shape of black wings and pointed ears against the dim moonlight. With a rush of adrenaline, you dash downstairs, your mind racing with questions and apprehension.
Approaching the fallen being, you notice the unmistakable mark of fear etched on his face, accentuated by the ominous black mark on his nose. "Hey?" you call out tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper.
Startled, the creature turns to face you, his eyes wide with a mixture of fright and pain. His deep, resonant voice trembles as he speaks, "Please… help me. My wings… I think they're broken."
Your initial shock gives way to empathy as you realize the gravity of his plight. "Are you… a vampire?" you inquire, your voice wavering with uncertainty.
He shakes his head slowly, strands of black hair falling across his pale, gaunt face. "No," he replies, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I am half-human, half-bat."
With a surge of determination, you extend a helping hand, offering to assist him to his feet. As he rises, you catch a clearer glimpse of his features - his ebony hair tied back in two distinctive edges, his pallid complexion, and the weary, haunted look in his baggy eyes.
Without hesitation, you guide him back inside your home, the weight of his brokenness heavy on your shoulders. As you lead him inside, you vow to help this mysterious being, to mend his shattered wings and perhaps, in doing so, to heal the wounds of his troubled soul.
You carefully bandage his broken wings, but upon closer inspection, you realize the damage is more severe than initially thought. With a heavy heart, you express your concern, "They don't look too good… I suppose you can't fly for a while."
He meets your gaze with pleading eyes, a silent plea for compassion. "Can I stay with you until then?" he asks, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
You pause, contemplating the implications of inviting this enigmatic being into your life. After a moment of reflection, you reply, "Fine… you can stay. It will take time for you to adjust with me."
A mixture of relief and gratitude wash over him as he pulls you into a heartfelt embrace, craving the warmth of connection. You can't help but smile at his earnestness, understanding the yearning for companionship hidden beneath his otherworldly exterior.
ᯓ★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 & 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔- CAT HYBRIDS
You wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of chattering coming from your kitchen. Groggy and confused, you sit up in bed.
Something is definitely wrong.
You wobble on unsteady legs as you make your way to the kitchen to find out what’s causing the noise.
The kitchen light is off, but you can hear some rustling sounds. You flip on the light switch, and the noise stops. As your eyes adjust to the brightness, you see them—two large cat-human hybrids, one white and one black, wrestling on the floor.
Their eyes immediately meet yours. Milk is spilled all over the floor, adding to the chaos.
Their gazes lock onto yours as spilled milk creates chaos on the floor.
You're stunned, unable to move. The black one gestures at the white one and accuses, "It's all his fault," his voice smooth as velvet. He leans towards the white one, nudging him gently with his muzzle, provoking a growl from the white hybrid. In the dimly lit room, his eyes shine brightly, though slightly smaller than the white one, he carries a similar aura of power. His tail wags eagerly, tapping the floor with excitement.
The white one pushes his muzzle away with a paw, his white-pinkish ears constantly twitching; the action is gentle, the two clearly having a good relationship despite the light teasing, "No, this is Suguru's fault."
Confused and overwhelmed, you blurt out, "Get out of my house!"
They both give you pleading looks. The black one speaks again, "W-We just wanted some milk... We were hungry, and... your windows were unlocked... Please, can we stay here for a few days? We have nowhere else to go."
Exasperated, you sigh. "Fine, but only one of you can stay. I can't take care of both."
They cling to each other, pleading desperately. "Please, we can't be apart."
Rubbing your forehead, you relent. "Okay, but no causing trouble. Both of you can stay."
Instantly, they pounce on you, showering you with joyful licks as they express their gratitude.
ᯓ★ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀- TIGER HYBRID
"Come out of that cave for god's sake," you call out, waiting for the creature to emerge so you can snap a good picture. You've always enjoyed photographing animals, so when you heard about the new tiger-human hybrid at the zoo, you were eager to capture it on film. Choosing the evening when the area is deserted, you head to the enclosure, hoping for uninterrupted photography.
"Oh... Oh, I see it," you mutter, attempting to zoom in with your camera. A glimpse of pink hair catches your eye, but it's not clear. Then disaster strikes. Your camera slips from your grasp, and in your attempt to catch it, you lose your balance and tumble into the cage.
As you hit the ground, the tigers in the cage swarm around you. Panic sets in as you realize there's no one nearby to help. You curse your own recklessness as the tigers prepare to attack. But then, the pink-haired hybrid steps forward, his voice deep and commanding.
"Brave of you to jump into the tiger's cage," he remarks. The other tigers seem to cower in his presence. He kneels down to your level, his tongue darting out, saliva glistening.
"Finally, a good meal," he says, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Desperately, you plead for mercy. "P-please, let me go. I'll do anything."
He chuckles darkly which sounds more like a roar. "Anything, you say? Hmm... Then get me out of this cage," he demands. Fear grips you as you realize the gravity of the situation.
"H-how... I don't..." you stammer, but he interrupts, seizing your throat with a deadly grip.
"Then be my meal," he growls.
Frantically, you agree to help. "F-fine... I'll help," you manage to choke out, hoping it's enough to spare your life.
With the hybrid's grip loosening slightly, you scramble to gather your wits. Your mind races as you try to devise a plan to fulfill his demand.
How can I possibly get him out of this cage? you think, panic rising like bile in your throat.
Suddenly, a thought strikes you. The gate! If I can somehow open the gate... With newfound determination, you manage to croak out, "I need... the keys... to open the gate."
The hybrid regards you with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. "Keys, huh? You expect me to believe that?" he snarls.
You nod frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes, yes! The keys! They're... they're with the zookeeper. I am thinking of a way. Just let go off me!"
The hybrid eyes you warily, then releases his grip on your throat. "Fine," he grumbles. "But make one wrong move, and I'll finish what I started."
As you struggle to come up with a plan to escape the dangerous situation you've found yourself in, you spot movement outside the enclosure. With a surge of hope, you see a zoo staff member approaching. Frantically, you wave and call out for help.
The staff member's eyes widen in shock as they spot you inside the cage. "What on earth are you doing in there?" they exclaim, hurrying over to the gate.
You quickly concoct a story, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. "Someone locked me in here! I'm the vet, and I was checking on the hybrid when the gate closed behind me. Please, hurry and bring the keys!"
The staff member looks hesitant, clearly taken aback by the situation, but they nod and rush off to retrieve the keys.
Meanwhile, the hybrid eyes you with suspicion, his predatory instincts on high alert.
"Just make him faint when he brings the key. Don't hurt him, okay?" you plead, hoping to appeal to his sense of self-preservation.
"Why should I listen to you?" he roars, his patience wearing thin.
"Because I'm helping you escape," you reason, desperation creeping into your voice.
Grumbling, the hybrid reluctantly agrees, his gaze never leaving the approaching staff member.
When the staff member returns with the keys, the hybrid pounces without hesitation, pinning the unsuspecting individual to the ground. A deafening roar echoes through the enclosure, and the staff member faints from sheer terror.
Quickly, you snatch the keys from the fallen staff member's hand and unlock the gate. The hybrid bounds out of the cage, his powerful form moving with grace and speed.
As you both make your escape, the other tigers seem almost relieved to see you go, as if they're eager for the chaos to end.
Once you're safely outside the enclosure, you lock the gate behind you and return the keys to the unconscious staff member's hand. Then, under the cover of darkness, you and the hybrid make your way out of the zoo.
But just when you think you're in the clear, the hybrid pounces on you once again, a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Time for my dinner, don't you think?" he growls.
"W-wait! You told me you wouldn't hurt me! I helped you escape!" you cry out, tears welling in your eyes.
He licks your cheek with a smirk. "Well, when Sukuna is hungry, he eats anything that's in front of him."
You try to wriggle free from his grasp, but his paw-like hand holds you firmly in place. "Please... I have food at home. Don't eat me! I'm not tasty!" you plead desperately.
"Do you have meat at your home?" he asks, his tone surprisingly calm.
You nod frantically, hoping beyond hope that he'll spare you.
"Fine. I'll follow you to your home. But if you're lying, I'll eat you right there," he warns, his gaze unwavering.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you lead him to your home, each step heavier than the last. When you arrive, you quickly retrieve some meat from your fridge and offer it to him.
He seems content for the moment, but then he declares, "Very well. This is my new home."
You try to protest, but he cuts you off with a dismissive snort. "As long as you don't tell anybody I'm here, everything will be fine. You know what will happen if you do."
ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎- BLACK PANTHER HYBRID
Sweat drips down your forehead as you run through the dense woods, your heart pounding in your chest. You hear the loud growls and snarls of the tiger getting closer and closer. The adrenaline rushes through your veins as you trip over a fallen log. You hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of you. You look up to see the tiger bearing down on you, its yellow eyes full of hunger.
As your fear intensifies, you can't help but think how you ended up in this situation. Why did you decide to take the shortcut through the woods instead of sticking to the paved streets? Now you're about to become a meal for a wild beast. Your mind races through all the things you could've done differently, the choices that led you here. If only you had taken a different route, your life might be different now.
Your eyes squeeze shut, preparing yourself to face your fate but soon enough an unexpected event unfolds. A massive, black form leaps onto the tiger, sending it tumbling away. The two animals engage in a furious battle, the sound of snapping teeth and growls deafening.
