#still very happy that he’s finally dead!!!

[cute-little-fly]

A travel in hell seems very unlikely because a lot of people hate him and those two assholes want him dead. Of course, maybe part of that is why he would need to run away? To a place he can’t be found by them? I think that if a travel happens it probably will be after a lot of things are more solved through, because I think it would be better for the narrative if he stays at IMP and starts opening his mind, making friends with M&M and bonding with Loona. People with very different upbringings and perspectives, and in a safe place for someone that is as affected as he is by everything. Maybe what will happen that I see likely is that he leaves Blitzø apartment and starts living on his own or with someone else. What if he lives with Moxxie and Millie while they adjust to a life with a new baby? (In case that Millie decides to keep the baby).

These lyrics could also mean not a literal journey, but another kind of journey. A journey of self discovery, where maybe Blitzø may feel separated from him if he decides to live apart (Blitzø may be loving that Stolas wakes up with him and he will really miss that, but will know that he needs to let him go a bit, and then for him to come back to live with him permanently after standing on his own feet); and then, he will be happy that he has a lot of other people around him but at the same time miss him. Where does Blitz will fit in that new world? However, they will still fit and adapt. After all, part of what they were talking while dancing was how creative or flexible they both are :).

Also, this might be because right now Stolas is kinda completely dependent on Blitzø. Maybe he just needs some independence for them to finally be 100% equals and start from there…

Then…. Maybe after that, they will move together again? To a bigger apartment with all their family? Pretty please! This would make their love even stronger later, because Stolas won’t feel trapped, he will feel free because he consciously will choose his family over everything else.

I think a lot of Stolas journey is about finding freedom, but he will see that he can do what he wants with that freedom and that also can be decide to be with the people he love the most.

Are the song’s lyrics an explanation of what will happen in the future?

[inkedinshadows]

An Angel on the Ice

A/N: happy @acotargiftexchange to you, @duskandcobalt! I'm your Secret Santa, finally here with your gift! I had so much fun getting to know you and your love for this wonderful couple. I'm so so sorry I made you wait till the very end, I've been busier than I expected. BUT!! I have a second little surprise coming for you in the next few days (probably on Christmas day). I came up with the idea while writing this fic, but I didn't know how to include it here, so it'll be a little drabble on its own. Without further ado, here's your gift. Enjoy! And congratulations for guessing what Az's surprise was!

Pairing: Azriel x Elain

Summary: Azriel takes Elain to the Illyrian mountains for a romantic surprise.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: fluff, fluff, FLUFF

The cold winter air hit Elain in the face as she stepped out of the little art shop and onto the street.

The snow that had fallen during the night still coated the cobblestones, blanketing everything in a thin layer of soft white. It had brought along the cold, so freezing that her wool hat did little to warm her.

Azriel followed her outside, a wing already curling protectively around her, drawing her closer to his side. Except he was carrying the bags full of the presents they'd bought for their family, and she was still walking a couple feet away from him.

“You know, you don't have to carry all of the bags,” she said, reaching out with a gloved hand to relieve him of some weight. “I can hold some.”

He moved his hand further away, out of her reach. “I know you can, angel,” he said with a soft smile. “I just don't want you to. You're cold. You should keep your hands in your pockets.”

“I'm wearing gloves,” she pointed out, though she didn't try to grab the bags again. She knew Azriel wouldn't let her. “I'm not cold.”

A small dimple appeared on his cheek as he smirked at her. Even after months together, Elain's heart skipped a beat at the sight, her fingers twitching at her side with the urge to touch it and place a soft kiss there.

“Then why are your nose and cheeks red?”

She rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “My sister was right. You Illyrians really are overprotective mother hens.”

Yet even as she said it, her hands slid back into the pockets of her coat. Azriel's smirk grew at the movement, but he didn't comment.

“We have to earn that title somehow,” he said instead. Elain laughed, and his smile became softer. “Let's go home.”

Home. There was a time when she'd thought the Night Court would never be her home. Only three years ago, it had felt impossible. Turned Fae against her will, shoved at a male she didn't know or want, with powers she had no idea how to control, and a broken engagement on top of it all… she'd felt hopeless.

But as she'd learned how to accept and navigate her new life, Azriel had been there to help her through it. Something had slowly changed between them, a feeling that grew inside her until she could no longer pretend it wasn't there. But acting on it had led to a denied kiss in the dead of the longest night of the year. A broken heart, that feeling of hopelessness again, and then the explanation, the argument with Rhysand, the rejection of her mating bond.

Elain stole a glance at Azriel. Just a Winter Solstice ago, he had told her it had been a mistake. And now here he was, carrying their bags full of presents, on their way to the small house they'd bought a few months ago.

“You're staring, angel.”

She couldn't help the smile that blossomed on her lips. “You're just so beautiful to look at.”

She knew the effect the words would have on him, but by the Mother, she would never get tired of the way his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. It was visible even now, when they were already reddened by the cold. It happened every time she called him beautiful, and it was one of the many things she loved about him.

“How many presents do you still have to buy?” she asked him, changing the topic to make him feel more comfortable. If they were at home, she might have teased him about his blush, but not in public.

“Just a couple,” he answered, the flush already disappearing from his cheeks. “But I know what I'll get them. The only one I miss is Cassian.”

“You can always get him beef jerky this year too,” she joked, avoiding an ice patch on the cobblestones.

Azriel glanced at her. She knew he was making sure she didn't slip on the street. Overprotective mother hen, indeed. Yet she immediately stepped back into the warmth of his wing around her.

“I might, actually,” he finally replied, no hint of joking in his voice.

She turned her head to look at him, her brow furrowed. But he looked completely serious. “You can't gift him beef jerky, Az! Two years in a row at that.”

“Why not? He likes it.”

Elain shook her head in disbelief. “Because he's your brother. You always come home with a new present for me, but you can't think of anything different for your brother?”

Azriel smirked. “I'm not in love with my brother, angel.”

It was her turn to blush now. She knew he loved her, of course. They'd said it before a thousand times. But Azriel had his own way of saying it when she least expected it — reminding her whenever he could, catching her off guard and making her heart beat faster every single time.

“You know that's not what I meant,” she mumbled. She preceded him up the few steps to their front door, her fingers stiff even inside the gloves. She fumbled with the key for a moment before she managed to turn it in the lock.

The warmth of the living room welcomed her inside, the smell of the bread she'd baked that morning still lingering in the air.

“It can be difficult to come up with something new and different after five hundred years,” Azriel said as he followed her in. He set the bags down before turning to face her. “You'll see.”

Elain took off her gloves, then her hat, his words swirling in her mind. “You know, it used to scare me,” she mused. “The thought of having eternity in front of me.”

Azriel watched her carefully. “But now it doesn’t?”

She shook her head, stepping closer. “No.” Her arms wrapped around him, and she rested her chin on his chest, tilting her head up to look at him. “Because now I get to spend it with you.”

His throat bobbed. She was the one who'd caught him off guard this time. At a loss of words, Azriel buried his fingers in her hair, angling her head so he could lean down and capture her lips in a kiss that left her dizzy. The kind of kiss that usually meant they would take things up to the bedroom. Or whatever nearest surface they could find.

But he pulled back instead. Elain's heart was already racing in her chest, and she was rising on her toes for another kiss when he spoke again.

“I have a surprise for you.”

She stopped, lowering herself onto her feet. “Winter Solstice is still a week away.”

With the holidays nearing, he’d stopped getting her little gifts out of nowhere. He said he wanted to wait because everything had to be perfect this year. Their first Solstice together.

“It's not a present,” he replied. His hand slid from her hair to her cheek, and she had trouble focusing as his thumb brushed her lip. “It's something I want to do with you. I wanted to wait till Solstice, but now it just feels like the right moment.”

Elain could only nod. “Okay,” she whispered.

His chuckle was a low rumble that resonated deep in her chest. “What happened, angel?” he asked softly. “Where did your voice go?”

“You're… distracting me.”

It took her a moment to snap out of it, to find the strength to step back and let his hand fall away from her face. But she didn't miss his smug grin at her admission.

She cleared her throat, trying to clear her mind as well and focus on Azriel’s surprise. “What do you want to do?” she asked as she reached for the first button of her coat.

Azriel's hand gently caught hers to stop her. “Keep it on,” he said. “We need to go back outside.” At her curious look, he added, “I want to take you to Rhys's cabin.”

Well, that was certainly a surprise.

“Rhys's cabin?” she repeated, even as she slid her gloves back on. “Why?”

He smiled, offering her the hat she'd hung on the coat rack. “It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, angel.”

“Right,” she chuckled. She made sure to grab a warm scarf as well this time before silently offering him her gloved hand.

Azriel took it in his larger one, and then they were winnowing out of Velaris and deep into Illyrian territory.

The first thing Elain noticed was the cold, her breath forming a faint puff in the air. Then she took in the snow that covered everything, white and bright under the afternoon sun.

Azriel's hand tightened around hers, and he guided her toward the cabin just a few yards away. The snow reached their calves, and never before had Elain been so glad to be wearing boots.

“I'm starting to question why you brought me here,” she mumbled, struggling to wade through the snow even as she followed directly in the path his footsteps left behind.

“I'm sorry, angel,” he replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I promise it'll be worth it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, sizing her up as if he was pondering picking her up and carrying her to the cabin. But a few more steps finally brought them to the door, and he ushered her inside.

Her breath caught as she looked up.

Every wall was covered in paint, drawings in a style that she immediately recognized as her sister’s.

“Are those…?”

Azriel nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “Yes. Feyre painted them.” He let go of her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Wait here. I’ll get what we need.”

Elain watched him disappear down the hallway, wings tucked tight against his back. She sank onto the couch, admiring her sister’s artwork all over the room, its colors adding warm to the otherwise bare place.

Azriel was back in a matter of minutes, two pairs of shoes in his hands.

As he walked closer and took a seat next to her, she noticed the thin blades attached to the soles. She frowned even as she accepted the pair that he offered her. “What are these exactly?”

He was already working on swapping his boots with the new ones. “You’re asking a lot of questions today,” he quipped with a smile. “Put them on, angel. They’re Mor’s, but they should fit you. You’ll find out what they're for soon enough.”

Elain let out a dramatic sigh, hiding her own smile as she leaned down to take off her boots. “You’re lucky I love you, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I never once doubted it, angel.”

When she was done, he helped her stand, giving her just enough time to balance herself on those strange boots before he winnowed them again. She instinctively gripped his arm to steady herself as they reappeared on the shore of a frozen lake. She looked around, her eyes searching the snowy expanse, but there was nothing in sight expect the white mountains.

Before she could ask anything — despite knowing how slim her chances of getting a straight answer out of Azriel were — he stepped back. Right on the icy surface of the lake.

Elain gasped, expecting the ice to give way beneath him and send him plunging into the freezing water below.

But nothing happened. The ice didn't even creak under his weight. Azriel simply stood there, a smile on his beautiful face, and extended a hand toward her. “Come join me, angel.”

She hesitated, glancing down at his feet. Though she was standing on the same thin blades, she wasn’t moving, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t fall flat on her face if she tried to step forward.

“Why are we stepping on the ice?” she inquired, hoping to buy herself a little more time.

“We're skating,” Azriel explained, finally giving her an answer. To demonstrate, he glided backward a few feet, his wings flaring slightly to steady him before he slid back toward her. He gracefully stopped right at the edge of the lake. “You should give it a try.”

Elain didn't move. He made it look so easy, but who knew how many times he had done this before? He also made wielding a sword look easy.

“You won't fall, Ellie,” he reassured her, as if he had read her mind. He reached out with both hands. “And even if you do, I'll be here to catch you. I promise.”

She might not trust herself, but she trusted him — trusted that he would always be there to catch her if she fell. So she took his hands and slowly set one foot on the ice, then the other.

Azriel smiled at her, his fingers firm around hers. “That's it, angel. We'll take it one step at a time. Just bend your knees a little and follow my lead.”

She did as he asked and when he moved back, he gently pulled her along. Her feet glided over the surface of the lake, leaving faint lines behind.

He gave her a few instructions, guiding her further from the shore, never letting go. Slowly, Elain became more confident, more stable on her feet as she got used to the movements. It reminded her of a dance, one that could be elegant and beautiful when someone was skilled. She made a mental note to tell Nesta about it later.

“Where did you learn to do this?” she asked. Azriel was holding only one of her hands now, and they skated side by side. Still slowly, but they had gained some speed. “It doesn't seem like a typical Illyrian activity.”