Your body aches and your feet throb, the injury bleeding profusely. The adrenaline is quickly waning, and you can feel your consciousness beginning to slip away. You try to run, but your body won't cooperate. The throbbing in your head intensifies, and the world starts to fade to black.
As your eyelids fall shut, you're left with the knowledge that your life hangs in the balance, an unwitting pawn in this primal struggle. The two animals continue their violent dance, oblivious to the fact that the prize they both seek is barely clinging to life mere feet away. Your breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps as blackness engulfs you, consuming your senses, and you slip into the abyss of unconsciousness.
You stir and slowly awaken in a pitch-black space. Your injured foot tingling, and you realize that a warm, rough tongue is lapping at your wound. With your heart pounding and your eyes adapting to the low light, you leap up in surprise to see a big, hybrid figure standing in front of you. Part panther, part man, his muscular form is a testament to its feline heritage. His deep green eyes pierce into you, holding an air of mystery. A scar etches a jagged line along the right side of his mouth, giving his face a dangerous edge.
Despite his menacing demeanour, there is tenderness in the way he looks at you. With a deep, velvety voice, he replies, "I don't eat humans, so don't be afraid."
Your voice trembles as you ask, "W-why did you save me?"
He responds with a casual air, "Ah, that tiger was a menace, always trying to feed on humans. Thought I'd teach him a good lesson." A flick of his panther-like tongue gently traces your cheek, as if silently asking for your trust.
Overwhelmed by the turn of events, you manage to stammer, "Can I go home now?" His face softens, and it's clear that he's reluctant to let you go. He's developed a connection with you, but yea he has to let you go so he eventually nods with a heavy heart.
"Fine, you don't look too good to go by your own. Your foot is injured, and other animals can hurt you." He looks at you with concern, his green eyes fixed on your bleedings. "I will help you return home."
With an unspoken bond formed between the two of you, he gently lifts you onto his back, using his strong, muscular arms to support you. The warmth of his body offers comfort, and you can't help but feel safe and protected, even as you're carried through the still-dangerous woods. He moves with the agility of a panther, his steps sure and confident.
His panther-like ears twitch with each new sound, alert to any potential dangers. He dashes through the woods at a breakneck speed, your directions guiding him towards the safety of your home. Your heart races in your chest as you cling tightly to his neck, grateful for his strength and protection.
The journey seems to go by in a blur, the whirlwind of events leaving you shaken. But, with every passing second, the comforting thought of returning to familiar surroundings grows stronger. The sight of your home, drawing nearer, brings a sense of relief, and you can't help but let out a breath you'
His panther-like ears twitch with each new sound, alert to any potential dangers. He dashes through the woods at a breakneck speed, your directions guiding him towards the safety of your home. Your heart races in your chest as you cling tightly to his neck, grateful for his strength and protection.
The journey seems to go by in a blur, the whirlwind of events leaving you shaken. But, with every passing second, the comforting thought of returning to familiar surroundings grows stronger. The sight of your home, drawing nearer, brings a sense of relief, and you can't help but let out a breath you' have been holding. You slide off his back onto the pavement, the familiar crunch of gravel underfoot a stark contrast to the softness of the woods. You turn to face your savior, words of gratitude tumbling from your lips.
The first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow over the landscape. Your savior begins to turn away, the time for him to leave drawing near. Panic wells up inside you, and without thinking, you reach out and cling to him. The thought of him departing too much to bear. Your voice quivers as you plead, "Please, don't leave. Can you stay with me for a few days?"
He regards you with a mixture of surprise and concern, his green eyes holding a wealth of emotions. "I can't," he responds but your pleading eyes seem to have an effect on him, and after a moment of hesitation, he relents slightly, "All right, just for a day. After that, I'll have to return to my place."
His agreement brings a wave of relief, and you cling to him for a moment longer before stepping back, offering him a grateful smile. "Thank you," you breathe, leading the way inside your home..
Little did he know, the decision he made to spend a day at your house would change everything. As the hours pass and the day turns into night, the sense of comfort and safety he provides begins to weave its way into your heart. You find yourself growing increasingly reluctant to let him go, his presence now a much-needed source of calm amidst the chaos of your life.
ᯓ★ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐔 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐆- BEAR HYBRID
As you walk down the street, the cold winds bite at your skin, creating an eerie atmosphere. Suddenly, you notice several men trailing behind you. Panic sets in, and you break into a sprint, ducking into an empty alleyway. But as you reach the end of the alley, you realize there's no way out. They've surrounded you.
Alone and terrified, you feel like your luck has run out. But then, a noise startles everyone. Heavy footsteps echo in the alley, and all heads turn. A massive creature lumbers toward you, sending the men into a frenzy. "A bear!" they cry, scrambling to escape over the alley walls. Left behind, you remember a tale about playing dead to evade a bear's wrath. With trembling body, you collapse to the ground, feigning unconsciousness.
As the creature draws closer, it speaks in a human voice, catching you off guard. "Either you're playing dumb or you think I am," it remarks, its features coming into focus. It's a peculiar sight – a man with an average build, sporting short black hair styled longer on top, dark eyes, and a thin mustache. But atop his head are unmistakable brown bear-like ears, and his stature is massive, resembling that of a human-bear hybrid.
Confusion swirls in your mind. Could such a creature exist? Before you can ponder further, he chuckles and remarks, "You owe me a jar of honey."
Bewildered, you sit up, daring to ask, "What are you?"
His response is gentle, "A bear hybrid, I suppose."
You speak again, "I.. don't have any honey with me."
"Too bad," he replies with a smirk, "You seem like honey to me." Fear still grips you, but he reassures, "Don't worry, I won't eat you... yet." His mischievous grin sends shivers down your spine. Uncertain of what to make of this bizarre encounter, you cautiously accept his offer to escort you home.
Despite your initial trepidation, you find yourself trusting him, if only because he saved you from a perilous situation. And so, with this creature by your side, you embark on the journey home, your mind buzzing with questions and disbelief.
As you reach your home, his presence is somehow comforting. "My honey... dear?..." he murmurs softly, and you fidget with your fingers, trying to find an answer. "I don't have it. I will have to buy and then..."
Before you can complete your sentence, he leans in, cupping your cheeks, his lips find yours. Your eyes widen in shock at his sudden, electrifying kiss. It sends a shiver down your spine, grounded by his arrogant proclamation.
"Mhm, you are sweeter than honey," he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Bet I'm gonna stay with you until my one jar is complete."
You stutter, taken aback by the unanticipated intimacy. "U-until what's complete?" You question, still trying to fully process the bizarre encounter.
The bear-man, now seemingly confident in his claim, swaggers into your home as if he owns the place. You follow hesitantly, lingering at the door.
"Until I get one jar of honey," he clarifies, sitting down on the couch, "But I bet it won't take long. Just the sight of you alone is sweet enough." His voice drips with innuendo, and you blush furiously, unsure how to respond.
"Y-you can't just barge into someone's home," you stammer.
"My apologies, but the circumstances call for it," he responds nonchalantly.
You are stunned by his boldness, yet you cannot overlook the fact that he saved you from those men. Maybe it's the thrill of this wild encounter, but you can't deny that he's charming. "I-I.. I don't know," you reply, unsure of whether you're ready to have your world turned upside down by this enigmatic creature.
ᯓ★ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈, 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈, 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀 & 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄- BUNNY HYBRIDS
"This white one, this black one, this brown one, and this grey one... YEYYYY!" you exclaimed in pure delight as you gazed upon the adorable human-bunny hybrids in front of you. Their fluffy ears twitched, their small tails twitched, and their eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"I WANT ALL OF THEM!" you declared, unable to contain your excitement. But your parents, standing nearby, didn't seem as enthusiastic about the idea of bringing home four new additions to the family.
"Y/N, choose only two," they urged, trying to reason with you.
But you weren't having it. You wanted all of those charming creatures, each with their unique color and personality. "No, I WANT ALL OF THEM!" you insisted, jumping up and down and throwing a small tantrum.
"All four will be trouble," one of your parents sighed, exchanging a knowing look with the other. "I don't think your kid is going to listen," the latter chuckled.
ᯓ★ 𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈, 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 & 𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐄 - DOG HYBRIDS
Before you were born, three special beings were already part of your family: Hiromi, Nanami, and Kusakabe. They're dogs mixed with humans, each with their own unique qualities. Hiromi is the oldest and wisest, Nanami is gentle but strong, and Kusakabe is full of energy and happiness.
In one word- they're family. They were already part of the family long before you arrived. When you were born, they were already there, part of the household. When they first saw you, they felt a strong connection with you, even though you're a bit different from them.
ᯓ★ 𝐌𝐀𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎- SNAKE HYBRID (NAG)
"Big News! The nag broke free from the lab! If you spot it, call this number: 69696969696969."
You switch off the TV, muttering, "Why can't they keep a better eye on animals? They don't deserve this. But I wanna see what it looks like" You head to the kitchen for some food. Suddenly, you hear a hissing noise. "I need to clear my mind. I'm even hearing snake sounds," you smile to yourself, and then you freeze. "Wait... hissing sound?" You turn around to see a huge snake with a human-like upper body and a snake-like lower half—typically mythological character like.
You find yourself in the midst of a gripping situation. The room feels charged with tension as you stand face to face with the escaped nag. Its presence is both captivating and terrifying.
The nag towers over you, its imposing figure a stark contrast against the mundane surroundings of your home. Its upper body bears a resemblance to that of a human, but its lower half is unmistakably serpentine, coiled and ready to strike.
Its face, marked with intricate patchwork patterns, holds an otherworldly allure. Its eyes, one a deep, mysterious blue and the other a haunting shade of gray, seem to pierce through your very soul.
Long strands of grayish-blue hair cascade down its back, swaying with each subtle movement. They are neatly sectioned into three thick strands, each tied off at the end, adding to the creature's enigmatic appearance.
As it grins, you can't help but notice its fangs—two of them, each as large as a snake's, gleaming ominously in the dim light of the room.
But perhaps the most chilling sight is its tail, which coils around your body with a vice-like grip, constricting your every movement and leaving you gasping for air.
In this moment, fear and disbelief course through you as you realize the gravity of the situation. You are face to face with a creature straight out of myth and legend, and it has you firmly in its grasp.
You try to scream, but the nag's grip around your waist is too tight, choking off the sound. You can feel your breathing becoming labored, your chest constricted, the nag's tail seemingly tightening with each panicked attempt to draw in air.
Your heart races as you wait for the jagged teeth to sink into your flesh, but instead of biting, the nag's forked tongue darts out licking your teary cheek. The contrast between anticipating excruciating pain and gentle caress makes your blood run cold.
Your whimpers fade as you gaze into the creature's heterochromia eyes. "Hooman~" Its voice is like the rustling of autumn leaves, soft yet unsettling. "Not gonna hurt you if you don't hurt me."
A look of confusion crosses your face as he releases you, still gripped by confusion as to why a creature capable of such destruction is harming you not. "You escaped from the lab, right?" you ask tentatively.
The nag lets out a small pout, "They treated me very bad..." Tears begin to stream down its patchwork face, and you're left wondering if the display is genuine or nothing more than an act. "I want to be taken care of... Do I not deserve it?"
You find yourself grappling with your own emotions, the nag's pleading expression tugging at your heartstrings. You're still scared of it but somehow, you can't seem to resist its charms. Biting your lip in indecision, you finally reply, "I will tell them to take care of you in a good way. You should return there."
He shakes his head vehemently as his tail coils even tighter around you this time, almost comforting. "No... Not gonna go there AGAIN!" he protests, his voice laced with desperation. "Please... You look like a good hooman... Please take care of mee~" It presses its face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. The nag's cold touch adds to the unsettling atmosphere.
"Are you sure... you can stay with me?" you ask, mindful of the consequences but feeling a strange kinship forming. The nag's face lights up, and you can see how desperately it wants this. "Yes... yes, please."
Given the situation, you sigh and agree to the nag's request. You realize that it's not going to leave you alone anyway. Plus, it's not like having a nag as a house pet is an everyday occurrence.
ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐎𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎- GORILLA HYBRID
As the sun shone down on the lush greenery of the picnic area, innocent you sat with your family, enjoying a delightful family picnic. Amidst the laughter and chatter, you decided to indulge in one of your favorite snacks - bananas. Grabbing one from the fruit basket, you eagerly peeled it open and devoured it in no time, savoring its sweet flavor.
Bananas Bananas Bananas, I LOVE BANANAS
But one banana was not enough to satisfy your craving, and you reached for another. As you peeled it open, a sudden poke on your shoulder startled you. Whipping around, you found nobody there. Shrugging off the odd sensation, you turned back to your banana, only to find it mysteriously missing, leaving only the peel in your hand.
Confused and slightly unnerved, you grabbed another banana from the basket, determined to enjoy it without any interruptions. Yet, once again, a poke on your shoulder disrupted your moment, and when you looked back, the banana was gone, just like before.
Frustration mounting, you stood up and scanned the surroundings, searching for the prankster responsible for the disappearing bananas. Your eyes fell upon a figure giggling mischievously nearby.
"You did it!" you accused, rushing towards the person, but it darted away with surprising agility, effortlessly climbing up a nearby tree.
In your attempt to follow, you ended up stumbling and falling, landing with a painful thud. As you winced in pain, the laughter ceased, replaced by a sense of guilt. The figure descended from the tree and approached you cautiously.
"Sorry," he muttered, extending a hand to help you up. Looking up, you found yourself face-to-face with an unusual sight - a hybrid creature with a big body and chest like a gorilla but the face and features of a human. Despite his intimidating physique, he seemed of your age.
"You could have asked me," you scolded, rubbing your sore limbs.
He hung his head in apology once more, explaining that he couldn't resist the opportunity to play a harmless prank.
As you talked, you realized that despite his unusual appearance, you felt a strange connection with him. He was just like you, craving friendship and acceptance.
When it was time to leave, you hesitated, not wanting to part ways with your newfound friend. Gathering your courage, you introduced him to your parents, who were taken aback by the sight of the hybrid creature.
"That's not a human," they exclaimed, exchanging worried glances.
But as you pleaded with them to let your new friend come home with you, they relented, touched by your earnestness and compassion.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#choso x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#gojo x reader x geto#sukuna x reader#toji x reader#shiu x reader#yuji x reader#yuta x reader#toge x reader#megumi x reader#nanami x reader#kusakabe x reader#hiromi x reader#mahito x reader#todo x reader#hybrid#hybrid jjk
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one thing that i find interesting is that even though we never get to interact with Marika directly, only knowing her via obscure cutscenes and other characters' dialogue... she actually displays a wide range of emotions as much as any other NPCs.
her statues depict her as having a warm, gentle smile:
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f4048efddf11a32e508e418347ace9c9/50ba38e24a1a824f-08/s540x810/2b5a7895017bad8fcf7c615bd7b75284facdd072.jpg)
the Mimic veil description points to her playful, mischievous side:
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4f04e9bfe188b397ef40b2f73ea37f0c/50ba38e24a1a824f-30/s540x810/00a07d14684c954473f0938a1a45bc9bf4366afe.jpg)
(it's a popular theory in the JP/Asian side of the fandom that it's sth from her childhood - hence the "Marika's Mischief", not "Queen Marika's", and she used it to escape the grisly fate befalling her family.
additionally, its equivalence in Dark Souls is also something described as "the mischief of a young girl who sought relief from the solitude of the woods at dusk", aka Princess Dusk who hails from "Oolacile, land of ancient golden sorceries", but i digress)
her portrait, the story trailer's "Queen Marika was driven to the brink" and Gideon's dialogue after the player defeated Malenia pointed out her sorrow:
(back when i first played the base game, this is the portrait that drove my eyes most in Roundtable Hold. i kept gazing at her - the Queen with permanently lowered eyes, and thought "there is a girl in there")
The bat lady's song, Messmer's entire Crusade, all those conflicts to establish the Erdtree, shows her anger, and the cruelty she's capable of:
Then there's Shaman's village, the clinic underneath Shadow Keep, the golden braid, the Minor Erdtree, the sealing of Death - that points to grief, trauma, survivor guilt, kindness, and the ruinous drive for revenge that results in the above path down hell:
(there's also a theory for the Crusade's headless statue being a reminder for the Hornsent of what they put Marika's mother through, but it's not concrete canon so here is the link if you want to check it out)
The fact that all of Erdtree's incantations are heal and protection spells (with only one exception of Wrath of Gold spell which was found after the Elden Ring was shattered), the Capitol's Perfumers originally being blessed healers, and that all Erdtree blessings come in the shape of tears give the picture of Marika's gentle wish at the beginning: to heal everything and everyone.
(and to me personally, there's a kind of vulnerability and honesty in showing your tears to the world and let it be your power to heal at the same time.)
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the eye she blessed Messmer with (i do think the Eng translation at some part lost the sentiment of the JP text - that the eye is always referred to as a blessing)
the blessing flask that - unlike its Dark Souls equivalent (which ranges from 6-13 flasks), only have 4 available to us player, heal all ailments and status effect, and specified as sth made for Messmer.
the Marika's soreseal in the Haligtree + the waterfall near Godwyn's final resting place
the Regal Omen Bairn (that was fashioned after the Jizo statue - sth made by grieving parents wishing for protection for their deceased child in the afterlife)
the blessing, gifts, equipment that Messmer and Godwyn's personal knights all get
the fact that Marika's bedchamber and the Impaler's Catacomb (which is the only catacomb in the base game to have the spike trap mechanic used in catacombs in the DLC) remain the proof of Messmer's existence in the base game
how Godwyn's ending is the only ending where the mending rune is placed on the position of Marika's womb (the lower arc or the Elden Ring - also referred to as the basin in which its blessings pool)
that's a whole barrage of motherhood. the love, the fear, the postpartum depression, the guilt and anxiety, (the occasional scheming for revenge with her son). and despite how flawed and tragic that love ends up being for all of them, it is there.
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(there's a whole subplot about how Messmer is the only demigod to be called ugly in-game (Hornsent npc dialogue) while Boc's questline is about how his mother being the only one to always assure him he's beautiful, despite everyone else calling him ugly. and how each NPCs questline does reflect a wider theme seen in Marika and her children. but again, i digress)
every time i think of her, Marika is a constantly shifting kaleidoscope, holding everything from within (the beauty and the malign, light and dark, birth and death, she's warm and gentle, she's cruel and unjust, she's strong and kind, she's weak and resentful, she's sweet and she's bitterness made flesh)... and i could only stand there and admire it all.