Azriel laughed. It was that beautiful, deep laugh he reserved just for her. “You're right. It's not.” His laughter softned, but its warmth lingered in his voice. “It's common in the Winter Court. Viviane taught Mor a few centuries ago, and she taught the rest of us.”

He slowed them to a stop, shifting to stand in front of her. “I never thought I would, but I took a liking to it.”

Elain smiled up at him. “I think I like it too.”

“I thought you might.” He brought her hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “Want to try skating on you own?”

She thought about it for a moment, then she nodded. “Alright. But don't wander too far, okay?”

Azriel's smile was bright and soft. “Never, angel.”

He let go of her hand and moved a few feet away from her. At first, she faltered without his grip to steady her, but she quickly adjusted, his earlier instructions echoing in her mind.

For every step she took toward him, Azriel moved further back. Elain felt like a child learning to walk, her movements awkward but growing more confident with every push of her foot. Soon, gliding over the ice came naturally. And Azriel was always there, his hands outstretched to catch her if she fell. But she didn’t.

When he stopped and she reached him again, his hazel eyes were bright with pride and love. “You did it, Ellie.”

“Yes,” she replied, already intertwining their fingers again. “But don't let go of my hands again.”

Azriel's brow furrowed. “Why? You did great. You didn't even stumble.”

“I know.” Elain smirked, unable to hide her own satisfaction from her little accomplishment. “I just want to hold your hand.”

His expression softened, and a smile spread across his lips. That adorable dimple appeared once again, and with it came back her need to kiss it. Damn skates, she couldn't rise on her toes with those on.

“I will never let you go, angel,” he promised.

And he didn't.

Elain had no idea how much time they spent on that lake. It was just him and her, lost in the snowy mountains in the middle of nowhere. The silence was broken only by their laughter and quiet words. It felt as though they were the only two people in the world, free from worries and duties, lost in this moment, in each other, in a love born from quiet understanding and gentle touches.

The sun was setting by the time Azriel came to a halt, wrapping his strong arms around her. “We should probably get back,” he murmured, his voice soft as if to preserve the moment. “It's getting late.”

“And cold,” she added. Without the warm sunlight, the already cold air had turned into a freezing bite. Her scarf and hat didn't help much, and even Azriel's warmth couldn't stop her gloved hands from stiffening.

“We could take a hot bath,” she suggested. “Or I could make us some hot chocolate and we can cuddle in front of the fireplace.”

Azriel smirked, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “And losing the chance of seeing your gorgeous body? I think I'll choose that bath, angel.”

Elain's cheeks turned a deep shade of red. “I… didn't mean it like that.”

His face fell slightly as worry creeped into his eyes. “You know we don't have to do anything if you don't want to, angel. I'm sorry if I assumed—”

She cut him off with a soft smile. “Az, I just hadn't thought about it. I'd love to take a bath together.” She cupped his face with her small hands, her voice barely above a whisper. “Take me home, Shadowsinger.”

His arms tightened around her, and he winnowed them away without another word, her laughter echoing in the now-empty glade.

dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

[littlexlioness]

His heart was lead. His arms and legs dead weight for him to drag about when he infrequently dared to leave to his room – doing so only on his days to cook. It has been two months since she disappeared. Two months with a gaping hole where his heart has been.

He was empty most days. Hallow. Which, he supposed, was better than the raging blackouts of sorrow and despair he had experienced the first few days she was gone. Spite has taken over then when the feelings became too much. He hadn’t been able to hold the demon back, when he felt the earth slip out from underneath his boots. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. Felt reality being to fade away, again. It has been months since he’d felt darkness like this. Since the Ossuary, when he’d last lost all hope.

But back then, there had been Rook. Her high cheekbones and shinning green eyes had blasted part every dark cloud he’d surrounded himself with. She has been the light he had so desperately needed. Had been the light he’d been begging the Maker to bring into this life, his hope. And now she was gone. Swallowed into the Fade, never to be heard from again.

He knew better than to hope now. Knew nothing good would come of wistfully waiting around for her to storm back in through the pantry door and declare that she was fine. Never again. His chest ached with a familiar emptiness that, for a while, had felt foreign to him. But heartache could not change reality, and the reality of the situation was that Rook was gone. For good.

No matter how much he raged, how he shook, screamed, and sobbed – nothing would bring her back. And the idea of seeing her again, holding her the way he had dreamed of one day doing – would have been enough to end him right then and there.

So he didn’t hope. He couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine her fighting back, tooth and nail, scrappy till the very end – like she always had been. He couldn’t imagine her laughing with the team or rejoining them for dinner. Because any more hope for happiness would likely be his last.

Compartmentalize. That’s what he’d been taught as a Crow. Shut down your feelings and finish the contract– no matter the cost. And right now, that meant taking out the Gods and finishing Rook’s final mission. It was the least the team could do, having lost her in the line of duty. Carrying out her legacy would be his greatest honor. His most important Contract.

He heard a loud clank of pots and pants on the other side of the door, and knew Bellara should be done cooking any moment. He cringed at the thought of having to pretend to be fine in front of the team. He’d taken to eating alone after the first few days. He still cooked when it was his turn, and when it would have been Rook’s but taking his meals in the pantry, alone. Trying to put on a brave face inspite of Spite’s constating roaring had become altogether too much for him. And unless the team wanted to watch him try to leash the demon and fail horrifically, he wouldn’t be joining them.

He felt most guilty on Bellara’s days. She was the only other member who could manage to put together something actually edible, and those big, brown eyes of her staring up at him when he murmured, he would be taking his meal alone only furthered the pit in his stomach. Too soft, too fragile. They all were. And damned lucky to have even made it this far alive and in one piece. At least, most of them had.

A soft knock at the door had him turning over in his cramped cot and facing the door. Only to see the small elfhen he  been thinking of.

“ I know you prefer to eat on your own. But I tried my best to make crow feed, and I’d really like it if you’d join us for family dinner tonight.”

He could tell she was nervous, her eyes darting around the pantry trying to look at anything other than the shell of the man he was – lying lifelessly in the corner.  She had a small, sad smile and a tried her best to laugh at the last part- referencing Rook’s joke about them being a family. Rook always called mealtime, “family dinner” and demanded they were all present. No Excuses.  

She’d told him once, in confidence, that she’d dreamt of finding her own family someday. After growing up as an orphan and being taken in my the Mourn Watch. She’d dreamed of finding her place, her “people” someday. It had been a quite night, after a mission to Nevara with Emmerich that she’d told him. They’d sat closely together that night, sharing a cup of coffee in her rooms as the fish swam around.

Now, he’d do anything to get those quite moments back. To feel her warmth against his skin again or hear her voice whispering secrets to him in the early morning hours, too raw to speak to anyone else. The hollowness in his chest throbbed, and he felt Spite thrash against his control shouting at him

“ROOK. SHOULD BE HERE. FIND ROOK.”

He shook his head, trying to clear away the voice of the spirit, as best he could. Spite was getting louder, and angrier with every passing hour. Holding the demon back had begun to physically pain him. It took everything ounce of control he had to not relinquish his restraint.

Taash had been the one to find him, the first night after Rook disappeared. He’d spent hours searching the area, looking for clues, daggers in hand, eyes frantic and glowing,  all but begging the power-hungry Gods to let him join her. To let him trade places with her, to do anything to bring her back.

But there was nothing to be done.

Rook was gone.

That night they had barely crossed the threshold of the eluvian before Spite had snapped the withering leash of control he’d held over the demon and broken free.  There wasn’t much he could remember other than the overwhelming darkness of it all, the pit in his stomach overtaking him, his heart shattering time and time again, as wails he couldn’t control broke from his lips. He could feel his limbs trashing, as Taash held him close to their chest ( either in comfort, or to restrain him from hurting himself – he’s still not sure).  Spite had taken over for hours, hours of screeching and shouting unable to accept she was gone. Unwillingly to accept that there was nothing more to do to rescue her. It seemed Spite and he had very different ways of handling her loss.

He’d tended to his injuries in solitude and shame later, when he woke up.

“…..- Anis?”

He’d lost himself in thought. It had been happening more often lately, more often that he would like to admit. He looked up at Bellara with a sheepish, soft, smile.

“I’m sorry. What was that?” He was sorry. Bel had the softest heart of their team, and he knew she was hurting just as much as he was. He hadn’t meant to get lost in his head again – had meant to let the memory of losing control distract him.

“It’s okay! I asked if you needed anything. If I could do anything to help?” This time she looked him in the eye, honest and direct. He knew it was difficult for her, putting herself out there just to be shot down. The least he could do was throw her a bone and offer up a conversation.

“I’m as well as I can be Bel. But I could use the comforts of home, crow feed is perfect.” He said with a sigh, as he willed him legs to a standing position. Bellara’s surprise was palpable, and a grin broke across her face with satisfaction. He smiled back at her, halfhearted and empty – it was better than nothing.

“ Everyone is already at the table; we were just waiting for you to pick which wine we should have.”

She was trying to butter him up, and he knew it. Knew had it been any other night, Bel would have picked the first bottle she found and announced it good enough. Or worse even, Neve would have brought out that horrific box of “wine” swill from Minrathous and insisted it was “just as good”.

He trudged to the door, holding it open for the small elf and peering into the stagnant dining hall. Dinners used to be lively, with Rook and the team. They’d telling stories of their most recent adventures, or read letters from the members who were out on mission and making up stories about what they were facing.

But tonight, just like every night since she’d disappeared, it was quite. Too quiet. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise – he’d walked into a trap. And it was too late to turn back, as he head the soft click of the door behind him and saw Bellara walk towards the table where the head seat still sat painfully empty.

He took his seat, the seat everyone else had purposefully left for him. Ever since the night they’d caught him baking, and rebaking, and rebaking again the hazelnut Nevarran torte for Rook. He’d never admit how much effort he’d put into the dessert - but the team knew. He’d never outright told them about the conversation that followed that night. But, it felt as if they already knew something had been growing between him and their fearless leader.

He took his seat to the right of the head of the table. The seat still empty, no place setting laid out for its occupant.

He could feel their eyes on him, drilling past his defenses, staring daggers into his soul, as he looked anywhere else. Compartmentalization was one thing. Confrontation was another, and he was not ready for that discussion just yet. Not today, after a particularly long fight with Spite that had landed him with a particularly bad nosebleed, and a splitting migraine.

“YOUR FAULT.”

The demon shouted.

“YOUR FAULT. ROOK GONE.”

“FIND HER. FIND HER!"

He would do anything for 15 minutes for true, uninterrupted silence – without the team, or the spirit demanding something of him. With a relegated sigh, he looked up catching the eyes of the team boring into him.

“I’m fine” Even he didn’t believe himself.

“That’s not what people who are fine would actually say.” Taash threw back at him, without an ounce of careful caution.

Not like Bel who had been walking on eggshells around him for the past few weeks. Taash was always like this. Brash, but honest. He liked it, usually. They were an open book to read, no games to play, or mind tricks. Another other day it would have been refreshing.

But today, they was a nuisance..

“You’re right Taash, I’m not fine. But I will be – with time” He kept his tone even, his responses short and to the point. No need to get emotional, no need to let the team how badly he was falling apart, or how frayed his control had become.  He needed to put his feelings aside, in order to complete the contract. That was all he could focus on.

“Why not just be just be honest, for once.”

His head snapped up at that, of course it was Davrin who felt the need to make a dig at his behavior. He’d had a hard time letting go of his grudge against the warrior ever since the siege at Weisshaupt. They may have shared a drink together, but that didn’t erase their strained history.

“What would you like me to say, Davrin? That I’m upset? I’m sure you’re all more than aware of that by now”

No need to be subtle, the whole team has watched Taash restrain him as he clawed at his own skin. Spite desperate enough to take out it’s anger on anyone or anything. It was a moment of weakness he’d tried hard not to think about, embarrassed at the glaring weakness and shame of having to be held against his will like a child acting out.

“ So that’s it? You’re just going to give up? You’re not even going to bother fighting for her? Bother trying to find her? You claim you love he---“

The warrior was sharply cut off as a knife soared through the air, grazing across his left cheek, and embedding itself in the wall behind him.

“You know nothing of what I feel. Don’t’ you dare speak of it again!” He shot back his tone razor sharp, eyes subconsciously flashing midnight as his restraint faltered and Spite snuck into control.

The elfhan face was apparent with shock, morphing into a grimace, and then nothing put pure, unadulterated rage begin radiating from him.

It happened in quick succession, Davrin forcefully pushing back his chair, the flipping of the neatly made dining room table, and then the shouting as the elf charged at him eyes full of ire.