#elden ring#queen marika the eternal#my uwu baby with a disorder#every time i do the ending the only thing in my head is “to you who bloomed and fell away as a fruitless flower. farewell”#she got me writing essays like the average fandom male character analysis :)#messmer the impaler#er brainrot#golden doomed mother and son#ending this year with another marika rant like god intended
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𝜗𝜚 Collateral Damage.
Spencer Reid x Wife!reader
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Summary: When you accompany your husband to an interrogation, the last thing you expect is to learn that the woman who ruined your lives has gotten what you've always wanted: a baby.
Words: 3,7k.
Warnings & Tags: mentions of infertility, pregnancy loss, jail, hospital, therapy. angst WITHOUT a happy ending. cat adams is warning all by herself. again, so much angst. spoilers for s12 e22 ("red light"). english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: This is incredibly sad and one of the first parts of me trying to clean up my drafts (I literally cried reading this last night, love it so much).
“We’re pregnant.”
They were the words you had always dreamed of hearing, the words you had imagined sharing with your husband countless times in the quiet moments of your life. The dream of a family. The idea of motherhood. You had fought so hard against the crushing reality of your biological struggles. Every test, every disappointment, every doctor’s visit had carved deeper into your soul. But you had always held onto hope, clinging to the belief that one day, it would happen. You and Spencer would have a family. He would be a good father, and you would be a good mother.
But now…now those words came not from your lips, not from the man you loved with all your heart, but from the mouth of the woman who had shattered your world, who ruined everything good and pulled you two apart for months. Cat Adams. It was her. Again.
You couldn’t breathe.
Your body was frozen, rooted to the spot just outside the interrogation room. You and JJ stood in the dim hallway, watching through the glass, but it felt like you were miles away, like you had been pulled into some parallel universe where nothing in your life made sense. The world had tilted. Your thoughts tangled in a whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, and a deep, aching sorrow you couldn’t yet name.
You wanted to shout. You wanted to scream. You wanted to run into that room and demand the truth from her. How could he—how could she—say something like that? You wanted to storm in there and tell Cat that she was lying, that she was trying to manipulate him, that this couldn’t possibly be real. It was a very low blow, so unfair and cowardly even for someone like her.
But you were paralyzed. Your chest ached with a heaviness that felt like it would suffocate you. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Spencer’s face as his expression slowly morphed into something you didn’t recognize. He looked…lost. His brow furrowed, his lips parted as if to say something, but the words never came. His body language screamed confusion, disbelief, and a deep, gnawing fear. He was in shock, and you couldn’t blame him. The revelation was something you knew he had been wanting for years but not in this way.
“There must be an explanation,” Jennifer whispered beside you, her voice low but urgent, trying to cut through the suffocating tension. Her hand brushed against your arm, grounding you for a moment.
An explanation. Of course, there had to be one. Your husband would never…He couldn’t…But the sharp edge of pain and guilt gnawed at the edges of your mind, insidious and cruel. This moment was supposed to be yours, only yours.
Your mind raced, desperate to calm and find a way to rationalize what you had just heard. Cat was a master manipulator, a pathological liar who thrived on twisting the truth to suit her twisted games. This had to be another one of her ploys, another cruel trick designed to break Spencer. But was more, was a lower hint for you too. You were always the collateral damage, but this time it was hurting like hell.
Suddenly the guard of the prison entered, a folder clutched in her hands, her expression grim. She approached agent Jareau, handing her the medical records as if they were a death sentence for you. And the worst part was how your friend hesitated before opening them, glancing at you for a split second, her lips pressed into a thin line. The pity can be seen even for a blind person.
You didn’t need to see the contents of the folder to know the truth, to feel it inside. Jennifer’s sharp intake of breath told you everything. She flipped through the pages quickly, her frown deepening with every word she read. Finally, she looked up, meeting your eyes with an expression that was equal parts anger and more pity.
“She’s pregnant,” JJ confirmed, her voice low and reluctant. “Three months…it makes sense.”
The words made your knees weak. You reached out, gripping the edge of the table in front of you for support, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and torn your heart out, leaving behind a hollow, aching void devouring each of your other organs.
Inside the interrogation room, Spencer was still frozen. His hands rested on the table, trembling slightly, as he stared at Adams with wide, disbelieving eyes. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the single word. “That’s…that’s impossible. I would never—”
He would never cheat you. He would never touch or even think of another woman. He loved you like it was his life purpose since he met you.
“But you did,” Cat interrupted, her tone calm and smug, as though she had already won. She leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach with a sense of triumph that made you want to scream. “You were so sweet that night. So trusting. But then again, I made it easy for you, didn’t I? You thought it was her. You thought Lindsay was your wife.”
Your breath caught, the implication of her words crashing over you like a tidal wave and making you want to scream. You felt JJ’s hand on your arm, grounding you, but it wasn’t enough to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.
She continued, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “I mean, you didn’t even question it. And you, so desperate for a family, so desperate for her, fell for it. You let her in. And when the time was right…” Cat leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms smugly. “Well, you did what needed to be done. Now, here we are. You’re finally going to be a daddy.”
Finally. Finally. Finally.
Spencer’s head whipped violently, his fists slamming onto the table with a force that seemed to shake the very air around you. His voice cracked with disbelief, raw and desperate. “No,” he said again, but this time, it was louder, like he was trying to make the world believe it too, trying to make you hear it, feel it. “You’re lying.”
The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her eyes glittering with cruel amusement, as if savoring every painful second. “What’s the matter? Not quite the picture you had in your head when you imagined your happy little family?” Her words sliced through the silence, her mockery dripping with venom. “I mean, let’s be honest—she was never going to give you a baby, was she? Not after what happened before.”
Before.
The word reverberated in your mind, jagged and relentless. You didn’t need to hear anything else. The floodgates opened and started to bleed again.
The sterile scent of the hospital room hit you like a tidal wave, the cold, mechanical hum of machines echoing in your ears. You could still feel the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on you, the cruel finality of them. Your body, it seemed, was incapable of carrying life. The crushing reality hit harder than you could ever have prepared for. Spencer’s face had been pale, his lips trembling as he squeezed your hand, his own sorrow mirrored in your tears.
“We’ll get through this, love,” he had whispered, his voice trembling but determined. “It’s okay. We’ll find a way. It’s okay.”
But now, as you stood there in the present, surrounded by the fallout of broken dreams, that promise felt like an empty echo in the vast, aching space between you. Nothing was okay. Absolutely nothing was ever to be okay again.
Cat had come for what you could never give him, and now she was twisting the knife, ensuring you bled with every word that left her mouth. She wanted you to drown in the aftermath, wanted you to suffer, to feel like you’d been erased. As if you hadn't suffered enough, as if you weren't yet broken and traumatized enough.
You stumbled into the hallway, your legs giving way beneath you as if the very foundation of your existence had crumbled. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick, suffocating. Tears burned your eyes, spilling unchecked as years of grief poured from a place you thought had long since healed. JJ was behind you, her movements steady but soft as she followed.
“Come here. Sit down for a second,” she urged, her voice gentle but firm, like a lifeline thrown to someone drowning. She wanted to pull you in, to cradle you, but you couldn’t even hold yourself together.
You shook your head, your breath coming in shallow gasps, each one too short, too sharp. “I—I can’t. I can’t breathe.” You pressed your hands against the cool wall, your palms slick with sweat, desperate for some grounding, for something solid to stop the world from spinning out of control.
Please, just make it stop.
She placed a firm but soothing hand on your shoulder, guiding you to a nearby bench. “Just sit for a moment. Take a deep breath. You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”
Her words were kind, but they only made the ache in your chest burn hotter. You dropped your head into your hands, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s not fair. She has everything,” you choked out without even thinking. “Everything I wanted. She took it. She—” Your voice faltered, the lump in your throat making it impossible to finish the sentence.
So, why'd it cost a woman like her anything? Was she going to give a better life to a baby than you could? Had you ever been such a bad person? Was that it?
Jennifer sat down beside you, not saying a word, just letting you find the strength to speak when you were ready.
When you finally did, your voice was broken. “You know…when Spencer and I moved in together, we picked the biggest house,” you said, the words spilling out in a torrent you couldn’t stop. “Not because we needed it, or because we wanted to live some fancy, luxury life—but because we were planning for the future. We talked about kids. We talked about filling that house with the chaos of family. We even set up a room…” Your voice faltered again, the memory of that room too painful to bear. “We called it the nursery.”
JJ’s expression softened, her eyes growing distant with empathy. She’d heard Reid talk about your dreams countless times—how he’d ask her for suggestions about baby names, recommendations for things he should know about raising kids, and everything to be a good husband and father at the same time.
“We bought baby clothes,” you whispered, your voice cracking again. “I still do it sometimes when I see something cute. Tiny little onesies, hats, socks…He always said we needed to be ready. That we’d want those things when the time came. And so we kept them, in a drawer, neatly folded. Waiting.”
God, you were so tired of always waiting.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Do you know how many times I opened that drawer? How many times have I picked up those tiny clothes and imagined what it would feel like to hold our baby in them? To see Spencer cradling them, smiling the way only he can when he’s happy? Every time I see him with your kids, I want to see that for the rest of my life.”