“WE ALL LOVE HER YOU COWARD, AND YET YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO’S GIVEN UP ON HER”

He grabbed at a chair that had been haphazardly thrown to its side. Needing something to use a weapon as the warrior charged at him. Ready with a steely look in his eye for a fight. He could feel himself give in, let go of his tether on Spite as his eyes glowed dark and wings appearing behind him. If Davrin wanted a fight, he’d give it to him.

That hardheaded idiot knew nothing, NOTHING, about how he felt! What had been racing through his mind every day, every moment since Rook had vanished. Davrin knew nothing about the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be, how he would never feel the same, never smile the same, never think the same without her by his side. He’d rather the Fade take him, than lose someone as precious as her. At least someone like him deserved to disappear. All he knew was death.

He barely heard Bellara suck in a gasp, and the two men went at each other. Nothing but wrangled limbs, and rage as Davrin threw a solid punch, connecting with his left eye and he brought the lone chair down hard, against the elf’s head – shattering it to splinters. It seems Davrin really was as hardheaded as he seemed. His face throbbed, but it was a dull pang compared to everything else. He felt the wind knocked out of him as the elf rushed at him again, locking his arms around his waist and taking them to the ground. If the warrior wanted a brawl, he’d be more than happy to oblige. Sprawled out on his back, he reached around him searching for anything to use as a weapon. Smirking, he his hand connected with cool silvery metal. He grabbed the instrument and jabbed down, hard and fast into the other man’s shoulder stabbing the utensil deep into covered skin.

Davrin let out a howl, hollow and angry as he began throwing punch after punch into his stomach, his chest, anywhere the elf could make contact. He could barely heard the horrified shouts of his team mates around the sound of Spike finally being let loose.

“BREAK HIM.”

“KILL HIM.”

“HE THINKS. HE KNOWS ROOK BEST. END HIM”

And for once, he agreed. Davin thought he knew everything, thought he deserved to know everything – when really he didn’t know when to let things go and admit defeat. He wasn’t a leader; he was a fool. A hopeful, childish fool who would only have those hopes crushed when he realized there was no getting her back. They couldn’t. She was stuck in the Fade with no way of making contact, no way of freeing her.

The sooner Davrin learned to accept reality and cut his losses the sooner the team could move forward on their mission. The sooner he could complete the last contract he had, the last piece of Rook he had to hold onto.

As he reared back his head, ready to bash the elfhen man square in the face – he felt a chill. Something cold and foreign holding him in place, holding him back. He looked up to see Taash had quite literally picked Davrin off the floor, holding him like someone may hold a misbehaving kitten by the scruff. Davrin trashed at the restriction, and Taash let out a strained grunt as the man struggled against them.

He whipped his head to see the source of the chill holding him in place, came from none other than Neve as she stood Infront of a horrified looking Bellara and a disappointed Emmerich. She’d had to use magic to freeze him in place he realized with an annoyed grimace. But at least he wasn’t being held at bay by Taash, again.

The shouting continued, getting louder and louder as each man hurled more colorful swears than most of their team had ever heard. Davrin being especially creative, and his being mostly in Antivan. He could make out the sound, in the back of his mind, of Bellara begging them to stop. Emmerich holding her close to shield her from the sight of the fight.

But it wasn’t until a green rip opened in the middle of the dining room that the two men went silent. It was a fade tear. Totally uncontrolled, and random. Something the team had been trying to conjure on demand for the last few months to get back to their leader.

He could feel the heat creep red hot up his neck, across his cheeks as his heart pounded so wildly he was sure the elfhen in the room could hear. This----this was impossible. The only thing that could tear into the fade was the dagger, and the dagger was last with……..

No.

It couldn’t be.

And yet there it was. The rip opened wider, growing until it was the size of a doorway, big enough for an adult to walk through – and through the rip he saw a shadow. Short in stature, with same tell-tale red curls and a mischievous grin slashing across her face. And with one step, out of the green haze and into the shaken dining room – she was there.

It was her.

Out of now where, like an angle she just – appeared. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t process what was happening, as the feel the cold around his arms and legs melted away as Never lost concentration on the spell.

He couldn’t think straight. His heart thundering– hard and fast like he’d been running for his life. Some part of him recognized he was shaking, hands quivering as he reached out to her like she might disappear again if he were to touch her. Reverently, as if she were too pure, like she would break if he was too rough, too good for this world.

“I’m home! Did you miss me?” Was all she had time to get out before he was on his knees, and then rushing across the room.

Unbothered by what the team thought, unbridled by what a Dellamorte should act like, inhibitions running lost as he threw himself around her – wings blazing bright in the soft light of the Fade tear, before wrapping around her gently. Cocooning her in a shield of protection. He would never let her go. Never let her leave, never go another day without seeing her, hearing her, holding her. Never again.

His shaking worsened, and his face felt wet and he gripped her tightly around the middle – arms locking in place. Gingerly, he felt her arms raise up and hold him in return. He let out an uncontrollable sob, wet and loud. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, not since he lost his mother. But today, here- seeing her again? This was worth it.

She laid her head gently against his chest, and likely heard how deafening his pounding heartbeat was. He was fighting for control now, eyes flickering between purple and brown as Spite pulled at the fraying tether of restraint. He knew the spirit was just as excited as he was to have her back- to have her in their arms once again. But he couldn’t give up, couldn’t give up this moment. He’d rather die than lose this.

“I’m sorry” She whispered in his ear, softly enough that only he could hear, and another sob wrecked his body. He’d never live this down if Viago or Teia heard.

“shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.  I’m home now. I’m safe. We’re safe.” She continued rubbing his back gently, as she repeated the soft words to him. As his grip tightened, and ratcheting around her until he thought for a moment that she wouldn’t be able to breath. But she let him continue, knew he needed this just as much as she did.

“ROOK.NEVER.LEAVE.AGAIN”

“Never leave us again, not like this”

He begged softly, words heavy on his tongue as he held her tightly in their cocoon. No one could see them, they were safe, protected here. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t disappear into the Fade, couldn’t fall through his fingers into nothingness. He drank in the embrace, the feel of her short frame against his, the smell of her messy curls against his cheek, the feel of her heart matching his thrumming in his chest. If it were his choice, he’d never leave this moment. Never let her go again.

“….Love.”

It took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. She’d never called him that before, and it added a warmth to his chest that was sorely needed. Love. He loved her. He’d always known, he could tell he was falling for her weeks ago despite how badly he wanted to distance himself from the feeling – he’d known. And when she’d gone missing? The largest regret he carried was never telling her, never being a brave enough man to accept the fear in his heart and tell her the truth. He’d never let that happen again.

“I love you, Rook. And I’m never losing you again”

He shook, out of fear or overwhelming joy he couldn’t be sure. He’d never said those words to anyone, not since he was a boy saying them to his mother. He’d never expected how terrifying it could be to say aloud to another person. But today, for now, he could be brave. He had to be, Rook deserved it. She deserved honestly, she deserved truth, and even if she deserved more than the love of a broken man – he would still offer all he had and more to her.

“I love you too, sweetheart”

She carded her hands through his hair softly, bringing a hand down to rest a warm palm against his cheek, eyes raising up to meet his wet gaze. She was beautiful, perfect, deadly. Everything he could want in partner, everything and more than he deserved.

“May I?"

She asked softly, not needing to even ask before he gently leaned down to meet her lips. It wasn’t perfect, his cheeks still wet with tears, his breath ragged with fear as his heart was still thundering in his chest. It was messy, and imperfect. But it was him, honest and present – everything he could offer to her.

He’d once told her that a good coffee tastes like a kiss goodbye, bitter and then sweet. But this, this was better. This was a welcome home kiss, a reuniting kiss, and kiss of endless opportunity and hope. Like honey and lavender cream, and so much more than he could have ever imagined.

A cough rang out from somewhere in the room, and it took him a moment to notice that Spite’s wings had disappeared – leaving the kissing lovers exposed to the rest of the team and the disheveled dinning room.

“Well, I supposed that settles that.” Never said as she let out a chuckle, at the sight of the embracing couple, both wearing matching pink cheeks.

Rook was mindful enough to let out an embarrassed chuckle, as she loosened her arms around his shoulders. She stepped to move out of his embrace, only for him to tighten his grip around her – he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anyway.” Rook whispered to him softly, reaching to grasp his hand in hers tightly. He reflexively reached out to grab hers, squeezing tightly, not wanting to be separated from her yet.

“Sooooo, so wants to tell me the story of why our dinning room looks like a war zone?” She quipped softly, trying to lighten the mood in the already awkward hall.

“You’re boyfriend was acting like a kicked puppy, I told him to grow up, and then he stabbed me with a fork” Davrin tossed out casually, pulling the offending cutlery out of his shoulder blade as proof of the indiscretion.

“And the chair. Don’t forget about the chair he broke over your stupid thick skill” Taash added in, with a look of amusement and a chuckle.

“ Ah yes, a true assassin’s way of showing affection. I should have known. If only I were so lucky.” Rook laughed disbelievingly, not quite sure of the statement had Davrin not been ready to show her the blood-tinged fork for herself. But she supposed there had to be more to the story, there always was.

But for now, she was content to laugh at the antics of her lover and their oddly mismatched family. Perhaps they weren’t prefect, or well behaved. But they were hers, and she loved them – no matter what.

[boozles]

QL Grievances 2024 Part Two: The Bad Stuff

So, I posted the Good Stuff that I liked earlier, now it's time for tthe Bad Stuff. However, I would like to preface this by saying that these are just my opinions, okay? If you see me disliking something that you loved, it isn't an attack on you - we're all pals here <3

The Most Ableist Ending Ever: Last Twilight

This was such a fantastic series and really made me enjoy JimmySea...but then they just went and ruined all the growth and progression by returning Day's sight. I totally get it was meant to be a happy ending etc. but it was so unrealistic and rather classist as well as ableist. It was such a disappointment, and every time I see the show win an award I can't help but feel like it doesn't completely deserve it.

Biggest Let Down Of An Ending: The Sign

I was OBSESSED with this show as it was airing. I loved it so much, but then the last episode just phoned it in. After a lifetime of stalking Tharn, the Doc just let's him go a year later? There was also not nearly enough scenes with the Nagas. I am thankful that this series brought us BillyBabe, and it was a fantastic show up until the finale.

Worst (Fake) Tattoos In A Seres: Kant, The Heart Killers

You have absolutely no idea how much I hate these tattoos. Okay, I'm not a tattoo experct, but I have been getting tattoos for 20+ years now and I have a pretty decent collection on my body. Kant's tattoos are startingly fake, and putting him in scenes with actors who actually have tattoos makes them look worse. You can see the shine of the transfer, you can see it rubbing off in places, and you can even see the sticky edges. IT'S HORRIBLE. It makes me so sad because First looks amazing in the series but I keep wishing he was in long sleeves because every time I look at those tattoos I get irrationally angry. Like, why are they so bad? Look at Win from Between Us - his tattoos look great! And even Joke from Jack and Joker's look pretty decent (albeit a little I Got These From A Lucky Bag). AND THEN THERE'S THE DESIGNS THEY'VE PICKED. Like, the blocked lines that don't wrap around the limb - WHY? And they all look so similar? Like, was there a sale on transfer packs? The only one that looks half decent is the one on his back. I'm sorry, but I just. I just HATE them so much. So. Fucking. Much.

Worst Change To An Existing Character: Pai, Cherry Magic

Don't get me wrong, I love Pai and her fangirling ways, but I really wish they had kept her asexual. Or, at the very least, single; like, the point of her character (to me, anyway) always felt like it was her discovering she's fine on her own, she's a strong, independant woman. It would also have been good to just see someone enjoying their life and not needing romance. (Which, I guess she kinda had a little of, since it was Rock that pursued her and she was a bit nonchalant for most of it.)

Worst Acting In A Series: Dead Friend Forever

I had to quit the series half way through because the acting was just so bad. Okay, Ta, Barcode and Copper were fantastic, but everyone else was awful. The writing was pretty awful, too. Like, the premise was promising, and it would have made a great horror movie, but the series was too long and too bad. (I will say, however, Fuaiz and JJay really showed up for 4 Minutes and did so much better in that.)

Worst Adaption Of An Already Existing Series: Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan

Another series I had to drop because I was just not vibing. I'm supportive of the series existing but it was just not for me. The casting all feels wrong (other than Arashi, who was great), and having the story so condensed down felt wasted. Fuma and Kai just felt super weird and did not fit the characters, I don't think? LITA (Thai) wasn't perfect at all, but it most definitely is the superior series.