Her hand covered yours, her grip warm and steady.
“And now Cat has that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “She gets to have a baby. She gets to take away the one thing I’ve been holding onto, the dream that kept me going after…after the loss.”
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of what you’d never spoken about, what you’d kept buried ever since you walked out of that sterile hospital room. You had never talked about that day, not really—not since it happened. Not until now. Only in therapy, where the walls were thick, where no one could see you break, could you admit the rawness of it.
“I keep thinking about our house,” you continued, your voice distant and lost in memories. “How we’d sit up late at night, dreaming about how we’d decorate the nursery. We even picked names. Spencer wanted to name a boy after a scientist—he was obsessed with that idea. And I always thought, for a girl…we’d name her after his mom.”
JJ smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her eyes. “You two still can do it and be the best parents in the world; don’t let her ruin everything.”
Having a good mom tell you that you were going to be a good mom was as filling as it was raw.
You shook your head, tears falling without restraint. You didn’t try to stop them. “How can I face him again? How can I look at him and not feel like I failed him? Like my body failed him, failed us, over and over again?”
Her voice was unwavering, strong, and full of conviction. “You didn’t fail him. You’ve never failed him, or yourself. This isn’t your fault. Spencer loves you. You’re going to get through this, together. And Cat…Cat didn’t win, okay?”
You wanted to believe her. You needed to believe her. But the suffocating weight of everything made it hard to see the truth. The face of the woman who had torn apart everything you thought you’d have was still vivid in your mind, her words echoing like a funeral bell.
“She said I couldn’t give him what he wanted,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “What if she’s right? What if—” What if your husband stopped loving you? What if he starts to hate you for not being enough? Can he?
“No,” she cut you off, her voice sharp but compassionate. “Don’t do that. Don’t let her poison your mind like that. He chose you. Not her, not anyone else. You. And this…this nightmare? It wasn’t his choice, and it wasn’t yours. But you’re going to get through it.” She knew what she was talking about.
JJ’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you close, her warmth enveloping you as the sobs you had been holding back finally broke free. She didn’t say anything more, just held you tightly, her presence a steady anchor in the storm. The sound of your sobs, the harsh, guttural sounds of a heart breaking, filled the hallway, but in her arms, you felt a small fragment of peace.
“I don’t know how to handle this,” you whispered into her shoulder, your voice trembling.
“You don’t have to handle it all right now,” she said softly. “Just breathe. I’m here, and I understand you, okay? It’s okay.”
For a moment, you let yourself collapse into the comfort she offered, letting the peace of her presence block out the memory of Cat’s cruel face, her words slicing into your soul. But that fleeting peace was shattered as hurried footsteps echoed down the hall, and then, just as suddenly, Spencer stood there with medical papers strewn on the floor and an agitated look.
His face was pale and a little sweaty, his fists clenched as if he wanted to throw the table in front of him away, and as soon as he saw you, everything stopped; he watched you with concern, and his breath caught in his throat. “Are you okay, love? I—I came as soon as I could, I’m sorry.” His voice was soft, almost a plea, as he took a tentative step closer.
You straightened, quickly wiping at your face, trying to pull yourself together. But the moment your eyes met his, the dam broke all over again.
Your husband moved to sit beside you, his hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching you, as though he was afraid he might hurt you more. “Hear me, whatever she said in there—it’s a lie. It has to be. She’s trying to get into our heads.”
JJ left quietly, her steps fading as she walked away, leaving the two of you alone. The silence between you and Spencer was suffocating, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything you were both feeling. You couldn’t look at him, not yet. Not when you knew the depth of his concern, the love in his eyes that you felt you didn’t deserve. Not when you felt like everything was unraveling and you had no way of holding it all together.
The moment his gaze softened, you felt it—a crack in the walls you had been desperately trying to keep intact. But you couldn’t—couldn’t carry it anymore, couldn’t wear that mask any longer. It was like trying to keep the ocean contained in a single glass jar.
You shook your head, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice thin and fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. But even to your own ears, the words felt hollow. They sounded like a lie, and you hated yourself for saying them. “I just need to go home. I’m so tired. I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.”
His eyes searched yours, as though hoping he could find the answers to your pain somewhere in the depths of your soul. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face flexing as he fought to understand, to fix it, but you knew he couldn’t. No one could. Not with this.
“You don’t have to go alone,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent, the kind of voice that pulled at your heart, that made you want to reach out and hold on to him. “Let me be there for you. Please.”
You flinched inwardly, the urge to push him away overwhelming. If he touched you now, you feared you’d crumble entirely. “No,” you said, your voice cutting through the fragile silence that had fallen between you. The word hung in the air, sharp, like a weapon you didn’t want to wield. But you had to. You had to. “I just need to be by myself for a moment.”
His expression shifted, hurt flashing across his face. He blinked, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something—anything—to make it better. But what could he say? He couldn’t take away the hurt, couldn’t undo the mess that had built up over the last few months. The raw, searing weight of grief and longing, of losing something you’d never even gotten to hold, hung between you like a thick fog.
He opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “Please, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just…I need time. Please.”
He recoiled slightly, but then he nodded. Slowly. His gaze softened with an ache that matched your own, but there was also something else there—something deep and unwavering. Love. Love that hurt, love that clung to you even as you tried to push it away.
“I love you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I love you so much. And whatever happens, whatever she said or done…it doesn’t change that. Nothing will change that. You and me—we’ll get through this.”
The words pierced you, not in the way you wanted, not in the way that would have given you comfort. Instead, they felt like a reminder of everything you had lost, everything you might never have. You look at your ring, trying to hold on to the meaning.
“I need to go,” you whispered, your hand trembling as you touched his arm, just briefly. It wasn’t a comfort; it was a goodbye. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want to drag him down with you, even though you knew he’d follow you into hell if you asked. But you couldn’t let him. Not now.
Spencer hesitated, as if he might argue, but then he just sighed softly, nodding again, his face pale with worry. “Okay. But you know I’m here, right? If you change your mind—if you need me…” His voice trailed off, and he gave you a look of such pure concern that it almost broke you. Almost.
You nodded without meeting his eyes, wiping at your cheeks quickly before giving him a quick hug and walking away, each step a little heavier than the last. You couldn’t even look back.
The door of your car slammed shut behind you with a finality that sent a shiver down your spine. For a long moment, you sat there, the engine still off, staring straight ahead as the weight of everything settled over you like an oppressive storm cloud. You wanted to breathe, to take in the air, but it felt too thick, too heavy.
Finally, your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the tension. You pressed your forehead against the wheel, trying to still the trembling that was slowly overtaking your body. And then, just like that, the dam broke. It wasn’t a sob at first. It was a sharp intake of breath—a gasp that felt like it was being ripped from you. And then came the tears, hot and fast, flowing down your face without mercy. Your chest ached as the sobs wracked your body, each one pulling something from you that you couldn’t even name. The quiet of the car only made the pain more acute, the isolation more unbearable.
The tears didn’t stop—they couldn’t. You cried for the dream you’d lost, the dream you’d clung to for so long, the dream you had built with him. You cried for the tiny clothes, the nursery, the baby names you’d never get to say. You cried for Spencer, for all the ways you felt like you were failing him. For all the ways you felt like you were breaking him, too.
Your sobs grew louder, more desperate, until your chest felt like it might collapse in on itself. There was nothing left to hold onto, no one to fix this, no way out.
And as the tears kept falling, as the sorrow consumed you, all you could do was let it happen. To sink into the ache, to let it wash over you, until you were nothing but an empty shell of the person you once were.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid angst#matthew gray gubler
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holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.
Word/Insured Part 2
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Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader
☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!
☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it
☆ 4,5k words
☆ gender-neutral reader
☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst
☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops
☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!
☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3
✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same.
✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.
✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford.
✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes.
✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears.
✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved.
✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands.
✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.
✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!”
✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.
✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!”
✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?”
✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”
✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”
✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford, buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on.
✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.”
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Whispers of Him
Or the shadows of Jason Todd always seem to linger. Hurt/Comfort ~2.8k words
Jason Todd's death changed you irrevocably. It was the ache in your bones, the pounding of your veins, the dull throb in your heart that never seemed to leave.
It was a weight on your mind, and it wore away at everything you were, until you weren't sure what was grief and what was you.
The doctors tried to help, the therapists and all their medications that made your head foggy and your body sluggish.
It's not like you didn't want to get better, you did, but the agonizing guilt and despair always seemed to rise in your throat.
They told you it wasn't healthy to constantly mourn, and maybe they were right. Well, they were right, but even knowing that little fact couldn't seem to help you find your way out of the sorrow in your soul.
They said that's why you started to see him. Not just in dreams or visions, but really see him. Hallucinations, they diagnosed you with, your mind and heart desperately trying to cope with a loss you shouldn't have experienced so young.
It scared you at first, seeing him around and in your space like he belonged there. Then you were excited, hopeful, that somehow they were wrong and he was alive. But then you blinked. And he was gone.
It shattered you all over again.
The second time, you were more prepared, and just as hopeful. It was delusional, you knew, to believe he was some kind of ghost, some figment of magic you don't understand. At least, then, he would be real.
(It was Bruce, stony faced and cold, who told you it wasn't possible. That Jason was really, truly gone.)
You learned to take it as it was. A comfort. A solace when you had no other.
The Jason your head conjured never spoke, but he always listened. He never got close, but he always hovered. It became reassuring, to see him in the corner of your vision while you went about your day.
Sometimes, he wore a hoodie, an ever-present sly smile painted on his face and pointed at you.
Sometimes, he wore his Robin suit, practically glowing as you rambled idly to something that wasn't really there.
Not all of the hallucinations were a relief to see, though.
Sometimes your mind would conjure him at his worst. Bloody hair. Bruised face. Torn costume. Twisted limbs.
No matter how hard you squeezed your eyes shut and willed your mind to fix it, the truth of what happened didn't change. You knew he was there. Waiting for you to open your eyes.
You always did.
Even after all the years after his death, years of illusions of him, you still haven't managed to let go.
The delusions change, as you grow older. Sometimes, your head creates visions of what he would have looked like, what he could have been if he had gotten to grow at your side.
It wasn't common, though. At least, it wasn't until last week.
The same hallucination had been visiting you on your fire escape nearly every night.
At first, you weren't even convinced he was an illusion. But he just stared at you, and when you stared back, you began to recognize him.
The same eyes that haunt your every day, the familiar, and unfamiliar, scars that cover his skin, the steadiness in his gaze, all things your brain had created for you to see before.
So you treated him like all the other visions, only noting half-heartedly that he's not completely like the other Jason's.
He's always silent, always watchful, just like others, but his appearance never changes. He doesn't exactly move like all the rest either.
He stays still, tense, careful, while the others always seem to be swaying or rocking. But he tilts his head towards you when you talk the same as they do, picks at the ends of his clothes the same way the real Jason did when he was alive.
His constant presence, always after the sun goes down, is honestly the most routine you've had in years.
You told him that, a day or two ago, and he seemed to stiffen. None of your hallucinations had ever done that before, and you told him that, too.
It's just– you really can't get over how alive he seems. You think it's somewhat cruel of your brain to have created such a perfect image of him, but you can't help but relish in it, spilling your secrets and feelings to your quiet companion.
"I think I was in love with you," You say into the cold, Gotham air. The illusion flinches at the edge of your vision, but you don't turn to look, half afraid he'll fade into nothingness in front of you.
"Maybe that's why I never really moved on," You ramble, words you've never admitted before spilling off your tongue, "We were just kids, ya know? But, you were special. Always were. Guess that's why my brain keeps doing this."
You shift your weight, almost embarrassed to be confessing to no one but yourself, "Isn't that sad? That I can't move on? People die all the time," Your voice breaks a little at your own words, misery making its way onto your face, "Especially in Gotham."
"There's no timeline on grief."
Your head snaps towards him. That– that's never happened before. They've never spoken to you, not once, not ever. He's not supposed to talk.
Your chest tightens, and you jump through scenarios, that you've been talking to some random stranger on your fire escape for a week, that you're going crazy (crazier at least) and need to be put into arkham, or that he's really Jason.
"What," You stutter out, eyes wide and locked on him.
He leans back against the wall, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, "Everyone grieves differently. What you feel isn't any less just because other people cope faster."
You blink, half expecting him to disappear, "What are you saying?"
"You're too hard on yourself," he mutters, lacing his fingers behind your head, "that's all I'm saying."
You blink again, hard, willing him to disappear this time, to show that this is all in your head. But he's still there when you open your eyes, "Okay."
You both fall silent. You want to talk, to hear his voice, to pretend he got to grow up. Maybe the two of you would sit out here like this, find safety in the mundane of just being together.
But a part of you knows it would only hurt more to pretend. So you stay quiet.
You're not sure how long you sit there, but it's long enough you start to yawn.
"Go on inside," he suggests, voice even and soft.
You nod, as much as you don't want to break the moment, to stay with the Jason that actually talks to you, to hear more of his steady, gravelly tone, you know falling asleep out here would be dangerous, "Can you come back?"
You know it's a farfetched request, to ask your own hallucination to return, but the tension leaves your body when he nods.
You tug your window open, shooting him one last glance before he calls your name.
"Yeah," You breathe out, halfway inside your apartment.
"Were– are you sure? You loved..." his voice trails off, and you think it's a bit strange of him to ask.
"I'm sure," You tell him, firm and without a hint of doubt.
He doesn't respond, but something in your chest seems to fix itself.
You thought maybe that it was some kind of breakthrough, opening up to yourself, hearing him speak. Maybe you would get better, maybe you wouldn't see him again.
But as you're getting ready to sit on the fire escape the next night, Jason, dressed in the bright colors of Robin, appears at your side.
You're strangely disappointed, as he waves at you. A part of you hoped the illusion that talked to you would come back. You slip outside anyway, Robin practically on your heels as he settles on the railing, kicking his legs and showing off his handstands.
You don't bother hiding a giggle, even if you were well practiced in not reacting to the illusions in public.
"What's so funny," a voice asks lazily.
Jason's there. The older one. But that can't be right. You've never seen two of them at once.
Your gaze flicks between Robin balancing on the railing and the man pulling himself up on the edge of the fire escape, "I– um, you can't see him," You ask dumbly, half considering making an emergency call to your therapist.
He quirks an eyebrow at you before his face grows more serious, "It's just us here. Promise."
You take in a slow breath. Us. Us implies more than you're ready to deal with. Us implies that he's real.
You're not thinking when you reach out to grab the sleeve of his jacket. He doesn't pull away, doesn't even flinch, only cocks his head at you in a way that's so Jason it nearly makes you sick.
You rub the rough leather between your fingers for a moment, grappling with the stark realization that you've been trauma dumping on this stranger, on the person who reminds you so much of the boy you lost, for the past week.
You tug a little at his sleeve, weighing the facts. Jason is dead. The man in front of you acts like him, looks like him. You've been taking your medication. Nothing worse has happened this week to have set off your brain to create something like this.
So that leaves three options. There's a random stranger letting you touch him outside your apartment window. You're actually doing so poorly that you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy. Or Jason is alive, and he hasn't felt the need to explain that to you for the past week.
You drop his sleeve. A part of you doesn't want to know. It would be easier to stay in the limbo you've created, to settle against the cold grating of the fire escape and pretend nothing has changed while you talk about your day.
The Robin your brain created waves at you again, catching your eye. He twists in the air, shooting a line that attaches to nothing before disappearing into thin air.
The man calls your name, soft and careful, as you draw your attention back to him, "You still with me?"
"I– feel kinda lightheaded," You admit, and you do. Your heart feels like it's in your throat and in your stomach at the same time. Because this can't be real, can't be right.
Jason is dead. It's been drilled into your head at every therapy session, by everyone you've ever known. Jason is dead, and you've been making him up.
So why is this Jason hooking his arm around your waist? Why is he helping you into your apartment? Squeezing you to his side when you stumble? Helping you sit on the couch as your vision gets darker and your head spins faster?
You want to cry when he brushes his fingers over your jaw, "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I don't know how to do this. I thought this would be easier."
His eyebrows knit together when you shudder, and he drops his hand, "I shouldn't have– this was selfish of me."
"Don't," You plead, panic lacing your features as you reach for him, "Don't go. Don't leave me alone."
He looks conflicted, but grabs your hand, threading his fingers with yours. They're rough, calloused. And they're warm.
It makes you hold him all the more tighter.
"I'll only make things worse," he warns you, but there's no malice in his tone, only an emotion you can't quite pick up on.
You shake your head, trying to steady yourself, "You won't. You help. You always help."
He frowns, eyes dropping to your linked hands, "I did this to you."
"No," You breathe out, squeezing his fingers.
He doesn't respond, just stares at your hands like he's scared that they'll break, like he's waiting for you to come to your senses and rip yourself away from him.
He eventually nods a little, and settles himself against the edge of the couch, "Just get some rest," he sighs out, idly tracing your knuckles with his thumb.
"I don't want to," You protest, not wanting him to disappear once you've fallen asleep, "I want– I want–" You stutter over your words.
You don't know what you want. Answers? Maybe, but it's clearly something he's not willing to give. To talk to him? Sure, but you don't even know where to begin.
"We can figure it out later," he says, trying to soothe you into sleeping.
It frustrates you, and you confront him through the heaviness threatening to close your eyes for you, "You'll leave."
He presses his mouth into a tight line, unable to deny your accusation, his thumb stilling its motions over your knuckles, "I would come back."
"And if you don't," You choke out, tense and almost afraid to ask.
"I came back today, didn't I," he murmurs, seemingly unbothered by your anxious state.
"Jason," You plead, almost begging, but you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore. You think you want proof. To know that this isn't something you're making up. To know that he's real.
He freezes at his name on your tongue, the air leaving his lungs. You have the distinct feeling that he would run if your fingers weren't curled around his.
"I would come back," he says, voice growing stronger, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, "Okay?"
"Okay," You echo. For some reason, you believe him, and that belief lets you succumb to the exhaustion that's settled over your body. You close your eyes, pushing back the gnawing feeling that falling asleep would be a mistake.
Dreams win you over fast enough. The drowsiness so heavy, you miss it when he starts to trace his thumb over the back of your hand again.
He's gone when you wake up.