Worst Acceptance Of A Character's Bad Actions: Perfect 10 Liners

So, I am obsessed with this show but I am still pretty mad how everyone just kinda accepted that Arc was a racerboy and endangered lives? Like, the way it was all, "you hurt Arm, do you care now?" and like, it only took hurting someone in their group for Arc to stop speeding? That rubbed me the wrong way. Like, I know his friends kinda called him out, but they were also the ones who were like OH CAN YOU GIVE ARM A RIDE HOME (in the first episode) even though they knew what Arc was like.

And that's all from me for now! I actually feel like I complain too much, and again, all of this is just my thoughts and whinings; no hate to shows/characters/actors/creators!

[lycapicta]

Siffrin Headcanons bc i cant sleep

As soon as bro said nya in my game he was assigned the required paws and tail

Doesn't unsheath claws unless he's not wearing gloves they dont wanna ruin them :((

Hair does become completely white after a while but he was talked into dyeing it two tone style again since it suits him

Idea stolen from a friend, but I very much like the idea of Siffrin being albino would explain why he's covered up most of the time

He does not tan he burns...

You all know who I am: Siffrin definitely purrs

He continues his touch therapy outside of the loops and is pretty good with it! He does still get spooked sometimes when he's not ready

Still struggles quite a bit with asking for affection or attention (its easier for him to ask for it from Isabeau)

Cried the first time they ate something outside of the loops

Regularly gets combs or brushes from Mira, but he lets Isa do it once in a while bc he gets jealous lol

Sif didn't completely lose his eye but it is dead (i.e. cant cry out of it, cloudy/damaged) he also can't open it fully and usually settles for having it closed

Their eye patch covers it most of the time but in my design his eye scar is star shaped :)

Spoilery headcanons below the cut

Despite Mira’s healing Sif has lots of scars from hurting himself in the final confrontation with his friends

He has a huge star shaped gash on his chest that mimics Loop's, albeit significantly less clean looking

Has small scars on his arms from the self harm event that you can get in act 5 if you interact with the shard of glass (tries to hide them *unsuccessfully* from his family members at first)

Has chronic pain (something i thought of since the pain he goes through for each of his deaths while looping sort of carries over)

They often have spells where they're in too much pain to move or speak. In these cases the family finds an inn or a place to lay low for a while until it passes. He gets lots of pampering and good foods

This is explored in a fic i haven't finished but Mira teaches Siffrin VSL (Vaugardian Sign Language) to help whenever he becomes nonverbal. He uses it regularly but still struggles a lot with matching Vaugardian words to their respective hand signs

Seems to recall more and more things abt his country as he gets older but he never truly remembers everything (Odile writes everything that she can down for him)

I imagine when the party DOES eventually split up Isabeau and Siffrin still travel a lot, but have their own place in Jouvente whenever they need to settle for a while.

Siffrin is excited to see everyone else's hometowns/countries and is always so happy to see everyone again

Siffrin LOVES touch post loops and is usually all over Isabeau (Isa still has not recovered lmao)

For a long time after everything and even recently Siffrin is enamored with the changes in the weather and the seasons (particularly the rain and snow or the rumble of thunder)

The first night that he experienced a storm after the loops he stayed up for a while watching the rain and listening to the thunder (he had to be coaxed to get his butt in bed)

I also headcanon that he enjoys being out in the rain a lot even if he does become a sopping wet cat afterwards

He never truly gets his original hat back and still has remnants of mannerisms he'd done when he had it (trying to pull down on the brim when embarrassed, etc.)

Isa regularly does a bit of maintenance on his cloak to keep it in good condition (no one else is allowed to touch it)

Sif has episodes where he'll stare up at the stars and sob. He's usually inconsolable, and all the others can do is just be there to give him comfort

Whenever Sif has nightmares he has them in that strange shade (red)

[itsjaywalkers]

POPPING THE BIGGEST CHAMPAGNE BOTTLES YOU CAN IMAGINE RN very sorry about the roy siblings’ loss my heart is with them in these difficult times etc etc BUT GOOD RIDDANCE MF YOU WON’T BE MISSED

[shannonsketches]

something something foils moving in opposite directions Goku's always happy to seek and fight stronger opponents because he spent most of his life being the strongest guy in the room and Vegeta wants to be the strongest/is always exhausted to find stronger opponents because he spent most of his life having to navigate his survival around the whims of the strongest guy in the universe room and so Goku has a foundation of safety and stability and so spends his time craving challenge and adventure and Vegeta has a foundation of challenge and adventure and spends his time craving safety and stability and the overlaid section of their venn diagram is that the only way they know how acquire and maintain those things is through battle

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

i won't lie Mualani's playstyle is VERY fun i'm being tempted to pull for her,,,

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

the higher-ups (and Yaga) immediately trying to leverage Gojo & Ieri's absence to put Yuuta on the roster??? God that's such a stark moment. Thank god Nanami and Gojo saw through that one immediately, because Yuuta wants to justify his own survival so badly he would've fallen straight into it.

That whole scene, with Yuuta immediately jumping on the opportunity to help people even though something is Extremely Wrong with him and he's on the brink of physical collapse--this boy is selfless to the point of self destruction and I am chewing the drywall about it. I love him so much.

If only he was able to summon his newly found homicidal rage in defense of himself, the higher-ups would no longer be a problem. Alas, this boy is Extremely Unwell.

(Sea Glass Gardens is absolutely incredible and i am obsessed with it in a way that is totally and 100% normal. I'm so normal about it, trust me <3 )

The thing about Yuuta is that he really is prime to be taken advantage of right now and the higher ups know it. They had him try to kill himself for them--they know that there's a window of opportunity that they can use to get him under their thumb and avoid The Problem of Gojo, which is, namely, having a human weapon who you cannot fully control. Gojo nailed it from the beginning: they want a magic gatling gun with no personality or free will. They learned their lesson with Gojo and are trying to rob Yuuta of his agency before he learns how to protect himself.

And Yaga's part in that scene really was meant to kind of emphasize how, even with the best intention's, he just doesn't work to protect the kids. Like. everything he said was technically true, and he meant it with the best of intentions. He's the guy who has to think of everyone's needs. he has to manage this crisis. he's got a lot of people hurt badly who just came out of a war, and a lot of people going into fights with some very aggravated curses spawning without sufficient manpower to address the danger and no healer to save them if they cut it a little too close. He didn't have the intention of manipulating or sacrificing Yuuta, but he was aware that it would come to his detriment and risk.

The issue is the higher ups. They don't give a shit about the people in their workforce. They should be the ones doing whatever it takes to solve this crisis and save their people--and if that means giving up on their machinations? They should have already done it. It's their responsibility.

They just don't care. They want Okkotsu Yuuta under their thumb, and their society hemorrhaging is treated like an opportunity, not a dire problem to be solved. They don't care if half a dozen of their own people need to die to do it. Hell, it's better if they do die--they can put it straight on Okkotsu for not being willing to sacrifice himself, when they should have been making whatever promises they had to in order to make this work.

Gojo's done this before, is the thing. He was Yuuta, a long time ago. Nanami was right there watching it happen. They both know what the higher ups do: They let society get to a crisis level and put all the responsibility on you to save it. they let you maneuver yourself into a vulnerable position as a result, and then they use it as leverage to put their goddamn boot on your neck.

The thing is that Gojo adopting megumi all those years ago really did put them into a crisis state. the zenin pitched the mother of all bitch fits trying to secure his unconditional return, and they were a huge percentage of jujutsu society's labor force and resource pools. instead of the higher ups managing the problem at all, they took advantage of the situation and shoved more and more of its weight and responsibility onto gojo, until he was dropping off his own kid at his abusers' compound thinking it was the only compromise that could resolve things. megumi paid the price for gojo not calling bullshit, and right now, with him in a hospital bed? gojo's less willing to repeat mistakes than ever.

he knows that they're going to use the safety and suffering of everyone else as the leverage against him, and he knows that as terrible as it is, he cannot blink first. He's played this game before, and he knows that the only way to get the higher ups to back off on something like this is to dig in your heels.

I think what happened to Megumi all those years ago and how bad it got before they put a stop to it is something that haunts all three of them. When they first started raising him, they were very young, and they were very broken, and they loved him very, very much. He was their little boy, and he was never the same after the Zenin. They were supposed to protect him, and they didn't, and not a single one of them has forgiven themselves for that.

Megumi was sort of sacrificed for the greater good when he was a kid. None of them thought that that was what they were doing when it happened, but that's what happened. His happiness, safety, and wellbeing were sacrificed to pacify the Zenin and make it easier on everyone else.

Megumi and Tsumiki had to become their non-negotiables after. They had to become the things they refused to compromise on. The Zenin would take miles and miles if you gave them a millimeter, let alone an inch.

Gojo didn't think he was compromising them when he left them on their own to deal with Geto's war. They were disgustingly self-sufficient kids. They had been alone for longer stretches of time when they were practically toddlers--they should have been fine on their own for a couple of weeks.

But they were still his kids, and he still left them alone for everyone else's sake, and now his kid is blind and half dead in a hospital bed. It's like being punched in the face by old mistakes.

So they're off the roster completely, all of them. And they're not compromising an inch on what their focus is, and they're not letting anything happen to any of the other kids in their care.

It's terrible that their coworkers are suffering, but it wouldn't be happening if the Zenin hadn't fucked with Gojo Satoru's kid, of all the goddamn people. It wouldn't be happening if the higher ups would actually do their job and start managing shit.

And if they use Yuuta as an anxiety riddled bandaid on the bullet hole in their society? Then they'd be sacrificing him the way they sacrificed Megumi all those years ago. And they have never been less willing to do that.

I'm so so glad you like the story! Thank you for talking with me!

[icarrymany]

ok so my thoughts on when this takes place is like. after the operator is killed. if that can be done. im a firm believer in the idea that skully has control over all of their thoughts and actions but can absolutely listen to and agree with the many. i think the consensus was that this guy deserves to know what happened, but by doing so they disrupt Tim's repressing of the events. it was supposed to be temporary as he got back on his feet but he ended up not actually coping with anything. so its very very stressful to have the illusion of everything being ok broken, even if the news is good.

[12freddofrogs]

Very weird to be in that stage where a show is grabbing hold of your brain, but you haven't finished the show so you cant interact with fandom because spoilers, and you're watching it with someone else so you can't even just keep watching until you finish

[highschccldropout]

.

[prodkeiji]

ep 9 is a lot to process uhm

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Field trip.

Some people would call gothamites petty, but given that most of the USA population treated them as scum, they believed that their behavior was justified.

They didn't like tourists, to put it mildly. Therefore, after learning that in their city were people on a field trip from Amity Park who could not leave Gotham for several days due to weekly escape from Arkham, the news channel immediately decided that a short interview from the guests would definitely amuse the locals. The reaction of outsiders never ceases to be ridiculous.

Reporter: ~Good afternoon~ Gotham News! May I ask you to share what you liked most about our wonderful city?

Mr. Lancer*still in a cold sweat and looks at every passerby as a potential villain*: Uh, no, me..It's so unexpected. Well, first of all, people here are very…

Danny *is high after the tasting samples Dr. Crane gave him for free and is extremely eager to share his happiness with others*,* picks a microphone*.

Danny: Gotham is the best city in the world! Like seriously, damn, I'd like to die here. Although there are constant shootings somewhere, half the time people don't even shoot at me! I haven't been this relaxed since middle school! And in the evenings, there is often such a pleasant scent of fear and despair on the streets. This fear toxin of yours is a real miracle! It's sooo good!

Sam *decides to take the initiative in her own hands before Fenton says too much*: Personally, I am very pleased with the number of green spaces you have in your city. It's nice to see that here eco-activists are really being listened to. Also, the fact that most restaurants have a thoughtful menu for vegetarians left a very pleasant impression.

Dash in his favorite T-shirt "it's not gay if he's dead": Four words. Hips of Red Hood. The fact that it is not marked in the guidebook as the main attraction of the Crime Alley is a real crime. This dude clearly never skips leg days. My respect.

Tucker: What can I say? The speed of internet here, even during villains attacks, is absolutely  unbelievable. I don't want to leave this place.

Jazz: I love Gotham! Finally, I was able to buy all the works published by Dr. Harleen Quinzel. *girl picks up an impressive stack of books* For some reason, they are not available online.

The camera points at a red-haired guy with a twitching eye.

Wes: I'm 85% sure Bruce Wayne is Batman. I have a proof and I am ready to provide it.

A girl with a "Good Guess" pin from Riddler enters and takes camera away from conspiracy theorist.

Star: Sorry, he slipped out at night and went to look for problems. Again. Don't pay any attention to him. He's always like this when he drinks more than two energy drinks in a row.