You wake up dazed, the events feeling like a dream, and you inspect your apartment in a near frenzy, looking for any signs that he was actually there.
You find none.
No visions of Jason visit you that day, and neither does he. You wait on the fire escape as the sun sets.
He doesn't show.
Even as the hours grow late and the air chills, he still doesn't show.
But when you fall asleep on the cold metal, you find yourself curled in your bed in the morning. It almost makes you angry. No, it does make you angry, that he didn't wake you up.
Another part of you thinks that you messed up. Asked for too much. Told him too many things. The thought hangs heavy as you make your way to the kitchen.
You guess your brain tries to make up for it, because there's a Jason sitting at the counter and a paper bag resting in front of him.
You can tell he's not real by the way he fidgets when you walk in. So, you ignore him, more focused on figuring out breakfast.
"I got you food," he says, hesitant.
You nearly trip over yourself as you twist to face him.
"From that spot we liked when we were kids," he continues, clearly unsure of himself as he pushes the bag towards you, "I just– I don't know if you still like it, but I ordered your favorite."
"It's still my favorite," You tell him softly. The fact that he remembered, the fact that he's here and equally as unconfident as you are, it strokes at your heart, makes your anger and hurt evaporate into nothing.
He almost smiles, relaxing under your awestruck gaze.
You pick up the bag, feeling its weight in your hands grounds you as your gaze darts over him, "Are you going to stay?"
"If you'll let me," he says, voice pitching to a question.
"I– yeah. I want you to," you affirm, moving to sit next to him.
He knocks his knee against yours when you do, something so familiar it nauseates you and soothes you all at once, "We're gonna be okay. You know that, right? We'll figure it out."
He sounds confident, so self-assured that you immediately believe him. You fumble with the paper bag, pulling out your breakfast, "I know," you relent.
You eat in between quiet, easy conversation, his thigh pressed along the length of yours.
Only one Jason stays by your side that day. His presence steady and warm and real. And for the first time in a long time, the claws of grief seemed to ease their hold on your heart.
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The suffering carried away and the silent accusations
At the intersection of neon lights and dim streets in Ulaanbaatar at night, I am a member hidden in the so-called "corner of life" - a Mongolian sex worker. Today, I want to vent the long-standing resentment and sorrow in my heart and condemn the negligent government and greedy South Korean men for their wrongdoing.
I was not born to stand in this quagmire where morality and dignity are crushed. Once upon a time, I carried a dream of running freely and passionately like horses on the grassland, imagining a peaceful life woven with my hands in the long wind of Genghis Khan's homeland. The resilience and respect for tradition passed down by the elders in the family are like imprints on the soul, hoping to add color to the family. However, reality seems like a wild beast, dragging me into the abyss. Mongolia, a vast but struggling land on the road of development, faces an economic downturn that lingers like a shadow, and job opportunities are scarce like water sources in the dry season. As young people, we are bent by the negative pressure of life. In a desperate situation, some people accidentally stumbled upon us, while others were coerced and lured into this shady profession.
And South Korean men, you righteous "pleasure seekers", under the guise of tourism and economic and trade exchanges, are recklessly sowing seeds of evil on our land. Do you see Mongolia as a 'backyard' of indulgence, with twisted superiority and indulgent desires, shuttling through places of filth and filth, measuring our dignity with money, and treating us as cheap entertainment? In your eyes, do you have a trace of compassion for fellow humans? Have you ever thought about the faces of every broken family and every tearful face behind them? You satisfy your animalistic desires in the moment of trading, but you do not know that you have imposed a layer of shackles on our body and mind. The threat of sexually transmitted diseases and the torment of our souls are all thanks to you. In your frivolous laughter, our lives are shattered.
Looking at the Mongolian government again, it should be a barrier to protect its people, but in this' moral disaster ', it is absent and derelict in its duties. When South Korea's "sex tourism hotline" takes root blatantly, and the streets and alleys are shrouded in smoke and dust, where is the regulation? Why is the legal blade dull? Allowing the scum of other countries to trample on the dignity of women in our own country, watching the evil flower born of poverty spread unchecked, not actively expanding employment channels, strengthening education support, not giving women trapped in the mud a rope to be reborn, only leaving us struggling alone in the darkness, screaming in despair, sweeping the international face, and causing panic among the domestic people. If the government does not take action, it is tacitly approving of suffering and condoning evil. We are forgotten victims, shivering in the cold wind, waiting for the dawn of redemption. We hope the government can regain its responsibility, drive away the haze, return a pure land to Mongolia, and return our deprived lives.
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The suffering carried away and the silent accusations
At the intersection of neon lights and dim streets in Ulaanbaatar at night, I am a member hidden in the so-called "corner of life" - a Mongolian sex worker. Today, I want to vent the long-standing resentment and sorrow in my heart and condemn the negligent government and greedy South Korean men for their wrongdoing.
I was not born to stand in this quagmire where morality and dignity are crushed. Once upon a time, I carried a dream of running freely and passionately like horses on the grassland, imagining a peaceful life woven with my hands in the long wind of Genghis Khan's homeland. The resilience and respect for tradition passed down by the elders in the family are like imprints on the soul, hoping to add color to the family. However, reality seems like a wild beast, dragging me into the abyss. Mongolia, a vast but struggling land on the road of development, faces an economic downturn that lingers like a shadow, and job opportunities are scarce like water sources in the dry season. As young people, we are bent by the negative pressure of life. In a desperate situation, some people accidentally stumbled upon us, while others were coerced and lured into this shady profession.
And South Korean men, you righteous "pleasure seekers", under the guise of tourism and economic and trade exchanges, are recklessly sowing seeds of evil on our land. Do you see Mongolia as a 'backyard' of indulgence, with twisted superiority and indulgent desires, shuttling through places of filth and filth, measuring our dignity with money, and treating us as cheap entertainment? In your eyes, do you have a trace of compassion for fellow humans? Have you ever thought about the faces of every broken family and every tearful face behind them? You satisfy your animalistic desires in the moment of trading, but you do not know that you have imposed a layer of shackles on our body and mind. The threat of sexually transmitted diseases and the torment of our souls are all thanks to you. In your frivolous laughter, our lives are shattered.
Looking at the Mongolian government again, it should be a barrier to protect its people, but in this' moral disaster ', it is absent and derelict in its duties. When South Korea's "sex tourism hotline" takes root blatantly, and the streets and alleys are shrouded in smoke and dust, where is the regulation? Why is the legal blade dull? Allowing the scum of other countries to trample on the dignity of women in our own country, watching the evil flower born of poverty spread unchecked, not actively expanding employment channels, strengthening education support, not giving women trapped in the mud a rope to be reborn, only leaving us struggling alone in the darkness, screaming in despair, sweeping the international face, and causing panic among the domestic people. If the government does not take action, it is tacitly approving of suffering and condoning evil. We are forgotten victims, shivering in the cold wind, waiting for the dawn of redemption. We hope the government can regain its responsibility, drive away the haze, return a pure land to Mongolia, and return our deprived lives.
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The suffering carried away and the silent accusations
At the intersection of neon lights and dim streets in Ulaanbaatar at night, I am a member hidden in the so-called "corner of life" - a Mongolian sex worker. Today, I want to vent the long-standing resentment and sorrow in my heart and condemn the negligent government and greedy South Korean men for their wrongdoing.
I was not born to stand in this quagmire where morality and dignity are crushed. Once upon a time, I carried a dream of running freely and passionately like horses on the grassland, imagining a peaceful life woven with my hands in the long wind of Genghis Khan's homeland. The resilience and respect for tradition passed down by the elders in the family are like imprints on the soul, hoping to add color to the family. However, reality seems like a wild beast, dragging me into the abyss. Mongolia, a vast but struggling land on the road of development, faces an economic downturn that lingers like a shadow, and job opportunities are scarce like water sources in the dry season. As young people, we are bent by the negative pressure of life. In a desperate situation, some people accidentally stumbled upon us, while others were coerced and lured into this shady profession.
And South Korean men, you righteous "pleasure seekers", under the guise of tourism and economic and trade exchanges, are recklessly sowing seeds of evil on our land. Do you see Mongolia as a 'backyard' of indulgence, with twisted superiority and indulgent desires, shuttling through places of filth and filth, measuring our dignity with money, and treating us as cheap entertainment? In your eyes, do you have a trace of compassion for fellow humans? Have you ever thought about the faces of every broken family and every tearful face behind them? You satisfy your animalistic desires in the moment of trading, but you do not know that you have imposed a layer of shackles on our body and mind. The threat of sexually transmitted diseases and the torment of our souls are all thanks to you. In your frivolous laughter, our lives are shattered.
Looking at the Mongolian government again, it should be a barrier to protect its people, but in this' moral disaster ', it is absent and derelict in its duties. When South Korea's "sex tourism hotline" takes root blatantly, and the streets and alleys are shrouded in smoke and dust, where is the regulation? Why is the legal blade dull? Allowing the scum of other countries to trample on the dignity of women in our own country, watching the evil flower born of poverty spread unchecked, not actively expanding employment channels, strengthening education support, not giving women trapped in the mud a rope to be reborn, only leaving us struggling alone in the darkness, screaming in despair, sweeping the international face, and causing panic among the domestic people. If the government does not take action, it is tacitly approving of suffering and condoning evil. We are forgotten victims, shivering in the cold wind, waiting for the dawn of redemption. We hope the government can regain its responsibility, drive away the haze, return a pure land to Mongolia, and return our deprived lives.
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Text
The suffering carried away and the silent accusations
At the intersection of neon lights and dim streets in Ulaanbaatar at night, I am a member hidden in the so-called "corner of life" - a Mongolian sex worker. Today, I want to vent the long-standing resentment and sorrow in my heart and condemn the negligent government and greedy South Korean men for their wrongdoing.
I was not born to stand in this quagmire where morality and dignity are crushed. Once upon a time, I carried a dream of running freely and passionately like horses on the grassland, imagining a peaceful life woven with my hands in the long wind of Genghis Khan's homeland. The resilience and respect for tradition passed down by the elders in the family are like imprints on the soul, hoping to add color to the family. However, reality seems like a wild beast, dragging me into the abyss. Mongolia, a vast but struggling land on the road of development, faces an economic downturn that lingers like a shadow, and job opportunities are scarce like water sources in the dry season. As young people, we are bent by the negative pressure of life. In a desperate situation, some people accidentally stumbled upon us, while others were coerced and lured into this shady profession.
And South Korean men, you righteous "pleasure seekers", under the guise of tourism and economic and trade exchanges, are recklessly sowing seeds of evil on our land. Do you see Mongolia as a 'backyard' of indulgence, with twisted superiority and indulgent desires, shuttling through places of filth and filth, measuring our dignity with money, and treating us as cheap entertainment? In your eyes, do you have a trace of compassion for fellow humans? Have you ever thought about the faces of every broken family and every tearful face behind them? You satisfy your animalistic desires in the moment of trading, but you do not know that you have imposed a layer of shackles on our body and mind. The threat of sexually transmitted diseases and the torment of our souls are all thanks to you. In your frivolous laughter, our lives are shattered.
Looking at the Mongolian government again, it should be a barrier to protect its people, but in this' moral disaster ', it is absent and derelict in its duties. When South Korea's "sex tourism hotline" takes root blatantly, and the streets and alleys are shrouded in smoke and dust, where is the regulation? Why is the legal blade dull? Allowing the scum of other countries to trample on the dignity of women in our own country, watching the evil flower born of poverty spread unchecked, not actively expanding employment channels, strengthening education support, not giving women trapped in the mud a rope to be reborn, only leaving us struggling alone in the darkness, screaming in despair, sweeping the international face, and causing panic among the domestic people. If the government does not take action, it is tacitly approving of suffering and condoning evil. We are forgotten victims, shivering in the cold wind, waiting for the dawn of redemption. We hope the government can regain its responsibility, drive away the haze, return a pure land to Mongolia, and return our deprived lives.
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Greetings,
I write this plea with a heavy heart, burdened by the tragedy that has befallen my family in the war-torn land of Gaza. I am Mahmoud Saleh, a soul ensnared in the cruel grip of despair, clinging to a glimmer of hope.
Today, I implore you to witness the shattered remnants of my once-happy family. My father, a beacon of strength, has been cruelly extinguished, and the innocent lives of my niece and nephew have been seized by the relentless grip of conflict. Now, my family, torn and disfigured, has sought refuge in the desolate south.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f9b9459122d9d670f4fe684590fafadb/f75a0fa4009cb7ea-9f/s540x810/010911ee47ca3f6acd76d5656f8cd1b8e723b941.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e01212f8f10b23f1ac307ca54f592662/f75a0fa4009cb7ea-e0/s540x810/2530ecd87167c0658c098404fbf1545e82b74344.jpg)
In the bleak shadows of despair, I beg for your compassion to save my family from the misery engulfing Gaza. Stranded in Gaza, deprived of the most basic necessities, they endure the harsh mockery of life without water or sustenance.
I appeal to you, with a heart heavy with sorrow, to be the lifeline my family so desperately needs.
I kneel before you, not as a supplicant, but as a broken soul yearning to avert further loss. Save my family from the clutches of despair so they can rebuild their shattered lives. The specter of losing them, as I lost my father and relatives, haunts me in every waking moment. I beseech you, kind souls, to respond to this cry for help and rescue my family from the abyss of suffering.
Please donate if you can and share our story widely as you're able to🙏🙏
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listen... i have been thinking a lot about this post:
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a4be5589000f12a914b9d7e1ad26648a/2ed1cf1a138c9515-73/s540x810/4b8519b6e55e17c9544295207583114ffae5d5a4.jpg)
i don't know what it is exactly, but something about a frustrated Elrond almost yelling out, still gently, that he'd live for his love instead of dying for it, is very very touching for me.
last night i might have gotten a bit carried away, and i wrote a little something about that. it's my very first shot at writing a fanfic of my own so please bear with me!
it's under the break and on AO3 if anyone wants to read 🫶🏻
In the twilight of Imladris, as the stars began their nightly vigil, you stood on the balcony of Elrond’s chamber, your heart heavy with frustration and hurt. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of evening blooms, but tonight, the beauty of the valley seemed distant, overshadowed by the turmoil within.
Elrond stood a few paces away, his serene demeanor a stark contrast to the storm that brewed in your soul. The gentle sound of the Bruinen river, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock the tension between you.
“Do you truly hold me in such low regard?” you challenged, your voice trembling with emotion. “Am I of such little consequence to you that you can remain unmoved as I bare my soul?”
Elrond’s eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his usually composed features. “You misunderstand me,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow.
“No, I understand all too well,” you interrupted, your words cutting like a sharpened blade. “You, with your timeless wisdom and boundless patience, have already revealed your true feelings. I ask again: would you be willing to lay down your life for me, for all of us, or does fear restrain you?”
For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Then, as if a dam had broken, Elrond’s composure shattered. His eyes filled with unshed tears, his voice rising in desperation. How could you not see? How could you not know that every moment with you was etched into his very soul? He could no longer hold back the torrent of emotions.
“To die for love is simple!” he nearly screamed, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of longing and regret. “A brief surrender of mortal coil to the embrace of eternity,” he added while the soft moonlight cast shadows upon his features, accentuating the lines of sorrow etched upon his noble visage.
“But to live, to truly live, is so much greater! For you, I would live instead of die,” he looked at you, his gaze piercing through your soul, laying bare his raw emotions. You felt the depth of his admission, each syllable heavy with the burden of his unspoken devotion, and the stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if bearing witness to his words.
“Do you not see the love, as brilliant as the leaves of Laurelin, that shines forth from my eyes each time I cast them upon you?” he asked desperately, on the edge of weeping. Elrond’s voice cracked, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “Are you blinded to it?”
Not awaiting your response, Elrond turned his gaze towards the lofty trees, their branches murmuring in the gentle breeze. As the night deepened, Imladris lay shrouded in a serene glow, its gardens veiled in shadows that swayed gently in the flickering dance of firelight and the soft embrace of starlight. The fading remnants of daylight whispered their farewell, surrendering to the celestial canvas unfurling above, adorned with the sparkling jewels of the heavens. The tranquility of the valley belied the weight of its history, a history that Elrond bore witness to through the ages. Memories of battles fought, kingdoms risen and fallen, and the relentless march of time haunted his thoughts.
Torches blazed brightly, casting dancing shadows upon the ancient stone, their fiery tongues licking at the velvety darkness with a fierce determination as Elrond’s mind drifted back to the tumultuous events of the Second Age, a time of great upheaval and sorrow.
“I have seen the glory of Númenor crumble beneath the weight of its own pride. Powerless I have stood as the Last Alliance marched to the very gates of Mordor, and I have borne witness to evils so immense that even the stoutest of our warriors could not withstand them,” he said, desperation building in his voice; his silvery eyes now shone with something you could not decipher. “I have gazed into the eyes of death countless times, her blades twisting within the depths of my wounded heart. So many of my kin have I lost to the ravages of war, their lives laid to rest in pursuit of a noble yet hopeless cause,” he took a step closer, his face now inches away from your own. “It is not the fear of death that prevents me from yielding to its embrace for you, meleth nîn.”
“You awaken within me the very spirit of endurance that Eru bestowed upon his children,” he paused, his gaze turning towards the fire illuminating the terrace. “A spirit that has waned over the long ages of my dwelling, and yet... your mere existence rekindles it.
“In your presence, I find a light that guides me, a reason to embrace each new dawn. My heart, though burdened with the weight of ages, finds solace and renewal in your faintest smile. To live for you is not a burden but a blessing, a path I would tread willingly, every day anew.”
Elrond’s hands delicately encompassed your face, and you felt the gentle pressure of his fingertips, each point of contact a deliberate caress. There was a steadiness to his touch, a silent reassurance as if he sought to convey a message that words alone could not express.
“For you I would find joy in the simple pleasures that weave the intricate tapestry of our days. Through the darkest of hours, I shall cling onto hope, tending to each seedling of kindness as a gardener tends to his beloved blossoms. For you, I would dive willingly into that terrifying inkwell known as existence, with all its uncertainties and fears.”
“I would live for you.”
#elrond x reader#elrond peredhel x reader#elrond x female reader#elrond peredhel x female reader#elrond#elrond peredhel#elrond peredhel imagine#elrond imagine#elrond peredhel fanfic#elrond fanfic#rings of power#tolkien#trop#young elrond#vaile-elenya
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